Propped against the cold dark rock wall of the recess while blood seeped dark red through the first layer of boiled linen on his right thigh, Daro Kesh glared down at Seyun’s hands as Seyun laid two eighteen-inch slats of split pine splint-wood along the outside of the injured leg. For a proud nineteen-year-old swordmaster who had spent months training to stand at the front of the assault, finding himself crippled in one leg at the end of the second watch—and knowing that Seyun had given up a clear three-pace shot at the central hub to haul him out of the ditch—burned hotter than the cut on his thigh bone.
“Don’t act so noble about turning back from the drum, Ash Reed!” Daro snapped, his teeth gritted hard as Seyun pulled the first leather splint-strap tight above his right knee. “We all know how that Answering Spirit vein of yours works! My sword-mark is sitting right under your right collarbone at Place II. If that sky-high blade had taken my head off in the eastern ditch, your precious second mark would have gone dead and started the ninety-day stone-rot in your chest! You didn’t turn back for me—you turned back to protect your own spirit vein ledger and keep your echo source alive!”
