Chapter 26
Findelbres knelt down and placed his
ear to Myrthis’ chest. Tolian and
Brythia stood by motionless and watched his examination of the Lormian druidess
with the detachment that comes with shock.
“She’s alive,” the faerie said, “Brythia
try and stop some of this bleeding. She
has wounds here and here.”
His voice in its etherial calm broke
the spell of ghastly silence. Brythia
immediately brought herself to the task of dressing Myrthis’ wounds while
Findelbres moved on to examine Delorick.
Tolian stared down as the elf gently investigated her friend’s mauled
form.
“I’ll look to Kilfrie, then,” she
said.
“No need,” Findelbres said without
looking up, “she and Kalabred are dead.”
“B-b-but, you haven’t even looked at
them yet.”
“There is no life in them,” he
explained. He winced as he fully
realized how badly Delorick’s arm was injured.
“Ooh, there’s not much holding this arm on.”
Tolian strained to see the damage
those savage fangs had wrought in her friend’s arm. She felt useless. She looked upon the bloody remains of the two
slaughtered druids. Findelbres was
right, of course. She could easily
discern the lifelessness in their ragged corpses.
Brythia had quickly tended to Myrthis
and spun round to assist Findelbres in his ministrations to Delorick. Doubt and worry clouded Tolian’s mind as she
watched forlornly.
“I don’t know,” sighed the
faerie. He backed away to allow Brythia better
access.
“He’ll pull through,” Brythia assured
him. “These Lormians are a tough
folk. Tolian could you please get me
some water?”
Brythia had regained her natural
composure. Her calm tone helped draw Tolian finally out of her shock.
“Right,” she said.
She sped over to one of their water
jugs and returned with it in flash, sending a great number of fallen leaves
whirling again into the air.
“Thanks,” the druidess said. “How about getting the fire going again, they
could really use the heat.”
Tolian obediently complied with
Brythia’s request. She was glad to feel
useful. As she worked on rekindling the
flames, Findelbres wrapped Kalabred and Kilfrie in their cloaks and dragged
them into the underbrush some little distance from the camp.
“This is your tradition, is it not?” Findelbres inquired of Brythia.
“You don’t bury your dead?” asked
Tolian in astonishment.
Brythia replied with stoic candor, “Their
souls have departed already, now their bodies feed the creatures of the woods.”
Tolian was surprised by the druidess’
nonchalance regarding her dead companions.
Tolian, herself, felt a tremendous sense of loss. She had not known either druid for long, but
a bond akin to friendship had been formed.
Then it occurred to her that Druidism was a religion of living things,
the dead were beyond their care. Brythia
was merely applying herself to healing the living at that moment. No doubt, she would mourn in her own time.
At last Brythia drew away from
Delorick’s unconscious form, “He’s going to live, but I doubt we’ll be able to
save his arm. Now let’s look at you.”
For the first time Tolian noticed her
own tattered and bloody appearance. The
few fragments and rags that remained of her armor and clothing were all but
obscured by the blood.
“Come on,” Brythia said with concern,
“Get over by the fire and take your clothing off so I can see how bad the
damage is.”
Tolian shot a glance towards
Findelbres.
“Say nothing,” he said, “I’ll go look
for the horses.”
He quickly slipped into the darkness
of the forest.
As Tolian unfastened the shredded
remnants of her armor, she realized exactly how cold it was. Her blood covered nipples stood hard and
erect as Brythia gingerly applied a wet cloth to her arm.
“How?”
“Excuse me?” asked Tolian.
“There’s blood here, but no
wound. It’s as though your body has
already healed itself. Let’s see.”
She cleaned another blood soaked area
on Tolian side. No wound.
“Amazing,” she exclaimed.
Tolian shivered in the frigid night
air, “So, somehow, I’ve healed myself?”
“Yes, it certainly appears so. Another effect of the ritual I imagine.”
Tolian starred down disdainfully at
her own naked flesh. Brythia softly
caressed her shoulders. Tolian stepped
away.
“Please don’t touch me,” she sobbed.
“Why not?”
“Look at me.”
“But I like what I see,” Brythia
whispered. She sighed. “I understand. We must get you something else to wear in any
case.”
“I don’t have anything else, I ruined
my other breeches, remember.”
Findelbres’s enigmatic voice rang out
from right behind them, “You still have the armor that my lady gave you.”
Surprised, they turned to face
him. Tolian’s face flushed bright red,
as she strove to cover her feminine charms with her hands. Findelbres stood smiling, holding two of their faerie
steeds by their bridles.
“You know,” he said, “It’s difficult
to believe that you used to be a man. I
mean, look at you.”
Tolian turned away.
Tolian felt about as big as a mouse.
“Please,” said Brythia. “He hates that.”
“She shouldn’t. But I am serious about the armor.”
“I don’t think it will keep me warm,”
the prince said flatly.
“Why don’t you try it on first, and
then decide?” he suggested.
“He has a point,” offered Brythia.
“Since I have nothing else to wear,
it seems I have little choice for the moment,” Tolian begrudgingly allowed.
She grabbed the armor from her pack
and walked a little way into the forest.
She held the slight metal garment up and shook her head. She simply could not believe it had come to
that. She found that it slipped right on
her well curved frame with great ease.
Instantly a mysterious warmth stole over her, little accounted for by
the skimpy chainmail. It fit like a
glove. Though she would never admit to
anyone, she felt good, energized for a few moments. Then, of course, that feeling of acceptance
drew out a new anger in her. She was not
going to allow herself to feel comfortable; it was an insult to her
manhood. She crossed the distance to
where one of the least bloody werewolf carcasses lay. With her knife she skillfully skinned it and
used the fur thus acquired to help hide her largely exposed flesh. Not from the forces of cold, for the armor
staved off the elemental chill more than adequately. She wished to hide her body from all eyes,
especially her own.
Tolian reclined by the fire, staring
into the flames, musing dark
thoughts. The others were asleep,
huddled nearby. Findelbres’ snores were
the only sound to break the silence of the early morning. She was worried about Delorick. The prospects were not good at all. He was likely going to lose his arm if he
didn’t get proper medical attention. Not
that she felt that Brythia wasn’t adequately tending his wounds. But the damp chill and the unsanitary
conditions in the deep woods made healing a difficult task, especially with
such serious injuries.
She had been studying Kalabred’s map
and was quite surprised to learn that they were scarcely a day’s journey from
Dril Prolt, her uncle, Prince Keliof’s southern estate. It would be scarcely a day’s journey for a
normal man, but she realized that she could transport Delorick there in a matter
of hours. A host of conflicting emotions
then ensued. How could she let her
family see her like this? Would she let
her pride kill her best friend?
“I can’t let them see me, but I must
save Delorick.”
Her thoughts churned violently,
burning like the hot flames she dreamily stared into. She also felt a great deal of concern for
Myrthis. She had, since their
confrontation on the rocky slopes, cultivated a curious affection for her. She had begun to think of her as a
sister. Yet, a sister who bore Tolian’s
child, the heir to the throne of Lorm.
Brythia had assured her that although Myrthis’ wounds were severe, both
she and her fetal son would be fine.
At last, as the first hinting of dawn
broke softly on the sky, slight splashes of grey and purple grew in the
east. In the gradual flow of the morning
light, Tolian had made up her mind.
“Brythia,” she whispered.
“Uh, what?” mumbled the golden hair
druidess.
“I’m taking Delorick to my uncle’s
house. I need you to bring Myrthis along as quickly
and safely as you can.”
Brythia wiped the sleep from her eyes
and sat up, surprised but pleased, “I’m so proud of you.”
Then she smiled. Her smile shone with a tremendous love that
blazed as clearly as sunshine (even in the still dull morning light). Tolian held her loving gaze and smiled back.
“Wish me luck.”
“It will be fine, you’ll see. I’ll, I mean, we’ll be there by nightfall.”
Brythia squeezed Tolian’s hand and
then brought it to her lips and tenderly kissed it, “Lightning speed, my Lord.”
Tolian sprung to her feet, she felt
vibrant and healthy, despite last night’s ordeal. She delicately lifted Delorick up into her
arms, without the slightest strain on her muscles. To her he seemed as light as a babe. She paused for a moment and studied her
friend’s unconscious face. A
determination came over her.
“I’ll see you at Dril Prolt tonight
then, my love”, she said to Brythia. “If
I don’t die from embarrassment before then.”
She turned and raced off down the
wood lined trail. As she ran she spent a
great deal of her time concentrating on making the journey as smooth as
possible for Delorick. She dared not run
as fast as she could, for fear of jarring and thereby injuring him
further. Nonetheless she traveled at
what would have been a fast gallop for a horse.
She allowed herself to feel a little pride in her fleetness. She also had to admit that Ymrisiva’s scant
armor was exceedingly comfortable and easy to move in (in addition to providing
surprisingly good support for her breasts).
As she raced with such superhuman
speed her werewolf-skin cloak flapped and whistled in the wind of her
traveling. While listening to the
peculiar sound that the furry hide made she discerned another sound. Something was coming up quickly behind
her. With impossible dexterity, she
stopped and spun round to face her pursuer.
It was a black panther. The creature was quite startled by Tolian’s
abrupt about face and tripped and sprawled roughly on the trail, tumbling
forward with terrific velocity. As it
finally stopped its awkward somersault, Tolian saw deep gashes down its back
leg. At once Tolian recognized the cat
as the one whose body Kilfrie borrowed.
The cat brought itself up into a sitting position in as dignified manner
as it could muster. It examined Tolian
quite intently, strangely curious about her raiment. It almost seemed to possess a surprised and
amused smile on its feline face. It
walked up to Tolian. She just watched
its antics with growing understanding.
“Kilfrie?” she asked with a dawning
hope.
The cat nodded. Not in some casual, coincidental manner, but
with fervent insistence.
“Oh my.”
Tolian puzzled what to do. “Um, look.
Delorick desperately needs help.
I’m taking him to my uncle’s house.
Would you care to accompany us?”
Once again the black panther nodded.
Tolian paused again before speaking
in a grim tone, “Bad news. Kalabred’s
dead and Myrthis is also badly injured, Brythia and Findelbres are bringing her
along later. And, um,...you’re dead as
well, I’m afraid.”
The cat’s, head fell dejectedly, but
she was clearly already aware of that fact.
“Well, if you’re up to it, let’s get
going.”
They charged down the sandy
trail. Pines and shrub oaks now began to
dominate the forest, which now would be more accurately described as pine
barrens. The clear blue sky and cold
fresh air invigorated Tolian. At length
they came upon the crossroads and turned west towards her uncle’s estate. Kilfrie had no trouble keeping up at the
fast pace that Tolian set.
It had been ten years probably since
she had been to this province on Lorm’s southwestern frontier. She jogged past a bridge over a stream that
she and her cousins had spent many hours wading in on hot summer days. She cringed as she thought of her
cousins. She forced such worries from
her mind, Delorick was all that mattered right then.
She passed the first sign of
civilization that she had seen since Hyge Nuit, a small cranberry farm which
was situated on the border with Prince Keliof’s spacious and rustic
estate. She noticed that the farmer was
sitting on the porch of his weathered old farmhouse. He was quite clearly taken aback by the sight
of a half-naked woman, cloaked in wolf’s skin, carrying a man, followed by a
black panther. Seeing the old man’s
reaction, Tolian had to chuckle to herself.
Only a moment more and she stood outside of the gateway to Dril Prolt.
Immediately two guards stepped from
the gate house. They drew their swords
as they approached.
“What’s the meaning of this, Miss?”
asked the older of the two, a haggard looking veteran.
Tolian indicated Delorick, “This is
Delorick, Captain of the Royal Guard. He
needs help.”
The veteran looked at Delorick, “Lords! It is Delorick. You’d better hand him here my lady, he must
be getting heavy to you.”
“No, I can manage, thank you. Now, let me pass. I must get him inside,” Tolian insisted.
She stepped past the old fellow and
brushed aside the younger guard’s sword.
“Oh, yes. The cat’s with me as well,” she added as she
walked down the stone walk way to the main house, paying no head to the guard’s
startled expressions.
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