6 - Escaping #3
The little creature fidgeted frantically while the elf coughed violently, as if he were about to cough up his lungs.
He nevertheless managed, with great effort, to sit up.
He didn’t answer right away, struggling to catch his breath, then he raised the vial to his lips and drained it in one gulp.
Nothing was broken inside him, but the elixir gave him the vital energy he so desperately needed.
Once he’d swallowed the potion, Tariel looked up, seized by a sudden wave of panic. His gaze scanned the expanse of ash surrounding them, vaguely noticing that the bonds chaining his wrists had disappeared entirely.
“Brynjar, where are we?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know, master. We haven’t left the Morgraves’ territory, and I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re both wanted by now…”
“Ah, Brynjar… I miss the days when you were content just to flatter me…” the elf muttered, aware that his familiar was probably right.
Tariel suddenly remembered the mercenary’s words. A shiver ran down his spine as he got back to his feet, staggering briefly. He summoned his mare with a sharp snap of his fingers, still out of breath, then glanced back. The man lay there, bathed in his own blood, looking almost dead already.
He hesitated. Could he really just leave him like this?
Everything inside him screamed to run, not to look back. And yet… there were far more reasons against fleeing alone than for it.
Cassian was right: Tariel had no idea what he was doing. He knew nothing of the roads or the kingdoms, much less the creatures he would have to face. Dragons… they were just a name, a distant concept to him. Nothing concrete.
But the mercenary… he knew. He had acted. He had stepped in front of the griffin, without magic, without any hope of victory. A suicidal reflex or a protective instinct? Either way, it was no small feat. With a heavy heart, the elf let out a heart-wrenching sigh.
“We can’t leave him… Aaah, by the stars… why me? Brynjar, we have to heal him. Quickly. Give me another potion.”
He turned on his heel, hurried back to the lifeless body, and knelt in the dry earth. With a gentleness tinged with fear, he turned the mercenary onto his back and rested his head on his thighs to raise it.
Before making him drink the potion, Tariel closed his eyes and placed two fingers against the blood-soaked chest. He drew upon his magic, probing his body in search of the most serious wounds.
On the outside, he appeared calm.
But in reality, it was chaos.
The blood. The metallic smell. The cold skin.
All around them, grass was growing, flowers were bursting forth, as if summoned by his magic, which he could no longer contain. And that did nothing to calm his panic.
“Damn it, Cassian… Stop tending to the local flora and mend your own wounds.”
He knew the mercenary was unconscious, that he wouldn’t hear him. But he had to speak. He had to cling to something.
With a trembling hand, Tariel cast a first healing spell, then a second. His voice, weak yet focused, commanded the body to stop bleeding, to accept the magic, to survive. The blood must not flow any longer. Not yet. Not now.
He then sealed the deepest wounds with a weave of radiant light—hastily formed but strong enough to prevent hemorrhaging.
And finally, he uncorked the vial. He parted the mercenary’s lips slightly, gently pressed on his throat, and forced him to swallow.
A trickle of liquid slipped into the half-open mouth.
He prayed that he would drink enough of it.
Once that was done, Brynjar approached, holding the mare’s reins, freshly summoned and softly pulling on the elf’s life force.
Tariel thanked him with a nod. With an unsteady movement, he hoisted himself into the saddle.
Then, with the golem’s help, he lifted Cassian’s massive body onto the saddle.
Cassian was positioned across the pommel, his limp arms dangling, his head resting against the elf’s shoulder as Tariel held him close with his free arm, wavering under the weight.
They had to move. And fast. A griffin was anything but discreet; as long as they stayed here, they were targets.
“Brynjar, which way is the nearest water source?”
“To the east, my master. “
So Tariel gently spurred his mount, and the Friesian horse broke into a powerful gallop as Brynjar disappeared back into the Void of Tariel’s spirit.
Cassian’s lifeless body jolted against his own with each beat of the horse’s hooves, and every jolt reminded the elf that their time was running out.
The charging gallop slowed to a light working gallop, then a steady trot, and finally, a slow, measured walk.
Hours passed. Night fell.
Under the black, star-studded sky, the ash slowly gave way to greenery.
The scorched earth receded behind them. Life, once again, took shape before their very eyes.
And finally, after what seemed like an eternity to him, Tariel made out the glint of a body of water.
A deep pond, surrounded by fir trees, too small to be a real lake, but large enough to offer them a little respite.
He stopped at the inner edge of the forest. They were safe, for the time being.
He could breathe.
But the hardest part was yet to come…