On Fire's Wings - Christie Golden [39]
Kevla cradled the man’s head in her arms and did as she was told, watching anxiously as Maluuk and Asha cut away the rider’s torn, bloody rhia. Her eyes widened as she saw the injuries that had been inflicted upon the stranger: cuts as long as her arm, and one festering wound in the shoulder where a small length of broken arrow shaft still protruded.
“Tahmu,” gasped the man. His voice sounded as dry as the desert sands he had crossed. “Messages…we were attacked….”
“Kevla, go find Tahmu.” She nodded, placed the rider’s head down gently on the stone table, and sped out the door.
She raced down the little hill, searching frantically for her lord. If the shakaal had been blown, then it was likely that the household was already alerted. Jashemi, too, would have learned what had transpired. Even as she stumbled and nearly twisted her ankle, she saw two white shapes running out of the house toward her: Jashemi and his father.
She ran toward them, her legs pumping. “Rider!” she screamed as they caught sight of her. “He’s hurt! He says he was attacked! He’s at the healing hut, come quickly!”
In midstride she turned and raced back the way she had come. The men overtook her and by the time she had returned to the small hut, Tahmu was at the rider’s side. He clutched the stranger’s hand and bent his head close to the man’s mouth, straining to catch the faint words. Jashemi stood on the other side, his gaze darting from the injured man to his father.
Kevla was gasping for breath, her heart hammering so loudly that it was hard for her to hear anything over it.
“In the middle…night,” the rider said, “after the…celebration of Kur…no one attacks during Kur…” He coughed, and Kevla saw to her horror that there was bloody foam on his lips. “There were many dead when Father…me to you…message in my pack….”
He hissed as Maluuk bathed his injuries. Kevla could not take her eyes off the sight. She was no expert, but she could tell he was grievously wounded.
“Keep speaking,” Tahmu said.
“Father, he is badly hurt. Surely he needs rest and—”
Even though Tahmu’s look was not directed at her, Kevla shrank from it. Jashemi fell silent at once.
Maluuk and Asha were now slathering on a thick, pungent ointment. Tahmu gripped the man’s hand harder, pressed it to his chest.
“Keep speaking, Sammis,” he urged. “Everything you can tell us is precious.”
Sammis opened his mouth, but the words never came. His eyes suddenly became fixed and staring, and his body went limp. Tahmu sighed. He held the dead hand for a moment longer, then reached and gently shut the wide eyes.
“Sammis was a dead man before he arrived,” Tahmu said to Jashemi. “That is why I did not let him rest. No healer could have saved him, and I had hoped he would live long enough to tell me what had happened.”
“You knew him?” Kevla blurted. Everyone turned to stare and her and she blushed.
“Yes,” Tahmu said. “He was my nephew. Jashemi’s cousin.”
Kevla turned compassionate eyes on the boy. His face was impassive, though his eyes were shiny and his lower lip quivered slightly. Their gazes locked, and an unspoken message passed between them.
“Maluuk, prepare him for the pyre. Jashemi, find his mount and fetch the messages he said he carried.”
“Yes, Father.” Jashemi headed for the door. Impulsively, Kevla followed. They stood outside the door, hands raised to shield their eyes from the sun as they tried to see where Sammis’s mount had gone. Kevla realized she didn’t know if they should be looking for a horse or a sa’abah.
“You should not be seen with me,” hissed Jashemi, barely moving his lips.
The rebuke stung. She had thought…she had been foolish to think it.
“Two sets of eyes are better than one,” she replied stubbornly. “I am a servant assisting the khashimu.”
“Curse you, Kevla, it’s more than that,” Jashemi said, but did not elaborate. “There. It sought out the company of other sa’abahs.”
The exhausted beast, a female, had indeed tried to join the herd of the House of Four Waters. They