Knowing Blade

Chapter 6

He felt so damn groggy, and it was so dark. No, not dark in fact, because he could see — stars? Were those vague flashes really stars or something else?

Disoriented, Noras tried to take stock of his surroundings. It took much longer than he liked before he managed to figure out that he was in fact lying down, on his back, on some kind of a bed. But then why was it so dark, and why couldn't he even hear anything?

His arm didn't want to move. It was heavy and sluggish and shook badly, but he forced it to obey enough to grope around. Yes, it was a bed. There was a mattress and a coarse blanket pulled over him, and he tried to turn his head to find his bearings in this cursed darkness.

Pain sliced through his head, so sudden that he let out a groan. It didn't sound right. What the hell was wrong? Why was it so dark?

He reached upward and touched his jaw. It was covered in stubble, just like his cheek, and then there was — cloth. Bandages. Bandages that covered his ears, his eyes, and when he poked at them, it hurt.

Panic flared up and his fingers curled into the cloth, then something grabbed his wrists hard. He fought back, wanted to howl in protest and maybe he howled, too, before the voice from somewhere very far away found its way to his consciousness.

"Stop it, Noras, calm down! Listen to me, Noras!"

"Daynar?" he whispered, throat full of sand.

"Right here, Noras. Calm down, man, it's all right. It's all right."

"Where are we?" Noras felt hands on his shoulders, gently pushing him down on the bed, and forced his body to relax. A hand touched his, their palms pressed together and he recognized the long, callused fingers that entwined with his.

"In the castle. They sent the wounded back here after the battle."

Oh yes, battle... the memories clicked together. The campaign. They hadn't been far from the castle yet.

And they'd been fighting. There was a flash of metal in front of his face, but then his memory was just a merciful blur.

His fingers tightened convulsively around the lad's hand.

"Daynar, am I blind?"

The hand squeezed his, and then Noras felt another hand prying the bandage a little higher, away from his ears.

"Don't shout, Noras. Can you hear me better now?"

He felt instant relief. "Yes."

"Good."

"Tell me," he pressed. "Am I blind?"

"No you're not. You're just one lucky bastard, that's what you are."

"But why —"

"You're wounded in the face, Noras. There's a nasty slash across your eye, but the surgeon said that the eye itself isn't hurt. Your lid's just so swollen that you won't be able to open it for a while anyway, and that's why your face is bandaged. You're going to be all right."

Noras wanted to laugh. He wasn't sure that Daynar wasn't lying to him, and the goddamn kid was in no position to give such promises anyway. Nobody was. The laughter stuck in his throat, though, and all he could do was swallow over and over again and try to get air through.

Then something else occurred to him. "You all right?"

"I'll be fine as well. We both will."

Noras took another deep breath and tried to quell the panic. It was still pulsing just under the surface, waiting for the slightest crack so that it could push through and lash at him.

"What happened to you?"

"Just a muscle wound." Daynar sounded a bit too flippant. "In my sword arm, too, damn them. Now I'll have to train left-handed instead while waiting for it to heal."

Noras was ashamed of the way he was clinging but couldn't help it. He rubbed their thumbs together.

"I hope I didn't hurt you when I was fighting you, just now?"

"It's all right." So he had, then. "You were scared, and no wonder. But you're going to be all right."

"At least the bastards had the decency not to touch your face," Noras rasped out. Relief washed over him when he heard the throaty laughter.

"Now wouldn't that be a shame? Though maybe, if I had some scars to show, maybe I could charm more girls for you, huh?"

"I don't need you to charm my girls for me, kid!" Noras punched weakly towards where he felt Daynar to be. "But hey, are we the only ones here? It's so quiet."

"No way, Noras, not the only ones. Just lucky. It's not crowded here yet so I asked them to put us in a separate room. Told them that we'll be out of here in no time if we get to rest proper."

Their shoulders pressed together while Daynar, still clasping Noras' hand, settled on the bed with some difficulty and relaxed there. His breathing was shallow; the wounded arm probably ached.

"Always your sword arm, it seems."

"What?"

"First those bastards nearly beat your right shoulder to pulp, and now you're wounded in the same arm," Noras specified. Hearing their own voices made him feel better.

"Yeah, looks like I really have to go leftie." The lad turned a little. "You all right, Noras? Need something?"

"Don't think so. My head aches."

"They should bring us something soon." Daynar huddled closer, words slurring together. "Hope you don't mind, Noras... I'm cold."

"You're feverish," Noras said, feeling the hot hand in his own. "C'mon, let's try to sleep."

He fumbled for the blanket, found it and pulled it better over them both. Every movement hurt a little more than the previous, but he tried to ignore it. Beside him Daynar was doing the same, apparently he'd used up all his current reserves of bravado and now sounded merely exhausted.

How long since had they been brought here? Noras had no idea, nor did he know how long he'd been out of it. That was a scary thought, something he didn't want to think about. His head hurt, but the surgeon or maybe his helpers were going to visit them soon. That's what Daynar had said, wasn't it?

"We're both going to be all right," Noras mumbled to himself.