Realm of Light - Deborah Chester [46]
Air flowed suddenly back into his lungs. He sent up a quick prayer of relief and gathered her awkwardly into his arms.
Gloom was thickening beneath the trees. He hadn’t realized how fast night was coming. In Imperia, there were hours of twilight and long, splendid sunsets across the bay. He had forgotten how short were the days in Trau, how quick and final the night came.
As though in warning, the wind picked up and set the trees swaying. Their boughs whispered a sound that set the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. He stumbled forward, trying to hold onto the fading light by sheer willpower. There had to be time to reach shelter. There had to be.
It was snowing harder now, becoming a driving, stinging force at his back that whipped his cloak. The temperature was falling. Caelan’s breath streamed about his face, and he felt frozen to the bone. His cloak might be wool, but it was lightweight cloth, inadequate here. His years in warmer climates must have thinned his blood, for his hands and feet felt numb already despite the exercise. His face hurt from the cold. The air he breathed felt knife-sharp.
Do something, he told himself angrily. You fool, think of something to save her.
But fear made his wits fade. He could not think, could not find the answer. This was not something he could fight with strength and sword. All he had were his gifts of sevaisin and severance.
The venom must be spreading faster through her body than he expected. If she regained consciousness, she might not know him. Soon she would not remember she loved him. The darkness in her would spread until it consumed her.
Then she would be what Sien, Agel, Paz, and Kostimon had become, a servant of Beloth, turned into corruption, unable to find her way back to light.
If he severed her, it would kill her. What else could be done?
She lay heavy in his arms as he carried her, stumbling through the undergrowth, now and then breaking into a run only to slow down to a saner pace.
Time was against him now. If darkness fell before he found shelter, the wind spirits would kill them. For Elandra, that might be a mercy.
“No,” he said aloud, tipping back his head to gulp in more air. Then he began to trot, his panting hoarse in his ears.
“Hurry. Hurry.”
He found himself mumbling the word aloud, driving himself on the way Orlo used to drive him through his drills in the arena. He was strong and fast, former champion of the games. Now he was a soldier, the elite of Kostimon’s hand-picked Guard. He could save Elandra. He must save her.
It was nearly dark. The moaning shriek of the wind warned him that danger could strike at any moment, provided he didn’t freeze first.
He forced himself to keep going, to not surrender. Not yet, not until every drop of strength drained from his body, not until the wind spirits found them and shredded them to bits.
He had promised Elandra, promised her. He would not give up.
The ground dropped abruptly before him, and he went stumbling down an embankment before he could catch himself. He lost his footing and fell, dropping Elandra in the process, and skidded into a stream with a splash.
The water was so cold it burned. He floundered upright, cursing himself, and dragged himself from the water. Staggering like a drunken man, he found Elandra lying in the snow like a rag doll. It took him three tries before he managed to pick her up again.
When he straightened, he was hit by a gust of wind so strong it nearly knocked him over. For a wild second he thought he’d been attacked by a wind spirit, but it was only the storm, rising in force now as the blizzard came in. It hurled snow and stinging sleet into his face, pelting him without mercy. His wet clothing froze to his skin. He knew they were in grave danger. If he didn’t find shelter in the next few minutes, they would both die.
The emerald in his pocket