Beloved Son by Carole Cummings

Author:Carole Cummings [Cummings, Carole]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fantasy
ISBN: 978-1-63533-804-1
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Published: 2017-12-19T05:00:00+00:00

IT TOOK more like twenty. Wil’s dead weight was floppier and harder to manage than Dallin had thought. It took concentration for Dallin to maneuver Wil semi-upright and hold him in place while Corliss focused on winding the bandage around Wil’s shoulder and chest. The dressing was sloppy and temporary, but better than nothing. Dallin had managed to stop the bleeding altogether before, but he hadn’t dared to begin the actual healing process until the bullet could be removed. Hopefully, between his and Corliss’s efforts, the provisional fix would hold until….

Well. Until.

Dawn was trying to bully its way through the gathered cloud cover by the time they’d wrangled Wil back into his coat and up into the saddle with Dallin, but so far all it had managed to do was turn the black to a grudging gray. The thunder had subsided, but the rain seemed to be digging in to stay, and considering what Wil had said, Dallin wasn’t much surprised. Depressingly fitting, in a way. It would make the last stretch of uphill travel more difficult, though. Dallin hadn’t realized it while they’d been beneath the shelter of the trees, and what with the fires still sputtering and all, but once they got back out on the trail and in the relative open, the drizzle had already resolved into sharp little spicules of sleet. Not ideal for hoofs. Especially not hoofs belonging to a poxy gray stallion who thought walking was beneath him.

“You carry the Aisling,” Dallin told it—stern, but under his breath, since he saw no reason to share his bit of vagary with the others. “Watch your step, or I’ll have your hide for gloves.”

He was suddenly sorry he hadn’t asked the horse’s master its name so he could address it more directly. It always seemed to work for Wil, after all.

The warning was unnecessary, as it turned out. Miri, trailing on her lead behind Woodrow, seemed determined to keep the gray in line with the occasional cross snort and nip to his neck. Dallin had no illusions that she was doing it as a personal favor to him, of course. In fact, it was more likely that she was merely pissed off and jealous that her own saddle was exhibiting a severe lack of Wil.

There were three more skirmishes, rather rote exchanges of gunfire in which no one was truly threatened, and the hollow sounds of misses and ricochets were more annoying than worrying. Dallin felt them coming each time and drew the small party into a tighter knot around him and Wil just in case. But knowing what the Brethren thought they were doing made it so Dallin’s heart didn’t even bother skipping beats except in irritation. It was tempting to call out to the land, see if Dallin could try Wil’s trick of making the ground move and swallow them up, but that would give away the game.

Dallin wouldn’t exactly have the element of surprise on his side when they reached Fæðme, but it

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