Hohsalle followed the little man’s gaze to the companion who had arrived with him, the one cradling the girl in a corner of the cell. He wasn’t particularly tall, but there was a fierceness to him. His eyes gleamed from deep within the shadow of his hood. Hohsalle nearly stood, overcome by the strange sensation that he was looking into the eyes of a wolf.
“Does that medicine cure black wolf fever?” the man asked. He wasn’t a Yusula Oma. His accent belonged to those who lived farther north. And he lacked any trace of the marsh people’s subservience. His was an intimidating presence.
Who is he?
Hohsalle took a deep breath and let the tension drain from his body, lamenting over his momentary fear. He was eager to learn more about the man and the child, but he sensed that rushing things risked losing his chance. Something about this man reminded him of a wild creature. He watched Hohsalle now, curious, but one whiff of danger and he would surely back away.
Hohsalle decided to start by answering his question. “This medicine didn’t have much effect on people bitten by Kinma dogs. However, it did work quite well on one of the village women who developed symptoms like black wolf fever after being bitten by a tick.”
The movement was nearly imperceptible, but Hohsalle was sure that the man’s eyes had wavered when he heard the medicine didn’t work.
Is he looking for a cure for mittsual?
The man put Yuna down. “So there’s still no way to save those bitten by a Kinma dog?”
Hohsalle gazed back at him. “No. We haven’t managed to create a completely reliable medicine. But we may be able to soon.”
Something like hope crossed the man’s expression.
“You seem interested in a cure for black wolf fever,” Hohsalle remarked. “Why?”
The man watched him silently for a bit before replying. “I hate to see people die of disease,” he said at last.
Hohsalle blinked. He felt thwarted somehow, as though the hand he’d offered had been brushed aside.
“Ochan, Ochan!”
Yuna tugged on the man’s cloak, trying to get his attention, and he bent down to soothe her. Then he straightened and looked to Hohsalle once again. “I was told you’re a very knowledgeable man. Do you know why some people bitten by the Kinma dogs live while others don’t?”
Hohsalle’s eyes widened. “Hah. That’s a big question. You expect me to have a quick and easy answer, do you?” This elicited no response, which annoyed Hohsalle further. “Well, what do you think, then?” he asked. “Everyone else claims it’s the will of the god Kinma. Do you agree?”
A sad smile touched the man’s face. “Sometimes I think it would be so much easier if the explanation were that simple.”
Hohsalle cast a hard gaze at the man. He felt as if he’d been hit in the chest. Blood rose in his cheeks, and he pursed his lips. He knew he ought to say something, but the words wouldn’t come—an unusual experience for him.
Just as he found his tongue and opened his mouth to speak, shouts sounded from near the cave entrance. Hohsalle spun around and saw the guard face the noise with spear readied. Someone laid a hand on Hohsalle’s shoulder, and he was startled to find the stranger standing beside him.
Pressing the girl into Hohsalle’s arms, he said, “Gather all your things in the sacks and take this child and the woman close to the wall.” Then his attention went to the little man he’d arrived with. “Do nothing. Just stay here. If you do as I say, I’ll make sure they don’t accuse you of anything.”
Turning last to Makokan, he said, “You. Come here where you can see outside the cell.”
Makokan frowned. “Why?”
Without answering, the man approached the bars. Multiple figures came tumbling into view, roaring and fighting. Makokan gasped. “Ilia?!”
Hohsalle looked shocked. “That’s your sister?”
Makokan nodded. “The one on the left. She’s brought the Dancing Bees!”
Each house that served the Inner Circle specialized in a specific martial art. Dagger fighting was passed down on the maternal side of Makokan’s family, and the warriors wielded their rapier-thin blades with such deadly swiftness that they had been nicknamed the Dancing Bees. Makokan’s sister had taught him how to fight with a dagger when he was a boy, and her prowess hadn’t dulled in the years since.
While the Ahfal Oma struggled to swing their long blades in the narrow confines of the cave, the Dancing Bees slipped through the guards to slice through the tendons in their sword arms. Blood spurted, and Ahfal Oma shrieks and the clatter of dropped swords echoed through the prison.
The young guard in front of the cell had backed against the bars. Although he held his blade at the ready, the tip shook violently. Makokan turned in surprise as the stranger reached a hand through the bars to steal the key from the young man’s belt and shove it into the lock. When he twisted it, there came a loud click, and the door opened. The guard turned with a panicked expression, searching his belt for the key. Ilia bore down on him from behind.
Makokan opened his mouth, but before he could shout, the stranger reached through the open door, grasped the guard by the collar, and dragged him inside. Ilia’s blade caught empty air. The guard rolled across the floor unscathed. The stranger wrenched the sword from the guard and held the blade at his throat to keep him still. Then he looked up at Makokan’s sister.
“Surely there’s no need to kill him. He’s just a boy.”
Ilia’s eyes wavered for a moment. She twirled her dagger in her hand, turning the point toward the floor. Her gaze went to Makokan. She removed another short sword from her belt and handed it to him.
“I’m going to check on things outside. In the meantime, make sure nothing happens to the hostages, will you?” Following a curt bow to Hohsalle, she turned on her heel and ran to rejoin her companions, who were opening the neighboring cell.