Free Barrenlands (The Changespell Saga) by Doranna Durgin

glancing down at his wrist as he finished unloading the horse. The pack frame fit around the animal's very normal saddle, and Ehren lifted it off. "It's not deep. But I suspect it's some kind of poison."
    "Why didn't you say something?" Laine stopped short in his intent to lead the big horse to the side of the wagon where Spike wasn't.
    "It is what it is," Ehren said, pulling the saddle from the chestnut's back and handing it to Shette, who hadn't managed to move after the revelation that Ehren had been injured. Laine saw the wound then; it didn't look deep, but the parallel marks were vivid, raised and puffy— and the whole wrist was swollen in an alarming... no, wait a minute. That was just the thick, strong wrist of a swordsman. Still, the poisoned scratches needed tending.
    Shette exchanged a look with Laine, and he suddenly knew what she was thinking. Dajania was as close as they got to a physician on this caravan, and he bet she didn't want to let Dajania anywhere near this man.
    Ehren smiled, a wry expression. "If it was going to kill me, I imagine we'd know it by now."
    "You don't look very good," Shette said doubtfully, and he didn't, Laine realized. All that sweat wasn't from their exertion, and that sudden flush of color wasn't, either.
    "I don't feel all that good," Ehren said. "But I've lived through worse."
    "Oh, I don't know," Laine said brightly. "You haven't met Ansgare yet."
    ~~~~~
     
    Ansgare turned out to be a spare man, bearded and probably older than he looked. Ehren respected him immediately; his expression was a keen one, and he didn't waste much time bemoaning the turn of events. As displeased as he was by Ehren's presence, he eventually pointed out that the road belonged to no one, and any fool was welcome to bumble along without so much as a cottage witchy to help him. His real concern turned out to be getting around the sumacs. To that end, he left Laine's wagon to gather up the caravan members and total up their hand axes.
    Ehren gave no explanation for his presence; he wore his King's Guard ailette, and that was enough. Shette's curiosity was almost palpable, but she didn't ask. She was a sheltered young woman— one who seemed to know the practicalities of life but had obviously never suffered greatly because of them. She and Laine were manifestly of the same blood, and Shette appeared to be a feminine version of Laine's sturdy muscled form— of medium height and with the same general cast of feature.
    It had grown dark while Shette scavenged some semblance of a meal for their guest. By the time she presented it to him, Ehren was no longer in the mood for eating— not with the throb of his wrist and the blood pounding in his ears. Shette fretted about it, but he shook his head. "If it was going to get worse than this, I expect it would have done it by now," he told her, once again. He was even pretty sure he was right.
    He was sure about something else, too. This road was the quickest way to Dannel, and therefore the quickest way to get back into Solvany doing what needed to be done. But every throb of his wrist told him it wasn't a road he could take alone. As cavalier as he'd been about the wound, it had been a much closer call than either Laine or Shette knew— for the beast had barely touched him, just a whisper of claw against skin that hadn't even left a mark.
    At least, not at first.
    No, this wasn't a road he could take alone. But it was a road he had to take. And that meant staying with Laine, back to the border station and out again with the caravan. It would slow him down— but in the end it was still faster than taking the Trade Road.
    Shette had said something; Ehren missed it. He gave her a quick smile. Not encouragement, exactly; reassurance, perhaps, for the worried expression that had appeared on her face. They sat together on the other side of the wagon from the mountain, where the boys were hobbled for the night— away from the mules. The night remained warm and neither