Dreamthief

by Tamara Grantham

Eighteen

  Prickly needles scraped past my arms as we crossed through the trees and entered the open dale. Firelight lit our path through a mismatched assortment of patched tents. A girl came forward, not much older than me. She wore leather breeches and a buckskin cloak that partially hid her stocky frame. Under her long curls of dark hair, I couldn’t tell if her ears were pointed, though if I’d seen her on the street, I would have never pegged her as an elf.

  “I am called Arantha.” She didn’t look at me when she spoke. “I am the healer, or as close as one gets to a healer in this camp,” she sighed. “I shall take you to my tent. Follow me.”

  We weaved through the tents. Several men stood around, looking at us—or perhaps Kull—with narrowed eyes.

  We reached a tent that sat away from the others. She pulled back the frayed animal-skin door, and I walked through with Kull leaning against me. Arantha helped me move him to a cot.

  A few candles sat on tables around the room, illuminating the rugs and pillows that filled the floor. The tent had a pleasant, herbal smell of lavender and lemongrass. A wooden table sat to the side with a washbasin atop it. Potions crowded one another on a larger table near the back of the room. Behind it, I saw a tent flap, which I assumed led to another chamber. A stone fire pit occupied the center, and a thin, curling wisp of smoke rose from the glowing coals and through a hole in the tent’s roof.

  Arantha stood beside us. “What is his malady?” she asked me.

  I wasn’t sure how much I should tell her. To say that he’d been inflicted with dark magic might scare her away. “He was attacked by a creature. I don’t know what to call it, but it injured him. I fear magic is involved.” I tilted Kull’s head to reveal the black gash.

  She focused on the wound, her eyes narrow, and then knelt beside him. Gently, she touched the gash. It wriggled. She gasped, then took a step back. “I’ve never seen such a thing.”

  “Nor have I.”

  “You’ve no idea what the creature was?”

  “No.”

  “Then I’m afraid I shall not be of much help. I can give him a draught for the healing of poisons, but it may only ease the pain.” She rifled through glass vials. It was odd to see so many potions in one place. Most races found potions useless compared with the possibilities magic possessed.

  Handing me a vial, she said, “Let him rest. I shall bring food. I’m sorry, but there’s not much more I can do. Our resources are limited as it is.”

  “I understand.”

  She nodded and then moved toward the door.

  “Arantha,” I said, stopping her. “If you don’t mind my asking—who are you? What are you and your people doing out here?”

  She shook her head, her back turned to me. “It is not my place to say,” she replied, and exited through the tent’s door.

  I stared after her, confused at her behavior. Perhaps they were pillagers or thieves of some kind, though why they chose to make camp in goblin country baffled me.

  I placed the vial on a table and then propped a few more pillows under Kull’s head. My fingers, once frozen, had begun to thaw with the sensation of pins and needles stabbing through my skin. I worked my hands open and closed, trying to get the blood flowing again.

  Kull’s eyes opened halfway. His breathing was loud and rattled in his chest. He coughed and then tried to sit up. I pushed him back down.

  “Where am I?” he growled.

  “We’ve found a camp.”

  “Whose camp?”

  Good question. I didn’t know whether to call them elves or humans or Wults. Perhaps a blend of all three? Still shaking from the cold, I pulled several blankets off the floor and wrapped them around Kull, then around me.

  “Whose camp are we in?” Kull repeated.

  “We’re safe,” I answered. It was the only explanation I had.

  His eyelids fluttered, and he grabbed my hand as I tucked a blanket around him, his fingers stronger than I expected given his current state.

  “Heidel?” he asked.

  “I haven’t seen her.”

  He stared at me a moment longer through half-lucid eyes. I took his face in my hands and tilted it to the side. His chin’s stubble brushed my fingertips as I inspected his wound.

  The black gash ran from the bottom of his jaw toward his spine and disappeared down his back. I didn’t know how deep it ran or how long it stretched. I grabbed the vial and unstopped the cork.

  “What is that?” Kull asked, focusing on the liquid.

  “It’s supposed to help with poisonings.”

  “For me?”

  “Yes.”

  “I do not trust it.”

  I stared at the amber liquid inside the glass.

  “I’m afraid we have no other choice. I don’t trust my magic right now, and you’ll die soon if you’re left untreated. I have to do something.”

  His eyes had closed again. I don’t think he heard me. Inhaling a deep breath, I took one last look at the liquid and then held it to his lips. I prayed it wouldn’t kill him.

  The fluid filled his mouth. He coughed, then swallowed, his eyes still closed. I sat back, watching him, hoping I hadn’t made a horrible mistake.

  The coals crackled behind me. I pulled my blankets tight around my shoulders. For the first time in a very long while, my body stopped shaking, and I closed my eyes.