Page 44 of Slaying the Shadow Prince
At long last, they emerged from the foot of the cliff, and Drue turned to face Talemir. ‘That cork story doesn’t count, by the way. Wasn’t your kill.’
His answering smile sent a thrill through her. ‘Don’t worry about that. There’s plenty more where those came from.’
Morning bledinto afternoon as they followed the river, and an ease settled between ranger and Warsword. As reluctant as she was to admit it, Drue realised that laughter found her easily, and that she enjoyed listening to the melodic sound of Talemir’s voice as story after story left his lips.
But a few hours before dusk, he grew unusually quiet, and she noticed him sagging in his saddle, his broad shoulders leaning a little too far to the right.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, nudging her horse closer to his, peering into his face. He was pale, beads of perspiration lining his brow.
‘Ah, it’s nothing.’ His smile was strained.
‘It’s not nothing.’ She reached across and pulled his reins up short, stopping the horses. Talemir nearly slid from the saddle. By the looks of things, sheer willpower alone had kept him upright for the last few hours.
‘What happened?’ Drue demanded, helping him down from his horse. She sat him down on a nearby rock, the river rushing quietly beside them.
‘No idea,’ Talemir muttered with a wince.
‘Where does it hurt?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Oh, for the Furies’ sake, don’t be so stubborn,’ Drue snapped. ‘I mean to find Gus and the wraiths’ lair, and I need you to do it.’
‘Is that the only reason you’re fussing, Wildfire?’
‘Tell me where it hurts before I start prodding.’
‘You can prod me any time –fuck!’ Talemir barked as Drue squeezed the muscle between his neck and his shoulder, where his leathers were ripped.
Blood oozed.
‘You’re wounded,’ she told him, her hands already moving to his laces.
He didn’t protest as she undid them, peeling the sodden material from his heated skin.
‘You didn’t think to clean this?’ she said, staring down at the raw, angry claw mark that carved through his flesh.
‘Wilder drank the rest of my fire extract. He needed it more than I did. And I didn’t think it was too bad.’
‘Well, it is now…’ She gently touched the flesh around the wound. It was blazing hot. ‘It’s getting infected.’ Her chest seized. ‘You need a healer, or this will fester and you’ll…’
‘I don’t need a healer.’
‘Yes you do —’
‘No.’ Talemir gripped her hand and motioned towards the river. ‘That’s a freshwater source…’
‘Water won’t cut it at this point. The infection has already taken hold.’
‘No, you misunderstand. Usually, alongside a river like that grows a particular weed – blackbore ivy, it’s called. A ranger should know of such a plant. It’s got star-shaped black leaves and grows in a messy sort of vine… If you can find some of that, I won’t upend your quest.’
Drue had never heard of the weed, but she left the Warsword on the rock and went to the river’s edge, scouring its banks for the foliage he’d described. She fought hard to keep her worries at bay, focusing on the task at hand. She got on her hands and knees, sifting through the messy underbrush, forcing her panic down, refusing to think of what might happen if she couldn’t find —
‘Got it!’ she shouted, snatching a handful of the vines that matched his description perfectly. Clutching the black star-shaped leaves tightly, she darted back to Talemir and thrust them at him.
‘What am I meant to do with those?’ he said, voice strained against the pain. ‘You have to crush them up. Here.’ He moved aside on the rock. ‘You need to grind them into a paste.’
Following his instructions, Drue used a smaller rock to pulverise the foliage into a thick, dark mixture.
