Even with the assistance of Haemerasia—a brilliant tracker, though barely out of her girlhood—Ephiny began to find following the thief and Velaska to be quite tricky. They had moved fast, over considerable territory—and when Velaska had stopped blasting things, having temporarily lost the ability, the more obvious signs of her presence were gone. Several times Ephiny and Haemerasia lost the trail, and had to retrace.
It was a late afternoon when they finally found him. Haemerasia saw it first, and pointed—a rope hanging from a high tree limb. Then, they saw blood on the rocks and the leaves in the glade, and then, approaching closer, they saw the bloodied man, lying flat on his back.
Without hesitation Haemerasia ran forward to begin checking injuries. Ephiny noted that Velaska's trail away from the place was cold—the new goddess was long gone. With this thought in mind, Ephiny approached more slowly, frowning deeply. She did not look away from the horror of the sight. She was used to the injuries of the battlefield, but Velaska's vicious treatment was something different, and Ephiny felt a sudden shame that Velaska could call herself Amazon.
Haemerasia knelt, practical and efficient, beginning to check the many broken bones. The injured man was oblivious to the two of them, to everything—a good thing, thought Ephiny. Burning with fever, he spoke nonsensical things to someone who was not present.
"His wounds are not the cause of this fever," Haemerasia announced, puzzled.
"You think the fever comes from another source?"
"I am not sure this is a fever at all," the young healer said, sounding as though she had a suspicion of what was going on.
The man continued to mutter, and Haemerasia paused in her work and bent low to listen. Looking up at Ephiny, she said, "He speaks to the dead."
That, thought Ephiny, was not a good sign. She almost asked then if they should do anything at all for him, beyond mercifully ending his life. Instead, she waited—Demophile's apprentice would know what to do. Ephiny then knelt, ready for instructions in how to assist in the binding of wounds. Haemerasia, seeing this, with an eerie calm that didn't seem to belong in someone who was still mainly child, told her to very carefully give the man just a taste of water, as she worked on a mangled foot. Ephiny obeyed, holding his head as she let a few drops of water fall between his lips, only to relieve the dryness and wash a bit of the blood away, careful not to choke him with water he could not swallow while still unaware.
0000000
Demophile met Ephiny and Haemerasia on the road just outside the Centaur village—they'd borrowed a horse from the stable near the Temple to transport the injured man.
His condition did not surprise her—the evidence of Velaska's brutality—but still she grew grim. This one she liked. The queen's good-hearted account of his brave assistance and his kindness to her had certainly prepared her to regard him well, but she'd not expected such a complicated person, such a difference between what he would have others see him as and who he was. Demophile was practiced at seeing past people's fronts, including the warrior posturing of members of her own tribe. This one was different, though, than all that, and the self he tried to hide seemed more elusive than most—and more intriguing. It grieved her heart to see such a one hurt like this.
She immediately assessed the terrible wounds and Haemerasia's treatment of them—unsurprisingly, the girl had already set the bones that could be set, managing the daunting task of making transport possible without aggravating the injuries.
Demophile caught her apprentice's alert eyes and nodded slightly. "You have done well, girl," she murmured. Haemerasia's eyes grew bright at the acknowledgment.