Wings Over Talera - Charles Allen Gramlich [42]
“Take it,” I said.
“Hold him down,” Graye replied.
He drew a silver flask from his boot and poured a mouthful of the contents along the edge of his dagger. I smelled whisky and cinnamon, then leaned forward to grasp Eric’s shoulders and neck. I held him tight, pressing his back to the tree against which Valyan had leaned him.
Even through his emptiness, Eric felt the knife. He jerked and shrieked as the cold blade touched him, and I fought him to stillness as Graye made a quick circular incision around the milkstone and yanked away the small flap of tissue in which the stone was embedded. He threw the whole of it off into the bushes as blood welled and clotted instantly in the tiny crater.
Eric stiffened, his heels drumming. Then he began to gag wildly. I rolled him onto his side just as a green bile jetted from his mouth and nostrils. There were specks of crimson in the bile but the release seemed to clean Eric of something foul. He slumped deeper into unconsciousness. Yet, I thought this new state closer to true sleep than to the emptiness he’d shown before. I pulled him away from the spreading pool of vomit and used one of our blanket rolls to pillow his head. He moaned, but his writhing had stopped.
Graye rose from his squat after wiping his dagger on a clump of marsh grass. He sighed. It seemed in relief.
“Well, he survived,” he said.
I nodded, not trusting my voice, then rose as well, leaving Eric in his stillness while I strode over to Valyan where he bent over the injured Kreeg. Graye moved to check on the sabruns, to make sure they were ready if we needed them quickly.
“Tell me,” I said softly to Valyan.
The Green Llurn glanced up at me. He’d bound Kreeg’s chest tightly with cloth he’d found in one of the saddlebags. He’d splinted an arm. And there were other things.
“He lives but I don’t know if he’ll stay that way. He’s got broken ribs, a broken arm and wrist. Head injuries. He may be bleeding inside. I pray Ivrail that he isn’t. He needs a trained healer.”
“Vriun is in Nyshphal. In Timmuzz,” I said. “I know of no other we could trust.”
[*Vriun the Healer first appears as a slave of the Klar in Swords of Talera. He is of the race called Kaldi, and was freed by Ruenn. Later, he became court physician to Rannon and her family.—CAG]
“Vriun is an old friend,” Valyan agreed. “But Timmuzz is far and none of us dare show our faces there since....” He did not need to finish.
I sighed, biting at my lower lip. “I think—” I started to say, and a hoarse whisper interrupted me.
“Ruenn.”
I spun about to see Eric’s eyes open. And he had pulled himself to a sitting position against the chelaquin tree. I raced to him, dropped to my knees beside him.
“Eric?”
His eyes were still shot through with blood but they seemed brighter to me, more their natural color. In amazement, I noted that the small wound in his forehead had completely closed, as if his body had rejected the mark of the toir’in-or. The puckered scar that remained was a good sign, I told myself.
“I need.... Need...water,” Eric struggled to whisper.
Diken Graye heard, and as I turned toward the sabruns where our water gourds hung he tossed me one that sloshed deliciously. I lifted Eric forward from behind the shoulders, uncorked the gourd and let him sip, stopping him when he would have gulped.
He drank slowly, for a long time, then leaned his head back to gasp for breath. His eyes seemed brighter still, though I feared some of it was fever.
“Where...where are we?” he asked. A thread of water spilled down his chin.
“On the Rosjavik Peninsula,” I answered. “Near the village of Kellet’s Bay.” Even though he nodded, I could see the names meant nothing to him.
“What do you remember, Eric?” I asked gently.
He glanced at me, and away. It seemed he was frightened. He took another sip of water, swallowing as if desperate to avoid thoughts of what had happened to him. He looked down then, and mumbled something I couldn’t catch.
“Eric,” I prodded. “Tell me what you remember.”
“Vohanna,” he said after a moment, his