The Jewel of Turmish - Mel Odom [98]
Haarn broke the seal then reached down and cradled the elf. Tilting Ettrian's head back, Haarn struggled to pour the liquid into him.
"Open his mouth."
Grimly, Druz placed her hands on the wounded elf s face. Skin and flesh tore under even the slight pressure she put on him. She almost drew her hands back.
"I'm afraid I'm going to hurt him."
Haarn looked up at her and said, "He's dying."
Druz had held men who'd died on battlefields, but none of them had been cooked the way the elf had. The exposed flesh on his arms cracked open in places. She couldn't help thinking that if she pulled at the meat it would fall off the bone. Steeling herself, she took shallow breaths and held the elf s head.
Working cautiously and tenderly, Haarn pushed a finger against the elf s lower lip. The flesh split and bright red blood beaded over Ettrian's mouth and chin.
"Do it," Druz said.
Haarn pulled the Up farther down, causing flesh to tear at the corner and reveal the elf s crimson-stained teeth. Uncorking the potion bottle with his teeth, Haarn poured the blue-tinged liquid slowly into the elf s throat.
For a moment, the healing potion only pooled in the elf s mouth. Then, with a convulsive swallow, Ettrian drank the liquid. Haarn waited patiently then poured more liquid into the elf s mouth. This time, the elf swallowed more quickly, showing signs of regaining strength. Though Druz hadn't believed it was possible, Ettrian drained the contents of the bottle. "What now?" Druz asked.
"We wait," Haarn answered in a hoarse voice. His eyes never left the unconscious elf. "Is he a friend?
Haarn hesitated then shook his head slowly and said, "Ettrian is my father."
CHAPTER NINETEEN
In the shadows of Mistress Talia's cargo hold, Barnaby waited to die. At least, he wanted to die a quicker death than the monsters that prowled the merchanter promised. The huge spider-shaped woman was the most terrifying thing he'd ever seen, but it was the dead man with the purple tongue that was the most lethal. Never in his twelve years of life had Barnaby ever given much thought to dying.
Another scream echoed through the hold and Barnaby cringed even tighter into the narrow space. He was small for his age, and often the butt of jokes for it, but this night he was glad of his small stature. If he hadn't been so small he Would never have been able to fit between the crates.
The screaming man stopped with an abruptness that left no doubt in Barnaby's mind that he was dead.
The merchanter was only a day out from Alaghфn, headed south across the mouth of the Vilhon Reach. At least four men, two of whom had been on watch, had been lost during the first night. The captain had blamed the uncommonly rough seas and the storm winds that still racked the coast of Turmish.
"Hand me that damn lantern, I tell you!"
Barnaby recognized Ridnow's voice, but not the fear that echoed within it. Ridnow was a seasoned sailor, a man who'd sailed the length and breadth of the Sea of Fallen Stars dozens of times, and he didn't scare easily.
"I said, give me that gods' damned lantern, boy, and ye had damn well best be quick about it."
"Ye're gonna set fire to the ship," a younger voice shrilled.
"Ain't ye got it through that thick knob of yers, boy? That there's Borran Kiosk an' he ain't here to take none of us back alive. It's yer choice whether ye dies like a man or ye end up spitted on that foul tongue of his."
Gathering his courage, knowing Ridnow and the younger man were close by, Barnaby peered around the corner of the crate. He stayed so close to the crate that the effort earned him a new splinter in his cheek.
Lantern light threw dancing shadows against the walls of the cargo hold. Ridnow stood near a stand of wine barrels. He was a man of normal height but deep-chested and broad-shouldered. Clutching the lantern in one fist, Ridnow held a bloody, double-bitted dwarven battle-axe in the other. The younger man was Deich, a sailor Barnaby knew but not well.
To see the fear so clearly etched on the sailor's face was disheartening. Tears