#cw:animal injury

[verkja]

Pt. 3

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In this section, Radomil starts to like his companions and immediately regrets it.

CWs: Injury, spiders, sickness, depression, animal injury, discussion of animal abuse (which does not occur), discussion of violence (which does not occur)... pre-TSD? This is SFW. Please let me know if I missed anything. Chapter summaries here.

Words: About 3K

Things had been different for the mercenary group ever since the canyon battle. The changes were subtle, but Radomil noticed them more and more as the days passed. It seemed as if the group had come together, minor disagreements smoothed over by the memory of the experiences they’d shared.

His rib was recovering well. It had been a clean break, and Rhedyn’s quick treatment made sure it would heal neatly. Herve and Aure had split the contents of Radomil’s pack between them so he didn’t need to carry anything while he healed.

Despite the sunny weather and the group’s improved relations, though, Radomil felt terrible. At times, getting out of his bedroll and pulling on his boots in the morning seemed to take more effort than any battle. His dream - the same one every night - lingered in the back of his mind, which it always did to some extent, but lately it was harder to ignore. Talking to his fellow mercenaries grew more difficult too.

He knew why. The evening after the canyon battle, the company had sat around the campfire and celebrated their victory. His stunt with the dragon came up, of course; the others were highly impressed by it. Radomil had thought it rather well-done too. His satisfaction turned to something far less pleasant, though, when Rhedyn enthused that the deed would make a great ballad.

It had sounded so much like something his old companions would have said - something Catha would have said, specifically - that it replaced every trace of contentment with an aching, hollow sadness. He’d excused himself shortly afterward and gone to his bedroll, where he’d played some of the songs he used to play in the old days until he fell asleep.

Since then, Radomil had withdrawn somewhat from the rest of the group. Whenever they stopped to camp, he went off alone to work on his rune book or, once his rib had healed a bit, practise forms with his sword at quarter-speed. The others mostly left him to it. Since his relationships with them had already been fairly distant, perhaps they didn’t notice a difference.

The landscape around them shifted from granite cliffs to broken hills of granite and sandstone scattered across reddish scrubland. Fewer bandits and raiders accosted them here - the open terrain was a poor setting for ambushes - but Radomil wished they were back in the mountains. This scenery was too much like the barren waste he saw in his dream.

The decreased tension in the group meant he didn’t worry much about infighting anymore, at least. In fact, there had been no physical altercations during the two weeks since the canyon battle. The other mercenaries were in high spirits, except for Mures, but even he had been uncharacteristically quiet and courteous lately.

The sorcerer had been acting strange in other ways as well. While practising sword forms, Radomil sometimes saw him watching, mismatched eyes following the spellsword’s movements with keen attention, expression difficult to read.

It had concerned Radomil a little at first, but Mures never bothered him or even spoke to him while he exercised. After a while he began to expect and even appreciate it; practising with his sword could all too easily pull him into memories he didn’t want to think about, and Mures’ quiet presence helped distract him. When the sorcerer failed to appear one day, he found himself wondering why.

He brushed reddish dust off his sword and put it away after finishing the last form. His rib ached, but not to a point that made him worried about it. Still, he headed back to the centre of camp for chamomile ointment to bring down any swelling.

It was early evening; the company had decided to end their day near a large sandstone outcrop instead of starting the trek across the long stretch of open land ahead. The wind could be vicious here, and hollows carved in the stone by blowing sand provided some shelter. Iesto had gathered some twisted branches and brushwood for a fire, but hadn’t yet lit it; the sun was still well above the horizon.

The scout was re-fletching a few arrows while the two warriors sparred a little ways outside the camp. Rhedyn was crushing something or other in her mortar and pestle. The sorcerer was nowhere to be seen.

Radomil found the chamomile ointment and eased off his shirt to apply it. The weather was currently warm and sunny, though he knew it would rapidly cool as the sun went down. He slung the shirt over his shoulder and, after a brief hesitation, walked over to Iesto.

‘Have you seen Mures anywhere?’ he asked, and realised his voice was rusty with disuse.

‘No, not for a while. Why? Did he do something?’

‘Hm? Oh, no.’ Radomil shrugged. ‘Just wondering.’

Iesto nodded. ‘You’ve been kind of scarce lately - I thought he might’ve been causing trouble for you.’

He hadn’t thought anyone had noticed, and was momentarily touched before a tide of memory rushed in - You’ve been quiet lately, Radomil; dream getting you down? You know we’ll find a way to handle it - and the warm feeling in his chest burned down to ash.

‘No,’ he replied. ‘I’ve just been distracted.’

He headed out of camp and around the sandstone crag. It was quite large, and he walked for several minutes before spotting a dark figure leaning against the dusty stone. The sorcerer was facing away from him and seemed to be fiddling with something small.

A pebble, knocked to the side by Radomil’s boot, clacked off the side of the crag. Mures’ shoulders jerked and he spun around, one hand flying behind his back. He looked distinctly unwell; his forehead was covered with sweat and he propped himself against the sandstone with a shaking hand.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asked tersely.

‘Looking for you,’ said Radomil. ‘What are you doing here?’

He didn’t share his companions’ distrust of the sorcerer - despite his hostility, Mures had never actually done anything against the interests of the group - but the man certainly looked like he was trying to hide something.

‘Ah,’ said Mures, narrowing his eyes, ‘since you took your little ride on the dragon, I suppose you think you can just tell the rest of us what to do - expect us to tell you anything you please.’

‘What? Of course not.’

‘Just me, then, is it? I can’t say I’m surprised; all you self-righteous glory-seekers are the same in the end.’ He gave Radomil what was probably meant to be a smirk, but turned out more like a grimace. Sweat poured down his face. ‘Well, by all means. Convince me I should listen to you.’

He spread his hands. Radomil noticed that he was still standing fixed in place, swaying slightly.

‘Are you... trying to get me to fight you?’ he asked. This whole situation was strange. Mures didn’t deliberately provoke the other mercenaries so much as he simply didn’t use any tact, and refused to apologise for anything; Radomil hadn’t seen him deliberately initiate a single fight.

‘If I am, are you going to back down?’ His tone was mocking.

Under other circumstances, Radomil would have just returned to camp. Now, though, he was becoming increasingly concerned about Mures’ intentions, and also about the sorcerer’s health. He’d placed a hand back on the crag, carefully casual, but his fingertips were white as he leaned on them.

‘I don’t intend to fight you,’ Radomil said, choosing his words and tone with care. ‘I saw you holding something earlier and wondered what it was. If it’s something private, fine, but you don’t look well and I’m worried about you.’

The sorcerer made a disbelieving noise. He didn’t continue goading Radomil, though, and when the other mercenary took a step closer, he just swallowed and leaned back slightly.

Radomil raised an eyebrow at him and then quickly stepped to the side. He saw a glass jar holding some kind of insect on the small ledge behind Mures before the sorcerer got in his way again.

‘What’ve you got in there?’ he asked.

Mures glared at him, but he looked more nervous than angry. ‘It’s a spider, and none of your business.’

‘Why do you have a spider in a jar?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘It might.’ The idea that Mures might try to harm one of them with a venomous spider, perhaps in their sleep, seemed unlikely; however, he couldn’t think of any benevolent reason for him to be so shifty about it. He sidestepped again and reached towards the jar.

The sorcerer grabbed his wrist before he could touch it. He turned to face the other man. This close, he could hear Mures’ shallow breathing and feel his hand shaking on Radomil’s arm. He didn’t look hostile anymore; in fact, he looked very upset.

‘Don’t hurt it,’ he said. ‘It’s not - I’ll keep it in the jar. It can’t move much anyway.’

‘What?’ Radomil pulled the sorcerer’s bony fingers off his arm and lifted the jar.

The golden-brown spider inside it had only three legs. It was crouched against the back wall, next to a twig and part of a dead fly. There was a droplet of water clinging to the twig, and a few holes were punched in the lid of the jar.

‘Why do you have this?’ he asked with a frown, adding, ‘I won’t hurt it,’ upon seeing Mures’ expression.

‘...I stepped on it while I was looking around earlier,’ the sorcerer told him. ‘It must have been missing legs already if it didn’t get out of the way. This species is very intelligent - it’s definitely aware of what’s happening to it.’’

‘Right.’ Radomil gently placed the jar back on the ledge. ‘Why are you sweating so much?’

Mures gazed at him, the distress slowly fading from his expression to be replaced by a sort of confused caution. ‘It bit me,’ he said eventually.

‘Oh. Well, do you need something for it? Want me to get Rhedyn?’

He shook his head. ‘No - it’s not lethal. It’ll just make me sick for the next few hours.’

‘Right.’ Radomil stepped back, suddenly realising how close he’d been standing. ‘Sorry. I thought you might -’

‘Quite reasonably,’ Mures said. His voice was a little hoarse. ‘Er. Thank you.’

Radomil waved a hand. ‘Nothing to thank me for. I wouldn’t hurt your spider. What kind of a person do you think I am?’

The sorcerer hesitated before twitching his shoulders in a stiff shrug. ‘Regardless.’

Radomil gave him a faint smile. He was surprised by the source of his companion’s behaviour, but pleasantly so. This was the first time he’d seen anything to suggest that Mures cared about something other than himself, but it went well beyond what he’d have expected even of one of the others.

He sat down against the crag; the sandstone was comfortably warm against his back. ‘Were you trying to distract me by getting me to hit you?’ he asked.

Mures looked down at him blankly. ‘Perhaps,’ he said eventually.

‘That was extraordinarily kind of you.’

Mures gave a short, awkward laugh.

‘I’m serious,’ Radomil told him.

He shook his head, looking vaguely incredulous and still quite ill. After a while, he sat down beside the spellsword, maybe an arm’s length away.

‘Why did you come out here?’

‘I noticed you weren’t around camp,’ Radomil answered. He thought about explaining how the other man’s presence had helped keep his mind off his memories, but decided against it. That would be more intimate than he really wanted to be with anyone in the company. Admittedly, this conversation was already longer and hence more intimate than he wanted, but he was curious about Mures.

‘So, what are you planning to do with the spider?’ he asked. ‘I assume it can’t survive on its own with just three legs. Are you just going to keep it?’

‘No; it’s young. The legs should regrow over its next few moults.’

‘Huh. And you knew how venomous it was, and how intelligent - why do you know so much about spiders?’

‘Why does it matter?’ Mures sounded as though he couldn’t decide whether to be suspicious or confused.

‘It doesn’t, I suppose. Just making conversation.’

‘...and why would you want to do that?’

‘To pass the time. If you don’t want to talk, that’s fine. We can just sit here.’

They did so for the next few minutes. On one side of the crag, the sun was beginning to set; lines of bright pink and orange stretched across the sky.

‘Why are you still here?’ the sorcerer asked eventually.

‘Thought I’d keep you company.’

There was another long pause.

‘Spiders are often involved in dark magic,’ Mures said after a while, ‘as symbols or familiars or components.’

‘Ah. Have any plans for this spider?’

‘No; I’m not working on anything that would require it, and I’d use a less intelligent species anyway. Radomil -’

‘Hm?’ the mercenary prompted when he didn’t go on.

‘Why are you keeping me company?’

‘I thought you wouldn’t want to go back to camp until the venom’s effects subside. We may not have seen many dangers out here yet, but you can’t be sure. Can’t imagine you’d have an easy time casting while you feel like this.’

Conversation could also provide a distraction from sickness and pain, but he had the feeling that saying as much wouldn’t go over well. Though Mures was being unusually civil, he seemed very wary. Radomil thought the sorcerer probably would have left a while ago if he’d felt up to it.

‘You have a broken rib.’

‘Sure, but it doesn’t interfere with using magic.’ Radomil traced a rune in the sand and set it glowing as a demonstration. ‘I rely on that more than my sword anyway.’

‘Yes, I noticed. I thought you only carried a sword as a backup at first, but you seem to know what you’re doing with it.’

‘Thanks. It’s easier to disable opponents with spells rather than kill them; doing that with a sword is much more of a challenge.’

‘You prefer not to kill people?’

‘When possible.’

‘You’re a mercenary.’

‘I’m paid to solve problems, not specifically to kill people. Well - most of the time. If I can solve things non-lethally, so much the better.’

Mures looked unconvinced.

‘Look,’ said Radomil, ‘we’re all going to die someday. That makes every second incredibly valuable, right? Because your time is limited. Robbing someone of that time is the worst kind of theft.’

They sat in thoughtful silence as the sun dropped towards the distant mountains. Beside them, the spider drank some of its water droplet and settled in the front of the jar.

‘Think it’s watching the sunset as well?’ Radomil asked, grinning. It did look oddly attentive.

The sorcerer glanced at him and then at the spider. After a moment, he gave a very small, surprised smile. It was crooked, and only lasted a second, and didn’t seem at home on his thin lips.

‘Maybe,’ he said.

The last traces of the sun’s fiery rim sank below the horizon. The air grew rapidly colder as the light faded, and Radomil shivered. Looking over at his companion, he saw that Mures seemed less unwell than he had earlier.

‘Feeling better?’ he asked.

The sorcerer nodded. Radomil stood up, wincing when his rib complained at the movement. He turned to offer a hand to Mures, but the other man was already upright. He had picked up the spider jar and was gazing at it with mild concern.

‘You might want to keep that hidden,’ the spellsword noted. ‘I know Herve, at least, isn’t fond of spiders.’

‘Yes, but I don’t want it getting knocked around in my pocket,’ said Mures.

‘Give it here; I’ll wrap it in my shirt,’ Radomil offered.

The sorcerer pulled the jar closer to his chest in a seemingly unconscious movement. He hesitated.

‘I won’t do anything bad to it - you have my word on that. I’ll give it back as soon as you’ve set up for the night.’

Very, very cautiously, with a carefully blank expression, Mures offered him the jar. The spellsword gave him a reassuring smile and took it, folding his shirt into a bag that would keep it upright. They set off back to camp at a relaxed pace.

The rest of the company was gathered around the fire when they arrived, so it was quite easy after all to conceal the spider jar by Mures’ bedroll. As Radomil pulled his shirt back on and turned towards the fire, the sorcerer cleared his throat.

‘Thank you,’ he said, ‘for your help with this. And for - well -’

‘No problem.’

‘I will pay you back, you know. I’m not - what I mean is, I won’t give you cause to regret it.’

‘Sure; you can buy me an ale when we reach town.’

‘I already owe you an ale.’

Radomil shrugged. ‘Two ales, then.’

His good mood, a result of the surprisingly pleasant evening with Mures, lasted until he retired to his bedroll after eating. Then reality caught up with him, as he’d known it would.

Radomil pressed his palms against his temples. He hadn’t anticipated this, because Mures was usually so unpleasant, but he was definitely feeling some level of fondness. That was - not what he wanted.

He wished the cool numbness he’d felt before the dragon incident would return. It was so much easier than this blend of warmth and dreadful presentiment, the feeling of impending doom hanging over every friendly moment. He didn’t want to go to sleep.

He didn’t want to, but if he didn’t, the journey tomorrow would just be more difficult. Staying awake would solve nothing in the long run. Letting out a long breath and trying very hard to think of nothing, Radomil lay down and shut his eyes.

#constantly fighting the urge to spend paragraphs describing a sunset in what is meant to be a whump story #i researched so much deep spider lore for this part and used 1% of it #whump #whump writing #my writing #emotional whump #cw:depression #cw:injury #cw:bugs #cw:spiders #cw:animal injury #cw:sickness #fantasy whump #medieval whump