Maybe it was better not to know.
She turned to see the Eagle doubled over.
“Comrade! Are you hurt?” Dismounting, she ran over, grabbed the woman’s arm, and saw who it was. “Hathui!” The shock caused her to step back, and she slammed hard into stone.
“Nay. A cut on the arm, that’s all.” Hathui straightened with a grimace. “Hanna! How is it you come here? Where are the bandits?”
“Fled,” called Ernst cheerfully from the forest’s edge. “We routed them!”
He dismounted to collect the two staves. The horses bent their heads to graze. The fog seemed to be making an effort to lift, and they could see pretty far into the forest by now. Far back into the misty haze among the trees, nothing moved.
“God above,” swore Hathui. Blood trickled through her fingers where she held them clamped tight just below her left shoulder. “Have you something I can bind this with? He slashed me. Lad, look for my horse. She can’t have strayed far.”
Hanna’s shoulders throbbed where she’d hit the stone wall. Lichen slipped under her fingers as she pushed forward, finally sweeping away the grip of shock. “Ernst! Go on! Keep your eyes open. We don’t want those men creeping back with their friends to attack us.”
She had nothing to say to Hathui. Surprise had mangled her tongue. She hurried to the horse tied on behind the saddled gelding and fished out the roll of linen in their stores packed by Theophanu’s stewards for just such an eventuality.
Hathui limped over to a ramp of stone half overgrown by a bramble bush heavy with berries. With a grunt, she eased down to sit on the stone and carefully released her fingers. Blood leaked through a gash in her sleeve. The cloth had been mended once, just above the fresh rip, tidy white stitches set into the dirty gray wool that matched a dozen mended tears in her Eagle’s cloak. Her dark hair was caught back in an untidy pony’s tail, and a smudge of dirt darkened her hawk’s nose. Fresh blood smeared one corner of her mouth.
“Best move quickly,” she said without raising her head as she delicately pulled aside torn cloth to examine the cut. She was breathing hard but did not look likely to faint.
Hanna had seen worse wounds. The blade had caught the surface of the skin and torn it back raggedly, but not deeply. She unfastened Hathui’s Eagle’s brooch and helped her pull off the tunic, then painted a paste of crushed marigold flowers over the cut before binding it up with a strip of linen. Hathui got her tunic on, wincing, just as Ernst returned triumphantly, leading the sorriest-looking mare Hanna had ever seen.
“My thanks, lad.” Hathui limped forward to take the reins from him. “I’m called Hathui. Are you one of us?”
“I’m called Ernst,” said the youth, staring at her with admiration. Hathui was not, Hanna supposed, a handsome woman, but she was impressive: tough, proud, and looking like she’d ridden through a storm of demons and survived. “I mean to be an Eagle. That’s why I’m riding with Hanna.”
“Well met.” After greeting him, Hathui rubbed the mare’s nose affectionately and checked her saddlebag, which seemed to hold nothing more than half a loaf of dry bread and an empty wineskin. Finally, she looked up. “Ai, God, Hanna, it’s good to see you. Where are you bound?”
“Aosta. What news, Hathui? Have you come from the king? I’ve been sent with an urgent message from Princess Theophanu—”
Hathui’s face drained to white, bled dry, and she sank down onto the fallen stone with a grimace of pain. “You must ride straight back to Princess Theophanu!”
“The king’s dead?”
“Not dead when I left him.” Hathui spoke so quietly it was difficult to hear her voice. “I pray he is not dead now.” Tears trickled down her cheeks, and her breathing became harsh. “That I should take so long to get even this far! And I do not know how far I have left to go.”
Her expression made Hanna tremble as the older Eagle grabbed her sword hilt and pushed herself up, looking grim and determined. “We must make haste, you to Princess Theophanu and I—Can you tell me, Hanna? Where is Prince Sanglant? I have followed rumors that lead me east, but I may be following a cold trail, God help me, for he is veiled to my Eagle’s Sight. I must reach Prince Sanglant.”
Ernst had wandered close to listen, but Hanna chased him off. “You’re sentry, Ernst! You must keep watch. Those brigands could come sneaking back and kill us while we’re not looking!”
She picked up one of the bandits’ captured staves, which was not much more than a stout walking stick carved to a nasty point at one end, and beat down the bramble bush around the stone bench so she and Hathui could sit without fear of thorns. It felt good to batter down the bramble bush, to hear the snap of vines and watch bits of leaf spill like chaff onto the ground, revealing more of the old stone ruin. By the pattern of the tumbled stones and their neatly dressed edges, she guessed this had once been an old Dariyan way station. Dariyan messengers, folk like herself, had sheltered here long ago.
