Her thoughts were disturbed by an outburst around the fire. The men had returned their attention to Fury and were asking him how he had managed to catch a lynx. Fury made a weak attempt to match their humour. His performance disgusted Alison. She rose and walked towards them with slow deliberate steps.
'She's coming to cut yer balls off.'
One of the men prodded Fury and Alison's eyes settled on him. She knew she could kill him before he had time to rise. Her sword flicked out and he cowered as it swept over his head and cut a trig from a branch. She caught it, trimmed the end and used it to remove a pot from the fire. The men roared with laughter but, when her fingers tightened on the sword, their features tensed. She gave a lynx hiss and walked off with the pot.
Adrina looked up as Alison approached. Her face was drawn and haggard, her skin deadly white. She tried to raise a hand in greeting but the effort caused her whole body to shake. Alvero lay beside her, tended by Miralda. The old woman was examining a pad of herbs and moss that covered a wound in his belly.
Alison halted, sensing the tension. The young man had been fed a gruel of oats and onion and now it was time to find out what the concoction had to say about his wound. If the injury was superficial then the smell of onion would not penetrate to the outside. If the intestines had been cut through, the smell would be unmistakable.
Miralda lifted the last piece of padding and revealed a short cut. It looked clean and there was no sign of infection but the sight unnerved Alison. She knew what sort of stroke had caused the injury. It was not the result of a slashing action. The wound would have been produced by a thrust with a short sword. If the sword had been arrested by body armour then all might be well. But if the blade had penetrated deeply, serious injury was inevitable.
Miralda leant over, placed her nose near the wound and sniffed. Alison did not have to wait. If the expression on the old woman's wrinkled face had not given the verdict, the faint aroma of onion would have told its tale. Miralda drew herself up.
'The sword reached his vitals.' She touched Adrina's arm. 'There's nothing I can do to cure his ill.'
Adrina sank back sobbing. Her whole body shook and fresh blood began to ooze through her bandages. Alison bent down to comfort her.