Forest Kingdom Trilogy 3 - Down Among the Dead Men

and hugged MacNeil ferociously, despite the blood and slime that soaked his clothes.
    “You’re alive! Oh, Duncan, I knew you had to be alive! I knew it!”
    Her feelings ran wild within her, making her suddenly inarticulate, but that didn’t matter. There’d be time to tell him about those feelings later. There would be time for many things now.
    Finally she let him go, and the others took turns hugging him and slapping him on the back and shoulders. All the exuberance was suddenly too much for MacNeil, and he had to sit down quickly before he fell down. The Dancer and Jack helped him to a chair, and MacNeil then had to spend some time assuring them all that he was fine really, and just needed a little time to get his breath back. Constance wrapped a blanket around his shoulders to keep out the cold. Flint handed him a wine flask, and he nodded his thanks.
    “All right,” said Constance, “tell us what happened. You’ve been missing for hours. Did you really kill the Beast?”
    “Oh, yes,” said MacNeil. “It’s dead.” He told them his story, and they sat around him in silent awe, like children listening to the village storyteller. When he was finished, no one said anything for a long time.
    “So, Wolfsbane is lost again,” said Flint finally “I can’t say I’m sorry to see the back of it. Damn thing gave me the creeps.”
    “Right,” said MacNeil. “As far as my official report is concerned, it’s lost without trace. I think it’s better for everyone if it stays that way.” He yawned suddenly and allowed himself the luxury of a long, slow stretch. “And now, my friends, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’m going to lose these clothes and crawl into my sleeping roll and sleep for a week. Good night … and pleasant dreams.”
    In the end, he slept about ten hours. It was late in the afternoon when he finally woke up. Every muscle he had was complaining loudly, but the long sleep had taken the edge off his pains, and he thought he could live with them now. Flint and the Dancer were sitting not too far away, talking quietly. Constance was preparing a meal of cold field rations at one of the tables. There was no sign of Scarecrow Jack. MacNeil smiled contentedly. It felt good to be alive. He lay back in his bedroll and stared up at the ceiling. In a strange way, he felt very much at peace with himself. Down in the darkness, under the gaze of the Beast, he had tested his courage and found it sound. He’d never been more scared in his life, but still, when it mattered, he had done the right thing. It meant a lot to him, knowing that.
    He emerged reluctantly from his blankets and climbed into his spare set of clothes. One look at the stained and slime-drenched clothes he’d worn previously was enough to convince him they were beyond saving. He raised his hands to his face and sniffed them suspiciously. Despite a thorough washing the night before, he could still smell the foul stench of the Beast. Maybe when the reinforcements arrived they’d have someone with them who could repair the hot water boilers, and he could have a long soak in a very hot bath. MacNeil smiled, savoring the thought, and moved over to join Constance at the table. She smiled back at him and passed him some of the cold field rations. It was a continuing matter for debate among all guards as to whether field rations tasted worse cooked or cold. Most guards usually ended up deciding they tasted equally vile either way. MacNeil wasn’t all that hungry anyway, but since Constance had gone to the trouble of preparing the meal, he supposed he’d better eat some of it or she’d be upset. After a few mouthfuls he discovered he was hungry after all, ate the lot, and even wished there was more. He pushed back the empty plate with a sigh, and looked up to find Constance sitting patiently beside him.
    “Jack’s waiting in the courtyard,” she said quietly. “He doesn’t like being indoors, but he didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye.”
    “Strictly speaking, I ought to arrest him,” said MacNeil. “But …”
    “Yes,” said Constance. “But.”
    They shared a smile, and MacNeil got up from the table and headed for the door. Flint and the Dancer broke off their conversation and got up to follow him. Constance brought up the rear, as usual.
    The fort seemed somehow smaller and less impressive in the afternoon sunlight, as though the evil that had infested it had vanished with the night. In a way, MacNeil supposed