Armageddon's Children - Terry Brooks [148]
Worse, they did not once come across even the smallest reference to the Loden.
They finished the first two books and moved on to the next pair. Time was slipping away. Kirisin found himself glancing at Erisha, who was absorbed in her reading and paying no attention to him. He was surprised that she had come around so completely, but gratified, too. He was thinking better of her already.
If they found something and she acted on it, he might even be willing to reassess . . .
“Looking for something?” a voice growled from out of the darkness of the doorway.
Kirisin felt his heart stop. He met Erisha’s frightened gaze as her head jerked up, and he could not look away.
Chapter TWENTY-FIVE
HANDS SHOOK HAWK’S shoulders hard and brought him awake with a start.
“Wake up, Bird-Man,” he heard Panther say.
He blinked his sleep-fogged eyes, trying to focus. It took him a moment to orient himself. He was still on the floor of the common room where he had fallen asleep last night. He could hear voices in the background, hushed and filled with wonder. He sensed joy emanating from their rise and fall.
“Hey!” Panther shook him again, and this time he looked up into the other’s eyes. A faint, ironic smile greeted him. “Better come see what your dog is up to.”
Cheney. He sat up quickly—too quickly—and everything started spinning. He sat with his head between his legs for a moment, waiting for things to quit moving.
“You worse off than that animal,” Panther snorted derisively. “Maybe you got some of what he don’t. Get up, will you? You want to miss it?”
Hawk blinked, the spinning stopped, and he looked at Panther.
“Miss what?” he asked.
“Over there,” the other said, pointing.
The remaining Ghosts were crowded around Cheney, who was on his feet and lapping water from a bowl. He looked a bit ragged around the edges, but his wounds from yesterday’s battle had all but disappeared.
Owl wheeled, dark eyes intense. “How did this happen?” she asked, a mix of amazement and deep suspicion mirrored on her face. “We all saw it. He was dying, Hawk.”
Hawk shook his head. He was as confused as she was, although for different reasons. He knew what had happened, knew the part he had played in it, but didn’t understand how it could possibly be.
“That dog, that’s a devil dog,” Panther murmured, looking over at Cheney, his brow furrowed. “Ain’t no way he should be walking around. He was all tore up, couldn’t hardly draw a breath. Now he’s moving like he’s just the same as always.” He shook his head. “Yeah, he’s a devil dog, all right.”
Candle glanced up from where she knelt beside Cheney, saw that Hawk was awake, and rushed over to give him a big hug. “Isn’t it wonderful?” she whispered.
Hawk guessed it was. He guessed it was a miracle of sorts, although he thought it was something else, too—something more personal and more mysterious, perhaps, than even a miracle. He wanted to understand, but at the same time he was afraid of what he might learn. Cheney had indeed been dying, so far gone that he barely knew that it was Hawk who cradled his big head, his eyes glazed and his breathing harsh and ragged. There was nothing anyone could do for him, nothing that could save him, and yet. ..
Yet Hawk had saved him.
How had he done that?
He detached himself from Candle, climbed to his feet, and walked over to where Cheney lay quietly in place, his drink finished. The yellow eyes shifted to find Hawk as he approached, no longer glazed, but sharp and clear. Hawk knelt next to him, running his hands over the thick coat, across the grizzled head, pausing to scratch the heavy ears. Every injury had healed. There were ridges of scar beneath the fur—as if the injuries