Then, all at once, he felt a searing pain rip through his whole body. It was unlike any of the other pains that had buffeted him so far. This one originated at his jaw and bolted like an angry snake through every part of him. He screamed aloud, now feeling his own pain, which was completely different than Ervinor’s. He tossed his head around, reaching for his jaw, trying desperately to reduce some of the hurt. There was a figure nearby and he strained to focus on it. Something pounded against his ears, and as he struggled to tune into it, he realized that it was only sound. A voice. It was speaking to him. It was strong and soothing all at once, with a frantic urgency hiding underneath the words.
“Dariak, let go. Stop your spells, now, Dariak. You have to let it go.”
He knew the voice. He knew it well, and it still warmed him and comforted him like nothing ever had in his life.
“Dariak, release your magic, now. Let it go. Stop your spell. Dariak, listen.”
His response was warbled. “Randler, I—”
“Dariak, do you hear me? You have to stop. End your casting. Stop using magic, right now. Please, Dariak. Please stop.”
“But Ervinor—” he pushed through his aching jaw.
“Shhh. Just listen to me, Dariak. Obey me, please. Stop your spell. Release the magic.”
It was all Randler seemed to care about, and Dariak couldn’t understand why. Didn’t everyone want to help Ervinor? Wasn’t that worth his own sacrifice? But Randler was insistent. He held tightly to Dariak and he repeated his plea over and over. At last, Dariak obliged. He closed his eyes and he pulled mental hands aside, disrupting the swirling energies within himself. He felt the powers stagnate and start to fade away.
“Good, Dariak,” Randler consoled. “Wait here. I will return.”
Dariak’s gaze followed the shadowy figure as he stepped away. He wasn’t content just letting Randler go, however, so he pushed himself upright a little, propping up his head and trying to focus across the room.
It took a while for his eyes to adjust, but there was far less commotion here now. The healers had stepped away from Ervinor’s body and were seated on the floor, it seemed, resting after their hard work. Randler was checking on them before returning to Dariak.
“Did it work?” the mage asked.
“Ervinor should live,” Randler said with a strange grimness in his voice.
“What is it?” he asked uneasily.
Randler bit his lip and looked over his shoulder before answering. “I think everyone is going to be fine, Dariak. Just know that.”
“What? What is it? What happened?”
Randler reached out and took Dariak’s hand. “Your spell. Somehow it affected all the others who were using magic on Ervinor. From what I understand, there was a terrible backlash among the mages. They all seemed to feel what was happening to Ervinor and their healing spells were pulled from them. The non-mages had to take over entirely but we couldn’t free the other mages from their spells.”
Dariak’s eyes went wide. “I—I thought I was drawing power from the jades.”
“I think you were, which is why the magic overflowed into them all. They’re coming around. It’s going to be all right.”
“I—I had no idea.”
“I know. I think they know, too. They seemed to be feeling everything you were feeling and I don’t think any of them will blame you. But, Dariak,” Randler’s eyes turned into warm pools of deep concern, “you really ought to get some rest now.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt them,” he said absently. The idea of rest washed over him and his body responded hungrily. His feet and hands tingled in anticipation of a deep, restful sleep. “Randler, tell them, I—I—”
“I will, Dariak. Now rest.”
Chapter 40
Wounded Struggles
A little over two weeks passed after Dariak’s efforts to heal Ervinor. The young warrior was much stronger physically, but adjusting to the loss of his arm was proving difficult. He spent most of his time locked away in one of the villager’s homes near the healers’ workstation so they could tend to him often, and they did, especially deformed Ylios. Food was also provided to him, and his friends stopped by frequently. Each tried in his or her own way to comfort the damaged warrior, but they all understood that his healing journey would be a long road.
“I can’t carry a sword like this or use one in battle at all,” he lamented one afternoon to Frast, who had come to visit with him. As usual, the windows were covered, blocking out the warm, beautiful sunlight. “I’m useless now. I’m not going to be any good in the coming fight once Dariak claims the remaining jades, either.”
These complaints were not new, and it took all Frast’s patience to remain calm and play his role carefully. “Nonsense, Ervinor. You are resourceful and a smart young man. You will find a way through this.”
“How can I swing a sword like this?” he gestured toward the severed right shoulder. “One swipe and I go off-balance. I’ll spin like a top and my enemies won’t fall, except in laughter.”
“I don’t believe that.”
Ervinor raged, “I can barely walk on my own feet, mage! I should—I should just go home.”
“I don’t think that’s where your heart is, Ervinor. You know that.”
“My heart,” he echoed. “I’ve lost it, Frast. There isn’t anything I can do now.”
A dagger flew into the room and struck the right side armrest of Ervinor’s chair. “I disagree,” Kitalla argued from the doorway. “You certainly dodged that knife well.”
Ervinor scowled. “Not today, Kitalla. Not today.”
She turned to the mage. “Frast, you’ve been summoned. Dariak and Quereth need your help over in the tavern.”
The mage scrunched his brows. “In the tavern?”
“Maybe it was the middens or the weapon smith, I don’t care; get out,” she added, lifting a sack from the floor. Frast responded quickly.
“Kitalla, not today,” Ervinor implored.
“So dark in here,” she commented absently, striding over to the window and tossing the curtain aside. A blast of sunlight flooded the room, causing the young warrior to wince. “Much better.”
“Please—”
Kitalla ignored him and dropped her sack on the floor. “The healers all say you’ve had more healing pumped through your body than this entire town has seen this past year. They also assured me that you may be in some pain but that you’re quite capable of getting on with things. So, I’m here to make that happen.”
Ervinor grabbed the dagger that was lodged in the armrest and he threw it with his left hand toward the thief. The throw was badly aimed and fell wide of its mark. “I’m finished, Kitalla. It’s time we all accepted that.”
“I agree.”
He hadn’t expected that response. “Y—You do?”
“Yes. You are finished with all this wallowing and self-pity. It is time you get on your feet and start training. We need you, Ervinor. Every single one of us.”
His confused expression turned to one of annoyance as Kitalla ignored his resulting pleas and started rifling through the sack she had brought with her. “What do I need to do to make you leave?” he yelled.
“Only indulge me for an hour. That’s all I ask.”
He squinted suspiciously. “One hour?”
“Yes, though the time does not start until I’m suited up, so you’d best give me a hand over here.”
He didn’t know if she had chosen those words on purpose. “I can only give you one hand, remember?” he noted sourly.
By now, Kitalla had inverted the sack and pulled out a strange tunic. It was stiffly made of a thick leather and one sleeve was noticeably longer than the other. She drew the tunic over her head and pulled it tight against her torso so that the longer sleeve enwrapped her right arm. There was a metal clip along the waistline and she used her left hand to slip the excess portion of the sleeve through the loop. She then fumbled when it came to securing the loose end.
“Your assistance, please,” she called over her shoulder.
Ervinor could already see what she was planning to do and he didn’t like it. “Don’t mock me, Kitalla,” he grumbled. She responded with an impatient look and waited until he hobbled over and helped her to tie off the excess fabric, which effectively pinned her right arm against her body, rendering it useless.
“This certainly isn’t the same thing, I realize,” she stated, “but I’m not about to cut off my own arm for you at a time like this.”
“Very funny,” he said in a tone that was far from humorous.
“I had this tunic specially made for us. It was ready a few minutes ago and I haven’t had any time to practice in it yet, so let’s get to it.”
“Practice what?” he asked, though he knew the answer.
“Fighting, of course. Now, you prefer a sword, yes?”
“Kitalla, this isn’t going to work.”
“Not with that attitude, no. But you promised me an hour, warrior, and I expect you to do your best.”
“If I refuse?”
“I’ll make it two hours. No more talking. Get your sword.”
She bent over awkwardly and reached for a sword that she had brought with her. She tipped over too far, however, and crashed to the ground.
“You did that on purpose,” Ervinor accused. “It isn’t going to win you any victories with me.”
“So chivalrous to help a fallen lady,” she murmured as she brought her legs under her and pushed herself upward. She tried to reach out with both arms to stabilize herself, but her right arm was firmly secured against her side. She staggered again, but managed to keep from toppling over. “Interesting.”
Ervinor shook his head, not believing any of it. He made his way across the room and found a sword to use for himself. He held it at his side and used it as a cane as he stepped back toward Kitalla.
“Not your common use for a sword, but effective, nonetheless.” She ignored the angered look on his face, bringing her blade up and casting a few swings in the air. “Now you.”
Rolling his eyes, Ervinor spun his sword around. His whole body went off balance and he crashed into the nearby chair, almost splattering himself to the floor. “This is pointless!” he growled.
“Swords always have a point, actually,” she taunted. “Now again, but this time, set your feet a little farther apart.” She demonstrated what she meant and he mimicked her movements, finding himself a little more stable, but only just so.
“Wonderful,” he said sardonically. “So I haven’t fallen flat on my face.”
“Oh,” she said, sounding perplexed. “I thought you had; I did always think your nose was a little flat.”
“You’re not funny!” he snarled.
“I’m not trying to be,” she said. “Now parry.” She swept her sword forward and Ervinor made a jerky movement to intercept her attack. He missed, but so did she. Her whole body lurched forward and she stumbled.
Ervinor laughed at her faulty step. “Not as easy as it looks, is it?”
“As if you could do better,” she sneered. “Never mind, I’ll get it. Parry again!”
She swung her sword and this time the blades connected. She stepped forward to press in, but Ervinor anticipated it and he stepped backward, allowing her imbalance to overtake her again. As she staggered past him, he slashed his sword across her backside and knocked her flat.
“Well, if that’s how you’re going to play, then let’s stop fooling around,” she challenged. After reclaiming her footing, Kitalla charged toward him suddenly, surprising him. Ervinor took a step back to dodge the thrust and he made a jerky motion to intercept her. Kitalla recognized the move; he had instinctively tried to use his missing right arm. The instant frustration on his face was even more evidence, but she didn’t let him dwell on it. She spun and brought her sword in front of him again. He twitched but he didn’t raise his arm until a few seconds too late.
She didn’t let him stop to think. Kitalla kept her feet wide and pressed another attack. He had to concentrate to stop her, but he managed it. She let him taste the one victory but only for a moment. She spun and brought her sword about, but her body went off-center and she turned too far, missing her target completely. Ervinor saw the opening and he stepped forward clumsily to smack her with the flat of his blade. Kitalla recovered by spinning further and coming around to defend the attack. Ervinor wasn’t ready for it and he toppled over, crashing down on top of Kitalla and bringing them both to the ground.
“It’s no use, Kitalla,” he breathed into her face.
“It’s no use, Ervinor.”
“I know.”
“You’re much too young for me,” Kitalla continued. “Throwing yourself at me like this won’t get you anywhere.”
“Throw—Kitalla!” he gasped, his emotions somewhere between bewilderment and rage. He struggled to disentangle himself from her and then he rose up to his feet and walked over to his chair, where he dropped himself heavily down. “The hour is up,” he declared.
“Hardly,” she barked a laugh.
He pounded his left fist on the armrest. “When are you going to listen to me? It’s over. I’m finished. I cannot fight anymore, Kitalla. You can show up here with any crazy contraptions you want, but it won’t change the fact that I lost my arm. It is gone and I can’t get another one. Don’t you see? I’m useless now. I can’t guide this army onward any longer. I can’t help you all in your quest. It’s just plain over.”
She paused as she stared at him. Defeated, she reached over and untied her special tunic, casting it lifelessly to the floor. “I see your point.”
“Do you really?” he questioned skeptically.
“Yes, I do. You don’t even want to try. You’ve given up. And it has nothing to do with your missing arm. No, Ervinor, you’re just a coward.”
“I’m what?” he shouted. “How dare you!” His face curled into an unpleasant mask of rage. Such anger truly did not suit him. “After all the things I’ve done, how dare you!”
“All meaningless!” she badgered back at him, her words biting and sharp. “Nobody cares about what you did ‘yesterday,’ you fool.”
“Of course they do! If it wasn’t for me, there wouldn’t have been an army for Gabrion to bring over to the castle in the first place. Who remained here with them keeping up morale and organizing training sessions while you were all tromping off in Magehaven?
“And what about everything after that?” he fumed, rising to his feet. “When Dariak was captured and you ran off to who knew where? You abandoned everyone and do you even know how crushed Gabrion was that you were gone? How upset we all were?
“But no, we all pressed on. Randler and Frast went to rescue Dariak. Quereth, Gabrion, and I went to the castle and we brought the army with us. And who was it who kept the troops in line as we waited all those hours for Gabrion’s return, sitting right there in the midst of the enemy forces?
“You call me a coward, Kitalla? I raced in to the castle to find Gabrion and I knew there was little hope for escape. We were surrounded on all sides and inside the castle there could have been any sort of defensive structure to stop us.
“But I went in,” he seethed, pacing as he spoke.
“The fighting was still going on,” he continued, heated in his tirade. “Everything was in chaos and Gabrion was nowhere in sight. Did I turn around and leave to go home? No! I stood my ground and I fought. And Quereth... Poor Quereth. He was clearly exhausted. He tried to help me, but that soldier, he was coming in too fast. There was nothing else I could do. I pushed Quereth out of the way and I paid for it with my arm!”
He knelt low and pressed his face into Kitalla’s. “Does that sound like the act of a coward to you?”
His breath was hot against her face and his chest heaved with exertion. He glared at her viciously for a few moments before rising up and turning away.
Kitalla crooned a hideously mocking laugh.
Ervinor snapped. He spu
n around, hefted his sword from the ground, and attacked her with all his might. His swordplay was erratic as he fought with his untrained and weaker left arm. But he did his best to adjust as Kitalla sprang to her feet to defend herself, still laughing in that demeaning, careless tone.
Ervinor dipped low and struck hard, missing his target. Kitalla was no longer bound to the restrictive tunic, and so she took advantage of Ervinor’s misstep. She crouched low and then swept her sword upward, almost knocking his weapon out of his hand. He grunted and brought the sword back sharply and Kitalla had to flatten herself to avoid it. She rolled to her feet and backed away momentarily before adjusting her grip and lunging ahead.
Ervinor pivoted to the side and her attack missed. He then kicked out his foot, catching her thigh and knocking her down. But Kitalla was unhindered now. She hit the ground with her hands first and allowed her momentum to carry herself into a roll. She pounced back to her feet and turned to dodge Ervinor’s next attack. He was unsteady and he wavered, but his anger kept him from noticing. Kitalla grinned inwardly as he approached. She twisted in a motion similar to his recent move, and then she brought her fist into his chest, causing him to drop his sword.
Ervinor’s rage still burned brightly and he brought up his knee into Kitalla’s stomach. She doubled over and grabbed him around the waist, pushing him off-balance. He staggered back and fell to his backside. Now Kitalla was upon him and he swung his left arm at her head, but she managed to stop the attack. He then brought his right knee up and she rolled off him then pounced away.
Ervinor needed more time than that to right himself, but not by much. He looked for his sword but it was out of reach. He glanced back at Kitalla, but she wasn’t in a battle stance. Instead, she was leaning against the wall as if she had been waiting there for a long time.
“I’m not finished with you!” he roared.
Kitalla inspected her fingernails intently. “I’m glad to hear it. You may be a little hotheaded right now, but you’re fighting excellently, if you pause to think about it.”
The Shattered Shards Page 45