[This post is from Seamus’s point of view.]
Seamus swallowed again, glancing toward Marin and his cousin once more before he slowly started to climb down from the wall. Every limb ached and his throat felt raw, as if the fight had him feeling every decade, every century he’d lived. Perhaps he really was getting too old for all the bullshit.
A few seconds after his boots hit the mud beneath the wall, Marin, Phelan, and Matt were beside him. He leaned against the stones, scrubbing a hand over his face before he regarded Marin with a long and solemn look.
“I never knew that she became an issue,” he said slowly, watching Marin’s eyes, catching the barest flicker of something that passed through them and then was gone.
“It was long after you were gone,” she murmured, scrubbing a hand over her face. “There was nothing for you to do about it anyway. It was something for us to handle and we handled it. She handled it.”
Seamus nearly flinched, barely managing to suppress it. A hand slid into his and he startled slightly, blinking blearily at Leinth.
“We’re clear on the back side?” he asked, feeling half dazed.
“Clear on the back side,” she confirmed, then glanced toward the others. “We should get out of this rain.”
“I’ll need some help in a minute,” J.T. called from above. “Paul and I can’t get him down on our own.”
All the blood drained from Marin’s face and her gaze snapped toward J.T., still in the watchtower above. “What—is it bad, Jay?”
“Bad enough,” J.T. said. “I’ll need to get him on a course of antibiotics fast. The wounds—there’s something strange about them and I’ve got a bad feeling.”
“I’ll help,” Seamus said. He squeezed Leinth’s hand and then let go.
“What happened?” Leinth asked, following Marin’s gaze as she let Seamus move away from her side and toward the ladder.
“The camazotzi,” Seamus said. “That and Thordin guiding the storm.”
He mounted the ladder, Matt on his heels. Hopefully, four of them would be enough.