Shoving the body aside was difficult. Thayer knew he was fast losing his strength. One attempt to stand was all it took to tell him his wounded leg was useless. He tried to crawl towards his mount but barely got halfway to the nervous animal before he could go no farther. He thought of Gytha as unconsciousness swept over him.
Roger cursed as he stumbled through the bracken, Merlion and Torr behind him. “I tell you, I heard the sounds of a battle over here.”
“How can you tell which direction they came from in the dark?” grumbled Torr.
“Listen,” hissed Merlion. “Hear that?”
“A horse,” whispered Roger. “Just ahead.” He continued with greater caution until he recognized Thayer’s mount. “’Tis his horse for certain.” Two more steps brought Thayer’s prone body into view. “Jesu.” He hurried over and knelt by his friend, quickly searching for some sign of life as Torr and Merlion joined him.
“Is he still alive?” Merlion asked after a long moment of tense silence.
“Aye, but he will not be for long if we do not bind these wounds.” With his companions’ swift help, Roger moved to do that even as he spoke. “God’s beard, he is a bit shorter of fingers now,” he muttered as he used a strip of Torr’s hastily torn shirt to roughly bandage Thayer’s wounded hand.
“We had best get him to the leech in town,” muttered Merlion as he and Torr struggled to securely bind the gash in Thayer’s leg.
“The man has lost too much blood. He needs no more drawn out,” Roger snapped. “That old woman that tended some of the men yester eve would be better.”
The three of them managed to get Thayer on his horse, holding him in the saddle as they led the mount towards town. It was a long, slow journey, and Roger feared it cost Thayer dearly in strength and lost blood. By the time they reached the cottage they used as their quarters, Roger doubted his friend would live to see Riverfall again.
Thayer was aware of only pain for a long while. Then he heard a soft snoring. His eyes still closed, he moved his hands in a blind exploration of his immediate surroundings. He was on a bed. Someone had found him. Hazy memories assailed him. Roger’s voice, cool cloths against his skin, a priest muttering and—he frowned—the king. Curiosity as to how much was dream, how much real, gave him the strength to open his eyes. It took a moment for him to conquer the adverse effects of the sudden light, but he was not surprised when his first clear sight showed him Roger sprawled on a pallet by his bed.
“Roger.” His voice was a weak hoarse whisper, and it hurt his throat but he forced himself to call out louder. “Roger.” He almost smiled at the way Roger groggily staggered to his feet, sword in hand, looking blindly around until his gaze fixed upon him. “You wake up poorly for a soldier.”
Hearing the painful dryness in Thayer’s voice, Roger quickly got his friend some mead. Slipping his arm beneath Thayer’s shoulders, Roger helped him raise his head enough to drink without choking. He could feel the weakness afflicting Thayer as he eased the man back down on the bed and it troubled him. The wounds and resultant fever had badly sapped Thayer’s strength.
“That was very welcome,” Thayer murmured as Roger fetched a stool and sat at his bedside. “God’s beard, I feel so weak. How long have I been lying here?”
“Near to a week. You were nearly bled dry when we found you. I had that old woman tend you.”
“Aye, aye. I remember her. Better her than some leech. That ugly crone has thrice any leech’s healing skills.” He frowned down at his bandage-swathed left hand. “How bad is this?”
“Well, two of your fingers are a bit shorter. The tops were severed.”
“And my leg?”
Sighing, Roger shrugged. “You still have it. The wound was deep. The man tried to hobble you.”
“And he succeeded.”
“Mayhap. There is no way to tell until you try walking. T’will be stiff for certain, but none can guess if that stiffness will linger or ease away as you walk again. As I have said, you still have it. There is that to be thankful for.”
Thayer was not so sure of that, but pushed the concern aside for a moment. “Any further injuries?”
“A few new scars, but no more than you usually gain from a battle.”
Not wanting to think too much on his injuries, Thayer decided to confirm some of the broken, indistinct memories that assailed him. “And, you, my friend, have had the sorry duty of tending me? You loom large in what few memories I have.”
“T’was not a sorry chore. You have done the same for me. Do not forget that time in France.”
“A time I doubt I shall ever fully forget. The king? Did the king come to see me or do I muddle a dream with a memory?”
“Aye, the king was here. For a moment, I thought you had shaken free of the fever and delirium. You spoke clearly to our liege, but ’tis good he left when he did. He was but a moment gone before I knew you were not as clearheaded as you sounded. What you said next told me your thoughts were locked in the past, a time three years ago when he came to our tent. You spoke to a ghost born of a feverish memory. No matter. Our liege did not see it. He gave you the reward you sought, and you responded as was expected.”
“I got what I came here for?”
“Aye, you are now Baron of Riverfall, m’lord.” Roger smiled faintly and half-bowed. “You are also the holder of a small demesne but three days’ ride south of River-fall. I can tell you more when you are stronger. This is the first time in too long that you have not been wracked with fever. Do not tire yourself and use up what little strength you have. You will sorely need it in the days to come. The fighting has ended, you have all you sought, and now you must work to get well enough to return to Riverfall and Gytha.”
“Ah, Gytha.” Thayer sighed and stared at his bandaged hand. “I was no fair knight before but at least I was whole. Now I bring her a cripple. Mayhap it would be best if—”
