Utha glanced over to Duncan, but he pointed off toward the far end of the cavern. “Go that way,” he suggested to her. “Julien got thrown over there; he’s probably hurt really badly.” She nodded and ran off.
Fiona and Maric were not far behind. Neither seemed too hurt, though the King looked battered and all but covered in foul ash. They both ran over to Duncan, the mage bending down to help him sit up. He winced as sharp pain radiated from his broken arm. There was blood covering the leather straps, and no way to tell if that was his or the dragon’s. Truth be told, he didn’t care to inspect the injury too closely. It felt bad.
“Are you all right?” Fiona asked
“Do I look all right?” he snapped, cradling his arm in front of him. The pain intensified for a moment and he hissed sharply through his teeth, closing his eyes as he rocked back and forth.
Maric whistled in appreciation. “I can’t believe you rode that thing!”
“It was idiotic!” Fiona snapped up at him. “He could have been killed!”
“He looks alive to me. Plus, it worked.”
Duncan held up a bloodied, shaking hand to distract the pair from their bickering. “Hello? Wounded here?”
The elf snorted in anger, frowning tightly as she turned back to see the extent of his injuries. When she touched his arm too strongly, he flinched and twisted away from her reflexively. That brought its own agony, enough to make him fall back to a prone position and writhe on the ground. Had he shattered the bone? It bloody well felt like it! It was like liquid fire burning through his veins.
“All right, then,” she breathed. “A spell it is.” She was pale and sweating, with dark circles under her eyes from the exhaustion, but still the mage collected herself and began to cast. She firmed her grip on his shoulder, whispering arcane words under her breath. The blue aura of power surrounded her and flowed into him, bringing with it a cool, blessed relief that made him gasp out loud.
He could feel his flesh mending, even feel some of the bones moving about inside his arm. That should have been painful, but it wasn’t. The sensation was merely odd, his senses numbed as the magic danced its way along his body and tickled at his fingertips.
“We have some poultices,” Maric commented. “Potions, too. You shouldn’t waste your strength, Fiona; you look exhausted.”
She didn’t stop. “We may need those. I may not be here to cast these spells later.”
He didn’t argue, and instead looked around the cavern. Duncan followed his gaze and noticed Kell limping toward them. The hunter looked quite a sight, completely caked in dirt and blood, his leather jerkin torn with several long gashes in it along his side. He’d lost his hooded cloak, and his head was coated in blood, but for all that Duncan supposed he looked rather healthy for having been inside the dragon’s mouth not minutes earlier.
The man wasn’t looking their way. Instead he was casting around anxiously, looking toward the far reaches of the cavern. “Hafter?” he called. Normally such a shout would have been enough to bring the hound bounding toward him, but there was absolutely no response. Not even a bark or a whine.
Fiona looked up sharply. “Oh no! Hafter!”
Just then, Kell noticed a shape against one of the far walls. It was where the dog had been flung by the dragon, and from where Duncan sat it looked like he had not moved at all. He was just a heap of lifeless fur collapsed at the base of the wall, a small stream of hissing lava not two feet away. The hunter limped in that direction, ignoring his pain as he sped to see to his companion.
Fiona completed the spell. “Are you going to be all right?” she asked Duncan anxiously. He nodded and tried to get up. The pain was still there, and his arm was stiff as a board, but he was much improved. Maric helped him, while the elf ran off to join Kell, her tattered blue skirt swishing.
With Maric’s assistance, Duncan limped over to where the pair of them knelt by Hafter’s body. It looked certain that there was nothing that could be done. The dog didn’t move, and Kell’s face was anguished as he ran a shaky hand along his fur. Duncan had never seen the man look so helpless.
“Is he—?”
“No.” Fiona shook her head. She sighed in relief, and Kell closed his eyes in silent thanks. Perhaps he prayed; Duncan really couldn’t say. He’d never known the hunter to offer thanks to the Maker—or any other god, for that matter—but perhaps this was a special occasion. “He’s badly hurt, but I think my magic will be enough to restore him.”
She began to cast her spell, and as the blue glow spread across the hound’s body, Hafter suddenly twitched. His dark eyes opened, and when he saw Kell kneeling above him, he whined plaintively and thumped his tail weakly against the stone floor. The hunter patted his head and urged him to remain still while the spell did its work.
“Lucky dog,” Maric chuckled, to which Duncan could only nod.
An anguished cry from elsewhere in the cavern interrupted them. Fiona’s spell fizzled to a halt as she looked up, and the rest of them turned around. At first Duncan couldn’t see where the sound was coming from, and then he noticed Utha on the far side of the cavern next to a large, rocky outcropping. In the dim light of the lichen he could see that the cavern floor sloped up to that point and led back the way they came. The dwarf was very still, and it took him a moment to realize that there was someone crouching on the ground next to her.
It was Nicolas, holding a limp and bloody Julien in his arms.
“Fiona!” Duncan cried, though it was unnecessary. The mage looked to Kell and the hunter nodded quick assent. She collected her skirt and dashed quickly across the cavern toward the others. Duncan limped slowly, Maric helping him along, and he saw that Genevieve was walking there, too.
The elf got to Julien’s body, and it took a moment to pry the grieving Nicolas off of him. The blond warrior was disconsolate, tears streaming down his face as he begged his friend to hold on. Utha looked sorrowful, but when she put a compassionate hand on Nicolas’s shoulder, he shrugged it off angrily.
“Just help him!” he shouted at Fiona.
She nodded, shaken, and laid her hands on Julien. The blue glow of her healing spell surrounded him, but as Duncan drew closer he suddenly saw the warrior’s state. Julien’s body was twisted and broken, his head at an odd angle from the rest of him. Blood covered his armor and was pooled around him, and one of his arms was almost completely ruined. It was nothing more than a bloody red mass, held together by the fragments of his armor.
If Fiona had gotten here earlier, then perhaps … but from the way Julien’s neck looked, it was possible he had died instantly. Duncan hoped he had died instantly. The man’s eyes were open and staring, but strangely calm. Like there was nothing wrong with him in the slightest. Duncan shuddered and looked away.
Magic continued to pour from Fiona into the body, but very little seemed to be happening. Some of the gaping wounds on Julien’s body were closing, but no color was being restored to his pale skin and he didn’t move at all. Tears welled in the mage’s eyes as she intensified her concentration.
“Do something!” Nicolas insisted. “Why is nothing happening?”
“I’m trying!” she sobbed.
Genevieve stepped forward. Her expression was stone, and she touched Fiona’s shoulder. “Stop,” she ordered. The elf looked up at her uncertainly, but there was no ambiguity in the command. The spell faltered and then ceased entirely.
“No!” Nicolas shouted. He knelt down again and cradled Julien in his arms, trying to support his head carefully even though the neck was clearly broken. “No, you can’t stop! He’ll be all right! He just needs healing!”
“He’s dead,” Genevieve said. Her voice was flat.
More tears streaked down his face, mingling with the splatters of blood. “You don’t know that!”