The Outcast (Summoner #4)(66)
As he approached the tree, Arcturus saw a man better dressed than the rest among the bodies. The leader of the group, Arcturus thought. He crouched beside the body, examining it.
The man was of a solid build, with a bushy beard that obscured the bloody throat wound that had taken his life. He wore a black cloak of fine wool that fell to his knees, complete with a deep hood to keep the wearer warm—a guardsman’s cloak by Arcturus’s guess, proofed against the rain and wind. Arcturus pulled it from the corpse’s shoulders and threw it around his own. Instantly, he warmed, and it was a blessed relief from the cool wind that chilled his flesh.
“We’re leaving soon,” Rotter called. “Grab what you can and get away from there.”
Arcturus looked up to see the soldier tugging on a bloodied black cassock from a body on the border of the grasslands. Beside him, Alice and Elaine had found dark overcoats of their own, and were in the process of constructing a hasty stretcher from scavenged clothing and two spear hafts.
Arcturus turned back to the bodies, searching for a new weapon. His dirk was sharp, but short and useless for parrying. He needed something with more stopping power.
“Now, Arcturus,” Rotter called again.
There were no swords among the rebels’ weapons—the orcs had looted the best of them. Most seemed to be farming implements or kitchen utensils—scythes, billhooks, skewers and knives. In fact, there was not one true weapon among them—even the leader appeared to be armed with little more than a makeshift spear, similar to the one they had picked up earlier.
Arcturus sighed and moved to pick up the spear … only to see a wooden handle sticking out beneath one of the orc bodies. Curious, Arcturus tugged at it, struggling as the other end was pried loose from the orc’s flesh. It came free in a spatter of blood, and Arcturus grinned as he held it up to the light.
It was an axe of some kind, perhaps once used as a felling axe. The handle was made from a dark, solid wood, with a leather grip wrapped around the bottom. The head itself was a gleaming single-edged blade, perfect for splitting logs … or an orc’s rib cage, as the case may be.
Arcturus hefted it to feel the weight, letting it rest on his shoulder. It felt familiar, and so it should—he had known axes for as long as he could remember. Splitting firewood for the tavern’s hearth had been one of his most onerous chores, along with his stable boy duties. It had given him a wiry strength to his arms, and he reckoned he could wield this one as well as any warrior.
He removed his quiver and slid the axe handle through a leather loop on the back. It fitted well beside where the crossbow slotted in, and though the wooden butt occasionally knocked against his lower spine as he walked, it seemed as good a place for it as any.
Smiling, Arcturus hurried back to the others, where they were busy lifting Edmund onto the stretcher. Arcturus’s weapon choice earned him an approving nod from Rotter.
Arcturus looked down into Edmund’s face. The boy looked almost peaceful, and someone had covered his body with a blood-stained fur coat.
“Bad business, this,” Rotter said, looking down at the unconscious noble. “He’ll slow us down, sure enough. We may be at Hominum’s border, but orc raiders roam far and wide here.”
“Not to mention there might be other rebels around,” Arcturus said. “We can’t be certain that this lot were the ones chasing us.”
“Do you think Prince Harold made it?” Elaine piped up. “If these rebels were the ones chasing them, then they might be ahead of us.”
“Let’s hope so,” Arcturus said, giving her shoulder a squeeze.
“I think my arm is fractured. Are you able to help carry him, Arcturus?” Alice asked, wiping at the blood on her face. “Perhaps the demons can pull him along, like a sled.”
“I’ve got no broken bones, but those two do,” Arcturus said, looking at where Gelert and Sacharissa were curled up together. “I think they’d struggle to keep up with us, let alone pull a sled.”
Both demons had almost definitely suffered broken ribs, and he could feel a constant dull ache of pain in his consciousness. He had only dared to heal Sacharissa’s back leg, performing his first healing spell moments after the battle.
“Bugger it, grab that end,” Rotter said, picking up the front of the stretcher and turning around. “If we were going to drag him we’d have built a sled, not a stretcher. Careful with the spear points.”
Arcturus did as he was bid, wincing slightly under the weight.
“Elaine,” he called, half turning his head to catch a glimpse of the younger girl, who had armed herself with a spear. “Thank you for saving us. We’d all be dead if it wasn’t for you.”
“Anytime,” Elaine said, and Arcturus couldn’t help but mirror the grin that spread across her face.
Then they walked on, into the rolling hillocks. Back to civilization.
CHAPTER
37
THERE WAS A BITING chill to the air as they trekked across the open countryside. It was a strange world, so close to the jungle’s edge yet immeasurably different from the tropics it bordered. What had once been a land populated by orchards, farms and homesteads had long been abandoned, leaving dense hedgerows, copses of fruit trees and ruined cottages.
They searched each ruin they came across, only to find little of use, the insides already looted by orc and bandit alike. Their only real find was a cart, the wheels loose and rusty, but still serviceable, giving Edmund a bumpier ride but providing a welcome relief for Arcturus’s and Rotter’s blistered hands as they travailed the overgrown cobblestone roads that crisscrossed toward the horizon. Soon Reynard was hitched to its front and the Vulpid pulled it faster than any cart horse would.