Within the hour, sweating and near exhaustion, he ran up to the first of the stockaded gates. The sun was setting and Kaelin saw two muskets trained on him as he approached.
‘What do you want, southerner?’ came a voice.
‘Call Jace is wounded. I need men to help carry him back.’
One of the muskets was withdrawn. The gates opened and the tall, bearded figure of the highlander Rayster appeared. ‘Where is he?’ he asked.
‘About five miles back down the road, and up into the trees. He was attacked by a group of Varlish. He has been shot in the shoulder and his arm is broken. He has lost a lot of blood.’
‘Wait here,’ said Rayster. Once more the wooden gates swung shut. Then Kaelin heard a horn being sounded. It seemed to echo through the pass, but then he realized it was a series of horns. He sat on a rock gathering his strength. After a while he heard the gates creak. Rayster emerged with half a dozen men, one of whom was leading a pot-bellied pony.
‘Show us where he is,’ ordered Rayster coldly.
Kaelin’s anger flared. He stood and looked the clansman in the eye. ‘I don’t like your tone, turd breath. So be careful when next you speak.’
Rayster’s eyes narrowed, but he forced a smile, then bowed deeply. ‘Be so kind as to lead us to our lord,’ he said. ‘Is that more suitable?’
The sarcasm did nothing for Kaelin’s temper, but he controlled it. ‘If it wasn’t for the fact that Call Jace needs help I’d show you just how suitable. Perhaps we can discuss it later.’
The walk was long and no-one spoke. It was dark when they came across the camp fire and the sleeping Rigante leader. In the fading firelight his face seemed very pale, and they had difficulty rousing him.
Once awake he ordered four of the men to find the bodies of the slain and bury them. ‘Leave no sign of the graves,’ he said. Two of the clansmen helped him to his feet, and onto the back of the pony. Jace gripped its mane with his good hand, then sagged forward. Rayster and another clansman walked on either side of the pony, supporting him. The others loped off into the woods to obey the orders of their lord.
Kaelin, having retrieved his pistols, walked behind the pony. He was annoyed with himself. Yet again he had reacted with anger to a perceived slight, opening himself up to consequences far greater than the original lack of courtesy warranted. Should Rayster so choose there would be another duel, and this time someone would die. What is wrong with you, he wondered? Why can you not learn to swallow your pride?
Because pride is all I have, he told himself. If I have to die for it, then so be it.
Two and a quarter hours later Jace was helped to his bed. Two of the women of the household helped undress him, having to cut away his shirt. The flattened lead ball was cut from his broken arm, and the limb was then splinted. Then the women dealt with the wound in his back, before cleaning and stitching the shallow bite from the hound. The shot from Enson Giese had cannoned off his shoulder blade, cracking his left collarbone. It was lodged just below the skin at the front of his left shoulder. One of the women sliced the skin and removed it.
Downstairs Kaelin sat on a bench, while Rayster paced back and forth. Neither spoke for a while. Then the tall clansman paused in his pacing. ‘You misunderstood me,’ he said at last. ‘I was concerned for my chief and intended no disrespect.’
Kaelin nodded. ‘My temper will be the death of me,’ he said, with a rueful smile.
Rayster held out his hand. ‘My thanks to you for aiding Call. How did you happen upon him?’
Kaelin shook the offered hand. ‘I was travelling here and I heard shots from the woods. I thought it might be a Rigante hunting party, and, since I was coming here uninvited, I decided to join them, and explain that I needed to see Call Jace. When I climbed the trail I saw Call attack three men. He killed one with his pistol, stabbed another. Then his sword broke.’