“What are you doing?” asked Witheric.

“Checking something,” said Restag, reaching out his hand to grip the man’s face as the light faded from his eyes. He didn’t have much time. Using the physical touch to ease his entry and strengthen the connection, Restag dove into the man’s mind. It was a jumble of memories and thoughts racing together and over each other, and Restag hurried to sort through the mire until he saw what he was looking for. He watched the memory play out, his blood further heating with anger before all suddenly went dark and he found himself staring at a corpse. Releasing his hold on the lifeless face, Restag spat out a string of profanities to the gods.

Witheric waited until his friend reclaimed himself before asking, “What did you see?”

The young thane suspected the answer, but it still stung as Restag snapped, “Ecthar met with this one here, promising wealth from your family’s coffers to have you stolen away and thrown out into the wilderness on the eve of winter without even a pair of boots. That viper! He planned a way for you to die such that he could easily lie to even a Troth-Seer to hide his deed.”

Restag watched as the truth settled painfully into his master’s mind, swearing curses against the High Elder in his thoughts. He had not told Witheric the rest, how Ecthar had told the Oathless to wait for him the next day in that narrow split of rock, how he would signal to them should he fail to persuade a certain man to give up on the missing thane and how they were to take that man to his master and do with them both as they saw fit. That part he kept to himself, where it could not harm his friend.

After a long stretch of silence, Witheric whispered, “What do we do now?”

Restag faced his friend and master, the uncertainty he saw softening his anger. Looking around them and then at Witheric’s bleeding arm and cold-reddened fingers and feet, he said, “First, we must dress you in something warm and tend your wounds.”

Shaking his head, Witheric said, “No! You are more wounded than I am!”

As if the words broke a spell, Restag suddenly felt the pain from multiple bruises and cuts across his body. Witheric was probably right, but Restag responded, “I am not near-naked and half-frozen. I brought some of your clothing with me. Change into them, and then we can argue about whose wounds weigh more.”

A strong shiver passed through Witheric, so he reluctantly agreed. Because Restag refused to remove the knife before they had something to wrap around the wound, as well as due to the pain of lifting his arm, the thane needed help pulling off the bloodied nightshirt. After wrapping himself in a wool cloak, he then watched in irritation as the thanesman tore off parts of the shirt to use as bandages, realizing too late that he had been tricked into being treated first. Soon after, he was pulling warm clothes over his bandaged arm and buckling on his gun belt while Restag dug through one of the packs. Pulling out a rope, the thanesman said, “I’m going to get some wood for a fire. Stay here.”

“What? No! I can look for wood. You need to address your own wounds,” said Witheric, shoving his feet into boots taken from the dead Oathless. They were a bit big, but warm and welcome in the evening air.

Restag shook his head. “You cannot climb easily with that arm, or carry much. The light is almost gone, as well.”

“And you should not be climbing with open wounds, especially not when you might run into that other Oathless,” countered Witheric, feeling a touch of pride as Restag’s silence confirmed he had correctly guessed the man’s second, hidden purpose. He continued, “There is still a bit of light left, and there are no clouds to cover the moon. Let me take care of the worst wounds before you go. Do not argue with me, thanesman. I will command you if I need to.”

Sighing, Restag dropped the rope and handed Witheric the cleaned knife and the remains of the nightshirt so he could finish cutting it up while Restag removed his clothes and mail. Most of the cuts proved shallow, but the shield-man now carried several large bruises, and there were a few gashes that worried Witheric as he cleaned and bandaged them.

Before long, darkness fell, and with it the temperature, their breath showing in the light of a large fire anytime they turned away from its heat. Before gathering the wood for that fire, Restag had made a quick search for the missing Oathless, but while he found the broken shaft of his spear and blood on the grass, he did not find a body. There was enough blood, however, that he did not feel concerned about any attacks that night and had quickly gathered up a bundle of sticks and a few small logs and sent them up to Witheric before climbing back up the rope, pulling it up with him.

From his pack, Restag extracted some cheese, biscuits, and dried meat, which Witheric accepted eagerly, having not eaten all day. “You really thought of everything,” he said between bites.

“Except your boots and some bandages,” said Restag as he sat with his own dinner.

Witheric smiled slightly. “Yes. How could you forget those? Your thoughts must have been full to the brim.”

“Hm,” was all the reply he got. Witheric watched his friend, trying to read the thoughts on that calm face. As he started on his food again, he said almost casually, “What shall we do now?”