Dangerous Talents by Frankie Robertson

till it bled again, then bent and emptied the skin over it. That’ll have to be good enough .
    Knut called out, “My Lord!” The lookout nodded to where Halsten helped a slumping Falsom navigate the scree leading down to the wash bed.
    Fender scrambled up and pulled Falsom’s other arm across his shoulders.
    Falsom had barely settled to the ground, propped against a rock, before he started apologizing. “I don’t know what happened. I didn’t see them. I didn’t see a thing.” Falsom’s head wobbled wildly and Dahleven eased it back to rest against the rock. Falsom winced. “Agh, my head!” He put both hands up, awkwardly groping as though he couldn’t quite find it.
    “Don’t punish yourself, Falsom. They must have Talents that blinded you to their presence.” The trader caravans that had been attacked reported certain Talents being suppressed and the victims suffered blinding headaches. One man had died from the effect.
    Falsom had been lucky.
    But he wouldn’t stay lucky if they remained here much longer. None of them would. Most likely they had encountered the Renegades by chance. Their enemies had probably seized an opportunity to attack what seemed to be a small group, until the other half of Dahleven’s company, the second group of four, arrived. The Renegades hadn’t liked the odds then, and had taken to the hills. Cowards .
    Dahleven ran a hand down the back of his neck, wincing as much at his thoughts as the pain when he scraped his wound. We can thank that “cowardice” for saving our necks . He had two men down, and two more with wounds that might be fouled. Water was a good day’s march away unless they went back, closer to the Renegade encampment. That was too dangerous. The Tewas could return at any time with reinforcements. They had to move. Now.
    Dahleven stood. “Halsten, Fender, make two litters with spears and blankets—”
    “No! I can walk on my own.” Falsom started to rise, but Dahleven pushed him down easily. “Well, maybe with a little help, but I can walk.”
    Dahleven hated to lose an additional two spears to the making of a second litter, not to mention the men needed to carry it. He looked closely at Falsom. The man’s eyes already focused more steadily and his head didn’t wobble as much. He might make it with help. “All right, you can walk.” Dahleven turned to Kepliner, whose bandaged arm rested in a sling. “Kep, stay with him. Fender, Halsten, we’ll still need a litter for Sorn.”
    Dahleven walked over to where Ghav and Lady Celia bandaged Sorn. His sworn brother’s face was white under his tan, contrasting sharply with his dark hair, and his face twisted with pain. Ghav wore his usual placid expression, but Dahleven had known the older man all his life, and they’d seen battle together before. The narrowing of the Healer’s eyes reflected his worry.
    Nearly as white as Sorn, Lady Celia didn’t hesitate to follow the directions that Ghav gave her. When they finished, she stood quickly and turned toward him, but she was too close and tried to take a step back. The deep sand hampered her and she wavered. Dahleven reached out to steady her. Lady Celia’s face paled even further under her sun-pinked skin and her uncertain balance worsened. She was going to faint at his feet. He reacted instinctively, putting his arm around her to steady her against his body.
    She was nearly as grimy as the rest of the company, but when her head fell against his chest under his chin, he smelled flowers again, as he had the night before. The scent of her hair and the feel of her body against his produced a familiar and unwelcome response. A post-battle cock-stand wasn’t unusual. But this is neither the time, nor the place, nor the person .
    Dahleven dragged his mind away from the inclinations of his body, but he kept his arm around Lady Celia. “Ghav, we can’t stay here.”
    He didn’t ask if Sorn could be moved. He’d seen enough wounds. Sorn obviously needed quiet