Dangerous Talents by Frankie Robertson Page B

and still cause Sorn to suffer. And the Renegades watch the trade trail in the valley.”
    Cele pressed her lips together. It wasn’t what she wanted to hear, but it made sense. And at least he had explained instead of just dismissing her.
    She waited for the litter to catch up with her, then resumed walking beside it. She noticed Dahleven looking back at her, one eyebrow cocked. She didn’t think much about it; her attention was all for Sorn.
    The vegetation changed as they climbed further from the desert floor. The passable ground widened and scrubby trees replaced the thornbushes, but the footing was still uneven. Cele walked to one side of the litter when she could, and Sorn held her hand. His kept his eyes closed, but she could tell from the pressure of his fingers when each new jostle increased his pain.
    They traveled hand in hand until the party paused again for the men to change who carried the litter. The rotation started to repeat, and Cele offered to take a turn. She wanted to do something, and it was the only thing she could think of.
    Dahleven took her hands in his and turned her palms upward. His hands were warm and firm and callused. Cele’s office worker’s hands were soft and pink and scratched from her few days in the desert. He shook his head. “No. Ghav has enough to do without you tearing your hands to rags.” Then he turned away to speak to Lindimer.
    Cele’s anger flared at Dahleven’s dismissal. That he was right only made it worse.
     
    *
     
    The afternoon wore on. The leather straps of Sorn’s bota bags chafed Cele’s shoulders but she refused to complain, not when the rest of Sorn’s pack had been redistributed among the others. Everyone was carrying a heavier load than usual. Dahleven led them upward along the ridges, as straight east as the terrain allowed. It was a little cooler here than lower in the foothills, but the air was just as dry and Cele’s mouth cried out for moisture. She refused to give in to her thirst and didn’t allow herself relief until she saw the others drinking. They were all on short rations. At a normal pace they would have reached water by midmorning the next day, but they were moving slower now, and they’d used a lot of their water cleaning wounds.
    They walked until the fading sun robbed them of enough light to travel safely, then they made another cold camp. They stopped at a wide spot in the lee of a cliff that rose thirty feet.
    Ghav was by Sorn’s side as soon as his bearers put him down, close below the ridge face. As the Healer pulled back the blanket that covered Sorn, it was immediately apparent that infection had set in. Sorn’s abdomen was swollen and darkly discolored. Red streaks swept outward from his wounds and the bandages were putrid with drainage. Cele choked back a cry and her stomach roiled at the vile smell.
    Fendrikanin volunteered his water to cleanse the wounds, but Ghav refused it. He merely expressed foul fluid from the wounds and covered them again. Sorn groaned and clenched his hands in the dirt as Ghav worked.
    Cele wanted to scream, but instead she knelt and clasped his hands in her own. His grasp hurt, but Cele welcomed the pain. If he hadn’t been protecting her, this might not have happened. This was worse than watching her mother die. Much worse. It hadn’t been easy to see her mother in pain, but at least Cele hadn’t felt responsible for the cancer.
    Sorn’s clasp eased as Ghav applied fresh bandages. Then the healer left to tend Kepliner’s arm.
    Ghav was halfway across the camp before Cele realized what was about to happen. “I’ll be right back,” she assured Sorn, then she jumped and ran to catch up with the Healer. “You should wash your hands before touching Kep’s arm,” she said in a low voice.
    Ghav’s eyes narrowed. “Cleanliness is important, but you seem overly concerned about it, my lady. That’s fine for a lady’s chamber, but it’s a luxury we can’t afford in the field, especially when