Page 23 of Weaving Winter

“Quen is injured?” Bran was on his feet immediately.

“Yes, seriously.”

“Come.” He turned back to one of the other men. “San, bring hot water. Now.”

We dashed across the clearing, pushing through the snow. The winds slashed the snow against our faces, biting with a sharp sting. I held the tent open while Bran entered, then San followed, carrying a large bucket of hot water. Dasheer glanced up, motioning for San to set the water down next to her.

Bran moved in. “How can I help?”

“He fainted. Here, gently remove the layers as I examine the wound. San, find my bottle of Firyal’s powder in there.” She continued her work as Bran began to peel away the makeshift bandage I had fashioned. The blood was still running freely, but it had slowed down quite a bit.

I stood back, not wanting to interfere. As I struggled to see what was happening, Dasheer let out a slow breath.

“Did you see what hit him?”

“The spider creature stabbed him with one of its feet,” I said.

“It wasn’t a weapon of some sort?”

“I don’t think it was—from where I was I had a pretty good view.” I paused, then asked, “Is that good or bad?”

“Good, if you can call it that. Metal and we’d be facing contamination. There may be some infection, but given what I know about the ice dancers, they don’t carry any sort of venom or poison. It’s a clean puncture, in terms of it’s deep, but somehow, the attack didn’t compromise any of his vital organs. We don’t want it to close over for a couple of days, not until I make sure there’s no chance of infection, but I’ll pack it with the powder and put a loose bandage on it. We’ll need to transport him to my tent where I can keep an eye on him round the clock for a couple of days.”

She began tamping the wound full of the bright yellow powder. “You have Asajia here to thank for his life. He would have bled out if she hadn’t acted so quickly.”

“You have our thanks. It appears I owe you yet another debt—for saving Quen’s life.” Bran sat back, his face grim.

“Those creatures. You say they belong to the Snow Witch?” Now that the crisis was over, I wanted to know more about them.

“They do. When she’s feeling particularly angry, she sends them through the Bramble Fel Forest to wreak havoc. She summons them from the energy of her storms.”

“Are they her creation, then? Would they exist without her?”

“They do, but they won’t come south of the Eiralpine Line without her summoning them. They’re glacial in origin. She just happens to have control over their element and so she can summon them at will. They don’t always have to obey, but they like her, so if she wants them around, it’s usually going to happen.” Bran turned to San. “Summon several men so we can carry Quen as smoothly as possible.” To the healer, he said, “Keep him alive, Dasheer. Quen is my right hand, you know. My oath brother.”

She nodded. “I know. Quen is too important for us to lose. I’ll do everything I can, though I think he’ll make it.”

San returned with several men and they lifted Quen onto a hide tautly tied to several pieces of wood. They lifted it, and Quen barely moved as they carried him out of the tent. Dasheer followed them. Bran hung back. He glanced around at the bloody rags. At that moment, Fenling popped into the tent, her smile freezing as she stared at the chaos.

“What the?—”

“Quen was severely injured. Our guest here saved his life.”

I started to protest, but Bran wouldn’t let me finish. “No, you are responsible for saving him. I can’t thank you enough. But for now, I’ll send in the washing woman to clean the tent and replace your blankets. Why don’t the two of you wait in the mess tent until she’s done? Get some food and hot tea.”

I wanted nothing more than to go to bed. I was exhausted, but I couldn’t just lie down on a bed without blankets. I’d freeze. So I allowed Fenling to lead the way to the mess tent. Once we entered, the cook quickly tucked us at a table with hot tea, some bread, and a promise for heartier fare in a few minutes.

“So, you’re good in a fight,” Fenling said. “Good to know.”

“I didn’t fight. I just dragged Quen out of the line of fire.” I felt slightly uncomfortable with all the praise. It didn’t feel like I’d done enough to deserve it but, too tired to argue, I quietly accepted the accolades.

“That alone is an act of bravery. Quen is Bran’s best man, you know. They’re blood brothers from long past. Either one would willingly lay down his life for the other.” She took a long swig of the tea. “Oh, that feels good.”

“How old are you and your cousin?” I asked. If they had been alive and in combat when my village had been raided, it had to be nearly thirty years…and they had been adults at that point.

Fenling hesitated, then said, “I’m younger by about ten years. Bran wears two hundred turns of the sun under his belt. I have almost that many. His brother is about twenty years older than him.”

I blinked. So, Bran was two hundred years old. While I hadn’t expected that answer, somehow, it didn’t come as a surprise to me. The Wolf People were known to be long-lived.

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