was narrow, almost too narrow for Ixabrax to squeeze through, but the interior was spacious and dry. It was located in a stand of evergreen trees on the side of a mountain just a few hundred feet below the timberline. Most importantly, there was a hot spring a dozen feet from the cave entrance that melted the snow as it filled the little mountain pool and ran off down the mountain in a steaming rivulet bordered on both sides by intricate and delicate ice formations and bright green foliage. The forest surrounding them provided an ample supply of firewood, but little in the way of food.
There were paintings on the walls of the cave, scenes of hunts and predators from ages long past. Abigail spent hours looking at the primitive art, wondering about the people who had stood in this very place so long ago … but that had been in the first few days before Magda had come down with a fever and become delirious. Now she was worried for her friend’s survival. She and Anatoly took turns watching over her as she struggled to overcome the infection plaguing her shoulder wound.
They didn’t have any healing potions or salve, so they’d done the best they could to clean and bandage her wound. Beyond that, all they could do was keep her warm and provide her with food and water when she was strong enough to take it.
Ixabrax was curled up on the far side of the cave as far away from the fire as he could get. For the most part he was patient, content to sleep while they fretted over Magda. Only occasionally did one of his big, catlike eyes open and assess the situation before closing again.
When Alexander appeared, standing near the fire, both Anatoly and Abigail stood quickly, urgently.
“Where have you been?” Abigail said, almost accusingly.
“Isabel’s been in trouble. I’ve been helping her for the past several days and it’s taken most of my strength.”
Anatoly nodded, looking over at Magda with worry in his eyes.
“Magda’s in trouble, too,” Abigail said. “We don’t know how to help her.”
Alexander scrutinized Magda’s colors, and seeing the ugly base colors of infection, fixed Abigail with a resolute look.
“I don’t either, but Lucky will. I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said, fading from sight.
He found Lucky in a workroom next door to Mason Kallentera’s expansive laboratory in Glen Morillian. Lucky was busy spooning biscuit batter onto a sheet pan when Alexander appeared nearby.
“Hi, Lucky.”
The rotund mage alchemist looked startled but then smiled broadly.
“Ah, there you are, my boy. It’s so good to see you. I trust all is well. Your leg is healing properly, yes?”
“My leg is healing well enough, but slowly. I’ve come because Magda is injured. She has an infection in her shoulder and it’s spreading. I’m hoping you can help me.”
Lucky set the bowl of batter aside and wiped his hands on his apron. “Of course, of course. Does she have a fever? Is she conscious?”
“She’s sleeping fitfully and burning up.”
“How serious is the wound?”
“Zuhl put a spike clean through her shoulder.”
Lucky nodded thoughtfully. “I assume she was injured rescuing Abigail.”
“Yes. I’m sorry, Lucky. You must have been worried sick about her. She and Anatoly are with Magda, along with a dragon named Ixabrax. They’re safe and well hidden but they don’t know what to do for her.”
“Is there any foliage around?”
Alexander nodded. “They’re in an evergreen forest just below the timberline.”
“Old Man’s Beard should be growing on some of the nearby trees,” Lucky said, looking around at the disorder of his workroom. “I’m afraid I don’t have a sample but perhaps Mason does. He’d like to see you, anyway.”
Lucky led him next door to Mason’s workroom. The wizard was sitting in front of the fire reading an ancient book.
He stood with a smile when Alexander and Lucky entered.
“Hello Alexander, or should I call you Lord Reishi?”
“Alexander, please. It’s good to see you, Mason.”
“You, as well. How can I be of service?”
“Do you happen to have a sample of Old Man’s Beard?” Lucky asked.
Mason nodded thoughtfully, looking this way and that for a moment before smiling and winding his way through the tables scattered haphazardly around his workroom and selecting a jar from one of his many shelves.
Alexander examined the strange-looking lichen. It was light green and stringy, almost like thick strands of hair.
“What do you do with it?”
“Crush it slightly, preserving the strands, then place it directly on the wound,” Lucky said. “Wrap a