No rain. But a violet sheet of lightning flashed in the sky.
A few of the Galla warriors checked the horizon for a storm while Kern struggled beneath the boot. Found none. Then, despite Kern’s muffled protests, the knife-wielder reached down to slice a pair of shallow cuts crosswise over the poisoned wound.
Someone handed him a small, leather flask, which he unstoppered and swigged from, swishing the liquid around in his mouth before spitting it onto Daol’s back. It smelled of soured alcohol, like wine that had gone bad. Bending down to Daol’s back, that man bit into the shallow cuts and sucked hard against the wounds. Drawing blood and drink out of Daol, then spitting it to the side. Again, he did this. And again. When he needed it, he poured another swig straight onto the wound, and continued.
Leaching out the poison. Kern hadn’t thought that possible. Not for such a large creature. He saw it now, though, in the systematic way the Galla attacked the wound. Trying to draw as much venom as he could before it killed Daol. Kern waited, so intent on what was happening, he didn’t notice for a moment that all attention was on his friend, and even the man who had stepped on him to keep him out of the way had let him be, watching silently as his clansman worked on the prisoner. As two other men began to rig a travois, building the litter out of the same ropes they had used to leash Daol and a pair of long, stout poles.
No one paying Kern any mind.
He’d already loosened his bindings. Now, able to concentrate a moment, without the hectic march to distract him, Kern felt out the slack. Not enough. He strained and twisted, but couldn’t break the strong spider silk and had not the room to slip a loop over his large hands. With a knife, or any kind of burning ember, he might have a chance. He strained again, feeling the cord cut into his wrists, and let his anger fuel his muscle as if all the rage in the world could give him enough strength to—
The rope slackened.
The knot had slipped open, or perhaps the thin cords were not quite as strong as Kern had feared. Either way, he felt the bindings fall loose. Working his hands free, he kept them hidden behind his back. When he felt certain no one would notice, he reached up and slipped the first noose from around his neck. Then the second.
It would have been the work of an instant to roll back to his feet, turn, and flee. He might make it. He would make it. Avoid the first few spears and gain the scrub forest of stunted pine he could see back along the way they’d come. There, turn upslope. Keep running, saving nothing back, and lose his pursuers in the higher elevations, in the cold of the snow and ice, where he knew he could outlast them. Winter in his bones. Anger to keep him warm.
Higher up, he could turn predator to their prey, and when he had the opening, then escape and rush to find the others. Bring them back after Daol. Ransom or not, he’d have his freedom, and he’d have his friend back.
It was a chance. Mayhap their best chance.
No one had seen Kern slip his bonds. Or no one cared. He thought about making them care. Careful and quiet, steal a weapon, then put down the nearest few before making a good start down the slope.
If he could have left Daol behind.
As two men picked up his friend, laid him carefully on the makeshift litter, Kern rolled up easily onto all fours, leveraging himself on fingertips and the balls of his feet. Strength rushed back to his arms, now that he could stretch and move them again. Which was good. He was likely to need every last ounce as he stepped up and one of the Galla noticed that their second prisoner had freed himself.
But Kern simply stepped between two poles at one end of the litter, reached down, and grabbed them in strong, rawboned hands. He didn’t look about, didn’t worry for what the Galla might do. They would try to put him back in restraints, or not. Someone would help him carry the weight of his friend, or not. He stood ready to bear his share of the load, or turn and grapple with them until dead. Their choice.
No one moved, and Kern simply waited. Not wanting to provoke them, guarding the rage he felt certain was kindled in his golden eyes, he stared off to one side. Kept an eye on that scraggly forest of alpine evergreen, the snow that nestled beneath their branches, and the sudden glimpse of silver-gray fur that flashed between two of the trees.
Another man stepped up to the litter’s side and helped him lift Daol.
Kern lifted easily. Between their shouldering the man’s weight, he figured they’d be good for another two leagues before dark. The rest arranged themselves around in a loose circle, but Kern ignored their caution. He wasn’t making his break for it. Not yet.
He didn’t even look back save the once, just as they worked themselves up another slope and started into a thin stand of silver-barked alder. He did it as he swung the end of Daol’s litter above a large rock, angling his body so the glance would not seem too suspicious. And he worked to keep himself from a satisfied nod.