"From minions of Hel?"
"Yes."
"And you're sure you're not-"
"I'm not crazy." Subikahn continued to watch her every movement. "And you know I have reason to be wary of you. You're not entirely… human."
The girl jerked up her head. "I'm not?"
Subikahn touched the hilt of Saviar's sword and again saw the haze he had previously noticed. When he released the weapon, the glow disappeared. "There's an unnatural fog around you. Is it magic hiding your true appearance?"
"A fog…" The girl's hands went to her mouth. Her demeanor tightened, seeming more excited than distressed. "You can see it?"
That being self-evident, Subikahn saw no reason to answer.
"My name is Chymmerlee." She pronounced it Kim-er-lee, with a faint trace of an accent Subikahn could not identify. "Look again. Can you still see the aura?"
Discreetly, Subikahn touched the sword and studied the figure in front of him. She had the lean, lanky appearance of a teen, perhaps a year or two younger than himself. Straight, red-brown hair fell just past her shoulders, cut short in layers around an oval face with large eyes and a pert nose. The shimmering haze had disappeared. "No," he admitted. "It's gone. And you look otherwise the same."
Chymmerlee took a few cautious steps toward Subikahn. "You're a mage."
For reasons he could not wholly comprehend, Subikahn took the pronouncement as an insult. "I am not."
She stopped again, this time near enough he could see that a few freckles dotted her nose and cheeks. Her eyes were a pale blue-gray. "You know nothing of magic?"
Subikahn tightened his grip on the hilt, warningly. "I know enough not to let someone who hides behind it near my injured brother." He crouched, prepared for battle. "I also know nothing human can cast spells, only gods and elves."
Chymmerlee made a clicking noise with her tongue, and her hand went to her mouth again. "Your brother's injured? And we're standing here bandying words?"
Subikahn remained in stance.
Chymmerlee closed her eyes, seemingly oblivious to the threat. Either she had powerful magic that she believed could get her safely past a readied Renshai or she was wholly ignorant of combat. "You thought I was… and your brother…" Her features opened in sudden understanding. "Your brother's not just injured, he's dying. And you thought I came to-"
"You cannot have him," Subikahn repeated.
"I don't want him!" Chymmerlee rushed toward Subikahn. "At least, not in the way you think I do."
The sword whipped up.
Chymmerlee stopped abruptly, loosing a frightened squeak. Finally, she recognized the danger. "Don't hurt me. Please. I'm trying to help."
Subikahn wanted to believe her. "How?"
"I have some healing skill. Not a lot, but if I can get him stabilized, we can transport him to my people. They might be able to save him."
Subikahn hesitated. It had to be a trick, yet hope gripped him with such suddenness he found himself shaking. "How do I know you're not going to kill him? That you're not a minion of-"
"-Hel?" she filled in. "Is he well enough I have time to convince you?"
No, Subikahn realized. His father had an uncanny ability to read people's intentions, one he at least partially shared. But he saw a vast difference between guessing the intent of a human stranger and an Outworlder. If she's sent by Hel, and I let her touch him, I've doomed him. But if she is what she says, and I don't, I've killed him. His intuition told him to trust Chymmerlee, but his mind warned otherwise. The only elf he had ever seen was the second wife of King Griff. It seemed a coincidence beyond believing that a friendly Outworlder would happen to show up at the same moment he expected a hostile one.
Chymmerlee said nothing. She no longer had the aura, and she looked inarguably human.
In the end, Subikahn trusted his heart. "Come on," he said gruffly. "But if you harm him, you will not live to gloat about it." With trepidation, he led her to the camp, focused on her every movement.
Chymmerlee moved with the grace of an acrobat, but not the awesome glide of an elf or goddess. Dutifully, she watched him for cues, attentive to the sword that he kept locked in his hand. If magic flared, Subikahn wanted to make certain he saw it at its earliest incantation.
Saviar still lay where Subikahn had left him, buried in a pile of laundry beside the failing embers. Attention on Chymmerlee, Subikahn cautiously removed each fire-warmed cloak, tunic, or undergarment and dropped it into a heap beside the sleeping figure. The last layer was damp, soaked through with sweat, and pulled free to reveal the pallid figure beneath it. Saviar's wet clothing clung to his finely-chiseled muscles. His hair hung in limp, red strands.
Chymmerlee spoke for the first time since the pathway, in the awed whisper usually reserved for religious ceremonies. "He's beautiful."
It was a common reaction, and true, yet it seemed remarkably out of place. To Subikahn, his twin looked hideous: his breaths rattling, his skin sallow, his lids fluttering strangely over glazing eyes.
Chymmerlee sank to her knees beside Saviar, Subikahn hovering like an anxious father. She raised a hand, and a faint glowing outline appeared around it.
In a flash, Subikahn threw himself between them, sword at Chymmerlee's throat.
She staggered backward with a desperate whimper, her features twisted in a mask of terror, her arms drawn tightly against her.
"What are you doing?" Subikahn demanded. "That was magic."
Frozen in position, clearly afraid to move, Chymmerlee stared wide-eyed at Subikahn. "Of-of course it was magic. How-how else did you expect me to help someone this far gone?"
How else, indeed? Subikahn had not thought that far ahead. Every healer he had ever known used herbs to treat their patients. He lowered the sword but remained between the sorceress and his brother. "How will I know if it's healing magic… or murder?"
Chymmerlee's arms fell back to her sides. The fear drained from her face, replaced by a grim determination that made every freckle stand out. "We haven't time for a dissertation on types of magic, and I didn't come here to be assaulted. I'm trying to save your brother's life. Are you going to stand aside or not?"
She had a point Subikahn could not deny. Either he trusted her and let her work, or he dispatched her. No one could succeed at anything under the conditions he had created. Subikahn stepped aside, jamming the sword back into his belt. "Just don't hurt him. Please." He knew he sounded pathetic, but he found it impossible to do otherwise. "Please. My twin means everything to me."
Chymmerlee stiffened, clearly startled, but she moved back toward Saviar and knelt beside him. Once again, the glow surrounded her palms. She glanced warily at Subikahn, who deliberately raised his hands in a peaceful gesture. Apparently satisfied, she drew circles over Saviar's still form before stopping directly over the bandages encircling his leg. She looked up. "May I take these off?"
Subikahn nodded stiffly, reassured by the question. If she had intended to steal his soul, she would not need to worry about such details.
Chymmerlee unwound the bandages. As each layer fell away, the stains became larger and darker, until the last pieces came free, releasing a torrent of red-brown pus. The edges of the wound had blackened, and snakelike bands of scarlet wound under his tunic and down to his toes. Saviar stiffened slightly and loosed a coarse grunt, but he did not otherwise move. His eyes remained closed.
"This wound has festered badly."
"I know," Subikahn said softly. "I know. Is there anything you can do?"
Chymmerlee's expression revealed nothing, and a year seemed to tick past before she answered, "I'll try." Her hands hovered over Saviar's leg, shining brightly, and every movement left a sharp trail of light. "I'll need some quiet time. Why don't you fashion a litter? My work will be for naught if we can't move him to a more capable healer."