“He’s been through here already,” Aquila affirmed. “I’ve seen his tracks.”
Claude waved his pistol at the other two. “And how do we know they won’t trail us?”
“We won’t,” David swore. “We forfeit. This was a mistake – it’s all yours. Right, Bertrand?”
Bertrand looked less sure, but mouth in a grim line, nodded his assent.
“We should kill them,” said Claude, and Anya’s cold blood ran colder. She’d never heard someone speak so casually about taking any life, let alone another person’s. “We’ll say the forest got them. Another bear, or the storm. No one will ever know the difference. Edgard won’t care when we bring him his prize.”
“That isn’t necessary,” David insisted. “We’ve lost, fair and square. We’re all honest sportsmen, aren’t we? We forfeit, you have my word.”
“And what if word gets back to Äbender that you felt mistreated?” Aquila posed. “What if the indenture won’t cooperate, and we are forced to return without him, and nasty rumors began to spread about his fate?”
“We won’t breathe a word,” David promised. But his voice wavered.
“Splendid,” said Claude. “But, for insurance.”
A gunshot. A cry, and a shout. Anya’s fingers found her knife.
Bertrand’s shirt blossomed with blood as he fell to his knees.
“You’ll have to shoot them both, now,” Aquila said, sneering.
“No, I won’t,” Claude said, squinting and cocking his pistol at David. “David’s going to be a good boy, like he always is. Aren’t you?”
David did not answer, rushing to Bertrand’s side as he collapsed.
Claude laughed. “See?”
“Come,” said Aquila. After a lingering look at the bleeding man, glassy as the gaze of a house cat on a half-dead mouse, Claude followed.
The moment they were gone, Anya rushed forward. David didn’t hear her over the rain; he hovered over Bertrand, murmuring. As she got closer, she made out what he was saying, repeating, voice taut: “Seven skies, I don’t know what to do.”
Gently, Anya pushed him aside, and he started at her appearance – first at the suddenness, then again at the quality.
“I know bullet wounds,” she said shortly. Carefully, she opened Bertrand’s shirt, then had David help her peel it off. David held the other man up as Anya examined his chest, his back.
Most gentlemen carried small-bore revolvers; deadly, but more for show than lethality, and certainly useless for hunting game. From her vantage, Claude’s had looked to be no different. His aim had been slack, lazy. The round had passed through the outer edge of Bertrand’s chest, shredding his flesh but avoiding any major organs, though she felt at least one of his ribs had been shattered by the impact. Lucky; that splintered rib likely spared him a punctured lung. Without help, Bertrand would die; but David had his pen.
She informed David. He was not reassured. “I don’t know the spells for this kind of thing,” he said, obviously panicking. “I don’t have any of my books with me. I can’t–”
“You can stop the bleeding,” she reminded him, firmly. “A wound is a wound. Close it, like you did before. Enough to get him home. He can get better help there.”
Bertrand lay between them, eyes squeezed shut, panting. After only a moment’s hesitation, David set to work. He had the courtesy not to mention her changes, though she felt his eyes flick to her furry neck as he drew his blood. Silently, he clicked his nib into place and began his spell. The first spell, which took him a few minutes to complete, was to put Bertrand to sleep. He sprinkled the dust over Bertrand’s closed eyes, and gradually, his panting slowed to a cool, even pace.
When David spoke again, he attempted to sound casual, but he couldn’t hide a worried quaver. “Have you seen Sy?”
“I have.”
He closed his eyes briefly, a sign of relief.
She wouldn’t let him have it. Her fury startled her. “Why do you have my shotgun? I left it with him, forhisprotection, not yours. And he fucking well needs it now, doesn’t he?”
“We had a misunderstanding.” He paused his scrawling, almost imperceptibly. “One I would do anything to take back.”
She shook her head in disgust, then turned back to the rain.
“Wait,” David said. Despite her fury, something in his tone made her hesitate. “Only until – until I’m sure he’s going to be alright. Please?”
