Free The Healer's Legacy by Sharon Skinner Page B

but her face was tender and her body ached. She tried to remember a time when she didn’t hurt. It seemed as if, since leaving the home she had shared with Heresta, her life had been an unending series of beatings.
    She stood and wiped her hands on her shirt. “This journey’s been rough on all of us, little one. But things could be worse. At least we’ve managed to elude Toril’s men this far.”
    The swollen river rushed by, still carrying branches and other debris, but the fish would be settling back into feeding now that the storm had passed. She saw herself as a child, sitting beside her father on the bank of the stream near their farm, watching as he baited his line and dropped it into the water. He would speak softly to her, telling her about fish and their ways, when they fed and when they didn’t, which ones tasted best in stew, or roasted over an open fire. His quiet murmurings entranced her and she would feel the hush of the trees and flowers as she watched and waited for her father’s line to become taut with the next big catch. The two of them would both jump when the pole jerked, and then they would laugh together as he pulled in the line with a wriggling fish on the end of it.
    Her mouth watered at the thought of hot fish stew and she scanned the area for something to use for a line and a pole. She had a short length of waxed thread taken from Heresta’s stores. The thread was normally used for stitching wounds, but would be strong and fine enough for line. Only, she had no hooks. She recalled sitting by the fire, watching her father make his own hooks, heating and hammering small metal nails into the correct shape, but she had nothing like that. She knew there were people who could spear a fish with a long pole, but she wasn’t sure her battered body was up to such a physical feat.
    There wasn’t enough line for a fish net. She glanced back at the cave, wondering if there might be something inside she could use to catch a fish, then discarded the thought. From all the stories she’d heard, trolls weren’t generally that industrious. Especially rock trolls. They much preferred to take something warm-blooded and feed on it before it was cold. She shivered at the thought.
    Still, a quick search might provide something useful. She stood up and started toward the cave, but stopped near the fallen troll. It lay on its stomach, one arm under its body, the other extended out to the side. Its curved claws were wide at the tips of the fingers, but narrow and sharp on the ends, and perhaps she could scrape one down. She crept closer, reaching for her knife, but her hand came away from her belt empty. Another stupid mistake. She’d dropped her only weapon in the cave. She rushed to retrieve the blade. How long before such a mistake would cost her her freedom, or worse, one of their lives?
    With the knife in her hand, she pushed aside her revulsion, and crept up to the beast’s outstretched arm. She tried slicing at the claw on the first finger, but the nail was thick and strong, and she resorted to hacking at it. Her blows glanced off the smooth surface. In frustration, Kira placed one foot on the monster’s hand to hold the finger steady and brought the sharp blade down in a chopping motion. The knife missed its mark, sinking into flesh and through the joint. The fingertip came off, bouncing a few inches away and lay in the dirt, an oozing lump ending in a shiny curve that glinted in the sun.
    Kira stepped away from the troll. Dark gray fluid oozed from the finger where the tip had been severed and a sickening sweet odor drifted up. She clamped her mouth shut to keep the bile from rising past her throat, squared her shoulders, and picked up the clawed fingertip. It was far less menacing detached from the troll’s hand. Using the knife, she pried the nail from its fleshy bed. She held her breath, trying not to inhale the foul smell, and worked the nail against a rock until the base was almost as narrow as