A Taste Like Ashes

“Hell,” May said, and Liosse looked over at him, quirked a smile that was half-amusement, half-question.

“Hell,” May said again, and fumbled with the saddle bag he had draped over his shoulder--a weight that pulled him off-balance on the icy hillside, and made him lean far to the left to center his weight. The burden was probably wearing him down. Probably hurting his back by now, especially considering the terrain.

“Need a break?” Liosse offered, stopping to let him catch up.

“I need a horse. You know what they are? Four-legged? They carry things?” Tired, May was more querulous than usual. Liosse shook his head in patient exasperation and lit a cigarette.

“No money. And sarcasm won’t buy us one, either.”

“No money,” May repeated disgustedly, and re-adjusted the weight of the bags, “You get my horse killed, and you say ‘no money’? You drag me out on half-baked, fool’s errand jobs and you say ‘no money’? You make me carry this crap and you say--“

“I did ask if you needed a break.”

May glowered, drawing up beside him and letting the bag slide off his shoulder while he worked his arm, stretching and shaking stiffness out of it, “Try asking if you could carry these for a few miles? Huh? Try that.”

“Mm. Nah.” Liosse took a long drag and offered the cigarette to May, who shook his head, waited until his slight panting evened out, and then held his hand out for it. Liosse handed it over and let him smoke in peace for a few moments. “We’re not so far out. You holding up?”

“Better than you.” May offered the cigarette back, then--when Liosse declined--dropped it to the icy-slick ground and ground it out under his boot. Serious now, solemn, “Feet okay?”

Liosse shrugged, “Numb,” he said, and grinned, not wanting to worry May. Not when May was injured himself, and doing a fine job of keeping them both moving, all complaining aside. May frowned anyway, considered Liosse’s boots as if he could assess the damage through the leather.

“We should keep moving,” Liosse said.

“We should check you for frostbite,” May said.

They should. That and check May’s injured arm. Let him rest it and work his fingers and shoulder. Let them both get some proper sleep. A hot meal.

Except there wasn’t time for it. Not with the weather closing in, and the merchant train they were meant to catch up with moving steadily--if slowly--onward. Not with them both exhausted to the brink of collapse. If he lay down and got warm and comfortable, there was a definite chance that he’d never muster the will power to drag himself to his feet again.

At least, not before the snow fell, and made this trek over rocky, frosted, steep ground even harder, even more treacherous.

“If you need--“

“I’m fine. If you want to stop--“May countered with a tired grin. Exhausted and in pain, Liosse thought. Carrying his gear and Liosse’s because Liosse’s balance was off with his feet numb from the cold, and neither of them could afford a tumble and a slide down the side of this damned mountain.

“Alright. But say if you need to stop. I mean it, May.”

“Same to you,” May said, and Liosse could see the effort it took him to get moving again, to take that first step, testing his footing before moving his weight onto it.

“I’ll carry the damn bags,” Liosse said, when May had gone a few painful steps and slid, nearly going to his knees on the rocky ground.

“Oh. Now you want to carry them.” May said, with one hand against a tree, scuffing snow off his boots, “Well, too bad. I’ve got them, I’m walking, and I’m not stopping just so you can change your mind again.”

Liosse snorted. Shook his head. “We’re not so far out now.”

“So you’ve said.” May didn’t sound convinced. He shifted the weight of the bags again, didn’t look over his shoulder as he said, “Come on, Lee.”

They needed to stop. Needed to rest bad. They hadn’t expected to be on foot for this trek home. Hadn’t expected the firefight to be so fierce. Certainly hadn’t expected anyone to stoop so low as to kill their horses.

It had put a definite kink in their plans.

Plans that had never including walking on foot down the side of a mountain. Plans that certainly hadn’t included this race against the weather. Liosse had hoped to be back with the wagons by now, to be riding lazily on the footboard of one of them while his horse walked easily along, unburdened of saddle and packs and keeping easy pace with the lumbering gait of the oxen.

He’d really hoped to be safe and warm and--

Something sang through the air, thudded into the ground by his feet, and even before his mind had time to identify what it was, he was moving, stumbling, then running on cold-numb feet and grabbing May by the arm as he caught up to him, sending them both sliding down the steep incline, over rocks and tree roots and hard, slippery patches of ice.

“Who the hells shooting at us?” May demanded, rolling to his knees as they came to a stop in the dip of a frozen creek and casting about for the saddle bags.

“I dunno. Forget the damn bags. Move!”

“But--“

“Move, May!”

May did, dragging Liosse to his feet and over the lip of the creek, pulling him down again in the relative shelter on the other side of that rise. “We don’t have food, Lee. We won’t have a fire. We’ll be out in the cold with only what we’ve got on.”

“It’ll have to do,” Liosse snapped, but scanned the hillside for the bags, “They’re gone. It’ll just have to do.”

“Your feet--“

“Are no worse than your arm.” May hesitated, reluctantly left the bags wherever they had fallen and trailed Liosse along the hollow by the creek.

“There’s no shelter out here. And our spare bullets were in the bags,” May sounded apologetic under his questioning tone.

“Yeah. Well. Should be used to bad luck by now. Just roll with it.”

May snorted, echoed, “Just roll with it,” and snorted again. Liosse grinned over his shoulder at him.

“Thought you’d be happy to be rid of that load,” he joked.

May shook his head, not answering, nodding in the direction they’d come, keeping his head down while he did it. Liosse dropped lower and followed his gaze. Saw nothing.

“Can’t imagine who’d be after us,” he said, and drew his gun even as the soft click of May cocking his drifted over. “Easy on those bullets, May.”

“I hear you.” Calm and easy. Not a hint of the grumbling malcontent Liosse had been traveling with.

“See anything?”

“I did. He’s gone now.”

A mercenary like them, then. Or a tracker like Soohy. Someone who could make himself disappear into the trees and the shadowed hollows of the land. “Damn. I thought we’d be clear by now.”

“We were. If anyone had followed us out of town, they’d have shot at us before this,” May said, cautiously raising his head to scan the trees again. “Cash bet he’s got us in his sights?”

“He knows where we are, at least. If he had a bead we’d be dodging bullets,” Liosse grabbed May by the shirt, pulled him back down, “and you’d be short a head. Stay down, dammit.”

“Probably can’t get a good shot through the trees,” May nodded in the direction of the hill, “but he’s got the higher ground. We’re sitting ducks down here.” Good point, but Liosse was reluctant to get up and make a more convenient target of himself when he had no real idea of their assailant’s position. “I’m heading that way,” May said, pointing in the direction they’d been heading, “Feel free to come along.”

“Shit. Hold on a minute.”

“Hold on to be shot at?” May said but held. Liosse fired at the trees. Got no return fire. No movement. Nothing that gave the shooter’s position away.

“Damn it.”

“Maybe you killed him,” May said doubtfully.

“He knows we lost him.” And wouldn’t risk firing back until he was pretty certain of his shot.