Lord of Raven's Peak - Catherine Coulter [13]
Merrik made his way back to the stern and sat next to Old Firren, whose hand never left the rudder. He looked down at the boy huddled at his feet, wrapped in a thick wool blanket, then nodded toward Cleve, who had just taken his place at the oars. He sat on a wooden bench near Old Firren, who said naught, merely let his hands guide the longboat, his rheumy eyes taking in their current speed, the shadowing of the dark clouds overhead, the set of the few visible stars, the landmarks on the stern side of the longboat. Merrik would kill for Old Firren, not really all that old, but at least forty, an age to be respected. He had no family, but was wont to say that Merrik would do if he needed a son in a hurry.
The boy groaned, then tried to fling himself over onto his back. Merrik gently held the thin arm, keeping him on his stomach. Taby, his little brother, was crouched next to him, saying nothing, merely stroking his small dirty hand over his brother’s shoulder.
“He will be all right, Taby, I promise you. He’s just very weak from hunger and from a lot of exertion. We’ll row to shore in a few hours and camp until dawn. I’ll see that he’s fed then and that he continues to rest until he gets his strength back. You too, lad.”
“It’s very dark,” Taby said. He raised dark blue eyes to Merrik’s face and once again, Merrik felt that twisting and burning deep inside him. “I’m afraid of the dark.”
“No need to be afraid now,” Merrik said, feeling that damnable pain in his gut at the child’s words. He forced himself not to reach out to the little boy and bring him against his chest. No, it would frighten the child, but he wanted to hold him, very much, and Merrik didn’t understand it. He said only, “I’ll keep the dark at bay. It’s important that we put a goodly distance between us and Kiev before we stop. You’re safe now. So is your brother. Trust me.”
The child nodded, very slowly, and Merrik doubted that he believed his words. He doubted he would believe them himself if he were Taby. He stared at the small dirty hand on his brother’s shoulder.
Now he had three slaves and hadn’t paid a gram of silver for two of them. He hadn’t gotten his mother a female slave, but no matter.
Slaves.
He looked from Taby to his brother to the man, Cleve, with his magnificent golden hair and his scarred face, who was rowing clumsily, obviously unused to the task. He was young, not more than twenty, Merrik thought, but he was strong, just untrained in fighting.
What was he going to do with the three of them?
The boy accepted the water skin from Merrik and drank deeply. Then he began to shake uncontrollably, and he dropped the water skin. Merrik reached out his hand to the boy’s forehead. He was hot to the touch. He had the fever. Merrik frowned. Because he was hungry? Because he’d kicked Merrik in the groin and belly and bitten Oleg’s hand to the bone? It made no sense. Merrik cursed, knowing he could do little, save soak the boy with cold water to bring the heat down. It seemed a strange thing to do since the heat was on the inside, but it sometimes worked. It was something his mother always did. He prayed the boy wasn’t sickening of something that could kill all of them.
“Taby,” he said quietly to get the child’s attention without frightening him. “Tear off a bit of the cover your brother has wrapped around him. Hand it to me so I can wet it in the river.”
The child did as he was told.
Merrik slipped his hands beneath the boy’s armpits and lifted him over his legs, saying, as he looked down into the vague pain-blurred eyes, “Don’t move. For some reason you have the fever. I must soak the heat out of you.”
The boy said nothing. Merrik could feel him trembling and shuddering and wondered at it. It was more than that, he knew, but he refused to let that fear, or whatever it was, into