The air remained biting cold, just on that edge where a bowl of water left out would develop a thick skin of ice by morning, as Miss Adri and I made ready to cross the Fords and make our way through the wooded gorges for the Last Bridge. The sun was bright and unobscured by clouds, so we had no trolls to divert us from the road.
Before the sun was above us, though, as we made our way through one of the narrows where the path threaded between stony slopes, both Miss Adri and I came to a sudden halt at the same moment, as we both sensed movement on the high bluffs around us. At least a half dozen wolves prowled on the slopes above us on either side. These were dark-furred, grey like soot cleared out of the bottom of a fireplace in spring, and rife with the signs of their struggles -- missing patches of fur, notches in ears, uneven movement telling tales of old injuries. They were lean enough to be hungry and desperate, just as quick to eat man as horse or goat, but not so lean as to be too frail to fight.
I already had an arrow nocked and sighted, and Adriellyn had her sword out, when a larger wolf, his fur a more silvered grey, came down from the hills placed himself in the road before Miss Adri. At the same time, another wolf with a tawny hint to her coat, smaller than the male but still larger than those to the sides, cut off any retreat behind me. I recalled my brother Leoffweard telling me how, contrary to what many people think, wolf-packs have two leaders, the strongest male and female, who hunt together. The male is usually the stronger, and thus had chosen Adriellyn to face, as she was the doughtier of us, while the female squared off against me.
Holding my breath I waited for Adriellyn's sign, while the wolves on the slopes above us held back as well. Then the male raised his head in a howl, and the others joined, a sound that sent more chill through us than did the winter itself.
The battle was a blur. I am sure I put several arrows into the female, but I don't know if they were enough to put her down. I couldn't see Adriellyn fighting behind me, but heard many thumps of contact and yelps of pain. The wolves on the slopes beside us, two on each side, didn't rush in at first, but I saw a pair scrabbling down the slope after the female stopped coming at me, and at least one of them died with an arrow in its throat before its paws found the path. The other hit me square in the chest and carried me off Kestrel to collide into the rocky soil, causing more dirt to come loose and tumble over both of us. My bow was cast to one side. I could see Kestrel trampling another as I struggled to work free of the wolf, get my wind back, and draw my sword. The sky seemed to be growing dark and for a fleeting moment I worried that trolls might join the fight if it got too dim. I thought to try to warn Miss Adri, but I could barely see her through the gloom settling over me, and what little I could see was a whirling storm of battle-fury, or so I imagined it. I felt my sword sink into wolf-flesh, and the sudden flushing warmth of blood covering my chest; but wasn't sure if I'd thrust the blade, or just happened to catch a lunge. Either way, I was crushed once more into the bluff, and the darkness closed over me.
"Y' gotta wake up," I dimly heard Miss Adri saying, "Y's too big f' me to get y' up onto y's 'orse." I felt like a bruise everywhere, but I shook my head -- not a good idea as the world was still full of clangorous bells -- and struggled to pull myself to my feet. I was slumped against the side of the path, covered in dirt and an alarming amount of blood. It would turn out none of it was mine; while I'd been pummeled quite hard several times, I had managed to avoid being bitten. I tottered a bit on my feet. "Can y' get into the saddle? We gotta leave, this blood'll draw more." I nodded, my eyes clearing slowly.
Kestrel came up to me; the fine burgundy blanket of wool that Miss Sareva had made for him was torn and tattered, but he seemed none the worse for wear otherwise. I would have to check him carefully, but for now, I pulled myself into the saddle. Perhaps my fighting hadn't impressed Adriellyn much, but she seemed surprised that, battered as I was, I had no trouble mounting. "old up," she said, and scooped up my bow from where it had fallen to hand to me. I realized I still held my sword, tucked it away, and took the bow.
The scent of blood and wolves was enough to inspire Rascal to a gallop, or whatever one calls the fastest gait of a goat, that pushed Kestrel into a canter to match him. Through the ringing in my ears I heard, or imagined I heard, wolf-howls behind us, fading into the distance, as the trees rushed past us. I'm not sure how long we rode before Adriellyn called a halt in a sheltered spot.
Dismounting proved more agonizing than climbing into the saddle had been, as the aches through my entire body caught up with me. The bleeding of a bite is more obviously life-threatening, but being crushed repeatedly between a wolf that masses half as much as I do, and a wall of packed soil, is just as painful and can be just as dangerous. Miss Adri concluded, though, that other than bruises that would take weeks to purple and fade into yellow, I was in no danger. "Y' done a'igh' there," she told me. "And Kestrel too." I knew that she'd probably done more of the fighting than Kestrel and I put together, twice over, but I dimly nodded anyway. "We'll be fine ere a bit, but wash off the blood, it'll draw more."
This proved its own challenge, as I had only one change of clothes, my fine tunic, which wasn't enough for the weather. But I couldn't wear the furs wet, so after a numbing dip in the icy river, I had to make do with the tunic and cloak. Miss Adri had brought more clothes, wisely, and also had taken no injuries of her own, she reassured me. "Luck," she said by way of explanation, though I was sure skill had more to do with it. She offered me a few branches from a willow that hung over the river to chew on, which helped ease my aches.
Once the blood had been dealt with, I turned my attention to Kestrel and Rascal. Kestrel had suffered a small bite on the left gaskin, which would need to be cleaned and watched carefully, but was otherwise unhurt and, as always, entirely unruffled. Rascal had kept out of the fight, of course, but he needed quite a bit of calming to settle down. A thorough currying helped, along with all the whispered reassurances I could offer him.
Even with the willow-bark, I was so stiff and full of aches that every movement was a new memory of torment. I thought I might have trouble sleeping due to the soreness, but I was weary enough to sink into a deep slumber almost immediately.
