Chapter 11 #2
Thia wiped blood from her cheeks with the back of her arm. She doubted the girl’s motivations were selfless, not when she needed Thia to get close to the king. She contemplated reminding Oskaren that she’d also saved her life, from something arguably more fatal.
But then Oskaren lunged toward her, knife in hand. Thia yelped, flinching back, and the girl shoved the handle into her palm, lips twitching with amusement. “Slash, don’t stab,” she instructed. Then her expression hardened. “Duck.”
Thia obeyed. Oskaren yanked a third knife from her belt and whipped it over Thia’s shoulder. It whistled just past her ear, raising a tendril of her hair. Behind her, there was a thunk and a squeal of pain as it found its target.
There was no time to investigate. Four more n?gens descended, and Oskaren raised her sword in two hands, grimacing. “Ready yourself.”
Thia had a better idea. She ran.
Not out of fear, though she had plenty. To split their attack, so they wouldn’t be surrounded.
Well, it was a better idea in theory, but worse in practice when her foot struck a rock hidden by the tall grass. She tripped and went sprawling, two n?gens on top of her.
Fangs snapped for her throat. She bucked, twisting, and they sank into her forearm instead.
Something sharp stung her leg—the second creature biting into her calf.
She kicked out, dislodging it, then swung her arm and managed to strike the one on her chest with Oskaren’s blade.
Too late, she realized she’d forgotten the girl’s instruction.
It sank hilt-deep, and she was unable to pull it free.
The creature tackled her again, enraged now, its weight pressing the air from her lungs.
“Oskaren!” she wheezed. If the girl was nearby, Thia was too buried in n?gens to see.
She continued to flail, thanking her lucky stars as footsteps sounded.
“Oskaren!” The creature lunged for her face; she battled it back with her arms and managed to turn her head toward her rescuer.
But it wasn’t Oskaren. It was Thran. She locked eyes with him, n?gen saliva dripping onto her chin.
“Thran, help!” The one she’d kicked returned, pinning her properly. “Thran!”
She knew he’d heard, because he raised his sword, lips forming her name. But as the n?gen lowered its teeth to her shoulder, hideous snout blocking her view, those same heavy footfalls retreated.
A falcon screamed, and somewhere in the distance a boy shouted.
Thia scrambled in the dirt, searching for a rock, a stick, anything.
Her fingers came up empty. The creature on her chest dug into her shoulder, while the one on her lower half sunk its teeth fully into her thigh.
She cried out, pain lancing across her body.
A boom echoed, so loud she would have put hands over her ears if she could have. Blue light flashed, and phantom hands yanked her torso, dislodging the n?gens. She soared through the air, arms and legs flailing, until she was face down in the dirt again.
Shouts rang out—voices she didn’t recognize. The huff of a n?gen echoed somewhere too close for comfort, followed by the rustle of feet through the grass. Something slimy licked her ear. Sharp claws dug into the wound on her calf, and she screamed.
Another bang.
A cloud of blue mist encircled her.
The beast shrieked. Then disintegrated into ash.
In its place stood a tall, lithe man, his skin pale white in the moonlight, wispy brown hair capped by a jaunty hat. He held out a hand. “Can you stand?”
She hesitated a moment, scanning the grass for her companions.
Dess was on his feet, flanked by two large soldiers in red, griffons roaring on their chests.
Oskaren was beside him, her sword dripping with silver blood.
Several n?gens lay dead at her feet, clearly disemboweled by her blade and not this tall man’s blue mist, though numerous ash piles indicated just how many he had burned from existence.
Thran had emerged again, a shadow on the horizon.
Her stomach twisted. He’d left her to die. Perhaps she shouldn’t have been shocked, after all she’d been told about him. But it stung nonetheless.
The tall man was still holding out his hand. He gave a lively twirl of his wrist to get her attention. “Am I to presume that’s a no?”
She took it, only to nearly yank them both over as her leg gave out.
“You’re wounded.”
She nodded, shifting to peel back her ruined breeches. Her thigh was bleeding, but her calf was worse. She could see the bone, her muscles dangling in shorn ribbons. “Shit,” she breathed, the world spinning.
The man crouched beside her. “By Sothis.”
“I need…bandages….” she rasped. Her shirt maybe. She was losing too much blood. She moved to tear the sleeve.
But he shook his head. “No. You need magic.” He closed his eyes. “Frimore tria…” The rest of his strange words were lost to wind, to the roar of blood in Thia’s ears.
White light trickled from his fingers. Slowly, like a drop of syrup, it plopped into her wound, filling up the space. Her flesh stayed open, but the pain receded, her blood slowing. Then he spoke again in that strange tongue, and her muscles rippled, slowly knitting back together.
“Oh my god,” Thia breathed. Her skin tingled, but there was no pain. Then it closed, only a thin scar the length of a knife in its wake. She ran a hand over it, dumbfounded. To have no need for tools, no risk of infection. Just…
Healed. Incredible.
Not without cost, it seemed. The man sagged, somehow appearing even paler, thinner. Like he could blow away in a gust of wind. “Your other wounds are shallow. Forgive me if I leave them for now.”
Thia stared. “You’re a magician,” she said. “Lord…” What had Thran said? “Sagan.”
But the man shook his head, then offered a slight head bow, which he still somehow managed to make elegant in his fatigue. “His apprentice. Archer, at your service, Miss—” He looked at her questioningly.
“Thia.”
“Well met.” He straightened, though continued to sway. “You’ll need rest. It would be our pleasure to host you at Aelfort while you can recover.”
She wondered if she should protest, but her eyelids were already heavy. “My companions,” she managed.
Archer nodded. “They will accompany us.”
So she nodded and let the man help her up.