‘Yes. I see that. Shall I help?’
‘I’m not giving you my blade.’
‘No. Of course not.’ The woman’s hand slid away, and then she stepped round, placing herself between Threadbare and the dying beast. Lowering herself into a crouch, she rested a hand upon the horse’s neck. For a moment, it seemed as if the animal lost all colour, until even its sorrel coat looked grey, and then the illusion was gone. And, Threadbare now saw, the horse no longer drew breath, and its eyes were closed.
‘How did you do that?’
The stranger straightened. ‘I learned much regarding mercy,’ she said, now smiling, ‘from a Warden friend. Did my act please you?’
‘Does it matter? It’s done. I was riding east.’
‘Yes.’
‘I need to deliver a message.’
‘But now your message will be too late. Besides, you are injured, and a storm is coming, which will add to your suffering.’
Threadbare stepped back. ‘If you would end mine as you did the horse’s, then I’d rather you didn’t.’
The woman tilted her head. ‘If the horse could speak, would it have said the same?’
‘It was dying.’
‘So are you.’
‘Not if I can find shelter, here in these hills. Somewhere to wait out the worst of the storm.’
‘I am making use of a cave,’ the woman said. ‘It is not far. Will you join me?’
‘I don’t see much choice. Yes. But first, can you help
me remove my kit from the saddle?’
Together, they collected Threadbare’s gear. The horse still steamed with heat, and once, when Threadbare inadvertently brushed the beast’s flank, she saw again, in a momentary flash, a hide made colourless. Snatching her hand back, she blinked. ‘Did you see—’
‘See what?’
‘Nothing. Would you be so kind as to carry this?’
The woman collected the bedroll.
‘Lead on,’ Threadbare said.
Smiling again, the woman set out, up the steep hillside. Stepping carefully, hunched protectively around her injuries, Threadbare followed. ‘You’ve not told me your name,’ she said.
‘Nor have you told me yours.’
‘Sergeant Threadbare. You mentioned a friend. A Warden. I know – knew – many of them. Who was this friend of yours?’
They skirted the summit and edged down into a defile. ‘Her name was Faror Hend.’
Threadbare said nothing for a few strides, and then she sighed. ‘It may be that she is dead.’
‘No. She lives.’
‘You’ve seen her, then? Since the battle?’
‘She lives.’