To attack the women at the creek, though, would have been cruel and unnecessary. Rezkin was angry that the lieutenant, whom he had been traveling with day and night for several weeks, actually believed Rezkin could do something like that. He was angry that his friend would question his devotion to the Rules, Rule 1 in particular. Most of all, he was angry because he cared what the lieutenant thought of him, and that was a new sensation.

Rezkin had never cared what anyone thought of him before—not him, as a person. The only people he had known before cared only that he learned the Rules and Skills and acted without emotion. So long as he was not cruel or weak, they did not care what he thought or felt. As far as he knew, no one had ever judged him based on anything other than his adherence to the Rules, and those men had trusted him to admit when he had broken any of them. It was a matter of honor and respect. Rezkin was angry because if the lieutenant thought those things of him, then what must the others think?

When Rezkin rejoined the group, he said nothing and avoided looking at the lieutenant all together. He had tried to distance himself from the emotion, but he was afraid that if he looked at the man he would feel inclined to kill him—or at least damage him severely, and that would violate Rules 1, 37, and 188 … and possibly 2, but he was still uncertain as to the meaning of that one.

Rezkin was confused by his own emotions. He could not remember a time when he had been angry with anyone other than himself. Every injury and damage anyone had inflicted upon him in the fortress, even the outright torture, had been for a reason—for training. Even the bandits he could excuse because, well, they were bandits. That was what bandits did. Somehow this felt different.

Rezkin saddled his horse in silence and then rummaged around in his saddlebags. He kept certain supplies in them for easy access while traveling rather than having to dig in the depths of his endless pack. He retrieved a few packets of herbs, clean swatches of fabric, and a jar of ointment. Next, he used a small metal cup to boil water and then placed the herbs in the water to steep. Finally, he soaked the rag in the water and then wrapped the herbs in the fabric to make an herbal compress.

Rezkin knelt beside Frisha, but she would not look up at him. She was sitting on a fallen tree at one side of the small clearing, hanging her head low so that her hair fell over her face. The young man gently placed his fingers beneath her chin and tilted her head up so that he could tend to her injury.