“Jaz-pear!”
The dwarf’s eyes fluttered open. He blinked, focused on a lighter patch close to the floor of the cave. No Goldmoon. Only his imagination.
“Jaz-pear!”
“Groller?”
The half-ogre saw Jasper move. “Jaz-pear! Wuz fraid you dead.”
“I thought I was too, my friend. In fact.. Jasper let his words trail off. “I might as well be talking to myself. You can’t hear me. Ouch!” The dwarf tried to pull himself closer to Groller, but his broken leg hurt too much. He saw the half-ogre lying next to him, a trickle of blood on his forehead. Groller must have fallen, too. “We’ll wait for Rig,” the dwarf decided. “Rig’ll miss us, eventually find us. He’ll get us out of here.”
“Jaz-pear. Hurd bad.”
Yes, I am, the dwarf answered to himself. My leg’s broken. I’m one big bruise. I’m surprised I’m alive.
“Jaz-pear. I cand feel by legs. Cand move.”
The dwarf cursed himself for not thinking first of Groller. Goldmoon would have never thought of herself first.
He gritted his teeth and inched forward, relying on his good leg. The floor was slick with guano. He gasped. The air was foul, stale and heavy. The dwarf gagged on the scent, felt what little he’d eaten today rise into his throat.
“Almost there,” he said. “A few more yards.” Might as well be miles, he thought. And once I get to Groller—if I can get to Groller—I won’t be able to do anything for him. “Rig! Feril! Fiona!” the dwarf bellowed. He heard his voice echo off the walls, paused and listened for a response. After several heartbeats the echos died. The dwarf sighed and fought to blot out the pain in his leg and chest.
He wasn’t sure how long it took him to reach Groller, maybe several minutes, though it felt like hours. His chest burned from his fall and from the exertion.
“Jaz-pear,” the half-ogre said when he felt the dwarf’s stubby fingers. “Jaz-pear all ride?”
Jasper’s fingers found Groller’s hand. “No,” the dwarf coughed. “I’m not all right.” The dwarf grimaced. He coughed again and tasted blood in his mouth, a bad sign. Perhaps his good lung had been punctured as well.
Groller peered through the darkness, making out the dwarf’s face. “Jaz-pear, fix by legs.”
The dwarf shook his head. My faith isn’t so strong anymore, my friend, he said to himself. He knew the words were lost on Groller. I couldn’t heal Goldmoon. I couldn’t even heal myself after Dhamon struck me. The mystics at the Citadel couldn’t heal me either—my lack of faith prevented them. I can’t heal. We’ll have to wait for Rig.
“Jaz-pear, fix,” Groller repeated. “Fix by legs.”
The dwarf sighed and began to carefully prod Groller.
“Feel dat,” the half-ogre said. “Hurts bad. Real bad. Dat. Feel dat.”
Groller’s words stopped when the dwarf put pressure on his hips. Back’s broken, Jasper sadly noted. And several ribs. The half-ogre wouldn’t be leaving the cave. Even if Rig finds us, the dwarf thought, he’s not going to be able to get Groller out of here alive.
The dwarf coughed again, feeling blood trickle over his bottom lip. “Rig might not get here in time anyway,” he whispered. “I think I’m dying. But I have the Fist. Rig and Palin need the Fist.”
“Fix by legs,” Groller encouraged.
Jasper closed his eyes. The dwarf had only a little energy left, and it was quickly dissipating. The fall had left him all but incapacitated. The blood felt thick in his mouth.
“Code,” Groller whispered. “So code down here.” The half-ogre was shivering.
“Concentrate,” Jasper admonished himself. “Not for me. For Groller. Reorx, Mishakal, please.” He tried to focus, as Goldmoon had taught him, reaching inside himself for the inner strength she claimed everyone possessed. She had taught him how to apply that strength, to call it up and channel it into healing magic and other mystical spells. He looked for it now. But he couldn’t find it. The energy was gone.
“Jasper.” It was Goldmoon’s voice, the dwarf was certain of it.
“Goldmoon?”
“You must have faith.”
The dwarf smiled weakly. Her voice was real—he hadn’t imagined hearing her. Just as she, no doubt had really been speaking to Riverwind for all those years when she stood by the window in the Citadel of Light and carried on what the dwarf had thought was a one-sided conversation. Goldmoon hadn’t realized anyone was listening to her. Probably anyone else would have considered her mad. But Jasper had listened and wondered.
Maybe I’m the one who is mad now, he mused, to hear voices, to think I might be able to heal. But I have to try.
“Have faith.”
“Goldmoon.” He found it then, that tiny spark of inner strength buried deep inside him. It felt warm, and the more he concentrated on it, the brighter the spark glowed. “Faith,” he whispered. “Goldmoon, I must have faith again.”
A wave of warmth radiated down his arms to his fingers. He placed his hands on the half-ogre’s waist, working around until he touched the small of his back. The warmth felt invigorating. His fingers traveled up to Groller’s chest, to his neck and down his arms.
Jasper felt the half-ogre moving and used his hands to still him. “I’m not finished yet,” the dwarf said. His fingers found the gashes and bump on Groller’s head. He touched cuts and scrapes, raised spots where bruises were forming. Then his hands ranged down the half-ogre’s legs, which were twisted at odd angles.
“Shouldn’t have followed me in the cave,” Jasper grunted. The heat from his hands radiated out, mending the broken bones.
“Jaz-pear, you’re good healer,” Groller stated. “Feel by legs now. Can move now.”
Jasper’s hands tried to hold the half-ogre down, but Groller was too strong, and he pushed himself up into a sitting position.
“Jaz-pear, you’re hurd,” he observed.
“Have faith,” Goldmoon’s spirit whispered.
“Jaz-pear, fix y’zelf.”
“I’m trying, my friend.” The dwarf continued to concentrate on the warmth, coaxing it to flow. “Trying.”
“Faith,” Goldmoon repeated.
The warmth lingered in his chest and in his leg, spreading to his own back and dancing along his ribs. He felt as if he was floating, growing stronger. And yet at the same time he knew he was becoming weaker, as the magic sapped the last bit of his physical strength. His leg and chest tingled. The sensation reminded him of his studies with Goldmoon, and previous occasions in which he had healed himself from minor tumbles.
“Your faith is strong.”
From nearby he heard Groller’s nasal words. “Jaz-pear, be bedder.” High above, he heard the soft squeals of bats, as he heard his heart beating stronger and heard Goldmoon’s voice drift to nothingness.
“Tired,” he murmured, as the warmth receded, the spell ended, and the last of his energy was sapped.
“Jaz-pear, you’re good healer,” Groller repeated.
The dwarf felt himself being lifted. “I’m fine,” he insisted. “I can walk.” The dwarf’s fingers fluttered to the sack at his belt, as Groller shufled along, carrying him.
Somehow the half-ogre found his way to a wall. Groller had looked around for the wolf, and found no trace. He wanted to know how Fury had gotten down here—no doubt it was an easier path than he had taken. Where had the wolf gone?
Groller tucked Jasper under one arm, felt along the wall, and began to use the other arm to climb.
Where were Rig and Feril, Fiona? Groller wondered. He’d sent the wolf to get them. Can’t wait for them, he decided. Can’t stay down here. Don’t want to stay down here. It stinks.
Groller twisted his fingers and feet into cracks, steadied himself, and then reached up with his hand. The going was slow, but Groller was persistent. He slid a few times but made progress and eventually reached a support ledge.
This one was narrower than the one he’d found when he was trying to climb down to Jasper. Groller inched his way along, wedging the fingers of his free hand into cracks here and there. Jasper tugged on the half-ogre’s tunic. They were near the opening through which the dwarf had fallen. Groller squinted in the darkness. Jasper patted his shoulder to let him know they had made it.