Blood and death. He always dreamed about blood and death—screams and pleas, the whistles of blades through the air, and the clanging of steel. The crackling fires and the smell of smoke and burning flesh. It was all he ever dreamed about when he did dream.
Lance flinched and rose up out of the visions of death into quiet. He frowned, acknowledging the aches and throbs of his wounds. His face and groin felt the worst, and a few stabbing pains to his ribs were a constant reminder of the gauntlet. He had a headache. He took a deep breath of clean, stale air and took stock of his situation. He wasn’t on Brutus anymore. He was still, lying on softness, too much softness. He opened his eyes, blinking against the darkness, and stared at the thatched roof.
The sound of heavy breathing nearby had him slowly turning his head. A young man sat slouched in a chair, arms crossed, bare feet resting on the bed. His eyes were closed, apparently asleep. Lance watched him curiously. His skin was dark so that meant Brutus had probably taken him south. His companion’s black hair was twisted into dozens of thin braids, all pulled back in a tail behind his head. His tight shirt and breeches showed off modestly muscled arms and legs. He was slim of figure, and the gray jerkin lying on the corner of the bed eased Lance’s tension. His companion was a healer. That was all right, then. Healers were sworn to save lives, not take them.
As Lance’s eyes grew more accustomed to the darkness, he noticed a large window, currently closed with thick shutters. It was a simple room, a healing room.
Where was Brutus?
Lance looked at the young man again and shifted his leg, despite the soreness, to nudge the healer’s foot. He had to do it a couple of times before the man jerked awake and looked around blurrily. He yawned and stretched.
“Pardon me,” Lance said, voice raspy. He spoke in Taris.
The healer jolted at the sound of his voice and swung around, eyes wide, trying to see him in the dark.
“You’re awake!” Thankfully, the healer knew the language as well.
“It would seem I am.”
The man scrambled over to a table and quickly lit several candles. He returned and held one close to Lance’s face. Lance flinched and squinted away from the light.
“Sorry.” The man instantly moved the flame away. “I wondered if you’d ever wake up. It’s been four days since we brought you here.”
Four days?
Lance shifted his gaze back to the healer. He had a pleasant voice, gentle and joyfully enthusiastic. It was a nice difference from the cruelty and coldness of Ulfr’s voice and those of his warriors. And, wow, those were pretty green eyes.
“You got a name?” the man asked.
No one outside his merry band of slaughterers knew his real name. Everyone in the empire knew him as Scourge.
“Lance,” he said. “Yours?”
“Gustum. But please call me Gust. Your horse has been trotting past your window every day, snorting in impatience. Glad I can finally tell him you’re awake.”
Lance warmed to know that Brutus was well. “Brutus. His name is Brutus.”
“Good name.” Gust paused. “You want to see him?”
Longing pierced his breast. “Yes.”
Gust set the candle on the bedside table and then helped Lance into a sitting position. Lance grunted at the strain to his muscles and spikes of pain at random points of his body.
Gust handed him a goblet full of water. “Drink that. I’ll be right back.”
He went to the window and pulled back the shutters. The moon was full and high in the clear night, giving adequate light. It was warm with a gentle wind, carrying pleasing scents. Lance took a deep breath and bit back a wince when his chest throbbed with pain. Gust yanked on his sandals and grabbed the jerkin before rushing out of the room. Lance sipped the water, swishing it around in his dry mouth before swallowing.
When Brutus’s heavy steps reached his ears, Lance’s grin stretched painfully across his face. He shuffled out of bed and struggled to stand, ignoring the pain, as Gust hurried inside.
“Hey, easy! I didn’t say you could—Damn it.” Gust immediately grabbed Lance’s arm when he wobbled and pulled it over his shoulders. They shuffled to the window as Brutus poked his head inside, whinnying and bouncing in glee.
“My friend,” Lance whispered and pressed his face against Brutus’s nose, nuzzling him, and stroking his neck. He acutely felt Gust’s hands on his waist and vaguely noted he was still naked. Gust had warm and surprisingly strong hands, with a couple of calluses, and they felt nice pressed against his skin. He took comfort from Brutus and Gust’s steady presence, momentarily forgetting his wounds.
He was alive.
His eyes popped open. Oh yes, he was alive, and Ulfr would be hunting him. He should leave immediately. Staying in one place was foolish, and he didn’t want Gust to be slaughtered. He was kind to him and kindness shouldn’t be rewarded with bloodshed. Ulfr would delight in torturing and killing a healer, especially one that kept his rebellious weapon alive.
Lance pulled back and Brutus mouthed his hair with thick lips, tugging in affection. Lance chuckled, something he only did with Brutus, and patted him again.
“I must leave,” he said.
“You’re still healing, so that is the worst idea ever. Besides, I dare you to try to get past my aunt. She’s fierce when her patients won’t listen to her advice.”
“I must leave,” he said again and pushed away. It stunned him when his legs buckled and he fell down. Agony radiated from multiple places, and he locked a groan in his throat. He’d learned quite early in life that to moan or cry out in pain only earned him more of the same.
Gust cursed and dropped to the floor with him. Their gazes met, and Lance was stunned to see concern and irritation instead of disgust or amusement. He reminded himself again that Gust was a healer. He wouldn’t be like Ulfr and the other warriors, would he?
Brutus kicked the wall of the hut, snorting with panic.
“Oh stop it!” Gust said to Brutus. “He’s fine, he’s just being a stubborn ass.” Gust glared at him. “You’re going to hurt yourself worse if you don’t listen to me. Do you really want to be so ungrateful and ruin all the good healing my aunt and I did? Back to bed.”
It confused Lance to see Brutus quiet under Gust’s words. It was only ever Lance that could calm the beast. It made him take a closer look at Gust.
Gust man-handled Lance into bed, and Lance couldn’t contain the grimace as his body protested. His ribs ached like a sore tooth and it hurt to walk, due to the abuse to his legs and groin. Then Gust tugged the blankets back over Lance’s body and felt his forehead.
“You’re still a little warm.” He poured more water into the goblet and then riffled around inside a few jars that Lance hadn’t noticed before. They were different sizes and shapes and colors without labels of any kind. When Gust found what he was looking for, he took a pinch of the powdery substance and dropped it into the water. He gently swished the water around before handing it to Lance. The powder obviously dissolved since he spied nothing in the water.
“Drink some more.” Gust said. “I’ll see if I can get some food.” He poked Lance in the chest against the only spot with unbruised flesh. “Don’t even think about getting out of bed.”
Then he was gone, and Lance tilted his head slightly, puzzled. It was odd to be with someone who didn’t fear him and knew nothing about him. Huh. Just like the baby. She’d had no fear, no judgment. She’d delighted in his company or perhaps had found him amusing. He had no idea what had made the baby laugh.
Brutus snorted and eyed him.
“What do we do now?” he asked. “Once we kill Ulfr, what then? What purpose will my life have?”
Brutus bobbed his head without an answer.
Lance sipped and the water tasted no different from whatever Gust put in it. Seeing no reason not to trust the healer, Lance gulped it all down. He frowned at the empty goblet and absently rubbed his head. Gust returned shortly, followed by an older woman significantly shorter than him. Her body was curvy and endowed, her hair braided like Gust’s and wrapped in a tight bun at the base of her head. She wore a blue apron over her simple gray dress. She also had strong arms, and her skirt was surprisingly short. Lance had never known women to wear skirts so short. He suspected she was related to Gust since there were too many similarities between their faces and eyes to be otherwise. Perhaps his aunt that Gust had spoken about earlier?
The woman introduced herself as Kissa and proceeded to check his wounds and ask him questions about the pain. He answered the best he could, wanting to be honest and yet fearing she’d consider him weak. She removed a few of his bandages and slathered on sweet smelling paste from a blue jar. He scanned a few of his worst injuries and gritted his teeth at the damage. Plenty of deep slices and a few nasty punctures that, despite the severity, were closed.
Healers and their herbs. Remarkable.
He glanced at Gust where he stood near the window, speaking softly to Brutus. Brutus appeared to accept Gust’s words and calmly rested his chin on the window frame.
“The stitches can come out,” Kissa said. “Gust.”
Gust hurried over and Lance tried not to flinch as they touched him and snipped the stitches.
“Just a bit more,” Gust said softly. “You’re doing great.”
Lance forced himself to relax, trusting Gust at his word. It didn’t take them long and though his wounds were still tender, he felt better for having the stitches out.
“You need to stay in bed for a couple days longer before you can move around on your own,” Kissa said. “Your fall could have ripped open your wounds, and you’ve lost enough blood as it is.” She glanced at Brutus. “We can move the bed closer to the window so you can be near your horse.”
Lance nodded. “Yes, I would like that.”
He sat in a chair as they moved the bed, puzzled at his helplessness. He noted the continual aches and occasional sharp pains. The fatigue was novel and different from what he’d experienced after a day wearing the armor. He’d never been this wounded before apparently and decidedly did not like it. Even as a child, when Ulfr had beat him, he managed to move around under his own power and shake off most of the pain. Now he was dependent on another for help. No, he definitely didn’t like it at all.
Yet Gust and Kissa were kind and brisk, not coddling him and yet not callous either. Never once did they show any inclination to take advantage of his weakness. Healers not warriors. He especially enjoyed watching Gust move around and hearing him speak. His movements put Lance in mind of a dancer, like those Ulfr had sometimes hired to entertain his troops when he was in an especially good mood. Gust’s voice, even when he only spoke, sounded like a song.
Lance wasn’t sure how he felt about Gust’s familiarity with Brutus, and yet considering his weakened state, if Brutus did let fury rule him, Lance couldn’t calm him down. So that made him grateful that Brutus listened to Gust. It also eased his mind further that Brutus trusted him. There was no reason Lance shouldn’t trust Gust either.
Now Lance was back in bed, eating a large bowl of soup, and eyeing the apple that Gust munched on. Brutus nuzzled Lance’s face now and then, and nipped at his hair. Gust swallowed another bite of the apple before glancing at it. He’d eaten half of it. He shrugged and held out the rest to Brutus. Brutus sniffed it before using his lips to grab the rest. He withdrew and munched on it.
Gust smiled.
Lance paused and glanced between them. Warmth flooded his chest. Kindness. Strange to see.
Exhaustion washed over Lance not long after finishing his soup, and he lay back and closed his eyes. Brutus’s hot breath fanned his face, soothing him with familiarity. The bed was still too soft but it didn’t deter him from sleeping. He was drifting off when a slim hand with a few callused fingers stroked his hair away from his face. He cracked his eyes open just enough to see Gust leaning over him, smiling sweetly, green eyes shimmering in the light of the rising sun.
So pretty.
Lance closed his eyes and let the gentle strokes lull him to sleep.