Kushiel's Avatar - Jacqueline Carey [248]
Joscelin had learned enough Jeb'ez for that.
It took them by surprise when he bowed, his crossed vambraces flashing in the verdant light. It took them harder when he straightened with daggers in his hands, throwing both in quick succession.
He missed with the left. Not the right, which killed the leader.
Arrows filled the air. I flung myself down on top of Imri scarce in time, feeling a line like a red-hot poker scored across my back. Pain, unexpected, blossomed in me like an old acquaintance come to visit, the scent of crushed ferns filling my nose. Imriel made a muffled sound of protest and I moved cautiously off him, turning my head to see the mêlée.
It wasn't pretty. If the Shamsun had been farther away, they'd have held their advantage, but after the first rain of arrows, it had gone to hand-to-hand combat. Bizan had the shaft of an arrow standing out from his thigh, but he fought undeterred, hobbling fiercely and swinging his sword. One of the bearers had managed to free Tifari's camelopard shield from the baggage, and I got a glimpse, then, of the full skill of Jebean soldiery.
And Joscelin . . . Joscelin had blood pouring in a stream down the right side of his head. For all that, he fought as calmly as if he were at his exercises, wielding his two-handed sword with careful grace. Not like he had before, no. But he was right. He could still do it.
The Shamsun had come prepared for a hunt, not a battle. It was over in minutes. The last one, who tried to flee, Tifari Amu slew with one of his own javelins, picking his mark through the trees and heaving a mighty cast. The man fell, pierced from behind.
"He would have gone for his tribe," Tifari said to my shocked expression, lowering his shield to wipe his brow with his forearm. "And then we would have blood-debt to settle."
To that, I could make no reply. We were alive.
I went instead to see to Joscelin, who winced when I touched him. An arrow had nicked his ear, taking a chunk of flesh from its upper curve. Since it was not a dangerous wound, I washed it and applied a tincture of snakeroot, giving him a clean rag to press against it until the bleeding stopped.
"Well?" he asked.
"It won't show if you wear your hair unbraided," I said. "I always did like it loose."
He laughed, then stopped as I turned to tie up the water-skin. "You're hurt."
"Some." I peered over my shoulder, shrugging at the gouge. "A scratch, no more. I need to see to Bizan."
Over his protest, I went to supervise the extraction of the arrow, which was not so bad as it might have been. The Shamsun were poor. Their arrows were beautifully fletched — how not, with the birdlife that abounded? — but they were only fire-hardened wood, sharpened to a point. If it had been forged steel and barbed, we'd have had to cut it out. As it was, I had Nkuku withdraw it in one swift yank, and clapped a wad of clean cloth in place lest it had pierced an artery. Bizan was lucky, for it had not. I cleaned and dressed it.
"Phèdre." Joscelin had Imriel in tow. He took the jar of snakeroot from my hand. "Sit down," he said, shoving me forcibly onto a rock. "Imri, you're deft. See it cleaned, and put some of this on it."
"A lot you know about medicine — " I began.
"Oh, hush." Joscelin handed a damp rag to Imriel, who moved behind me and dabbed carefully at the graze through my rent gown. "Do you want it to fester?”
"I heal clean," I said, then drew in my breath as Imriel applied the snakeroot. Kaneka had said it was effective; she hadn't mentioned it stung like seven hells. For an instant, my vision was veiled in crimson, and the surge of the Great Falls was like brazen wings buffeting in my ear. "Ah."
When I blinked, the world cleared. Joscelin's expression had changed. "So," he said softly. "That, too, is unchanged."
"Yes." I held his gaze. "So it seems. Are you sorry, now?"
After a moment, he shook his head. "No," he said, stooping to brush my lips with his. "I'll