Cole had been laid out in his tent, being tended to by his mother. For a young man that had only hours ago been in the peak of physical condition and the prime of his life, he looked now as if he had been kissed by the grim reaper. His silver skin was sallow and like fire to the touch as his body burned with fever. Much of his armor had been stripped from him and Kyandria cleaned the blood from his skin and wounds with a cool cloth, trying to soothe him as much as she could.
A gaping wound slashed across his left hip and down his thigh, whatever had caused the wound had exposed bits of his hip bone and nearly tore his thigh muscle clean off his leg. He was extremely lucky he'd not been disemboweled. As it was they were worried if he would ever walk normally again. A mercenary with a distinct limp was hardly marketable. One that couldn't walk at all was even worse.
It wasn't supposed to happen like this. No one understood how things could have gone so very wrong. Of course someone had to take the blame, and right now Cole was definitely the easiest target. After all, he was the youngest and newest working man. The fact that there was no way he could argue, defend himself, or fight back was a huge bonus as they poured out their side of the story to the boss. It was quite the fanciful explanation, and entirely bullshit, but their scapegoat wasn't about to counter their tall tale.
They all came to the most logical conclusion: Cole had to go.
Three men were dead, two had substantial wounds, and Cole was in such poor condition they were certain he was a dead man anyway. If the boy was just going to become dead weight there was no point in keeping him around.
Half the men in the company suggested putting him out of his misery – and taking anything he owned, little as that might be. The other half just wanted to get out of Zantaric.
In the end the only thing that saved him from having his throat slit and his body dumped in the jungle was Kyandria. Even as a slave, she browbeat his father into helping her remove him from harm's way, even if his father agreed with the men that suggested that he was dying and a quick death would be kinder.
Together they moved him to a litter and dragged him through the streets. Kyandria was the one that found out about a supposedly gifted dryad healer with a tender heart; a rare thing in Zantaric. Most would have turned him away as too expensive to help without some form of compensation.
As soon as they reached Lavender's home, Kaleb took a last look at his son and left since he had fulfilled his obligation of dragging him there. Kyandria knelt down next to him, smoothing a hand over his burning forehead tenderly, a flicker of some undefinable emotion in her red eyes as her baby boy didn't so much as stir at the motherly touch. She had resented him all his life, but he was still her child. Her only child. She couldn't let him die without trying to save him.
It was the very least a mother could do for her son.
"I should have left you on a doorstep years and years ago." It was the only apology for raising him in such a life that came to her. She removed the pendant from around her neck and carefully placed it around his. He tossed his head fitfully to the side. Rising up she banged her fist loudly against the door and then left to return to her master. Kyandria felt she had done all she could.