22. Haldric
twenty-two
Haldric
Haldric didn’t relish killing. Despite his frequent battle practices with Fendrel, this was the first time he’d been forced to fight outside a training ground. He knew the lives he’d taken today would haunt his dreams for some time to come.
Yet, as he helped Benjin to his feet, propping the wounded apprentice against his side, he consoled himself with the grim knowledge that it had been necessary. Had he not fought, he and Benjin would both be dead. As it was, it had been a near thing.
After Benjin’s summoned quake, Haldric had yearned to go to him, but that soulflame warrior and his goons had recovered too quickly, cutting him off and forcing him to flee around the carriage. Thankfully, he’d managed to make it to Fendrel and the remaining guards in time to rally them.
The soulflame warrior hadn’t stood a chance. He’d taken another two guards with him, but in the end, Fendrel had driven the killing blow home himself, his blade moving almost too swiftly for Haldric to track.
Relishing Benjin’s comforting weight against his side, Haldric sent a silent prayer to the Goddess. If he’d been even a second or two slower reaching Benjin…
The thought sent a shudder down his back.
Leaving Benjin in the carriage to rest and Marshal Fendrel to tend to the wounded, Haldric returned to the enemy mage’s corpse and searched her body. Sure enough, he found what he’d expected: a small charm tinged crimson and imbued with runeflame.
He tossed it in the dirt and stomped on it with his boot, satisfied when he heard it crack apart. He tried to channel runeflame, relieved when it came to him easily.
The mage must’ve used some manner of blood sorcery to block his access to magic. He shivered at the thought of how they might’ve obtained the drop of his blood needed to complete the hex. He bled often enough during his training bouts with Fendrel. That meant someone with access to the palace.
Bandits, rebels…or something altogether different?
His mind churning, he checked in with a grim-faced Fendrel near the side of the carriage. “How many?”
“Four dead on our side.” The marshal’s voice was strained with controlled grief and fury. “Another six wounded. Sixteen slain on theirs, including the two casters. At least two more fled when the battle turned against them. They might return.”
Haldric studied the littered bodies. “I doubt it. Not without their mage and warrior to support them. Still, we should make for Revesole with all possible haste. Can your wounded guards ride?”
“Not without fear of tumbling from their saddles. And I’m afraid the cart’s not going anywhere anytime soon.”
Haldric glanced toward the fallen wagon. The marshal was right—it would need serious repairs to make it road-worthy again. He and Benjin might have been able to manage it with their runeflame if they weren’t already both so drained.
Puffing out a breath, he swept a hand through his matted hair as he considered. “What about the carriage? We can put the wounded inside while Benjin and I ride the rest of the way on horseback.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Fendrel shook his head.
“That’s a generous offer, Your Highness, but it’s too risky to leave you so exposed.
Even if that group doesn’t try again, others might be tempted if they realize who you are.
It’s safer for you if we continue on at once with a smaller escort.
I’ll leave a couple of men with those too wounded to ride.
They can repair the wagon and follow after us. ”
As much as Haldric loathed the thought of leaving anyone behind, he knew the marshal had a point.
The longer they lingered, the greater the risk of another attack.
“Very well, Marshal. The Grand Magus sent three healing potions for emergencies. Before we depart, we’ll give them to the most injured.
I’ll do my best to mend the rest. I’m no healer, but basic Restorations might ease the worst of their pain until they reach Revesole. ”
Fendrel saluted. “Thank you, Your Highness. I’ll see to gathering the horses and scavenging supplies. We should be ready to depart within the hour.”
With his own weary nod, Haldric returned to the carriage and raised himself into it. There was nothing to be done about the shattered door, not when they lacked the runeflame to spare. They’d just have to make do.
Benjin lay across one of the padded benches, his heavy breathing a near pant. Concern ripped through Haldric as he hurried to Benjin’s side.
“Are you all right?”
Benjin grimaced up at him with an approximation of a grin. “Never better. Though if you ever have the bright idea to set yourself on fire, I suggest you reconsider.”
Haldric’s gaze flitted to Benjin’s charred chest, and he winced. The burns didn’t look life-threatening, but they couldn’t be comfortable.
“Hold on.” Haldric rummaged through the carriage, searching for the box with Dexil’s potions. Once he found it, he held up one of the crimson vials. He tried to hand the potion to Benjin. “Here, take this. It will mend your wounds.”
“Are my injuries the worst we suffered?” Benjin asked.
Haldric frowned and reluctantly shook his head.
Benjin closed his eyes, a stubborn set to his face. “Then, I’ll manage without.”
As much as Haldric wanted to argue, he knew Benjin was right—there were guards outside who could use the healing more. Haldric left to give Fendrel the potions, then returned to Benjin’s side.
He raised a hand flickering with runeflame. “At least let me tend to your burns.”
Benjin’s gaze narrowed. “Aren’t you always telling me how dangerous it is to attempt magic untrained?”
Haldric shrugged, his smile tight with worry. “I wouldn’t say I’m untrained. Merely…underpracticed.”
“Right.” Benjin attempted to roll his eyes, then winced. “Well, go on then. I doubt you can make the pain any worse.”
Let’s hope not, Haldric thought grimly as he got to work.
Sure enough, his Restoration was shoddy at best. While runeflame could accomplish pretty much anything with the proper spell, it was less well-adapted to healing than dawnflame, lifeflame, or even soulflame. Benjin’s chest would likely bear scars from his burns forever.
Still, he was able to move again by the time Haldric was done. Benjin shifted to sit up, leaning against the wall near the window.
“Thanks.” He gave Haldric a tired grin. “For that, and for earlier. You saved my life back there.”
“Just returning the favor,” Haldric said softly. They stared at each other for a span of heartbeats before Benjin’s weary eyes slid shut with a gentle smile.
Haldric left him to rest and checked in again with Marshal Fendrel, casting Restorations on the remaining wounded one by one. By the time Fendrel had retrieved what supplies they needed and readied them to depart, Haldric felt utterly spent, his runeflame reserve near empty.
He settled in on the bench across from Benjin and studied the apprentice’s face, which was peaceful in slumber. Being this close to him again after several days of forced separation was like scratching an irritating itch, offering a balm for an open wound Haldric had been stubbornly ignoring.
He knew they needed to talk—about what had happened at the Galax estate and what would happen next. But that could come later. For now, they both needed sleep more.
Leaning his head back against the wall, Haldric thought of Benjin until unconsciousness claimed him.
Despite the fresh horror of the attack and how close they’d come to perishing, the next couple days of limping back to Revesole almost felt like a return to normal.
Benjin rode in the carriage with him again—not that he had much choice with the wagon destroyed—and they resumed their usual training and light banter.
Neither of them brought up what had happened at the Galax estate, though Haldric thought of it often. From the way he’d sometimes catch Benjin’s pale eyes intent on him, he suspected the apprentice did as well. Still, as if by some unspoken armistice, they left it alone for now.
Haldric could feel himself growing closer to Benjin again, slipping back into the easy camaraderie they’d found during the trip to Khordan.
And while it scared him when he lay awake at night, thinking of Katalin and the king and his responsibility to the crown, all of that seemed more distant than it once had.
Benjin was here. The two of them had survived. And Haldric simply didn’t have it in him to go back to avoiding Benjin…regardless of how much he knew he should.
On their last night before reaching Revesole, the two of them sat beside a small campfire.
Fendrel had already retired to rest, the watch he’d set up near their camp standing vigilant guard.
While there’d been no sign of their ambushers since that initial attack, Fendrel refused to take any chances.
“I’ve been thinking about the ambush,” Haldric said. He poked at the fire with a stick, watching the embers it cast up into the air.
“Oh?” Benjin sounded cautious. Like their shared night at the Galax estate, the attack had also largely remained off-limits for discussion.
“At first, I thought it was bandits,” Haldric began. “Then, that soulflame warrior began saying all that stuff about judging me on behalf of the people. Yet, the more I consider it, the less convinced I am that it was rebels either.”
Benjin’s fingers twitched with runeflame, his Evocation absently stirring the loose embers into a fiery whirlwind. “You saw those protesters in Revesole. They certainly seemed mad enough.”