Blade of Erogrund

Chapter 25- Word from the West

Almost before Godric could stand, the man fell to his knees, his cloak pooling in the glowing scarlet firelight like the blood that no doubt was dripping to join it.

"Help!" Gordric cried, his voice no doubt higher in the tension of fear than he would have liked. "Matthias, Hilthwen, help! Someones here; he's hurt!"

Before even a second had passed the rustling of leaves betrayed Matthias rising hastily and Hilthwen too.

"Get back," the other boy commanded. Godric could just make out his narrowed eyes which glowed just less than the dull flash of his the head of his spear. The graveness of Matthias's voice sent thoughts spinning through his head. Was this a ploy by Theronin? Was this man just a bandit hurt in some scuffle? Or worse, was he a bandit just looking to catch them off guard?

The same ideas must have been tracing through Matthias and Hilthwen's minds as they surveyed the scene suspiciously. Hilthwen had drawn one of her knives and was inching closer to the fallen man. The way her entire frame was drawn back like a feline preparing to pounce told him she was more than ready for any sudden surprises.

"I said get back," Matthias repeated sharply. Shaking away these observations, Godric complied, painstakingly placing one foot behind the other. "For Ecthion's sake, he isn't a bloody timber wolf," the boy barked. Godric felt a hard grip on his shoulder, pulling him back with a jerk, but he bit his tongue.

Hilthwen was hunched over the man and had two fingers just below his wrist. "Wait, Matthias, I think he's really hurt. His pulse is weak." The boy hesitated. "C'mon! Help me!"

Matthias set his spear aside and moved to kneel beside her. "What's wrong with him? Can you tell?"

"He was mauled," Godric interrupted from by the fire. "There were scratches on his chest."

Hilthwen glanced up. "Good eye. He's been attacked alright. Let's get him over on his back." Matthias helped her roll the man over onto his haggard cloak, cracking the black-red blood crusted around his shirt.

Three long gashes ran from his left shoulder down his side, the first from his arm to his waist and the others along his chest. Skin had been shredded around the wounds and blood had spilled from them onto his tunic. Evidently it had been there for quite some time as it was a scabbed black crimson.

"This is bad," Hilthwen murmured. "Matthias, get a knife heating in the fire. Godric, grab some water from our bags, we need to clean out these wounds if he's going to have a chance to live."

Matthias drew a long hunting dagger from his belt and stuck it in the coals of the fire. He knelt down on the grass, blowing carefully on the embers until tongues of fire licked the steel.

It only took a second for Godric to find a canteen in the saddle bags. Hilthwen accepted it gratefully. With a pop, she pulled out the cork and poured a generous amount of water onto the man's chest. The clear liquid cut its way through much of the grime, tracing with it much of the blood that crusted on his chest. Unfortunately it only revealed the gore of the wound even more.

"Matthias, where's the knife?"

"One second," he said from the fire. Once the blade had flickered and the edge just begun to glow with its own heat, he made his way to where they knelt and handed it handle-first to the girl.

Hilthwen arranged the blade nearly horizontal to the fallen man's tunic and slide it carefully along the cloth. A soft hiss escaped his chest as mist from the water and blood rose with the heat of the metal. Before long she had cut away most of the cloth that was clinging to him and washed away much of the blood, but the sight beneath was little consolation.