Badgerblood: Awakening Page 6

  A howl of agony rose from the bar as Len managed to free her leg and kick Tib’s bad knee. Clutching his injury, the tavern man collapsed and Len darted around him, gloves still on, and snatched up a rickety chair by its legs. She approached Mike from behind as the henchman wrapped a beefy, freckled arm around Kor’s neck.

  “You shouldnae hae left your forest, whelp,” Mike growled in his thick hills’ burr, and dragged him toward the tavern’s back hall.

  Len’s chair exploded across his back and she was left holding two broken legs. Barely pausing in his step, Mike snatched the nearest one from her with his free hand and hurled it at the wall. It smashed a stained glass painting of a speckled, purple dragon merrily kicking up white petticoats. The shattered pieces of Tib’s prized art piece tinkled to the floorboards. An enraged wail rose from the still-incapacitated tavern owner.

  Recovering from her shock, Len swung the leftover chair leg in her hand at Mike. The man faltered, but did not relinquish Kor. She swung again, this time at his head. The wooden leg split down the middle and Mike finally swayed, releasing Kor and crashing over him.

  Dropping the chair leg Len heaved weakly at the unconscious Mike. She paused to catch her breath and hunched forward, panting.

  Kor could see that she was trembling. “I’ll get this,” he said, relieving her from the task. Adrenaline and his pendant’s persistent trickle fortified his own waning strength. “You get your pack.”

  “Where?”

  “The bar. Any pilfered items are usually behind there,” Kor said, straining as he pushed against Mike’s body. Len dashed past the moaning Tib and around the bar.

  As soon as she disappeared, Tib fell silent and crawled toward Kor, dragging his bad leg and brandishing his dagger. His mouth was set in a snarl.

  Under Mike’s deadweight, Kor struggled to free himself. His muscles pulled taut and his arms shook. As he heaved, his eyes searched desperately for the means to defend himself. The severed chair leg lay on the floor close by. With a long, low grunt, he rolled Mike off and snatched up the leg. In an instant, Tib was on him.

  “You’ll be less trouble dead and still worth the same,” he said, slashing at Kor’s face.

  Kor caught the man’s wrist and swung the chair leg. It crunched into Tib’s temple. His eyes rolled up and he toppled sideways over Mike with a groan.

  Kor tried to rise and fell back exhausted. Then Len was there, dragging his arm over her shoulders and helping him to his feet with an arm around his waist. Together, they staggered toward the open tavern door. As Kor tried to speak, his words came out in a mumble.

  Len put her ear close to his mouth. “What?”

  “Told you—” Kor said again, his voice a croak, “—not as gentlemanly.”

  There was a little hiccupping giggle from Len as they stepped outside. Kor chuckled too, but his laugh ended in a hacking cough that left him leaning more heavily against her.

  She tightened her grip around his waist and on the arm over her shoulders. “You need help.”

  This time, Kor didn’t resist. Pendant or not, he had to rest, to regain strength, before traipsing back through the forest at night. One hour, he promised himself. Only one. “The mill at the bend—stone cottage, wooden building at the back, wheat over the door.” He pointed left down the village path. “Ask for the miller, Eliker McPherson.”

  9

  She hadn’t gone far before a stone cottage came into view around the bend in the path, a wooden structure attached at the back looming over it. In the growing twilight, the thatched roof was gray-brown. A splintered sign with a sheaf of wheat carved into it creaked in the breeze over the door.

  Allinor’s heart leapt at the sight and she quickened her pace. Kor struggled to match it, sagging more and more against her side as they walked. Her hold around his waist and the arm over her shoulders slipped as his legs finally buckled.

  She sank to the path with him and released her hold. Panting to catch her breath, she hunched forward in the dirt. Beside her, Kor lay face down, unmoving.

  Her right sleeve was sticky with his blood and she glanced at his back. Through the torn clothing, she saw a leather bandage wrapped around his torso. Dark purple peeked out from under it—the mor leaf. Blood crusted its edges.

  For a moment, she sat, chewing her lip. She had a knack for getting others into trouble. It usually ended better for her than it did for them. Impulsive—that’s what her mother called her; Allinor called herself cursed. A shiver went down her spine.

  Kor groaned and stirred. “Len.”

  She jumped, surprised he was still conscious, then leaned down to hear better. As she got close, she wrinkled her nose. He smelled of rotting fish and cinnamon. Apparently forest hermits never bathed.

  “Ekerpherson.” The words were only half formed and slurred together, but she understood.

  Leaving him in the path, she stumbled toward the cottage. Grainy wood bit into her fists as she pounded at the door. At last it creaked open and a man peered out.

  “Eliker McPherson,” Allinor said, breathlessly. “The miller. I’m looking for the miller.”

  The man nodded and his face caught the light from the cottage. Hazel eyes flashed gold against bronze skin. “You’ve found him. What do you want?” It was a deep, rich voice. If not for the brisk tone, she could almost have imagined he was friendly.

  “It’s Kor. He’s hurt.”

  “Don’t know anyone by that name. Best be on your way before there’s trouble.”

  He tried to shut the door, but she jammed her boot in the opening, wincing as it pinched her foot. “He has a badger—Spart,” she said, hoping to convince the man. “And a pendant with a badger head on it. Spart likes carrots and—” Unsure what else to say, she stopped. “Please—I couldn’t bring him all the way.” The door opened a hair farther, relieving the pressure on her foot. “He’s over there.” She leaned back to point at the path.

  As though on cue, Kor called out weakly. “Eliker.”

  The miller tensed, opening the door wider and staring out over Allinor at the figure. Then he jerked his chin in an invitation. “Wait inside.”

  Relief washed over Allinor and she clutched at one side of the door frame to keep upright. Eliker stepped past her and she turned, watching him as she backed into the warm glow of the cottage. The miller scanned the path and drew a rusty, copper dagger from the sheath on the back of his belt as he approached Kor, then rolled him on his back with his boot. The action drew a sharp cry and a fierce mutter from the forest hermit. Eliker promptly dropped to his knees and hoisted Kor over his broad shoulders.

  Still watching, Allinor pulled off her gloves, remembering at the last minute to slip her ring off in the finger. No sense risking drawing more attention to it than had already been drawn that day. She stuffed her gloves in her pack, then stepped back as Eliker burst into the room and kicked the door shut.

  “Serah.” He jerked his head at the door and snatched a waterskin from a peg on the wall.

  “Papa?” A girl Allinor hadn’t noticed hurried across the room from her post by a crock on the hearth. She wiped her hands on a gray apron and bolted the door. “What happened?”

  Kor answered, but his words were garbled, indiscernible. Allinor glanced at him. Hair hung in his face and his pallor was a sickly gray in the firelight. His blue eyes fluttered open as he tried again. “Fie-sifors-tervn.” With every step, his head jostled against Eliker’s arm, breaking up his speech as the miller crossed the room.

  The cottage was small, with a table in the center and a hearth opposite the front door. There was a wooden door set in the wall to the right of the hearth and a sheet-door to the left. Lying in the far right corner was a straw mattress. Serah hurried toward it and pulled back the sheet as Eliker approached.

  “There was a fight,” Allinor said, guessing what Kor was trying to say. “We ran into trouble in the tavern…and the forest.”

  With a sharp glance her way, Eliker slid Kor from his shoulders to
the mattress. “You were in the forest?” Then briefly to Serah, “Bandages and my healer’s satchel.” She ran off, disappearing through the sheet-door to the left of the hearth.

  Nodding, Allinor said, “I didn’t mean to go so far, but I was looking for a flower, and it didn’t seem dangerous at the time.” She found herself holding up the limp specimen of the star of Perabon.

  The miller stared at it. “Haven’t seen one of those in years,” he said quietly. She returned it to her pouch as he knelt beside Kor and spoke again. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

  Allinor didn’t respond. All the adrenaline of the evening was wearing off. Her legs felt wobbly and she braced a hand against the wall to steady herself.

  She watched as Eliker raised the waterskin to Kor’s mouth. Kor’s feet pointed away from her so she couldn’t see his face, but he lifted his head to drink and she was relieved he could do that much.

  Just then, Serah returned with a satchel over her shoulder and a bundle of sheets in her arms. “We’re low on healing paste, Papa, but there should be enough for Kor,” she said, setting the items on the dirt-packed floor beside the miller. “I’ll get the water boiling.”

  “Good girl,” he said, smiling gently up at her. She touched a hand to his shoulder then moved away.

  The tender exchange reminded Allinor of the interactions she’d had with her own father, when he was still alive. Feeling a nudge of longing, Allinor watched Serah at the hearth. Her movements were graceful, yet quick and confident. Compared to Allinor, she was taller and a shade slimmer in the soft curves of her figure. But there was youth in her bright, round eyes and Allinor did not think she could be much older than herself.

  Face taut with worry, Serah tightened the strings of the apron around her tunic and pushed back the sleeves of her undershirt. The rich ochre of her slender arms was speckled with pale scars.

  Oil, or boiling water, Allinor thought absently. She had seen scars like that in her own household, even earned a few herself. At the memory, her arms twitched.

  Serah wrapped the end of her apron around the handle of a pot that was hanging on a hook over the hearth. Scrunching her nose with the effort, she lifted it to the ground. Then, with a puff of exertion, she hoisted another covered cauldron to the hook. Her slender frame belied her strength. Two strands of tight ebony curls slipped from the bun on her head and she blew them out of her eyes.

  “Food.” Kor’s hoarse voice came from the corner. He sounded more alert and coherent than before, if still a little weak.

  The word drew Allinor’s full attention. Kor was sitting up now and leaning against the wall. As he struggled to stand, Eliker took his arm. They turned toward the table and Kor’s hand clutched the bulge where the pendant lay concealed under his shirt.

  Allinor took a step toward him, then stopped as Serah rushed past and took Kor’s other arm. When they reached the table, Eliker flipped a chair around so the back came up against the edge. Kor straddled it and leaned forward against the chair back, facing Allinor. The tension in his jaw creased his brow and made his eyes squint. There was something more in the look, too, besides pain—fear and resistance. Sweat beaded on Kor’s brow and his skin was raised in goosebumps. Squeezing his eyes shut, he rubbed the pendant under his shirt.

  A pile of wooden spoons lay beside a stack of bowls at the center of the table. Serah snatched up two bowls and filled them with a porridgy substance from the pot on the ground. She set the first bowl in front of Kor, then looked at Allinor, who was still standing beside the wall. With an encouraging nod at the second, Serah set it across from Kor.

  Allinor slipped the waterskin and pack from her shoulder and dropped into the chair. No further invitation was necessary. She dipped a spoon in her bowl, brought it to her mouth, and her ravenous appetite came to a screeching halt. Strands of yellowish-gray dripped from the spoon and brown chunks floated in the gooey mess. A myriad of excuses for turning down the meal rose on her tongue as her gaze flicked around the room.

  Near the mattress, Serah was gathering the satchel and sheets. Eliker was using a rag to clean a space on the table for them beside Kor. Allinor discreetly lowered her spoon, preparing herself to politely decline. Then her gaze locked with Kor’s. He was hunched over the chair back, watching her intently, his own spoon halfway to his lips. After giving an almost imperceptible head shake, he nodded curtly at the glop on his spoon, then looked at her.

  “Something wrong?” Serah asked, dropping the sheets and satchel on the table.

  Allinor jerked and a brown chunk jiggled off her spoon and plopped into the bowl.

  “Yes,” Kor said genially, popping his spoonful in his mouth and scraping out the last of his porridge. “I’m out.” He held up his bowl, looking plaintive.

  Serah snorted and snatched it from him. “Eat any faster and you’ll pop.”

  While Serah refilled his bowl, Kor looked at Allinor again. His gaze dropped meaningfully to her spoon. Allinor gave him a glare that soon melted into despairing resolution. Then, closing her eyes, she shoved the spoon in her mouth. She barely chewed before swallowing…and relaxed. The food was a bit bland perhaps, but definitely palatable. And the savory chunks were the best part.

  “Tastes better than it looks, doesn’t it?” Eliker said.

  Allinor opened her eyes. The others were grinning broadly at her from the other side of the table, as though sharing a private joke in the matter.

  “The porridge always does,” Eliker said, helping Kor out of his shredded vest and shirt. “Serah could turn boiled asparagus into a feast and you’d never know the difference.”

  Serah set another steaming bowlful of porridge before Kor and he dragged it closer. “Finest cook in the village,” he said in agreement, winking up at the girl. “How’d I get so lucky?”

  “Oh, piffle,” Serah said, ruffling his hair. “Any woman in the village would cook for you.”

  “Not with his hygiene, they wouldn’t,” Eliker said, wrinkling his nose at Kor’s clothes.

  “Careful,” Kor said in a friendly, warning tone. “Those happen to be my favorite.”

  “I’ll burn them later,” Eliker muttered, and tossed them aside.

  “Papa,” Serah chided, but she laughed anyway.

  At Kor’s exchange with Serah, Allinor felt a hot, prickling sensation rise up the back of her neck. She glared at Kor, then caught herself and dropped her gaze to her bowl. After all, it was his life. If he wanted to waste it heckling some women and flirting with others, it was none of her affair.

  Eliker let out a low whistle and Kor sucked a breath through his teeth. Allinor’s head came up. The miller was holding the mor leaf and staring at Kor’s back. The bandage from Kor’s chest was now in his lap. His face was drawn and pale. She realized then that the teasing banter was a facade for his pain, a distraction even.

  Serah leaned around to look and gasped. Allinor’s heart beat harder and she felt a stab of anxiety. But she willed herself to remain seated until she had finished eating. A bubbling came from the cauldron on the fire and Serah went to retrieve the pot.

  “Something certainly left its mark on you,” Eliker said, taking two short, round bottles from the satchel on the table. One was filled with a clear liquid, the other a cloudy, yellowish green. “Should I even bother asking what?”

  “Borlan,” Kor said.

  Serah nearly dropped the pot. “What happened to Peter?”

  “I was alone, mostly.” Kor scraped the last of the porridge from his bowl. Serah took a clean bowl and half filled it with water from the pot, then handed it to her father.

  “Peter will be pleased to hear that, I’m sure—hunting borlan, alone,” Eliker said, holding the bowl with one hand and uncorking the drinking skin still slung over his shoulder with the other. “Doesn’t he have a rule about that?” He tipped the pouch, drizzling cooler water into the boiling bowl. A soft hiss sounded as the hotter liquid cooled.

  “Kor’s never been one for rules,” Serah sa
id, tearing one of the sheets into strips. “Still, when a man’s only got two…” She sounded irritated.

  Allinor stared guiltily down at her empty porridge bowl. “It wasn’t his fault. The burrlan was after me.” The room fell silent. Even the sound of ripping sheets ceased. All eyes were on her. “I’d still be treed by that monster if Kor hadn’t helped me.” Her hand went to the bulging pouch of petals on her belt and she waited for them to press her for an explanation. They didn’t.

  “Looks like he took quite a beating for you,” Eliker said. She blushed and looked up to see him gesturing at Kor’s back. “This was all due to the borlan?”

  Kor shook his head and hunched forward as the miller pressed a damp cloth to his back. “Mike threw something.”

  “It was a chair,” Allinor said bluntly, standing at last to inspect his back.

  “Sounds about right,” Kor said. He breathed in sharply as Eliker continued dabbing at the wounds.

  “Took a few tries before I got him with one myself,” Allinor said, vaguely aware of Eliker’s astonished glance. The sight of Kor’s injuries made her heart jolt. His back was an ugly mass of black, blue, and green, covered with welts and scratches. Ragged claw and spine marks stretched from his right shoulder to his left hip.

  She shook herself and rounded the table to join Serah in tearing up strips. Despite the lies about her apprenticeship as a healer, she did have some experience preparing bandages and herbs for healing. She had helped with such tasks on her father’s wild kotash hunts, and engaging in the familiar kept worry at bay.

  The miller dropped the blood-soaked rag on the ground with Kor’s clothes and Serah tossed him a clean cloth strip. He pulled the cork from the clear bottle on the table. The strong, biting smell stung Allinor’s nostrils. She recognized it immediately. So did Kor.

  “Healer’s bite?” He asked it casually, but there was tension in his voice.

  “Yes.” Eliker soaked the rag and pressed it to the injuries.