“Opinions differ.” He tapped the flask in her hands meaningfully and left her to help his humans finish breaking camp. As he passed Crandall, he glanced back and, seeing Amber’s eyes shut tight against the taste of the tea, delivered a swift slap to the back of the human’s hairy head.

* * *

They made terrible distance that day, but Meoraq comforted himself with the knowledge that every span gained was another he put between them and Praxas and that, at least, was something. And it wasn’t as bad as it could have been because in spite of his sour prediction, the humans did volunteer themselves to carry the back end of Amber’s sled when the terrain made pulling impossible, which was often. There was far less complaining than there had been herding them across Yroq (he could not remember much of their nature in the few days he’d had them after Praxas. Truth, all his memories from the moment Sheul had taken him in the raider’s nest until his arrival at Chalh were stained dark and remained largely beyond recall) and they kept quietly to themselves whenever he stopped them for rest. It could never be a good day, given the circumstances, but it was tolerable.

Yet as the hours wore on, Amber visibly weakened. She remained cool to his questing touch and her wound did not worsen, but the unavoidable rocking of the sled caused her such pain that she could not bear to travel more than a quarter-span at a stretch. He urged tea on her until the single waterskin S’kot had left to them was dry, trusting to Sheul to fill them, but the only water they met with on their travels was the rain, which was just heavy enough to soften the ground, not enough to fill their flasks.

The sun had scarcely begun its descent when Meoraq ordered the walls up and while his humans made his camp for him, he ran on ahead to scout this inhospitable land. He found no free water, but in a murky fen half a span away, he did find an abundance of wild healershand just out of the bud, as well as some iseqash herb, which would help her to sleep. Meoraq knelt in the mud and gave thanks, took what Sheul had given him, and ran with it back to his camp, arriving just after nightfall to find Amber and Nicci asleep in his tent, the rest of them asleep in the other tent, and a small pack of ghets making an easy meal of their provisions.

Meoraq’s roars brought the humans out of their tents (except for Amber, although by the sound of it, she tried) and chased off the scavenging beasts, but the damage was done. The mouths of ghets were the mouths of Gann himself; every scrap of meat they’d touched must be presumed to be poison now.

Meoraq sat up through the late hours to burn it, counting six breaths whenever he felt the color coming to his throat and giving God thanks at each one that the ghets had fed out of his packs and not the tent where Amber lay helpless. He had most of a brick of cuuvash left from that given him in Chalh and it would have to last.

It was the first of seven days’ travel, but each was essentially the same, trapping him in one endless hour for as long as the sun shone behind the clouds. He led them well around Chalh—not without misgivings—and picked up the thin trail of the Crossways in the east, following it through the hilly forests of Gedai and along the crumbling streambanks where they drew their bitter water. He did not seek for Scott and his cattle in their shadow. He tended only Amber, spoke to no one but God.

On the seventh day, as his cuuvash was down to its final bites and Amber’s swollen wound had begun to show the yellow crust of infection at last, the road brought them to the open mouth of an underlodge—old, but not too long empty or at least not overgrown. Uyane’s steward in Chalh had mentioned there were many of these along the way to Xi’Matezh. Heartened, Meoraq called a halt and pried open the door to investigate.

The short stair opened on a large round room, equipped with a fair-sized hearth and separate smoke-room, various pots and basins, a table and chairs, even a proper cupboard to sleep in. It would hold all his humans comfortably and provide them sturdy shelter against both the beasts of Gedai and the weather while Amber recovered.

When he went back to the surface and told the humans of his decision, they all looked at Amber and then gave Meoraq the same unquiet glance.

“What?” he snapped, glaring at Eric, who seemed to have made himself their leader in Scott’s absence.

“Nothing.”

“Then take the gear and get below.”

They took him at his word, each man carrying the sheets and poles of the wind-break into the store-house and then going down into the underlodge, where they stayed. Only Nicci lingered beside the sled, although that was most likely to avoid having to carry provisions, since she made no move to help Amber up. Meoraq unloaded alone, dropping blankets, packs and bundled tents down the opening (and perhaps on some lazy human’s head, he thought peevishly), before unfastening Amber from the sled and gathering her into his arms. She slung her arm around his neck to help support her weight, but she did not open her eyes. Seven days of rest in a moving sled in the wildlands was no rest at all; she looked even paler and more strained now than when he’d first seen her and her only response to his nuzzling was a weary pucker of pain.

“Is she going to be all right?” Nicci asked.

He didn’t know and his uncertainty sparked at once to anger. “Why are you asking me?” he snapped at her. “I am not Sheul, to close wounds and purify flesh! I end life, I don’t make it.”

In his arms, Amber frowned. “Should I be worried that you seem to think making life is going to be necessary?”

“Hush,” he told her.

They went down into the darkness, which was not as dark as it could have been, since Eric had done him the astounding service of rifling through his pack to light his lamp. Dag had brought out what remained of Meoraq’s wrapped cuuvash and the little pot of honey he’d been using to sweeten Amber’s tea, and Crandall was even now pouring himself a drink from Meoraq’s flask into Amber’s cup.

“What—” Meoraq began, almost conversationally, then changed his mind. “Get back, you parasites!” he roared, and they all scattered to the walls.

“Six breaths,” Amber murmured in his arms.

“I’m calm. A Sheulek is always calm.” He sat her carefully at the table and gave her her cup. Grumbling, he hauled his mat to the simple cupboard and opened it violently enough to pull its neglected door off its runner. It took some time to shove it back into place, but soon enough he had it on and the interior slapped clean of beetle-husks and grit. “Great Father, give me healing for my woman’s wound,” he hissed, as he unrolled his mat and made up his bed within. “And if You cannot give me that, give me the strength not to kill the rest of her people in front of her.”

“You’re in such a cheerful mood,” Amber remarked.

“Lies.”

“All right, you’re being a bitch.”

“I told you to hush.”

He put her in the cupboard and set a blanket over her. The humans watched him warily as he unpacked the rest of his gear and put the lodge in order. It didn’t take long; he didn’t have many things. “We stay here until I give the order to move on,” he announced, snatching up the empty waterskin to sling around his shoulder. “My kills are not yours. Hunt for yourselves or go hungry. My woman is resting. Do not disturb her.”

He ascended and passed out of the overhanging hut, but stopped there to take a deep breath of Sheul’s air and let the wind cool his temper. He could hear their voices muttering, and although he knew he should rejoice in the sound and celebrate the miracle of their survival, he could not help cursing Praxas in his heart, not for the terrible crimes they had committed against these humans, but for harboring them at all.