Dragonspell - Donita K. Paul [101]
“Now that’s better,” said Fenworth from the ground near her. “Should I do another?”
“Perhaps once more,” Librettowit answered.
This time when Kale heard the swoosh above her, she covered her head with her arms and squeezed her eyes shut. The second deluge did not catch her off guard.
The fires were out. Pitch dark engulfed her. The smell of wet, charred wood filled Kale’s nostrils. She moved back.
The horrible screeches had ceased. Around her, moans oozed through the black night. She shivered and sat up.
She wanted her cape. She wanted to check on Gymn and Metta. She wanted to see something. The darkness felt heavy against her skin. Her heart raced. She fought the urge to cry out for Dar or Leetu to come rescue her. What had happened to the wizard and his librarian? Why didn’t they do something? She had to have light. She had to!
A pop and sizzle above her turned into a long glowing cord of light. It hung over her, some twenty feet above the campsite. It grew as she watched, the ends extending outward like tendrils of a vine. She rose to her feet, her neck still bent backward as she stared at the slender rope gently pulsing with a soft glow.
Wizard Fenworth and Librettowit both came to stand beside her. They, too, stared upward as the light wormed its way through the black night, dispelling the dark. The tube twisted and then branched out. Thin fingers of willowy light popped out of the side, sizzled a moment, and then began to stretch. As each new appendage grew, it, too, sprouted new limbs of glowing tubes.
“Remarkable,” said Librettowit.
“Unique,” said Fenworth. “Well done.” He turned and placed a hand on Kale’s shoulder. “You and Gymn are needed this night. Librettowit and I will practice the art of healing in our way. You minister in yours.”
Kale tore her gaze away from the intricate lacework created by the intertwining vine of light. The shadows of night disappeared under the moon-white glow from above. A circle of clear ground encompassed the wizard, the tumanhofer, and Kale. At its edge began a gruesome spectacle, piles of blimmets, sodden corpses, their sleek black fur glistening on lifeless forms.
“We have no time to waste, my dear.” Fenworth stroked Kale’s shoulder. “Go to our friends. Stop the bleeding. Stop the pain. Put each into a deep sleep and move on to the next. When we have relieved their suffering and the immediate threat of death, then we will return and repair the damage done to their bodies.”
Kale looked up into the face of the old man. His strength shone through the sadness in his eyes. She nodded and moved back to the tent, crawled in and found Metta crooning over Gymn’s still body.
“Wake up, Gymn,” she said. The sound of her own voice surprised Kale. Her tone held authority as if she were suddenly in the position of Lee Ark, responsible for their safety and unwilling to brook any nonsense.
Gymn stirred. Kale picked him up. Metta flew to land next to her neck and leaned under her chin. The touch of the singing dragon comforted the o’rant girl.
When Kale stepped over the line of blimmets piled in a circle around the inner camp, she realized they had been held back by some force, though she did not have time to figure out what. Fenworth and Librettowit moved among the felled dragons. Kale approached Lee Ark. His shredded trousers barely covered his bloody legs. His wounds freely bled. Kale dropped to her knees beside him.
Lee Ark turned his head to her, and a twitch at the corner of his mouth told her he tried to smile. His expression told more of great pain and courage. “Next time,” he whispered, “I go to bed with my boots on.”
Kale nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She put Gymn on his barrel chest and concentrated. Vaguely she heard Metta singing as she and Gymn worked to heal their leader.
No pain. Sleep. Stop the lifeblood from flowing out.
She felt Gymn shudder. When she looked at Lee Ark, she saw his handsome features