When Caste said it, he’d meant it and for several hours, he’d kept watch at the gate though he could see nothing. Sometimes he heard the sounds of battle and other times it was silent and eerie. He started out standing then sat down, huddled beneath blankets and furs that Aalis brought to him. Then he began to slump sideways, jolted awake when Judd’s cry to look out reached him or Suvau’s angry bellow broke through his wave of sleep. Finally his heavy eyes and even heavier head could not resist the downward pull any longer and he sagged into sleep, missing the last few waves of monsters that made desperate attacks in the hour before dawn.

  When Caste woke up, he wondered if he was dreaming. He was in the clouds, almost warmly embraced by the soft whiteness. It was mystical and charming.

  He twisted to look around and saw Chief Elk striding through the clouds, suddenly realising that he was not in the sky but on the ground, completely surrounded and obscured by a heavy fog.

  Elk stood at the gate, his silvery eyes watching the horizon. Caste stood, teeth chattering when he realised just how cold it was. They both turned to the east where tender new light was beginning to glimmer, glancing off the top of the fog, causing it to shine in pastel hues.

  “Dawn,” Caste breathed, “it’s over.”

  Chief Elk lifted the latch on the gate, Caste scrambling out of the way as the chieftain drew it open by himself. He and Caste stood in the large gap in the palisade, staring into the fog.

  Caste trembled. “Come on…come on…where are you?”

  Chief Elk’s eyes also grazed the fog, attempting to pierce its opaque depths.

  Caste didn’t know who spied them first. He only knew he nearly fainted at the sight of three silhouettes coming towards the camp. They came close enough that the fog had to give up its thick veil and Judd, Suvau carrying Giordi and Verne staggered into view. Giordi was barely conscious, draped over Suvau’s shoulder, his head rolling around limply, his tunic tattered and sticking to his skin with dried blood. Judd had been well protected with his armour but Caste noticed several scratches in breast plate and vambraces that hadn’t been there before. Suvau’s shield was battered and he’d left his mace behind, probably embedded in a monster’s hide. Verne’s quivers were empty and his bowstring had snapped. He was limping, using his bow to help him walk.

  Judd saw Chief Elk and nodded to him then caught sight of Caste.

  “Up all night, Caste?” Judd’s smile was weak and weary but entirely sincere. “Didn’t know you cared.”

  “Aalis is waiting for you.” He blurted in return.

  Aalis had prepared a low table in their tent. Caste ran ahead to let her know Giordi was on his way and found her already awake and preparing her supplies. Her face paled at the sight of Giordi’s bloodied form and she became concerned about the way he was shaking, his skin tinged with yellow. Aalis put her hand on his forehead, prying an eye open.

  “He is suffering a fever.” She diagnosed. “On the table Suvau,” she instructed, “as gently as you can.”

  With Judd’s help, Suvau heaved Giordi from his shoulder, Giordi whimpering in delirium. Aalis worked quickly, cringing as she pulled the tunic fabric out of the dried blood, Giordi twitching and groaning. His back was a mess of score marks, gashes and covered in blood. She soaked a cloth in salted boiled water, wrung it out and laid it on his back. Giordi’s hands flailed about in instinctual defence.

  “I am sorry.” Aalis whispered.

  “Don’t apologise.” Judd ordered. “Do what you do, Aalis. We’ll hold him down.”

  The cleaning of Giordi’s back was agonising and time consuming. By the time she had soaked off all the dried blood, able to see the damage properly, Giordi was partly awake and weeping.

  “Verne, can you see if he will drink this?” Aalis asked, handing Verne a cup of goat’s milk. “There is a strong anaesthetic in it.” She caught sight of Verne’s face and was stunned by the stricken expression in the archer’s usually cool and composed eyes. Verne grasped the cup and turned away.

  “Judd,” Aalis pulled the weary warrior aside, “did something bite him?”

  “I couldn’t tell you,” Judd admitted, “we could see next to nothing. There were flappy things and scurrying things and growling things…and Giordi was either unconscious or crying from the pain. Why? What’s wrong?”

  “I think there is monster toxin in his blood.” Aalis whispered.

  “You can fix that, can’t you?” Judd asked.

  Aalis worried her lip. “I…I can try. But I need you all to leave.”

  “Why?”

  “Please, just leave and get some rest.” Aalis insisted. Verne walked past her.

  “He managed about half.” He said hollowly.

  Aalis watched him go, distracted for a moment then shook her head, reminding herself of who her patient was. Caste went to leave as well.

  “No Caste, you stay.”

  “Me?” The cleric faltered. “But I…have no healing skill. I mean, I know basic theory but I…”

  “Giordi saved your life once. It is time you did the same for him.” Aalis said firmly and Caste’s jaw clamped shut. She pointed to her medicinal line up. “We have cleansed the wounds. You will need to apply salve into each of the cuts then stitch the edges of the deeper wounds together before binding his upper torso in these bandages.”

  Caste stammered and blundered. “But…but…what about you? And why me? There must be other more qualified people like Yolana!”

  Aalis sighed and pulled off her left glove. “I think you and I are past certain secrets.” She held up her hand, her nails blackened and split. Caste swallowed, unable to tear his gaze away. Aalis licked her lips and put her hand onto Giordi’s back. He grimaced in his stupor. Aalis closed her eyes and breathed in and out, her brow furrowing, her fingers stretching across the freshly weeping wounds.

  Caste watched as her fingers became smeared with blood, his skin prickling like there was a violent, lightning heavy, storm in the air. Then Aalis jolted, her body becoming taut, her fingers splayed as far as sinew and muscle would allow. She breathed in sharply, her eyes still closed, sweat beading up on her forehead. Giordi’s body spasmed, his fingers flexed and curled as he writhed. He let out a deep groan which mirrored Aalis’ moan, blood trickling out of her nose and her skin became sallow and almost translucent.

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  Caste was just about to risk her ire and run for help when she convulsed, crumpling into a heap on the rug covered ground. Caste peered over the table and the body of the minstrel, going up on tip toe so he could see Aalis. She looked up at him through her tousled white dreadlocks, her irises as green as monster blood and the white of her eyes had turned yellow. He recoiled from her appearance, horrified and filled with terror.

  Aalis covered her mouth with her hand marred by blackened and blistered nails, grabbed a nearby bowl and vomited over and over into it. Caste was too shocked to know what to do until she finished emptying her body. Aalis wiped her mouth and looked up again, the yellow gone out of her eyes and the dark green irises lightening every second.

  “Caste,” she forced out of her ragged throat, “the toxin and infection are gone…please, treat Giordi.”

  Protestation seemed pointless and argument, only delaying the inevitable. Caste took up the pot of salve and spread it into each of the wounds. Giordi was unaware and lay still for which he was very grateful, even more so when he took up the needle and black thread, sighting three larger wounds that needed to be stitched. Caste had always possessed a methodical approach to anything and it did not fail him now as he sewed the wounds closed with painstaking perfectionism. Aalis was able to stand up, leaning heavily on the table and supervised. She had only praise for his work then helped him to bind Giordi’s torso.

  “It is done.” Aalis stepped back, picking up her glove and sliding it onto her hand, covering her blackened nails. When she lifted her gaze, she saw Caste looking away.

  “Aalis…”

  “I want to see Judd complete his knighthood quest,” Aalis blurted desperately, pleadingly, “that is all I ask, Caste. After that…” Caste didn’t look at her. He only nodded. “Please watch him while I let the others know.”

  Aalis escaped the tent, the fresh air a welcomed reprieve from the nausea that had been coming in waves. She breathed in and out, in and out, studiously calming her body and refreshing her mind. Giordi’s treatment had been at the very brink of her abilities and after the incident with Revna’s baby…

  Aalis put her hand out to steady herself against a stone pillar.

  She had felt strength leave her as she joined with the lifeless body. Her heartbeat had merged with the baby’s and for a moment, she had felt herself dying, drawn down by the despair and the abyss of death. But her heart was strong and it had pulsed warmly, the baby’s heart suddenly lurching into life, rapidly beating and Aalis had been overwhelmed by it.

  “So close,” she whispered, “I came so close…”

  “Aalis?” Yolana called gently. “Are you well?”

  “I am.” Aalis nodded, straightening her body, willing herself to be strong. She turned to Yolana whose dark eyes showed she was unconvinced. “Giordi is out of danger. Caste is sitting with him.” She sniffed, emotion bubbling beneath the surface that she swallowed down. “How is Revna and the baby?”

  “They are very well although Revna was fretting over Giordi’s fate. I was able to tell her that Suvau, Judd and Verne were standing with him which eased her mind a little. Emeri is still with her.”

  “Where are Judd, Verne and Suvau?”

  “Chief Elk insisted on their dining in his chambers and even said they could sleep there.”

  “Elk did that?” Aalis couldn’t contain her surprise.

  “I am not sure how much sleep he got last night either.” Yolana looked to the tent. “I was going to get Suvau and Judd some fresh clothes.”

  “Not Verne?”

  “He ate then left.” Yolana shook her head. “If he is not in our tent then…”

  Even if Aalis had not been worried about the archer, she could not have missed Yolana’s concern.

  “I will look for him.” Aalis assured her, turning away before Yolana could protest. However, despite Aalis’ determination to find the archer, the western nomad campsite was large and a labyrinth of tents and buildings. In the end she knelt behind a tent and pressed her fingers to the ground. She could feel the footsteps of the nomads, hear their words like a streaked canvas in her mind and the snores of possibly her companions as they gave in to the sleep they had denied all night long. Finally she felt a well of grief and despair and followed its trail of sorrow, around the palisade perimeter to where their horses were stabled.

  There was the smell of horse, the scent of straw and sweat as Aalis shifted past the rows of horses tethered to the middle post. At the far end of the stables, in the enclosed portion of the building, were bales of hay. Aalis moved down towards the end, feeling the atmosphere change, becoming heavy and soaked with tears. She caught sight of a slender boot and put her hand on the bales, peering around.

  Verne was sitting with her back against the bales, her sobs silent and her tunic damp. She had removed her bandana, her head tilted back, resting on the hay, her black hair draining all the colour from her face.

  “Verne…” She closed her eyes and turned her face aside, scrunching her bandana in her hand. Aalis edged around the bales and sank down onto the bed of loose straw opposite Verne, feeling her eyes sting with empathetic tears. “He will live. I treated the infection and removed the monster toxin.” Verne sniffed and pressed her bandana to her face. Aalis rested her hand on her foot. “Truly, Giordi will survive.”

  Verne nodded then swallowed and looked at Aalis ruefully. “I haven’t cried in years…was told it was a ‘girlie’ thing to do…so I vowed never to do it again…” She scrunched her eyes shut and shook her head. “Typical…it was men who mocked my tears and now I’m crying over one…”

  Aalis blinked, feeling her own tears escape her eyes. “Verne…are you in love with Giordi?”

  Verne gave a mocking laugh. “How can I be? I’m Verne! I’m his friend and fellow archer…not to mention he thinks I’m male!”

  “I was not asking what Giordi would think.” Aalis urged gently. “I am asking what Vernice feels.”

  Verne shook her head. “I can’t…I just can’t…” She pursed her lips together. “I can’t…because he’s married.” She grunted, angry at her emotion. “It’s so stupid. I didn’t know how I felt…not until he was accused by Elk and then I got so angry. Angry at him, angry at myself…angry at losing something I had no right to claim.” She paused, breathing rapidly through her anger. “I wish he was an adulterer. I wish he was a brute and a fiend. But every choice he made, every kind, noble thing he did…”

  “You realised the reason you were angry…was because you were in love with him.”

  “And I realised it too late.” Verne wiped at her tears. “To watch him being whipped…Aalis, I’ve never felt agony like that in my soul before. Why? Why do people fall in love? It’s torture!”

  Aalis smiled and nodded. “It certainly can be.” She shifted around to sit beside Verne. The taller woman leaned down and rested her cheek on Aalis’ head. “Verne, it is possible that Giordi, upon taking the original punishment, is no longer married to Revna.”

  “How can it be undone like that?” Verne said bitterly.

  “I have been speaking with the nomads with Emeri’s help. It is a law of their culture that to be intimate with a man is to be bonded with him.”

  “Giordi has spent two nights with her.”

  “But he was not intimate with her.” Aalis blushed. “Revna told me as much, after she gave birth to her son, Mali. She wanted to set Giordi free of his responsibility.”

  Verne sat up and looked at Aalis. “Giordi is no longer married?”

  “According to tribal law, especially as he did not sleep with Revna.” Aalis nodded. “Unless he chooses to stay here, which I cannot see happening, Giordi will continue with us on our quest.”

  Verne gave a small gasp, wringing her bandana tightly. “But,” she licked her lips, “what about Revna?”

  “I think Chief Elk’s ire has been satisfied now that the lies are exposed. I do not think he is as callous as he makes out. Little Mali will win him over soon enough and Revna has discovered inner strength she didn’t know she was capable of.” Aalis smiled warmly. “She’s much stronger and braver than she appears…Giordi too.”

  Verne wiped her nose on her hand and sighed. “Even if all you say is true…Giordi and I…”

  “You could tell him the truth…”

  “And watch him recoil?”

  “Verne!”

  “It’s true,” Verne sighed, “let’s face it, even being of Giordi’s preferred romantic gender, I am still not his type.” She shrugged. “Too tall, flat chested…barely a drop of femininity…” She shook her head. “And I am unkind to good friends…and call them liars.”

  “Verne…” Aalis hushed firmly, feeling her own body sag with exhaustion. “You were right. I called you a liar when I am veiled by lies…”

  “You are surviving by keeping yourself distant.”

  Aalis closed her eyes, feeling the straw prickle her back. “I suppose, in a way, we are not so different.” She swallowed. “What will you do? Will you tell Giordi?”

  Verne shook her head. “I honestly think I would lose him. At least as Verne, I still get to spend time with him.”

  Aalis twisted in the straw, staring at Verne incredulously. “What about your heart?” She demanded.

  “It’ll survive. I always have.”