It was difficult to reach across himself in full armor, but possible. Kellen drew the locking-pins free and slid the armored sleeves down his arms, then unpinned the gorget, and, with a burst of inspiration, bent and wriggled out of the whole mass—armored collar, surcoat, unbuckled baldric, and all, off over his head. He set them down quickly and lifted off the back and breastplate, suddenly impatient to be free of the armor. The quilted padding beneath was soaked through with sweat, and clung to him clammily.
He felt strangely light and unfinished without the weight of the armor, though, as if it had somehow become an extension of him today, and almost regretted removing the last pieces, though certainly not enough to leave them on. He untangled the elements of the armor carefully, folding the surcoat neatly, replacing the locking-pins in their places, and setting everything where he could find it easily in the morning, then went to find a change of clothes.
There was one other important thing he had to do as well.
When they'd ridden out that morning, the keystone had been tucked safely up in one of the mule's packs, but the more he'd thought about the arrangement, the less Kellen had liked it. The keystone was vulnerable. All their enemies really had to do to win was destroy it or get it away from them, and even if he hadn't seen any sign of enemies so far, Kellen couldn't assume that happy state would continue as they rode north.
He dug through his gear until he found the satchel Idalia had given him—filled with herbs and supplies for Wild Magic—and stowed its contents carefully among his other gear. The satchel was just large enough to hold the keystone wrapped in its spell-caul, and he could attach it to his sword belt. He might look a little odd that way, but he'd feel better if he had the keystone with him at all times.
'Good,' Jermayan said briefly when he glanced up and saw what Kellen had done.
And after all, he didn't have to say anything more.
By the time Kellen was done making his arrangements, Jermayan had already changed and had started a fire. Kellen changed as well, toweling himself off briskly all over, then rubbing himself with a bag of herbs that Idalia had given him for the purpose in lieu of a bath. The creek here wasn't deep enough to bathe in, and the water was muddy and uninviting besides. At least Shalkan could purify what they'd have to drink later.
As he'd expected upon close inspection, there was a greenish tender patch along his ribs where Jermayan had gotten him. Kellen winced as his fingers explored it. That was going to hurt tomorrow, and if the way the rest of him felt was any indication, it wouldn't be alone. Why did all of his adventures seem to start out with a fresh set of bruises?
He regarded his underpadding unhappily as he spread it out to dry.
He hoped there'd be some way to clean it along the way, or after a few more bouts with Jermayan, he was going to smell about as attractive as week-old carrion.
It was starting to get dark now, and Kellen felt the weight of a full day of riding and hard physical work. But he felt much better for being dressed in clean dry clothes with his hair combed out, and whatever Jermayan was cooking smelled good. He picked up the satchel with the keystone—he felt better keeping it where he could see it —and came over to the fire.
'Take off your tunic,' Jermayan said, greeting him.
'I want to see how badly you're bruised,' he added, when Kellen didn't move, 'and without a good application of allheal to your muscles, you'll be too stiff to train tomorrow morning, let alone to ride for a full day afterward. Now sit,' he said mercilessly. 'You can eat after you've been tended to.'
Kellen pulled off his tunic again and sat, trying not to wince as he folded himself into a sitting position. He was already starting to stiffen a bit.
Jermayan poured, and reached across the fire to press Kellen's fingers around a tall pottery cup. 'Tea.'
Idalia had always seemed to greet every crisis or stirring event with a cup of tea, and now Kellen knew where she'd picked up the habit. The Elves seemed to feel that every moment, good or bad, called for a cup of tea; Kellen was only surprised that he hadn't been asked to fight with a cup in one hand and a sword in the other, though possibly that would come later. He raised the cup and inhaled, sipping cautiously. The tea tasted strongly of mint, with other musky but not unpleasant flavors beneath, and was heavily sweetened with something that wasn't the honey he was used to.
Jermayan knelt behind Kellen, a large pot of salve in his hand. It was that, Kellen ruefully realized, that he'd smelled heating, and not dinner; it must contain some of the same herbs as the tea did.
Jermayan inspected the bruise on Kellen's ribs critically. 'Not as bad as it could be, but you would dislike to ride with it tomorrow.' He scooped up a generous dollop of the salve—Kellen watched out of the corner of his eye —and applied it to the discolored area, kneading strongly.
It hurt. Kellen set his teeth and refused to complain as Jermayan worked the allheal into his aching side, working with no more respect for Kellen's flinches than if Kellen had been a bowl of dough. When he stopped, Kellen breathed a sigh of relief—cut short when Jermayan began again on his neck muscles, with as much ruthlessness as before.
'Hey—ow!' Kellen exclaimed, despite his best intentions, spilling tea on himself.
