Storm of Prophecy: Book 1, Dark Awakening (31 page)

Karl helped Stacy to meekly sling one arm over his neck and held it there by grasping her wrist. He put his other arm around her waist and aided her in the now difficult task of standing and walking. Wounded and exhausted, the three of them slowly set out for Gadrale Keep with Vincent walking on Karl and Stacy’s left. To Vincent’s surprise, Karl’s wide flat rock scurried out of the brush and followed them, dragging itself through the tall grass. Vincent smiled wearily at the sight, marveling at the tremendous mental discipline that his cousin must have accrued from his training.

They both kept a wary eye to the sky.

Chapter
XIII

I
t was a gray cloudy morning. There was no more rain, though the ground and the dirt road remained somewhat soggy from what had been left there the night before. Wind rustled through the tall dead grass, chilling their wet bodies. Atop the rise, Gadrale’s massive stone keep rose above its high walls. Like a giant spear, the Tower of Prophecy protruded into the sky. The vine-covered outer wall of the campus grew closer to them such that it fooled the eye into believing it could rival that of the fortress. The three weary companions were granted entry through the blue iron gate by a different keeper, without so much as a word.

They returned home that morning in a complete mess. They were bloody, covered in mud, wet, cut, beaten, and wounded. And Stacy was as pale as a ghost. People on campus stared openly in utter and complete shock as they trudged ahead on the cobblestone road that divided the campus and led up to the keep. Even Karl, the least hurt of the three, had still been drenched by the rain and looked as though it had washed away his strength. The crowd increased when people further away noticed others among them staring at some spectacle and moved closer to see what was going on. Many passed whispers between each other, asking that very question.

People Vincent knew either by name or by passing acquaintance stood transfixed at his blood soaked face, hair, and clothing. His bruises, cuts, the mud and debris all over him, and the general disarray in which he appeared drew sharp gasps from women in the crowd. He was in far too much pain from each step, each breath, that he could not bring himself to feel the least bit self-conscious. The one strong emotion he felt, even more than misery brought on by pain and fatigue, was a profound relief at being safely back.

Karl continued carrying Stacy along as the three of them walked on toward the keep. Everyone and anyone, it seemed, who was out and about had gathered around to watch them trudging up the wide paved path. Vincent kept putting one foot in front of the other without thinking about how long the full distance was; it was too staggering, and so he fixed his thoughts only on the immediate.

A number of his painful breaths and steps later, they were nearly at the keep. Those who exited the gatehouse up ahead of them to come outside, stopped and stared. Vincent glanced off to his left and saw that a small grouping of onlookers had been drawn there as well. He was surprised when he at last saw Jessica emerge slowly from the crowd, her face looking distraught from he knew not what until she got a glimpse of him and it changed to alarm.

Her gorgeous blue eyes were wide the entire time when she drew in for a closer look. He looked down at the blood, dirt, and debris covering his body. The swaying of her light tan dress and long silky black hair when she approached to help was a lovely yet rapid sight, or else it was his own mind that had slowed down. He didn’t know.

Her face was that of a worried angel as her hand reached out to grab his arm. “You’re going to be alright.” Her touch felt gentle and warm on his sore, blood-soaked arm. She spoke slowly as though talking to someone who was hurt so bad they had trouble understanding. “I’m going to help take you to the infirmary, okay? Do you think you can handle it?”

At that moment, he couldn’t bring himself to say anything in response and just stood there thinking that she was the most beautiful thing
he had ever seen. Seeing her after such turmoil and suffering was like the sun’s warmth overcoming the cold darkness. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold on, and was glad that he was at least going to see her one last time.

She studied his appearance more closely. She made a small gasp when she discovered the wounds on his back. “Vincent?” She covered her mouth with a hand as her eyes welled up with tears. “No…no…” she cried in disbelief, “gods no…” Her eyes moved uncomfortably toward Karl and then paid particular attention to Stacy in a way Vincent found odd before moving back to his.

He began to smile at her through his pain and fatigue. He put a bloody hand on her arm. “It’s alright,” he barely whispered. She didn’t look like she believed him.

Their eyes remained fixed, each on the other. He felt his chest heat up as his heart began to beat faster. It was one exertion too many. Jessica tried in vain to catch him as the cobblestone road suddenly reached up and slammed into his chest.

Feet rushed in around him.

* * *

When he awoke, he was laying in the infirmary. A comfortable, warm bed and soft white sheets surrounded his body. Upon taking a deep breath, the aroma of soap and balm filled his nostrils. Rows of beds lay all around him. Morning sunlight reflected off of white pillows, sheets, and blankets, making the vast room appear brighter than it was.

Somehow, he knew right away by the fact that it was morning that he had slept through an entire day and an entire night. His sleep was filled with nightmares of something dark chasing him, and he occasionally woke with a start before lapsing back into a deep slumber. Through the brief instances when he had awoken, he could tell that it could not be the same day as he arrived. The healers had used their magic to help him rest, or his exhaustion had done it, or both.

He rubbed the sand out of his eyes with his hands, which he was surprised to find clean. In fact, all of him appeared clean and unscathed. That must have taken some work, he thought uncomfortably.

The same two healer women who had treated him before, one with brown hair, the other with blonde, stood across the aisle from where he lay. Their smooth white dresses caressed each of their feminine forms, and they were talking idly and giggling about something he missed or else didn’t understand. When they glanced toward him and noticed that he was awake, their faces blushed a furious red and they looked away.

He could feel his own face becoming red when he realized that when they healed him, they must have also been the ones who had taken his clothes off, bathed him, and changed him into this gown. Again. He looked over the right side of his bed and found that his clothes and weapons had also been washed and were once more stacked neatly in a pile. His torn shirt had even had its holes sewn shut. He was not at all ungrateful for any of this, whoever had done it, just…embarrassed.

They continued their conversation after noticing that he had come awake, and walked toward his bed, each standing on one side. Vincent lay his head back down. The sandy haired one finished the last bit of what she was saying.

The other smiled and laughed at what her friend had said and then addressed him first. “How are you feeling?”

His throat was parched as he tried to reply. “Thirsty,” he said in a hoarse voice, trying to take a dry swallow, “but much better otherwise.”

“I’ll bring you some water,” the blonde one volunteered, walking off.

“What about Stacy…did she make it?”

“She’s fine. For now.” Vincent wasn’t quite sure what that meant.

When the other returned with a cup and a pitcher of water, he sat up and drank several cups in earnest. “I noticed you had some nasty burns on your back before we healed you,” she commented while she poured him his fourth. “They had sealed shut something much worse.”

“So did the woman,” the other added, “on her neck.”

Her friend with the pitcher exchanged a look with her, a curious frown creasing her brow. “Yeah,” she said in a higher, drawn out tone of recollection, “I noticed that too.” She turned and handed Vincent the full cup. “We were wondering…how did you get them?”

Vincent took a sip before answering. “I used my knife.”

“You mean you held it over a fire and used it to cauterize hers”-she pointed with her thumb over her shoulder toward the bed with Stacy-“and your wounds?”

“We were on the run, we didn’t have time for a fire…” Vincent started.

“Then how did you do it?” The blonde one asked, frowning.

“With my magic.”

“Oh,” she said, seeming taken aback. “I didn’t know you could do that. I thought you were just a…”

“Swordsman,” Vincent finished for her. “I get that a lot,” he admitted. “But no, I’m here because I control metal.”

“I’m sorry.”

Vincent looked away while taking another drink. “It’s quite alright.”

The brown haired healer placed her hands on her hips. “It’s obvious that you got into some kind of fight. We could tell from the marks that the woman …”

“Stacy,” Vincent inserted.

“…got bitten by something, but Sheryl and I,” she glanced toward her friend, “have a running bet on what injured you. I think you got stabbed by spears. She thinks something sunk its claws in your back. Which was it?”

“You healers have a strange sense of humor,” he remarked. The two of them smiled as they stared back. When Sheryl looked him up and down and winked suggestively, it made him blush again. Then the haunting memory returned. He let out a sigh. “If you must know, it was a wyvern,” he said, dimming his eyes with a shudder at how close he had come to death. Sheryl said
yes
to exult her victory. “Don’t be so quick to celebrate,” Vincent admonished. “Its teeth are what got…almost had me, not its claws.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her face scrunch up in disappointment.

The other healer woman wore a faint smile. “You’ve been giving us a lot of practice lately for any one person. Maybe you shouldn’t make a habit of it,” she patted him lightly on the cheek, “not that we don’t enjoy your company.”

“I’ll try not to,” he replied, looking down at the cup in his hand. His thoughts churned with great worry and foreboding. “I don’t want either of you to think for a moment that I am not grateful for the care you’ve given me,” he said diplomatically, “but there are things I must attend to. Am I…fit to leave?”

“You’re fit to leave!” She answered enthusiastically. “Just try not to get in any more trouble.”

“Maybe that’s why those two are here,” Sheryl speculated, gesturing with her head toward the doorway off to the right.

Vincent’s eyes darted there, and dread surged through him when he noticed it wasn’t Rick or Karl. It was two older men, perhaps in their thirties or forties. The shallow wrinkles creasing their faces let on that they were hard-line, experienced wizards and not to be trifled with. The one standing on the left side of the door had brown hair, a handlebar mustache, a single line of a beard down the front of his chin, and a scar across the right jaw of his expression that said any deviance would not be tolerated. He wore unassuming, drab work clothes, the sign of a botanical wizard, and stood leaning his back against the stone of the doorway, his sharp brown eyes glaring intently at Vincent while he kept tossing up and catching a pebble sized seed in his hand. Vincent didn’t know what he could instantaneously grow it into, and didn’t want to. The other, a man with fair hair, was dressed in the blue robes of atmomancy, yet strangely carried a long iron rod which he used as a walking staff. He gave Vincent a look that was covered in condemnation.

Sheryl continued speaking while Vincent stared on. “They came earlier with an order from the council that you’re not to leave the infirmary alone.” Her uncomfortable pause brought Vincent’s eyes back to her. “They’re here to take you into custody.”

The other woman saw the troubled expression on his face. “I’m sure it’s nothing.” She didn’t sound so sure to him and discreetly backed up and walked away from his bed to have another look at Stacy.

Vincent downed the rest of his cup and returned it to Sheryl. “Thanks,” he said. Sheryl went
umhmm
and walked away with the pitcher.

The two older men watched him swinging his legs dutifully over the side of the bed. When Vincent stood and shared a look with them before starting to pull his gown off; they averted their eyes. The healers were both standing near Stacy with their backs to him, and so he had at least that much privacy. In no time at all, Vincent was dressed and tying the laces on his black boots. He put on his sword’s baldric and his belt with the knife still in its sheath, feeling somewhat insulted that they held so little regard for his strength that they would let him keep his weapons.