by Jean Rabe
"Relax, Iryl," he said, attempting to make his craggy voice sound soothing.
"But you've got to see to Gair," she protested.
"He's next," Jasper said, closing his eyes and searching for his inner spark. "Only one patient at a time, an' you're my patient now. Relax. 'Sides, he's a healer, too."
"Nothing!" Willum stomped through the brush toward Camilla, his face red from the cold and from exertion. "No trace. No tracks. Ground's hard as—"
"I know." She thrust the arrow and bit of fur at him. "If there were snow on the ground, we could follow their tracks, determine their numbers. At least we chased them off. I'm going to see to those people. Some of them were hurt. We'll have to take them back to town." She headed west toward the trail. "Gather the men and follow me."
"There," Jasper pronounced, drawing bloody fingers away from Iryl's closing wound. "Wrap somethin' around that to keep it clean. Lost some blood. You'll be a little weak, but…" A moan from Gair cut him off. "Next patient."
Jasper was at the male elf's side by the time Camilla came out of the woods, headed in their direction. The dwarf glanced only briefly her way, then dropped to his knees and devoted his full attention to Gair. "Thought you said you were all right. Said see to the others first. Said you could heal yourself."
The elf's face was even paler than usual. "Are the others all right?"
The dwarf leaned over Gair's face. "Yeah, they'll be fine." He frowned when he saw how much blood the elf had lost. It pooled on the ground around Gair, soaking Jasper's trousers. "How'd you manage to catch an arrow, too?" There was one in his calf.
"Just lucky, I guess. It hurts."
"I'll bet it does. Hurt too much for you to concentrate. No wonder you couldn't heal yourself. Just lie still."
The elf offered a weak smile. "Can't move," he whispered. "I'm… I'm dying, Jasper."
"Quit arguin'."
The elf coughed, and the dwarf winced when he saw a trail of blood trickle down Gair's lower lip. The elf was indeed dying.
"You'll be fine. I'll fix you up like new." The dwarf's tone lacked confidence. He heard the lady knight approach, her armor clanking above the muted conversations of the townsfolk, heard her announce that the attackers had been chased off, but they should stay down a little while longer to be certain.
Jasper concentrated on his heart, listened for the rhythm that helped him focus his mystical energy.
The lady knight was expressing concern for the injured people, surprise at their mended wounds, asking them what had provoked the attack, did they see anything. None of them could provide any information.
He heard more clanging of metal as another knight approached. "Commander, Trevor went chasing after something. He doesn't answer."
"Find him!" she barked. "I want no one out there alone!"
"They're searching for him now!"
"Help them search. Everyone within eyesight. No one alone!"
The dwarf heard thrashing in the brush again as the knight returned to the woods, heard the clank-clank of the lady knight's armor as she came closer. More words swirled around his head, more questions from the knight about the unknown assailants, questions from the townsfolk about Gair's condition.
Jasper thrust the noise to the back of his mind, listened for his heartbeat, heard it grow loud enough to drown out the buzz of questions. Louder. Warmer. Capturing the warmth with his mind, he directed it down his arm. Not as warm as before, though he prayed to the missing Reorx that he could find the energy to stoke the heat. The dwarf was exhausted from healing the others, cursing himself for not seeing to Gair sooner and for not realizing just how badly the elf had been wounded.
Suddenly the heat was in his hands, the healing energy Goldmoon had taught him to use. Jasper moved his fingers to Gair's shoulder, felt the shaft of the spear. Not too deep. With one hand, he tugged it free, heard the elf groan softly in pain, and swore at himself for not cutting it out. The jagged stone tip tore the flesh. The other hand he held over the wound and focused the heat.
"So much blood." The dwarf said the words aloud, though he hadn't meant to.
"Dying," the elf repeated. "It's okay, Jasper. I'm not afraid. I'll be like Riverwind. Just wish it didn't hurt so much."
"Don't die on me!" the dwarf cursed. "I need someone to argue with. Delirious, that's what you are. Foolish talk. Don't you dare die." He fought to keep his concentration on the spell, focused on his heartbeat. Beneath his fingers, he felt the elf's heart beating weakly. Gair's breathing was shallow and irregular, and the elf had started to sweat despite the cold.
Suddenly the lady knight was kneeling next to the elf. Through squinted eyes, Jasper saw her take Gair's hand. She was saying something to him, words of encouragement, a prayer to Kiri-Jolith. "That's it," Jasper told her. "Keep him occupied. Stop all this talk of death."
Camilla stared into Gair's violet eyes. "Hold on," she said. "We'll get you to town." She felt him grip her hand tighter as he coughed again. More blood trickled over his lip. "You'll be all right."
The dwarf felt faint as he continued to pour his healing energy into Gair, stanching the flow of blood from his shoulder wound. His fingers drifted over the elf's chest and down his leg, finding the spear there.
"Need some help," the dwarf said. He heard feet shuffling over the ground and hands grabbing the haft. "Don't pull it out! It's barbed. Break it off. Close to his leg. It's all the way through an' into the ground. Use his sword if you have to."
Jasper directed his fingers lower and found the arrow in the elf's calf. He tugged it free and sent his healing energy into that wound. He felt the elf's whole body tremble.
"Shock," the dwarf pronounced. "Someone put a blanket on him. Keep him warm."
He couldn't risk many more words. His hold on the spell was becoming tenuous, and he feared he didn't have the energy to start it over. He needed to direct all his concentration on the power of his heart.
"Not… not afraid of dying," Gair whispered. "Riverwind. Not…"
"Don't talk." Camilla squeezed the elf's hand. With the other, she brushed the sweat-damp hair from his eyes. "We'll get the wagon and take you back to town. It's just down the trail." She continued to stare into his dark purple eyes, glazed with pain. She lifted his head when one of the townsfolk thrust a blanket under him. Another blanket was placed over his chest. "The dwarf seems quite capable."
"Jasper… ."
"Do what the pretty lady says, Gair. Don't talk! An' don't interrupt me."
Several pairs of hands wormed their way under the elf's leg and lifted, pulling him off the broken spear haft. Gair clamped down on his lower lip to keep from crying out, only succeeding in muffling his cry. In the background, there was talk of the dead townsman. Camilla released his hand, intent on helping the dwarf.
"Don't go," Gair whispered. His hand found hers again.
"Easy!" Jasper ordered as the hands lowered the elf's leg again on the other side of the broken spear haft. The dwarf's fingers hovered over this wound now, and he summoned all of his mystical strength, pushing himself further than he ever had before and feeling himself grow lightheaded and dizzy, slipping toward unconsciousness, his hold on the enchantment slipping quickly with him. "C'mon! C'mon!" The words were to encourage himself. "C'mon!" Suddenly the dizziness passed, and the dwarf felt a wave of intense warmth radiating outward from his chest, racing down his arms and legs, invigorating him and spreading into the elf. "That's it!" The warmth continued to pulse through him for several moments. He felt the wound closing, and he eased back on his haunches and opened his eyes wide.
The elf's chest was rising and falling steadily. Blood had soaked through the blanket and soaked Jasper's pants legs and shirtsleeves, but Gair had finally stopped bleeding. All the wounds were closed.
"Magic," Camilla breathed. She was still holding the elf's hand. "You healed him without the gods."
"Well… spiritualism, mystic sorcery," the dwarf said. "An' whatever it is you call it, mine's not the best. I'm just learnin'. T
hough today was quite an education." He rose to his feet, steadied himself, and continued to eye his patient. The blood on the dwarf's hands was so thick it looked like a glove. "I don't want him movin', not for a while. Gotta get the wagon back. We'll put him on it."
"How did you do it?" Camilla was amazed, yet skeptical. She glanced at the two men who'd been wounded by arrows. Both were up and moving around, as was the female elf who'd taken an arrow in the leg.
The dwarf gave her a "that's a long story" look.
"Thank you, Jasper," Gair said.
The dwarf dismissed it with the wave of a hand. "I should be thankin' you, Gair. If you hadn't pushed me out of the way, I'd be the one skewered, an' you'd be the one doin' the healin'." The dwarf watched as Gair's eyes fluttered closed and Camilla placed his hand on his chest. "Personally," he added with a wink, "I'm not sure you could've pulled it off. I've been at this a little longer'n you. Y'know, I tell you to take more chances in your life, my elven friend, but I didn't mean for you to do somethin' like that. You rest now, Gair." He turned from the elf. "You got some water? I'd like to clean up a bit."
The female elf hurried over, her wound forgotten, fussing over Jasper with a waterskin and blanket. The townsfolk gathered around the dwarf, the air buzzing with questions and words of congratulations and thanks.
The knight stood and used the edge of her cloak to rub the blood off her hands and the metal plates on her calves. "Camilla Weoledge," she said by way of introduction as she approached Jasper. "Commander of the Solamnic Knights now stationed on Schallsea Island."
"Jasper Fireforge," the dwarf returned, extending a clean, but cold and wet, hand. "My injured friend there's called Gair Graymist." He pointed to the female elf. "An' this 's Iryl—"
"Songbrook," Camilla finished.
"We've met?" The elf turned her heart-shaped face toward the knight.
Camilla shook her head. "I walked by your hostel in town."
Iryl smiled warmly and her eyes sparkled with pride. "The Cozy Hearth. It was most fortunate for us, Commander Weoledge, that you were traveling this road. If you hadn't driven the attackers off, perhaps none of us would be alive… . Poor Harrald." She cast a glance at the man who lay dead. A woman was draping a blanket over him. "We owe you our deepest thanks."
The Solamnic knight shook her head. "You owe us nothing. It is our responsibility to keep the residents of this island safe." She shifted her weight to the balls of her feet and stared, unblinking, into Iryl's eyes. "Have you any idea who attacked you?"
"No." The other townsfolk echoed her answer.
"Or why?"
Another chorus of nos.
"Who lives around here?"
"There are tribes scattered on the island," Iryl said. "The Wemitowuk and the Que-Nal, but neither would be responsible for this. They're peaceful people, and I'm a close friend of the Que-Nal chieftain. They trade in town sometimes."
"Anyone else around here?"
"There's a village of farmers not too far away, Heartspring, but I don't believe they have weapons."
"Bandits, then," Camilla mused. "They thought perhaps you carried something valuable on your wagon that might help them through the winter."
"The wagon!" someone hollered. "It's there down the road. Let's get it!"
"Well, I suppose it would be considered valuable," Iryl returned. "Blankets and flour, oil, all manner of building supplies."
The knight cocked her head as a thrashing came from the trees. Camilla whirled to see Willum and five of her knights returning. Three of them were carrying the body of Trevor. Arrows protruded from gaps in the unfortunate knight's plate mail.
Camilla's face reddened in anger.
"We didn't see who killed him, Commander," one knight began. "We knew he was chasing something. He slipped between some trees and we lost sight of him."
"Found him under an evergreen," Willum huffed. He doubled over, chest heaving, and put his hands on his thighs. "Looks like whoever killed him tried to hide the body. Took us a while to find him." He finally caught his breath, hummed in his throat a moment, then straightened. "Orders?"
"I've lost a man, Willum," she said softly, her gray eyes sad. "Not here but two days, and I've lost a knight already." She nodded toward the north, in the direction the clatter of the wagon was coming from. Two townsmen had turned it around and were guiding the horses. "We'll put Trevor on the wagon, with the dead townsman and the wounded elf, and head back to town immediately. The elf needs bed rest, Trevor needs to be buried, and we need a larger patrol to scour the countryside for the bandits. I want to interview each of these people." She swept her hand behind her to indicate the people gathering around the wagon. "Perhaps one of them saw something that can give us some clue to the bandits' identity. And then—"
"Excuse me, Commander." It was Iryl Songbrook. The elf nodded respectfully to each knight. "We won't be going back to town."
"We have to get these supplies to the settlement," Jasper finished.
"But the dead man—"
"Commander, we can bury Harrald at the settlement," Iryl said. "He would have wanted that. Harrald wasn't from Schallsea. He came here from Caergoth to see Goldmoon."
"The settlement of mystics." Camilla's tone was even, her face rigid.
Jasper nodded. "That's where the supplies are goin'. About a day an' a half to the north, at the Silver Stair."
"My charges," the knight said to herself.
"Anyway, we need to be leavin' now." The dwarf extended his hand. "Thanks for helpin' us."
"The elf needs attention."
"He'll get it at the settlement." Jasper turned toward the wagon, noted with satisfaction that the townsfolk were putting Gair on the back of the wagon. Harrald, shrouded in blankets, lay next to him.
"Aren't you concerned the bandits will strike again?"
The dwarf shrugged, then scowled. "I certainly hope not." He trundled off toward the horses and grabbed the reins. "I'll keep an eye out for 'em, of course, but I'll worry more about gettin' this wagon to the settlement. Goldmoon's expectin' it." Iryl offered the knight a departing smile and joined him.
"Orders, Commander?" one of the knights asked.
"Lethan, Earl, Chadwik, and Grant, take Trevor's body back to town and bury him in the Sentinel plot— full ceremony. I'll write a letter to the Solamnic Council and his family expressing our sorrow at his loss when I join you at the Sentinel next week. Willum, you and I and Nate"—she nodded at the remaining knight— "will escort these people to this settlement, since they seem so determined to continue. Keep alert," she warned, casting a last glance at the pines.
4
Hunting Party
"Six months, my beloved. Six months to this day we've been here now, and I still am not certain I'm doing the right thing." Goldmoon squared her shoulders and wrapped her cloak tightly about her. She watched the small pine cones blow across the ground, chased madly by the wind. "It's not that I'm questioning the course my life has taken since the gods left us. Mine has been truly a good life. But perhaps I am attempting too much at my age."
She followed a meandering, narrow path through the woods, toward the east and the Barren Hills, where an almost imperceptible rosy glow in the otherwise gray sky signaled that the sun was coming up. Goldmoon strolled at a leisurely pace through a copse of hickory trees, pausing occasionally to gather fallen nuts and stuff them in the pockets of her tunic. It had started to snow. Large flakes swirled merrily in the wind.
"I know the gods may never return, that we may well be on our own forever. I know that many people have little faith." She sighed and shook her head, cupped her hand over her eyes to keep her long silver-gold hair from whipping into her face. "The people here at the settlement have faith, but sometimes I think they have more faith in me than in what we're trying to accomplish."
Goldmoon shivered as a particularly bracing gust washed across her. She wrapped herself tighter in the folds of her thick cloak. The path narrowed as it wound up a rise where the
hickory and walnut trees were closer together and where much of the ground between them was covered with bare thickets. Her boots crunched over walnut shell husks, and she walked hunched over to keep the branches from catching her hair. It took her several minutes to reach the top, where the trees thinned out.
"Will I live long enough to see the citadel built? Should this Citadel of Light be the dream of someone younger? Perhaps one of my students should take over." Her cloak fluttered away from her, threatening to tangle itself in the low-hanging branches as she made her way down the other side of the rise. "Perhaps I should…"
Her words trailed off and she spun and squinted, searching the path behind her. There, by the dead oak…
"Who's there?"
Nothing. Perhaps it was a trick of the shadows. She stared again. No, there was something there. A shadow hesitatingly separated from the darkness of the trunk.
"Good morning, Goldmoon! What a surprise to see you." The elf quickly caught up to her, moving silently and gracefully up the path, though it was evident he was favoring the leg that had been injured a few days ago. In his black clothes, he looked stark against the falling snow.
"No surprise at all, Gair. You were following me."
He scowled and shook his head, started to disagree, then thought better of it. "All right. Yes, Goldmoon, I was following you. I didn't mean to intrude. But I… I wanted to talk to you."
"You don't have to follow me off into the woods to talk to me."
"I wanted to talk to you alone. Away from the—" he gestured with a long arm back to the west—"away from all those people and our Solamnic visitors."
Goldmoon offered the elf an understanding smile. Gair Graymist was perhaps her most eager student. His capacity for grasping the intricacies of mysticism was remarkable, his curiosity insatiable. She thought of him as she thought of this morning's breeze—relentless and unable to be ignored. She had sensed his persistence the first day she saw him, when he'd walked calmly into the Que-Shu village in northern Abanasinia, introduced himself, and announced that he'd traveled hundreds of miles just to study at her side. Goldmoon accepted him on the spot, and when she took on a few more students and decided it was time to leave the tribes behind and establish a center for mysticism, he had insisted on following. She enjoyed his company and had come to think of him almost as a son. He tried hard—too hard sometimes—to please her.