“Pull her up Lucien, she—”
Rowan held up a hand. “Hold,” he commanded in a rasping voice.
A delicate, clenched fist flopped weakly from the water. Lucien grabbed it immediately and yanked Tala up.
She took several breaths to steady herself before she managed to lift her hands and open them for the others to see. In each was a piece of the Soul Sphere.
“Well, that was easy,” said Corson, grabbing at his side as a jolt of pain hit him.
“We need to find somewhere to rest and heal,” said Demetrius.
“Swamp not good,” said Lucien. He lifted Tala, and she hung limp in his arms, no protest issuing from her lips. “I carry her.”
They decided to go back roughly south, not knowing where the next shard might be and Tala far too weak to divine its location. None of them wanted to adventure further north into the parts of the swamp they did not know.
“Food’s gone,” said Corson. “As is the water.”
“Nothing we can do about that now,” Demetrius replied. He looked at Corson and Rowan. “We do need to be armed. We should try to find your weapons.”
“Look fast,” Lucien said. “Want to be far away by night.”
No one argued the point.
* * *
They managed to collect both swords and find Corson’s bow, although it was broken and he tossed it away. They covered several miles before darkness fell, and were grateful for a few close patches of solid ground upon which they could sleep. They were wet, cold, tired, and hungry, and in desperate need of baths, but they were alive and for that each gave thanks in their own way.
Of their physical injuries Corson’s broken ribs were the worst, and even that was far from life-threatening. Rowan pulled at his shirt and rubbed his neck from time to time, but his near strangulation would soon be reduced to no more than a memory. Tala was exhausted from her deep use of magic, but she told them she would be well enough to travel on her own in the morning. Lucien and Demetrius were bruised—nothing more.
Rowan knelt beside Corson, who rested against the gnarled root of a tall tree. “I might be able to help.” He met Corson’s eyes while he touched his shirt, then pulled it up to look at the injury after he received a nod of approval. A deep purple blotch marked the spot sufficiently, even in the fading light. Gently, Rowan placed his hand on the ribs, and then closed his eyes to focus. Healing power flowed from one man to the other.
“It’s better,” Corson said when he was done. “Thank you.”
“I only wish I could do more. It is not healed by any stretch of the imagination. You must be careful. I would suggest packing it in cold mud, but given our present state, I’m not sure it would matter.”
Corson laughed, then winced. The injury was causing less discomfort, but Rowan was right, it wasn’t healed. “Not sure I’d let you put mud on me right now, anyway. I’ve seen enough of that for one day.”
“Try to get some rest,” Rowan said. He left Corson and went to where Demetrius and Lucien were huddled, speaking quietly.
Demetrius raised an eyebrow at his approach. “Do you still deny you are a paladin?”
“I deny nothing. You may think of me any way you wish. I simply prefer to be called ‘Rowan.’ ”
“Then ‘Rowan’ it will remain. And I thank you for helping him. Are you well enough for the watch? Lucien and I will do it if you need rest.”
“I’m fine,” he answered, even as his hand slid toward his throat. He caught himself and forced it down. “I’ll take my turn.”
The night passed slowly, the eerie silence so noticeable that it made them uneasy. More than usual, it was a great relief when morning came.
Tala was correct about her recovery. She stood easily, without wavering, as soon as she awoke. Her face lacked the pale pallor that had come over it yesterday. Noticing the concerned looks of the others, she smiled and reassured them that she was fine.
“What do to
Rowan held up a hand. “Hold,” he commanded in a rasping voice.
A delicate, clenched fist flopped weakly from the water. Lucien grabbed it immediately and yanked Tala up.
She took several breaths to steady herself before she managed to lift her hands and open them for the others to see. In each was a piece of the Soul Sphere.
“Well, that was easy,” said Corson, grabbing at his side as a jolt of pain hit him.
“We need to find somewhere to rest and heal,” said Demetrius.
“Swamp not good,” said Lucien. He lifted Tala, and she hung limp in his arms, no protest issuing from her lips. “I carry her.”
They decided to go back roughly south, not knowing where the next shard might be and Tala far too weak to divine its location. None of them wanted to adventure further north into the parts of the swamp they did not know.
“Food’s gone,” said Corson. “As is the water.”
“Nothing we can do about that now,” Demetrius replied. He looked at Corson and Rowan. “We do need to be armed. We should try to find your weapons.”
“Look fast,” Lucien said. “Want to be far away by night.”
No one argued the point.
* * *
They managed to collect both swords and find Corson’s bow, although it was broken and he tossed it away. They covered several miles before darkness fell, and were grateful for a few close patches of solid ground upon which they could sleep. They were wet, cold, tired, and hungry, and in desperate need of baths, but they were alive and for that each gave thanks in their own way.
Of their physical injuries Corson’s broken ribs were the worst, and even that was far from life-threatening. Rowan pulled at his shirt and rubbed his neck from time to time, but his near strangulation would soon be reduced to no more than a memory. Tala was exhausted from her deep use of magic, but she told them she would be well enough to travel on her own in the morning. Lucien and Demetrius were bruised—nothing more.
Rowan knelt beside Corson, who rested against the gnarled root of a tall tree. “I might be able to help.” He met Corson’s eyes while he touched his shirt, then pulled it up to look at the injury after he received a nod of approval. A deep purple blotch marked the spot sufficiently, even in the fading light. Gently, Rowan placed his hand on the ribs, and then closed his eyes to focus. Healing power flowed from one man to the other.
“It’s better,” Corson said when he was done. “Thank you.”
“I only wish I could do more. It is not healed by any stretch of the imagination. You must be careful. I would suggest packing it in cold mud, but given our present state, I’m not sure it would matter.”
Corson laughed, then winced. The injury was causing less discomfort, but Rowan was right, it wasn’t healed. “Not sure I’d let you put mud on me right now, anyway. I’ve seen enough of that for one day.”
“Try to get some rest,” Rowan said. He left Corson and went to where Demetrius and Lucien were huddled, speaking quietly.
Demetrius raised an eyebrow at his approach. “Do you still deny you are a paladin?”
“I deny nothing. You may think of me any way you wish. I simply prefer to be called ‘Rowan.’ ”
“Then ‘Rowan’ it will remain. And I thank you for helping him. Are you well enough for the watch? Lucien and I will do it if you need rest.”
“I’m fine,” he answered, even as his hand slid toward his throat. He caught himself and forced it down. “I’ll take my turn.”
The night passed slowly, the eerie silence so noticeable that it made them uneasy. More than usual, it was a great relief when morning came.
Tala was correct about her recovery. She stood easily, without wavering, as soon as she awoke. Her face lacked the pale pallor that had come over it yesterday. Noticing the concerned looks of the others, she smiled and reassured them that she was fine.
“What do to
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