XVII. GUDENNY’S HUNT BEGINS

Gudenny, bleeding and faint, stared at the night sky. It was frigid. He had been holding the gash in his side for several hours, pressing the fabric beneath his leather armor against it, sure that if his hand moved away from it in sleep or carelessness he would die. He wondered if it was cold enough to snow and, if so, if the cloth would freeze to the gore beneath. One thing was good, he thought, and that was the fact that the stars couldn’t see into the wound. A thousand glittering elf eyes mocked him from the endless black. They wanted to see the gash and needle it. He wouldn’t let them. He wouldn’t…

He fell asleep despite the pain and fear and woke up two hours later, alive after all, staring at the pale sun behind a tissue of pale clouds and six circling crows. He was over his fear and bored enough with mere survival to remove the hand. This didn’t kill him, so he sat up. He doffed the leather armor after and tried pulling up the shirt beneath, but the blood made it stick. Then he poured some water from his waterskin over the wound and tried again. When he hissed in pain, two crows jeered. The wound was ugly, a dangling, thick flap of flesh made via a cut that looked like a checkmark. The crows cawed again.

“Go away!” he called out to them.

“We thought you were dead,” said the boldest of the birds, landing beside him. “We were just expressing our disappointment and discussing what to do next.”

“Good for you.”

“That wound looks bad. Are you sure you won’t die?”

“Quite sure. I’m a ranger. I’ll mend it in no time.”

The crow cried out and beat his wings, a sign of resignation. “We’ll be going,” it said.

“One thing,” said Gudenny. “You can see much from the sky. There were four half-orcs in the area. They were the ones who did this. Have you seen them? If so, where did they go?”

***

Gudenny hadn’t thought very much about what he would do when he found the bandits. The odds were not in his favor if he had to fight them again. But there was no need for any plan. The four were dead. As fortunate as this reversal might have been for Gudenny’s lifeblood, to his heart it spelled despair. He searched the bodies frantically. As he feared, the jade hammer was gone.

Where had the thieves gone? Who were they? He looked for clues. A few arrows, an ugly sword wound, and bullets from a sling. Very small bullets. Halflings used bullets like that in their slings. And there were tracks, too, tracks that surely led to that encampment of outlaws in the coastal caves. The watchtower was just visible on the horizon.

::Before it’s too late, Gudenny. Before it’s too late!::