The Blood Forest (Tree of Ages #3)(53)
The unicorn turned its head forward and started walking again without further prodding.
“Can you understand me?” Finn gasped.
The unicorn did not reply, and simply kept walking, so Finn passed off its obedience as a coincidence. Her injured arm was throbbing and she didn’t know whether her friends were living or dead. It didn’t matter whether or not a unicorn could understand her.
The unicorn carried her onward as the sun slowly made its progress across the clear sky. She allowed the creature full rein, hoping it would not lead her back to Oighear, while secretly wishing it would, if only to make sure her friends were not recaptured.
Eventually Finn sorted through the satchels secured on either side of the bedroll to find several day’s worth of food, a fire striker, two full waterskins, and a dagger. When she pulled out her first portion of food, a crumbly bannock wrapped in thin cloth, a small coin purse was revealed. Stuffing the bannock greedily into her mouth, she withdrew the purse to examine it. Inside were several coins, and a small blue stone. She held the stone up to the waning sunlight, marveling at its clarity, then quickly stuffed it back in the purse just as the unicorn halted.
She glanced around through the trees. In the distance was a yellow meadow, just visible through the needles bedecking the heavy boughs. She turned her gaze back to the unicorn. “Are we done traveling for the day then?”
The unicorn did not reply.
With a heavy sigh, Finn climbed down from the saddle, then nearly lost her footing on the damp soil below. Her legs felt like the bones within had turned to mush, and could not properly support her. She hobbled to a nearby tree and leaned against it.
To her surprise, the unicorn followed her, then gently nuzzled against her chest. Its horn hovered perilously close to her face, but she somehow trusted the creature not to harm her. She lifted her uninjured arm to stroke its cheek, once again taking comfort in the unicorns’s presence.
“What do you say we build a fire so we don’t freeze?” Finn asked.
The unicorn simply stared at her, then turned so she could reach the satchels on its rump.
“Can you understand me?” she asked as she searched the satchel for the fire striker.
The unicorn did not reply, and instead began inspecting the sparse tufts of grass covering the ground. Feeling sorry for the creature, she removed its saddle and bridle, though as she let the heavy saddle drop to the ground, she realized she’d have a hard time getting it back on. Her wound had rendered her right arm nearly useless.
With a weak body and heavy soul, she removed the satchels and bedroll from the saddle, then set to gathering wood for a fire. She knew if she were traveling with Iseult, he would not allow the comfort for fear they might draw attention, but Iseult was not there, and part of her wanted to draw attention. Perhaps her friends were wandering the same woods as she, and her fire would lure them in.
It took her longer than she would ever admit to any of her human companions to coax a flame from the dried grass and branches she’d gathered. Once the flames no longer needed her gentle fanning to feed them, she slumped back in relief. Her entire upper arm felt like it had been bashed with a rock, letting her know the wound was deep, and needed proper care.
The unicorn continued to occupy itself as she moved her clothing aside to reveal the hastily bandaged wound. She unwound its covering and groaned as the fabric tugged at her sticky blood. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she retrieved one of the water skins and splashed cool liquid against the injury.
Its attention caught by her hisses and groans, the unicorn ambled over to where she sat. Its breath fogged near her face as it lowered its muzzle to examine her. It took a few steps behind her, then lowered to the ground.
Feeling unbearably weary, Finn unfurled her bedroll and covered herself, then leaned back against the unicorn’s soft belly. She instantly began to doze off. As she rested, she thought she could hear soft whispers around her. Her subconscious convinced her that the whispers were part of her fervent dreams, and she slipped into oblivion, sandwiched between the warmth of the unicorn and the fire.
Anders couldn’t breathe. He was sure his lungs would pop at any moment. He thrust his arm upward, flailing for the next handhold. His palm scraped against rough basalt, setting his already raw skin on fire. With a final burst of effort, he pulled himself upward. He rolled across the edge to fully plant his body on top of the cliff face.
He stared upward as a flock of sparrows flew across the cheery blue sky, then a white, bald head hovered into his vision.
“It’s about time,” Niklas teased, not out of breath, nor scraped nor bruised in the slightest.
Anders coughed, bumping the back of his head against the rocky earth, his lungs still burning from the long climb. “How did you get up here so quickly?” he rasped.
Niklas shrugged, his shapeless robes minimizing the gesture. “My people are well suited to traveling great distances.”
Anders huffed, then forced himself to a seated position. Standing would have to wait a few moments more.
“Are we at least almost there?” he groaned.
“Take a look behind you, my lad.”
Though Anders didn’t appreciate the condescending tone Niklas added to the word lad, he craned his neck to look over his shoulder. In the distance behind him was a massive castle, or perhaps the better term was fortress. This was not the fancy home of a lord or lady in the Gray City, this was the dwelling of someone expecting war at any moment. The high walls were topped with ballistas and massive metal pots ready to be filled with hot oil. Anders squinted, trying to make out the men positioned every ten paces, but he could not see if they wore uniforms, nor could he see any banners flying above the spires.