Winter Warrior (Song of the Aura, Book Two) (25 page)

   
“I thank you, Karmidigan. But… aside from gaining our trust, there is another reason you’ve brought us here, isn’t there? Is there some other thing we can do for you? Something else you would like to show us?”

   
The frost Strider’s eyes widened just enough to show his surprise. Ahead, the old nymph cleric chuckled.

~

   
Varstis, King of the Reethe and Raitharch of the city, lay dying on his bed, side by side with the victims of the first demon attack.
It’s a good lord who takes no better treatment than what his people get,
Gribly thought. It gave him a favorable impression of Varstis before even meeting the nymph. The only thing that gave away his rank at all was the grizzled nymph guard sleeping at his post by the Raitharch’s bed.

   
“My prayers have been answered only in part,” Cleric Lithric told him as they moved along the row of rough beds on which the Reethe casualties lay. The sunlight streamed down in crimson rays through the high, arched windows of the Hall of Healing, where Lithric had taken Gribly alone. His companions had gone to speak with Karmidigan. This, it seemed, was the last request the Reethe had: they wanted the young prophet to help their king. “Varstis is still among the living,” Lithric explained, “But he grows worse with each passing hour. Ever since the Pit Strider attacked him, he has been losing blood from a wound which we cannot stop or heal.”

   
Gribly nodded grimly as they approached the king’s bed. He noticed abstractly that the cleric seemed to refer to Varstis as a friend, rather than a liege-lord. It meant that Lithric had a personal reason for wanting the Raitharch to survive, as well. All the more pressure, then, to do something he had no idea how to do. That, and the stench of death and suffering that assaulted Gribly’s nostrils as he tramped through the Hall of Healing, woke him up better than any food or drink might have. What he wouldn’t give for a full week’s rest, though…

   
They arrived at the bed. He felt his throat constrict and his palms sweat at the pitiful condition of the nymph under the coverlet.

   
Varstis was a nymph of medium build and height, with a broad chest and wide, capable-looking hands. He must have been a healthy individual before, but now his skin was pasty and pale, his cheeks hollow, and his eyes sunken deep into his skull, shadowed by the pain he had obviously endured, and was still enduring. A lump in his sheets indicated where his side had been wrapped in bandages. Scarlet tainted the white from the wound underneath.

   
“At least he rests undisturbed,” Lithric sighed, shaking his head.

   
Gribly grimaced and tried not to look as helpless as he felt. “Let’s see the wound.”

   
It was ugly. The old cleric woke the apologetic guard to unwrap it.

   
“Didn’t know… I… sorry for…”

   
“It is all right,” Lithric told the nymph, “We’ve all been taxed heavily, and luckily no harm came to your lord while you slept. Make up for it, and help us to look at him.”

   
Just then, a familiar voice broke in on the three gathered at the sickbed.

   
“Wait for me! I think I can help, if you’ll let me.” It was Elia. She apparently had followed them from minutes after they had left. “It didn’t hit me until you had left, but my Second Form allows me some power in healing. I may be able to help the Raitharch, if…” she broke off and looked at Gribly suddenly embarrassed. He understood.

   
“In case I can’t do anything? Well, we’ll just see about that,” he huffed, turning to Varstis’s side again.

   
The blow had been dealt with a blade- that much even he could see. As the folds of cloth were carefully peeled back from the Raitharch’s body, a violent-looking, inch and a half-wide hole was revealed, dark and bubbling with the nymph’s blood. It was in the lower part of his trunk, where Gribly supposed a person’s stomach probably sat, on the nymph’s left side (Gribly’s right). The sheer volume of blood on it and the sheets was astounding. He almost choked, and Elia made a scared, sickly sort of noise behind him.

   
“H-how hasn’t he bled to death yet? And why isn’t his wound closing?” Gribly spoke quickly and sharply to keep himself from feeling sick. Cleric Lithric rolled his tongue in his mouth, musing on an answer.

   
“Though I have not the elemental might of a Strider, Prophet Gribly, I am granted power of a different kind by the Aura and the One Whom they serve. I have been bending all my will and the strength of my prayers towards keeping Varstis alive, and my wishes have been granted. As for the wound, I am utterly at a loss. Our healers are few here, but such as they are they have been able to find no solution. It bleeds and yet does not heal or scab, and it will not dry on his flesh.”

   
“Ah… uh… I think…” Gribly stammered, feeling bile in his mouth. “Woulth you minth if I thpit thomewhere?” he finally managed. Lithric raised an eyebrow, and Gribly felt the cleric both understood him and was not surprised.

   
“By the head of the bed,” he motioned, and Gribly stepped across him to see. Behind the bed was a hole in the ground, raised up almost a foot and descending downwards into a shadowy depth that could not be measured. Water splashed and slapped below.

   
Gribly spit, then returned to the side of the bed, feeling woozy. Elia had changed into her Swimmer Form, and was staring impassively ahead. He hoped he hadn’t made her mad, but he couldn’t tell.

   
“I don’t get sick as easy, this way,” she said, as if to no one.

   
He looked at the wound again. It was thin, but almost triangular.

   
“Does it come out the other side?” he asked.

   
“Yes,” Cleric Lithric nodded, looking gray.

   
Gribly felt a cold, soft touch on his shoulder. Elia.

   
“Please, would you mind if I tried to heal him?” she asked. “I’ve never worked with anything this serious before, but I’d like to try.”

   
He searched her face, anxious for some sign that she cared or was angry with him. It was just too hard to tell, when she didn’t look like a human. He sighed and nodded, stepping aside. What did he know, anyway? The Wave Strider stepped forward, wincing a little at the still-flowing blood, and put her hand out towards the wound. Her fingers quivered with tenseness and, likely, fear. The watery translucence of her hand entered the wound, and the result shocked those who saw it so much there was a collective yell.

   
Steam hissed up from where her fingers touched the blood. A loud
hiss
broke the silence that had crept up on them all in anticipation, and Raitharch Varstis woke with a scream. “AHH!”

   
Elia hiccuped in fright and stumbled back, almost into Gribly’s arms. He steadied her, shaking from the unexpected scream himself, trying to look as if it hadn’t fazed him. She shrugged off his arm as soon as she was steady again, frowning at him. That one look cut like a wound, and Gribly quickly looked away…

   
…Straight into the wild eyes of King Varstis. The panicked Raitharch snatched his elbow before he had time to think, and pulled him closer to the bed- an impressive move for an invalid.

   
“Help me, Prophet!” he rasped, his eyes bloodshot and spittle flying from his lips. “It’s gotten inside of me and I can’t get it out! Help me… help… me…” Then the nymph’s grip relaxed and he fell back on his pillows, unconscious and shaking with illness and pain.

   
Silence. Complete, total, depressing silence. Gribly looked around and found all present staring at him hungrily. Gazing, afraid and expectant. Waiting for him to save their king.

   
“I…” he started, then turned sharply away. He couldn’t do this! He didn’t even know what he was supposed to do!

   
Reaching out tentatively, on a morbidly curious whim, he touched the wound as Elia had.

   
An image flashed before his eyes and mind, more real than waking: the young Pit Strider with the same face as he, glaring venomously at him as flames devoured his face.

   
Then it was gone, and he found himself tipping over from a whole new wave of exhaustion. He heard cries of “Quick, he’s going to fall! Catch him!” and “Look! By the Powers, there’s something in the king’s body! It’s moving!”

   
Strong, rough hands caught him and held him upright. It was the sleeping guard. Ever practical, Lithric issued instructions from behind. “Keep his hand on the wound! There, yes! Yes! It’s coming out! Gracio lei Yuvatarr! I’ll deal with this!”

   
Gribly felt something sticky and hot poke his thumb where it rested on the Raitharch’s wound. Then a wave of nausea hit him, and he fainted.

   
Not again…

Chapter Twenty: We Will Rejoice…

   
The cycle repeated itself: Sleep, Dream, Wake.

   
Sleep: Gribly felt nothing, not even pleasure as the sleepless days of toil were washed into oblivion. He was too deep in the flow, and the aches of his journey were slowly falling from him, one at a time, bringing relief and peaceful rest.

   
Dream: When at last he did, it was of Elia. Elia as he knew her, and Elia as he wished she would be… Pleasant, but fuzzy and unreal. He knew, somehow, that they were all dreams. All except one: a dream of her, standing by his bed, bathed in moonlight from a high window. She was crying in that dream. It played itself out over and over again, always a little differently than before.

   
Wake: When he finally did, Gribly found it to be not-so-different from his dreams. Moonlight. A round tower of warm stone, stretching up above him into a domed roof. A comfortable bed, and a fire in the hearth. A fire… ah, that was good. It had been too long since he had felt real warmth, and now he was immersed in it. Too good to be true. It had to be another dream. Elia stood by his bed in nymph-form, brushing the coverlet with her hand.

   
When she saw he was awake, her wistful expression turned to a slight frown and uneasy eyes. No, this was not a dream after all. It was real, for better or worse.

   
“Where am I?” Gribly heard himself saying, before his thoughts had caught up to his situation.

   
Elia’s face lost a little of its coldness when she heard his voice shake. “You’re in the Tower of the Stars. Menstron Lithi. It’s Cleric Lithric’s personal chamber.”

   
“The Cleric’s?”

   
“Yes. He was gracious enough to lend it when you collapsed back in the sick room.”

   
“How long have I been… asleep?”

   
“A day and several hours. Lauro and I were given quarters too, and we’ve been sleeping in them for most of that time. We were all so tired…” her voice trailed off and her eyes lost their focus.
She doesn’t look like she slept much,
Gribly thought, and he wondered why that was. “Raitharch Varstis is alive, and getting better,” she said, speaking as if it was an afterthought. There was a pause.