Rob Scott - Lessek_s Key

When Garec woke it was nearly dark and he was sweating. It had been cold that morning, when he and Mark set out to load the horses; he remembered the wind swirling clouds of snow about the grounds and the wintry bite of the air. It wasn’t much warmer here. From the slate-grey colour of his surroundings, he guessed he and Mark were under cover of a Malakasian Army tent.

The woman had treated him with querlis; that’s why he was sweating, and why he had slept the day away. He lifted his head from the damp blankets, enough to see that he and Mark were on cots in an eight-person tent, similar to those Gilmour had pointed out from the ridge south of the border. It was a big square, easily as large as the front room in Garec’s parents’ house, but he and Mark were its only occupants. Near the back was a table piled with bags and bits and pieces, and a tripod brazier, which was currently unused.

Garec tried to assess the damage to his hip and lower leg. He felt relatively little pain, other than a dull throb pulsing in his side. Mostly, he felt numb. That’s the querlis, he thought. When it wears off you’re going to feel like someone has been shooting arrows into your backside. He was glad to have been unconscious when the soldiers removed the arrows. Although he had requested field surgery, Garec did not fool himself into thinking that he had been treated more gently than Mark. Tavern surgery, he thought. Remind me never to go to that tavern.

A strong breeze caused the tent flaps to flutter noisily. Outside, the snow looked less deep; maybe they’d been carried downhill from Sandcliff. Garec heard Mark stir from the other side of the shelter and whispered urgently, ‘Mark, wake up.’

Mark moaned and rolled onto his side, still asleep.

Garec listened for sounds of the soldiers outside. He thought he could make out two or three voices, but they were muffled by distance and wind; even straining, he was unable to eavesdrop on the conversation. ‘Mark,’ he said sharply, ‘Mark, wake up.’

Mark shifted again and opened his eyes. ‘Garec?’ He tried to lift his head, but was overcome by dizziness and fell back into the blankets.

‘I’m over here.’

‘Where are we?’

‘In a Malakasian tent; they were a border patrol. How’s your leg?’ Garec pushed himself up on his elbow.

‘I feel like I’ve been shot.’

Garec laughed and a blast of pain ran through his hip. ‘Me too.’

Without opening his eyes, Mark said, ‘Lovely place, this Gorsk. Remind me to look into the local timeshares; maybe we can go in on one together.’

Garec asked, ‘Can you walk?’

‘Walk?’ Mark was incredulous, ‘Garec, I don’t even know if I can sit up.’

‘That’s the querlis – it’s powerful, but you’ll heal very quickly. It does make you drowsy.’

‘Drowsy?’ Mark laughed again, a happy drunk. ‘I feel like I’ve been hit over the left-field wall. Sorry, it’s a baseball reference. You wouldn’t know.’

‘We’d say you’ve played the ball in a chainball tournament, about the same thing, I guess,’ Garec said. ‘Versen used to say that every time he drank Ronan wine.’

Mark forced himself to sit up. ‘So how do we get out of here?’

‘I don’t know,’ Garec answered. ‘There’s less snow here, so I guess we have to assume they brought us down the valley. It looks like it’s getting dark outside, but I don’t know how long we slept.’

‘So we don’t know how far we’ve travelled, and we won’t be moving very quickly with these injuries. If we can get to high ground, I’m sure we’ll be able to see enough to find Sandcliff, or at least the village below it.’

‘Can you climb?’

‘No,’ Mark was honest, ‘probably not, but together, we have two good legs. We might be able to drag ourselves up high enough to get our bearings.’

‘That’s not much of a plan.’

‘No. Where are our weapons?’

Garec looked around. ‘Not in here, as far as I can see.’

‘How about our cloaks?’

‘Mine’s here.’ Garec peered through the gathering darkness. ‘That might be your coat, bunched up beneath the foot of your cot.’

‘All right, so assuming, they don’t come in here and beat us to death, or torture us to give information we don’t have, we might be able to get past a guard late tonight.’

‘I doubt it,’ Garec said. ‘If they don’t beat us or tie us up, they’ll have that woman-’

‘Raskin, he called her; did you see the way she pulled that arrow out of my knee? I’m going to need surgery.’

‘Field surgery?’

‘Real goddamned Rose-Medical-Center-in-Denver surgery!’

‘She’ll treat us again.’

‘What, with that queer stuff?’

‘Querlis, yes.’

‘Great,’ Mark sighed, ‘another beating with the pharmaceutical cudgel. We’ll never get out of here if she keeps us doped up on that.’

‘But it’s good for our injuries, the best thing we have in Eldarn,’ Garec insisted.

‘Can we get some in a village somewhere?’

‘It’s difficult to find, but any significant town will have querlis. Traver’s Notch has healers.’

‘Then I’m skipping my next dose,’ Mark said, shifting enough to get his feet onto the ground. He rested his face in his hands.

‘You’re not ready to travel, Mark.’

‘You’re right,’ he said, ‘but I will be if we can get clear of this camp. Have you been able to see outside?’

‘Just that it’s not as snowy.’

‘Let’s do that first.’ He braced himself on the cot and pushed up with his arms, trying to stand, but as he did so, the tent flaps opened and the woman came in. Mark allowed himself to fall back into the blankets. ‘Ah, Dr Mengele, lovely to see you,’ he said.

‘What are you doing up? You shouldn’t be putting weight on that leg.’ She moved to his bedside. ‘Here, let me see it.’

‘No way!’ Mark spat and swung for her, tumbling her into the wooden table at the back of the tent. The table collapsed over her, spilling packs, supplies, food and what looked like medical implements. Rolling to her feet, Raskin advanced with her own fists clenched. She stopped when she saw the tent flaps open.

‘Now that wasn’t very polite,’ said the sergeant, who had followed her in. He crossed quickly to Mark’s cot.

‘I don’t want her touching me again,’ Mark said angrily.

‘No, son, you don’t want me touching you.’ He slammed a fist down on Mark’s injured knee and Mark screamed, curled into a ball and rolled from his cot.

The sergeant stooped to help Mark back into bed. ‘I hated to do that, son, but I can’t have you striking my soldiers. Raskin is the best healer we have in the northern corps, and you’re lucky to have her looking after you.’ He covered Mark with a wool blanket, careful to tuck the edges beneath the young man’s writhing frame. Now, get control of yourself, because we have to talk.’

‘Leave him alone,’ Garec threatened from his cot.

‘Or you’ll do what? Shoot me with that fancy bow of yours?’ The sergeant turned to Garec. ‘I noticed you didn’t fire one shot this morning, not one. And that after we stuck two arrows in you. Then you throw out one of the nicest rosewood bows I have ever seen. So I figure you’re either a coward or a rich coward. Either way, you shut yourself up until I tell you to speak. I’m not interested in getting involved in a lot of bureaucratic nonsense. If you’re border runners, you’ll go to the lock-up and await your hanging. I don’t read, myself, but books are books; I don’t begrudge a man the chance to make a bit of silver. I don’t like fennaroot runners, and you two claim to be root runners as well as rare book dealers. But you’ve got no root on you, you’ve got no books on you, so what am I to do with you?