Page 102 of The War and Deceit Series omnibus

“Put me down now. We do this together or not at all.”

He seems to listen to me as he veers towards a little outcrop of rocks that form a little alcove, protecting us from the birds above. Placing me down gently, he then staggers over to the closest rock and rests against it. He looks exhausted. He may have been working in the forge for years, but that doesn’t help with stamina. I wish I could do something, but he just needs a chance to catch his breath. Peering through a gap in the stones, I see the birds are just circling around us. They can still fly back to their masters and guide them here, but if we can keep them from activating the bands on their legs, then it will give us more time.

“How’s your ankle?” he inquires, narrowing his eyes on it as if he can see through the boot to the skin underneath.

“It’s fine.” It still hurts when I put weight on it, but it’s not broken. I’ve suffered broken bones before, and that pain is far worse than this. The time he’s managed to give me to rest has helped, and I’m praying the adrenaline will help me push through the pain. I can feel his eyes on my back, like he doesn’t believe me, but he doesn’t challenge me on it.

“I’m ready.” Turning around, I raise an eyebrow when I see him. He can barely stand up straight, I don’t know how he managed to carry me for so long.

“Are you sure you don’t need more time to rest?”

“No,” he retorts, pushing away from the wall and holding his hand out. “The longer we wait, the closer they get.”

He’s right. Closing the distance between us, I slide my hand into his, and at his nod, we step out from behind the rocks.

Together, we run, dodging the rocks and the diving birds as we desperately head towards the green smudge on the horizon.We work together, pulling the other up when one of us trips. Unfortunately, it’s usually me who stumbles. The ache in my ankle is agonising, but I don’t voice my pain, I just push through it. If that’s my only strength, it’s something I’ve learned to perfection.

“Look!” Vaeril calls, and I lift my weary head, my eyes widening. The forest is just ahead now, we’ve nearly made it. It’s huge, I’ve never seen anything like it. The farm I worked on didn’t have many trees, and the only ones to be seen were the same, thin, skinny ones they had on the castle grounds. Plants never seemed to do well in Arhaven, like nature was slowly pulling away from the corrupt kingdom. The city never suffered from lack of crops, but I heard the servants talk of whole towns that had to up and leave because they couldn’t survive on the harvests that were left over after the city had taken what it needed.

The birds have backed off now, their cries fading the closer we get to the trees.

“Nearly there,” he bites out, as we make the final push. He’s right, we’re so close now. I don’t know what the next step is after we reach the forest, but I don’t care, focusing solely on this goal—reaching the woodland.

Shade covers us and I look up, seeing only green, the canopy of the trees shading us from the onslaught of the birds. Letting go of Vaeril’s hand, I hobble over to one of the large trees, reaching out and touching the rough bark. A little laugh escapes me as I look around.

“We made it,” I say with a grin, turning around to face the elf.

He’s leaning against one of the other trees. He looks pale and a flash of concern goes through me. He smiles at me, which only makes me worry more, he almost never smiles.

He opens his mouth, and I take a step towards him, but he never finishes what he was going to say. His eyes roll back in his head and he drops to the ground.

Fear like I’ve never felt before floods through me, and although I’m exhausted, it fuels me, pulsing through my veins as I race to Vaeril’s side. He’s crumpled on the ground, his eyes are closed, and his silver hair is fanned out around him. Dropping to my knees, I lean over his prone form and rest my ear over his chest. His heart is still beating, and I can feel his chest move as he breathes. Sitting back on my heels, I take a deep, relieved breath.This must just be exhaustion, right?

One of the falcons utters their bloodcurdling cry, reminding me that we are not out of danger yet. Looking around the forest, I see we are just inside the treeline and still relatively exposed. While we managed to avoid the talons and tracking magic, they will still lead their masters to us.

We need to move farther into the forest.

I look down at the elf as I try to work out how I’m going to drag him farther into the shade. Standing, I move his head, and then after muttering an apology in advance, I grab his arms and try to drag him. The pack is still on his back, and I know I’mgoing to crush anything inside it, but that’s not important right now.

It’s hard work. He’s dead weight and unable to help me, his hair catching and tangling in the dirt and twigs on the ground. I try to avoid the stones and tree roots, but it’s impossible to miss all of them. My sprained ankle only hinders my progress.

Drag, rest, drag, rest, and so on it goes. I’m not sure how much time passes, but even in the early spring chill, I’m sweating. Reaching a large tree, I decide this is far enough, and I try to prop Vaeril up against the trunk, but his head just lolls to one side as he slumps down. I manage to remove the pack from his back and place it on the ground next to him. Biting my lip, I start to pace as my worries and fears begin to resurface.

What will you do without Vaeril? There is no way you will make it to the elven city if he can’t direct you.You’ll never be able to fend for yourself out here alone.Is he going to die?

That last thought makes me feel sick to my stomach and something twists within me.No, he can’t die. He won’t die. This is just exhaustion. Just as I think this, something catches my eye.

When I’d woken up in the cave, he’d been wearing a large dark overshirt. I hadn’t questioned it this morning, assuming he must have rustled it up from his pack, but now I can see something on the fabric.

As I kneel at his side, my eyes widen and I curse when I realise something is seeping through the cloth. I peel the shirt back and my fears are confirmed. He had suffered some cuts on his chest and arms from the fight with the guards last night, but they looked reasonably shallow, and last time I saw them they were clotted. He certainly hadn’t been complaining of any pain.

The wound is to the left of his bellybutton and is about the length of my palm. It’s leaking blood and a clear, yellowish liquid, and while it doesn’t look particularly deep, the edges ofthe wound appear macerated. Around the injury, the skin is red, and I reach out to gently touch it—it’s hot. Cursing, I sit back on my heels. I’ve seen wounds like this before. It’s infected, but it’s deteriorated far faster than I would have expected.

“The blade was poisoned,” a weak voice tells me, and I immediately look up from his stomach and see he’s watching me with his signature frown. I’m feeling a strange mix of emotions, and relief beyond belief that he’s awake, but my blood runs cold at his words.

He’s been poisoned. I’m no medic or healer, so I don’t know how to help him. Pushing my fears aside, I pull the pack towards me and start rooting through it to see if there is anything I can use to clean the wound.

“Thank the Mother you’re awake,” I mutter, also sending up my silent thanks and prayer for guidance from the Goddess.

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