hair is fanned out around him. Dropping to my knees, I lean over his prone form and rest my ear over his chest. His heart is still beating, and I can feel his chest move as he breathes. Sitting back on my heels, I take a deep, relieved breath. This must just be exhaustion, right?
One of the falcons utters their bloodcurdling cry, reminding me that we are not out of danger yet. Looking around the forest, I see we are just inside the treeline and still relatively exposed. While we managed to avoid the talons and tracking magic, they will still lead their masters to us.
We need to move farther into the forest.
I look down at the elf as I try to work out how I’m going to drag him farther into the shade. Standing, I move his head, and then after muttering an apology in advance, I grab his arms and try to drag him. The pack is still on his back, and I know I’m going to crush anything inside it, but that’s not important right now.
It’s hard work. He’s dead weight and unable to help me, his hair catching and tangling in the dirt and twigs on the ground. I try to avoid the stones and tree roots, but it’s impossible to miss all of them. My sprained ankle only hinders my progress.
Drag, rest, drag, rest, and so on it goes. I’m not sure how much time passes, but even in the early spring chill, I’m sweating. Reaching a large tree, I decide this is far enough, and I try to prop Vaeril up against the trunk, but his head just lolls to one side as he slumps down. I manage to remove the pack from his back and place it on the ground next to him. Biting my lip, I start to pace as my worries and fears begin to resurface.
What will you do without Vaeril? There is no way you will make it to the elven city if he can’t direct you. You’ll never be able to fend for yourself out here alone. Is he going to die?
That last thought makes me feel sick to my stomach and something twists within me. No, he can’t die. He won’t die. This is just exhaustion. Just as I think this, something catches my eye.
When I’d woken up in the cave, he’d been wearing a large dark overshirt. I hadn’t questioned it this morning, assuming he must have rustled it up from his pack, but now I can see something on the fabric.
As I kneel at his side, my eyes widen and I curse when I realise something is seeping through the cloth. I peel the shirt back and my fears are confirmed. He had suffered some cuts on his chest and arms from the fight with the guards last night, but they looked reasonably shallow, and last time I saw them they were clotted. He certainly hadn’t been complaining of any pain.
The wound is to the left of his bellybutton and is about the length of my palm. It’s leaking blood and a clear, yellowish liquid, and while it doesn’t look particularly deep, the edges of the wound appear macerated. Around the injury, the skin is red, and I reach out to gently touch it—it’s hot. Cursing, I sit back on my heels. I’ve seen wounds like this before. It’s infected, but it’s deteriorated far faster than I would have expected.
“The blade was poisoned,” a weak voice tells me, and I immediately look up from his stomach and see he’s watching me with his signature frown. I’m feeling a strange mix of emotions, and relief beyond belief that he’s awake, but my blood runs cold at his words.
He’s been poisoned. I’m no medic or healer, so I don’t know how to help him. Pushing my fears aside, I pull the pack towards me and start rooting through it to see if there is anything I can use to clean the wound.
“Thank the Mother you’re awake,” I mutter, also sending up my silent thanks and prayer for guidance from the Goddess.
Pulling clothing and weapons from the bag, I find a package wrapped in brown paper. Inside is half a loaf of bread, which explains where our small breakfast in the cave this morning came from. I hadn’t questioned it, but now I wonder where he got it from. Seeing the food makes my stomach grumble, and I know we are going to have to eat soon. We drank