Page 62 of Paladin's Hope

Fortunately, it was not far to the landing site. The boat was already waiting for them, captained by a round-faced woman in a slouching cap. “Ready and waiting,” she said cheerfully to Jorge, and then, catching sight of Earstripe, “Ah, poor little mite. Get him aboard and we’ll be at Archon’s Glory by midnight.”

Galen knew nothing whatsoever about boats. It was bigger than a rowboat and a lot smaller than the big clipper ships that docked in Delta. It had a curved front end, and there weren’t eyes painted on it like the ones in Delta had. They all fit in it, except for Jorge, who was staying with the horses.

Their captain had a pole, as did her assistant. The assistant untied the rope from around a wooden post at the landing site, and they dipped their poles in the water and pushed the boat away from the shore. The current picked them up and began to carry the boat downriver, slowly at first, and then, as they pushed the boat toward the center of the river, faster than a man could run.

It was cold on the water. Piper fussed over Earstripe’s blankets, then sat beside him in the bottom of the boat, back against one of the low benches. Galen sat down next to the doctor, knowing there was nothing useful to say and so didn’t say anything. Their knees touched and neither one moved away, while the banks of the river slid silently by.

Twenty-Seven

“I think he’s feverish,” said Piper an hour or two later. “Brindle?”

Brindle felt the inside of the other gnole’s ears, then peeled back his lip to check his gums. “Too hot, yeah.”

“Do we keep him warm or try to cool him down?”

“Cool. Fever’s no good for anything but cooking a gnole’s brain.” Piper dipped a cloth into the chilly river water and Brindle packed it around Earstripe’s ears. The injured gnole whined softly, a thin thread of sound, then fell silent. Galen was pretty sure that he wasn’t really awake. Not that that matters. I of all people know that nightmares are usually worse than waking.

“Brindle,” said Piper cautiously, “I know this is a lot to ask, but may I feel your ears? I don’t know what a healthy temperature should be, and if I ever need to treat a gnole again and don’t have one to help me…”

Brindle’s whiskers arched forward in the gnole equivalent of a tired smile. “A gnole will help, bone-doctor.”

He sat patiently while Piper felt his nose and the inside of his ears, and even opened his mouth so that Piper could compare the color of his gums to Earstripe’s. “Can’t always use,” he warned. “A gnole has bad teeth, maybe, a gnole’s gums go red anyway. But red, dry, hot, all bad for a gnole.”

By the time night had fallen, it was obvious that Earstripe was running a fever, even without checking ears or gums. Heat seemed to radiate off the small body. At first, he snapped his teeth and growled at things that only he could see, but as hours passed, he seemed to lose the strength for that. Eventually his only movement was violent shivering, and even Brindle seemed at a loss for what to do next.

It was probably close to midnight when Galen looked up and saw the lights of Archon’s Glory shining brightly ahead. The sight filled him with unutterable relief. They were almost to a gnole healer. If anything could be done, it would be done.

He nudged Piper. The doctor had sagged against him in exhaustion and Galen had put his arm around the man’s shoulders. Piper had fallen into a fitful doze with his head on Galen’s shoulder. No surprise there. I don’t think he’s slept since…since…hell. Since before I fought that scorpion machine. It felt like an age of the earth ago.

“Piper,” he said gently. “Piper, wake up. We’re almost there.”

Piper muttered something and burrowed against Galen’s side. Fortunately, it wasn’t the side with the bruised ribs. From this angle, Galen could only see half his face—the long, straight nose and the dark curve of eyelashes. There were lamps lit at the front and back of the boat and the light was very yellow, which gave the blue circles under the doctor’s eyes a greenish cast.

The paladin sighed and tucked the blanket around Piper’s shoulder, feeling a rush of some gentle emotion that was hard to identify. Fondness, perhaps, and a touch of exasperation. The man should have slept before now, but of course he hadn’t, not until he was ready to drop.

Galen lifted his head, to see Shane watching him.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

Galen narrowed his eyes. First Marcus, now Shane. “He’s very tired,” he said irritably. “He was up for hours tending Earstripe before you arrived. I don’t think he’s slept in over a day.”

“I’m sure he’s exhausted,” agreed Shane. “And how long has it been since you slept?”

Galen shrugged. “It’s different for us. How many forced marches have we done?”

Marcus snorted. “Too many. Though they were a long time ago, most of them.”

“Thank the gods for that,” said Shane.

“Yes, of course. But we’re not as young as we used to be. I like eight hours a night, when I can get it.”

The boat traffic increased as they approached the city. The captain and her assistant used their poles to steer the boat out of the way of the big barges carrying goods, and finally they bumped against a dock on the far side of the river from where the bodies had been found.

Piper stirred and sat up, rubbing at his eyes. “Mm? What? Are we—Earstripe!”

“Not dead,” said Brindle, who had been curled up beside the injured gnole. He sat up as well. “Hot, but not dead.”

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