2 – Kas

He pulled the long knife from its worn sheathe as he approached the boy hanging upside down, tangled from the rope. The rain and darkness hid the youngster’s identity until he was close enough. Then Kas recognized it was his son.

He thought of calling out but held his tongue. Kas remained a cautious man even though his days of battle were long past. Instinct had always guided him; only because he listened to it did he believe he survived. He slowed his approach and allowed himself to perceive the actual rogue that managed to snare his troublesome son in such tangles. But he saw nobody else close. Instead his eyes fell to his son who struggled to free himself.

It was a strange and irregular trap, a type Kas did not recognize even from his days of war. Five steps away, the hairs on the back of his neck bristled. Stopping in his tracks, Kas changed his stance. Knees bent, one leg in front of the other, he crouched and assured his grip on the only weapon he had brought with him.

Then he smelled it. Magic. He’d always been able to smell magic, a talent that kept him alive more times during the wars then he could count. Directly ahead of him there was the stench of it. It smelled of honey and death, all at the same time.

Kas watched Animus struggle against his bonds. Worry fogged his mind, his fatherly nature interfering with warrior instinct. Would the rope kill his only son? He wanted to rush to help, but only a fool would approach with haste. Waiting and patience had kept him alive all those years. A noble’s luck too. Luck was always with me.

Animus gave up the struggle and gasped for breath, coughing and hacking. Water and mud dripped from his body. One hand hung limp, perhaps a foot from the muddy puddle beneath him. The other was tangled in the rope along with his legs. Next to his limp arm, the rope dangled there. Or did it? As Kas watched, the rope’s end wiggled until it found his son’s dangling arm. Then it wrapped around a forearm and tightened.

Kas scolwed. The rope holds the mind of a snake.

He sprung from his stance and charged Animus’s hanging form. The rope’s end uncoiled from Animus’s arms, and struck at him, but Kas leapt up and grabbed the rope above where it hung tied and held with the strength of his left arm. The darting rope missed him as his momentum carried his legs up and around Animus. As he swung, the knife in his other hand gashed the rope just under his grip.

The rope whipped toward Kas’s leg and latched itself around his ankle. He ignored its grips and swiped again as he swung around the rope on the other side of Animus. As the rope tightened on his leg and started pulling at him, he swiped again. The strike severed the rope, causing Kas and Animus to drop.

Animus splashed in the mud as Kas landed on his feet. The rope around his leg lost is life and slackened. Kas pulled it free of him and his son and then hauled Animus him to the wooden sidewalk closest to them.

He rolled Animus on his side and slapped the coughing boy on his back. The worry of a father still plagued him as he knelt of his son. “Breathe. The rope’s no more a threat.”

Animus still cried. Kas knew criticism shame the boy, so he grit his teeth and retained silence. Instead, he leaned close and said, “Your sister?”

Animus nodded as he worked his left hand open and closed. Getting his circulation back. Kas could see the mark from his entanglement, the rope burns on his son’s hands. Kas knew how how bad rope burn felt and empathized. Yet he said nothing.

Animus coughed and tried to hide his crying as he tried to speak. “She-she made it come alive…”

“Quiet. Speak not of it here. Keep your mouth closed till we are home.”

Animus tried to stand. “Sterl, is he okay?”

“Sterl?” Kas stood and looked, seeing a group of men standing in the midst of a half-dozen toppled barrels. He walked that way, slowly feeling for any further signs of his daughter’s magic. Not sensing any, he pulled one of the bigger barrels off the ground, picked it up with little effort and set it to stand. It was then he saw Sterl.

The boy was unconscious, his mud-covered head resting on the Clovas’s fat thigh. The boy’s left knee was shattered beyond repair. And his right leg was a mess. Kas swept his eyes to the men already there. None of these men treat that wound.

And of course they all looked at him, expecting him to tell them what they needed to do. Men always looked to him for some reason, even these villagers, who knew not of his past. It had always case with him, something he’d simply grown to accept.

His hand thumped the man’s shoulder next to him. It was Barlen the stable master. “Get Kolvlin. He’s with Trista.”

Barlen’s eyes swept to his. “Trista? The whore? What’s he doing with her?”

Kas wrenched Barlen around so their eyes met. Inches separated them. “Worry about the boy, right now, eh? She takes men above Kella’s store. Roust him out of there. Tell him I said to bring his kit. Then you go to his shop and fetch the stretcher. Go.”

The man went.

Kas knelt in the mud next to the disfigured leg. It was there he saw a fragment of bone sticking out from the meat of the calf. Kas took a deep breath and forced his face calm before he looked up. His eyes swept to the pale face of the newest priest in town. “You, Stone man.”

The priest’s eyes met his. The man was pale, his grey skin resembling the very structures that the man worshipped. Kas didn’t know the man’s name. He made it a point to never talk priests. But in this case, he had to. “Go to my smithy. Door is unlocked. Walk in, look to the shelves on the right. There are several long pieces of wood, a few as long as this boy’s leg. Get them. If you want to boy to live, run.”

The priest stood and ran.

To the remaining four, he told them like he saw it. He’d never seen much reason to lie to people that looked to him for answers. “Boy’s most like to die of shock if we don’t set the leg. Need to wrap the wound tight. I’ll need a shirt to stop the blood.”

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It was another man he didn’t know stood and started taking off his shirt. A travelling merchant? Someone new? But there were no time for those questions now. Kas yelled. “Animus! Bring me the rope.”

His son scurried to his feet and gaped at him, eyes wide as he looked at the lifeless rope a few feet away from him. Kas growled and put anger in his voice. “Now!”

That got Animus moving. An instant later there was a rope and a shirt at his disposal. Kas pulled his hair from his eyes. He said loud enough for those around him to hear. “Not the first leg I ever set.” He said. Not really. I helped set one once.

None of the others answered, nor did they question him. Kas raised his voice. “All of you hold him down with all your strength. If you let him struggle, if he wrenches free of my grip, he’s dead. Grab him.” Kas looked at his son’s pale face and knew the boy shouldn’t be seeing this. To him he said. “Run to the temple. Find your mother. Tell her I need her with me. Run like the wind you’re named after. Go!”

Animus didn’t hesitate. Kas forced himself not to watch him go like the father in him wanted to. Instead he made two tight fists. All of his knuckles cracked. Time to work.

The wind, rain, and piss-poor site made it impossible to critically gauge the boy’s injuries. Kas gripped Sterl’s arm and checked for a heartbeat. It was weak. The boy took fast, shallow breaths. Shock. The boy’s in shock. “Hold him firm…”

He examined the leg. “Light, I need light! Kas twisted his head at the sound of approaching feet. Polla the baker’s assistant came running, her white apron splotched with mud toward its bottom. He yelled at her. “Polla. Get me light!”

Polla stopped and would’ve fallen face-first if her hands hadn’t landed firm. She struggled to her feet, nodded and ran toward the inn. “I’ll grab a lantern!”

Kas didn’t think she’d return in time. “Cursed three-legged steeds! I need to see!”

A female voice burst into his mind. The familiar voice of his wife. Does this help?

Kas’s eyes burned. Blood and guts, Zelicia. What—“

Give it time to work.

He groaned and shut his eyes, shaking his head. He heard Clovas yelling at him. “Kas? Are you—“

“Fine,” Kas answered as he opened his eyes. It suddenly seemed like the middle of a sunny day. The leg was especially bright, allowing Kas to take in every detail.

His wife’s voice answered within his mind. You’re welcome, love.

Kas didn’t answer. Instead, he examined the leg. The bone jutted from the wound. Worse, circulation to the foot and lower calf appeared strained; he recognized that by the color of the leg. He’d remembered the bloody messes he’d seen at battlefield infirmaries. Kas was no medic. But there was nobody else that could do this right then. And there was not time to wait.

“Hold him…”

He had to try and set the leg right, at least enough to get the blood flowing again. Setting the leg could kill him, too. But doing nothing would definitely kill him.

He grabbed the leg and felt for the bone as his other hand grabbed the meaty part of the upper calf.

Sterl’s eyes popped open.

Kas wrenched the leg quick, as hard and straight as he could. His magically lit eyes could somehow see through the skin. He could see the bone was still off. One more wrench of the leg and….

Sterl shrieked and started to struggle. Kas yelled as loud as he could. “Hold him for all your worth, you miserable shits. Hold him!”

Kas yanked the leg straight and then pressed the bone together. He gripped the set leg with one hand while his other grabbed at the shirt he had rested on his shoulder. Then he pushed it under the leg and clumsily wrapped it. He reached under the leg, but couldn’t find the other end of the shirt. He yelled, “Hold him…”

Two muddy hands gripped the leg. Kas released it and scrambled to find the shirt. He grasped the other end and wrapped the shirt once and then twice around the leg, hoping it would stop the bleeding or at least slow it. Then the priest handed him two pieces of wood. Kas set one under the calf and the other on Sterl’s shin.

The boy screamed again and struggled.

The priest was next to him then. He yelled over Sterl. “Hold the wood tight. I’ll wrap.”

Kas held, used his strength to keep the leg steady. Steady. Something I’m good at. The leg didn’t move as the priest wrapped the rope around the wood. Then with practiced ease the man knotted both ends.

The priest grabbed the leg. “I have him, blacksmith. You can let go.”

Kas looked at the priest. The pale man was calm as he repeated. ”I have him. You can let go.”

Sterl ceased his screams and lost consciousness.

Kas let go of the leg and sat down on an overturned barrel. Several hands clapped him on the back as he once again pulled hair out of his eyes.

Inside his mind, his wife spoke to him again. You may have saved him.

Kas thought back. Our children’s feud could’ve killed him.

It matters, not. Our children are safe. They are what is important, more so than one foolish boy.

Our daughter’s dangerous. She almost killed Animus tonight.

She’s necessary, husband. And I have forbade her from actually hurting Animus. His wife thought to him.

I’ll make sure this never happens again.

Zelicia tisked inside his mind. We both will. We’ll do it tonight.

Kas felt her leave his mind. He put his face and his hands and groaned, suddenly very tired. I need a drink. Instead, a few moments later, he stood and walked toward home.