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"What the fuck, Gallatin! Again? Are you doing this on purpose?" he asks, getting down on his knees to cut his friend loose with his blood-dripping dagger. The one guard hiding in the woods was so easy to kill, it was almost disappointing.
"Sure, I love being fettered across a pit like this," Gallatin wheezes. "You should try it one of these days. Very relaxing to stare into the empty sky for hours."
"Isn't that what all you pointies do all the time anyways?" Cahir grins. Then he furrows his brow. "Shit, how do I do this without you falling onto those bloody stakes? They're as pointy as your fucking ears." If he cuts one of the ropes that hold the elf in a cross-like position above the deadly-sharp wooden poles of the bear trap, his friend might end up badly injured, maybe even killed. It would be a lot easier if he were not alone. Yet, he is, and leaving again to get his men is not an option. Dusk will be falling soon, and the bear this pit is meant to catch could appear in the glade any moment, hungry and ready to attack.
"Dunno, you're the genius with the cunning plans," Gallatin says, his voice slightly slurry. "My brain's too dried up to think." He got hit in the head, too, when those bloody hunters ambushed him from out of nowhere early this morning. To use him as fucking bear bait! In addition to being thirsty like hell, Gallatin feels like he has the mother of all concussions. His neck hurts dastardly, too, from dangling in the air like this. Not exactly a good basis for coming up with a solution to this tricky problem.
"Alright, hang in there, old friend. I think I have an idea," Cahir says, rising to his feet again. Gallatin does look pretty out of shape, and in pain. There's lots of dried blood on the side of his head too. Hopefully, there are no other, more serious injuries. Anyhow, it is obvious the elf will hardly be able to help much. His - still kind of vague - plan better work, then.
Cahir whistles and his black stallion appears from between the trees. He unfastens the bedroll he took with him on this scouting expedition and unrolls it. How lucky he brought it, the saddlecloth would have been too small for what he is intending to do.
"You gonna have a nap?" Gallatin asks, puzzled, when he sees Cahir approach him with the dark grey felt blanket and several lengths of rope he took from his saddlebag. "And here I thought you had a plan."
"Don't you worry, pointy, I have. The bedroll's for you."
How exactly a bedroll will help him get out of this precarious situation completely eludes Gallatin. However, he trusts Cahir. The human is astonishingly resourceful and has proven to be a loyal friend far more often than just once. It will work, somehow.
Curiously, he watches as Cahir unfolds the big blanket, cuts a hole into the fabric at each of its four ends and then threads a piece of rope through every hole. With the help of the attached rope, the human fastens one end of the bedroll to the wooden peg his right arm is suspended from and another end to the pole that holds his left arm. Then he connects the blanket's third end to his saddle and, while grabbing the last rope himself, moves along the opposite edge of the gaping pit, signalling his stallion to follow. Which the smart animal does. As Gallatin feels the bedroll spread out neatly underneath him, he finally gets what his friend is doing. Damn, this is clever. And it can actually work. If the fabric and the ropes hold.
Cahir ties his end of the rope around a nearby tree and does the same with the one he had connceted to his horse. Once again, he checks all the knots and makes sure everything is as tight as possible. Then he gets down on his knees next to Gallatin.
"Ready, old friend?" he asks.
"For you, Cahir, always," Gallatin says, trying to smile at his only human friend despite his aching head and limbs and the possibility that, if something goes wrong, he might end up with a wooden stake through his heart or liver or guts in a minute.
Cahir severs the fetters around Gallatin's left hand with the help of his dagger first. The bedroll gives way, but it sags just a little. It still holds when Cahir cuts the elf's legs free next. Finally able to move again, Gallatin inches his way toward the right side cautiously. There is the ominous sound of tearing fabric. Damn! But Cahir has already grabbed his arm and pulls at it with a powerful jerk. The two friends end up in a heap at the edge of the bear pit, safe and sound.
"Shit, Cahir, this was a close shave," Gallatin gasps. "You should get yourself a higher-quality bedroll, old friend."
"And you, you should get yourself a nursemaid, pointy," Cahir retorts, climbing to his feet. "So you won't end up as food for bears or fucking cannibals again." He bends down and cuts through the last of the ropes.
"You OK?" he then asks, holding out his hand to help his friend up.
"Aye." Gallatin feels dizzy and nauseous and all the joints and muscles in his legs and arms ache. His wrists hurt, too, where the rope burned into his skin, and his hands and feet feel numb. But it could have been worse. He could have died today. He stumbles to his feet with Cahir's help.
"We need to get away from here quickly. You don't happen to have a horse with you, do you?" Cahir asks, putting his arm around Gallatin's waist for support so the elf would not collapse.
"Those fucking hunters took her. Guess we'll have to ride double again." Gallatin grins through gritted teeth while leaning heavily onto Cahir. With blood circulation restored to his numb feet, they start to feel like pins and needles and every step is painful, like torture.
"You are doing this on purpose," Cahir says in mock-exasperation. "Next time you'll have to walk, elf, no matter how under the weather you are. Understood?"
"You could always bring a second mount if you didn't like it yourself," Gallatin suggests, still grinning. "And wasn't it you who started it anyway?"
"Oh, shut up, pointy, and climb up already," Cahir says, rolling his eyes at his friend. "I don't want to end up as bear dinner, and neither does my horse." And it is not only because of the bear that they ought to hurry. The hunters might come back, too, to check their trap. Although they would deserve to die for what they did to his elven friend, with Gallatin in no shape for close combat, it would be a bad idea to meet them if it can be avoided.
As quickly and quietly as possible, they ride through the nightly forest, Gallatin at Cahir's back. Although he still feels shitty, it is nice to ride double with his human friend, especially as, for once, none of them is severely injured. Regrettably, the elven camp is not that far away, only a two hours ride. They reach its vicinity without further incident.
"You can make it from here, right?" Cahir asks when they see the shine of a campfire from a hill. "I need to go back to my men. We have to move quickly to catch the next caravan. It's supposed to pass through the northern Schwemmlands three days from now."
"Aye, I can," Gallatin says and dismounts. He is feeling much better already and he knows a guard is on duty pretty close to where they are. If he needs help, he can whistle their secret signal and somebody will be by his side in the blink of an eye.
"Thanks for the save, friend, and the ride," he adds. Then he flashes Cahir a broad grin. "By the way, if you ever consider quitting your current job for that emperor of yours - you'd make an amazing nursemaid."
"You wish, pointy! Just stay out of the way of traps and snares and don't get killed. It's not that hard."
"I'll try my best. And good luck with your raid, you blunt-eared bastard. See you around."
"Right. And let somebody have a look at that cut in your scalp and the rope burns. You don't want to catch infection."
"Aye-aye, nanny," Gallatin salutes, his grin broadening even further.
"Oh, fuck off, elf," Cahir says with an amused huff. Then he turns his horse around and rides off into the night.
