Fidelias twisted himself up and out of the chilling waters of the angry river, frozen fingers clutching hard against the branch of the tree he had crafted within his reach. He felt numb, and his heart labored painfully against the shock of the cold water. The cold beckoned him with a slow, seductive caress, encouraging him to simply sink into the waters, relax, let his troubles slip away into the darkness.
Instead, he secured a hold on the next higher branch and hauled his body up out of the water. He huddled there for a few moments, shaking, struggling to gather his wits about him again, while the furystorm raged around him, winds hauling at his sodden clothes.
The one good thing about the flood, he decided, about the freezing water, was that he could no longer feel the cuts on his feet. He'd done his best to ignore them while recovering the horses, but the rocks and brush had been merciless to his skin. The woman, the watercrafter, had been onto them from the beginning, he decided. Clever, getting his shoes like that. She'd been planning on the boy running, and on hampering pursuit.
Fidelias leaned against the trunk and waited for the waters to subside.
They did, in rapid order, proving more than anything else that the flood had been a deliberate crafting rather than a natural event. He shook his head. Odiana should have given them warning-but perhaps she had been overmatched. The locals were no amateurs at their furycrafting and had lived with the local furies for years. They would know them, be able to use them more effectively than even a crafter of Fidelias's own level of skill. The Steadholder, for example-he had been formidable. In a direct, fair confrontation, Fidelias was uncertain whether or not he could simply overcome the man. Best then, to ensure that any future contact with the fellow discounted the possibility of a fair fight.
But then, that was in general Fidelias's policy.
Once the waters had receded back down into the river's original bed, Fidelias slipped down from the tree, grimacing as he got back to the ground. The pitch of the winds had only increased since the storm had rolled over them, and surviving in it had to be his first priority. He knelt by the trunk of the tree, resting a hand lightly on the sodden ground, reaching out for Vamma.
The fury responded to him at once, vanishing into the deep earth for several moments before rising back up toward him. Fidelias cupped his hands, and Vamma returned, providing what it had been sent to retrieve-a handful of salt crystals and a flint.
Fidelias pocketed the flint and swept the salt into a pouch, keeping a few pieces in hand. Then he rose, noting how slowly his body responded, and shook his head, shivering. The cold could kill him, if he didn't get warmed up, and quickly. Rising, he dispatched Etan to look for signs of his companions, and Vamma to search through the surrounding earth, for signs of movement. If the locals, either the Bernardholters or those they had been fighting, were still at hand, they might feel few compunctions about finishing the job the watercrafter had started.
Fidelias had to hurl salt at a swooping windmane, while he waited for his furies to return to him. It didn't take long. Etan appeared within a few moments and led him forward, through the blinding storm, down along the path of the river.
Several hundred yards downstream, Fidelias found Aldrick. The swordsman lay on the ground, unmoving, his fingers still locked around the hilt of his sword, buried to its hilts in the trunk of a tree. He had apparently managed to keep the flood from sweeping him away entirely, but had not taken
into account the threat the elements represented. Fidelias checked the pulse at the man's throat and found it there, still strong, if slow. His lips were blue. The cold. If the swordsman was not warmed, and quickly, he would die.
Fidelias debated allowing it to happen for a moment. Odiana remained an unknown quantity, and as long as she had Aldrick with her, she would be difficult to move against. Without the swordsman, Fidelias could remove her at leisure, and if Fidelias was fortunate, perhaps Aldrick's death would unhinge her entirely.
Fidelias grimaced and shook his head. Aldrick could be arrogant, insubordinate, but his loyalty to Aquitaine was unquestioned, and he was a valuable resource. Besides which, Fidelias liked working with the man. He was a professional and understood the priorities of operating in the field. Fidelias, as his commander, owed him a certain amount of loyalty, protection. Convenient as it might be to him, in the long term, he could not allow the swordsman to come to grief.
Fidelias took a moment to draw strength from the earth, pouring into him in a sudden flood. He jerked the sword from the tree's trunk, and peeled Aldrick's hand from its hilt. Then he picked up the man and slung him over one shoulder. His balance wavered dangerously, and he took a moment to breathe, to steady himself, before taking up the naked sword and turning, with Aldrick, to march away from the river, up out of the flood-saturated ground of the river's course.
Vamma shaped out a shelter from a rocky hillside, and Fidelias ducked into it and out of the storm. Etan provided ample kindling and wood, and Fidelias managed to coax a pile of shavings into flame using the flint and Aldrick's sword. By slow degrees, he built up the fire, until the inside of the furycrafted shelter began to grow warm, even cozy.
He leaned back against the wall, his eyes closed, and dispatched Vamma and Etan again. As tired as he was, there was still a job to do. Fidelias remained silent for a moment, letting his furies gather information about those who still moved in the wild storm outside.
When he opened his eyes again, Aldrick was awake and watching him.
"You found me," the swordsman said.
"Yes."
"Blade isn't much good against a river."
"Mmmm."
Aldrick sat up and rubbed at the back of his neck with one hand, wincing,
gathering himself back together with the resilience of his craft-and of comparative youth, Fidelias thought. He wasn't young anymore. "Where's Odiana?"
"I don't know yet," Fidelias said. "The storm offers considerable danger. I've found two moving groups, so far, and I think there's at least one more that I can't pinpoint."
"Which one is Odiana in?"
Fidelias shrugged. "One is heading to the northeast, and one to the southeast. I thought I felt something more directly east of here, but I can't be certain."