Away from the pair, Iryl clutched the spear in one hand, and with the other tried to bat away the snow so she could see. She felt a rush of air and leapt to the side, feeling the brush of fur as the Que-Nal charged where she had been a heartbeat before. She felt another brush of fur, this more coarse, and heard a deep-throated growl.
"Orvago!" She let out a sigh of relief. "Thanks be to the memory of Habbakuk!"
"Kill them!" the old man continued to shout. "For Zebyr Jotun! Kill them!"
"A beast!" the Que-Nal nearby Iryl cried. "Shadowwalker, they have monsters on their side!"
Chaos continued to rain in the swirling snowstorm. The clang of Gair's and Camilla's swords rang out against the spears of their foes and the soft thuds of the blades striking the thick hides of the barbarians. A muffled cry cut through the wind, Camilla's, followed by a series of thuds and clangs as an incensed Gair retaliated.
"Camilla's down!" Gair called out, hoping that Iryl still lived. "Father, how many left?"
Still three, the elder Graymist answered. One is sorely injured.
"Tell me where they are, Father!"
More blows rained.
Somewhere in the wicked whiteness, the old man continued to shout, "Kill them all!"
Near Iryl, the gnoll was wildly slashing at a barbarian who was doing his best to crawl toward Shadowwalker. The gnoll's hood was thrown back, revealing his doglike face, spittle flying and freezing as he continued to claw at the man.
Camilla was face first in the snow and struggling to push herself up. The knight was faint from cold and the loss of blood, her fingers practically frozen.
Gair was wounded, too, from spear jabs that penetrated through his defenses and punctured his legs, but none of the wounds were serious. He stepped in front of Camilla, following his father's directions, thrusting his sword forward like a spear, driving it through one of the remaining barbarians.
Two left! The elder Graymist's voice finally showed a hint of optimism. The monster you call your friend has finished another, and the old man is retreating!
The gnoll's victory cry cut through the chaos, sending a shiver down Gair's spine.
The two remaining are fleeing, too, his father continued. The monster has unnerved them! It was fortunate your beast was worried over your tardiness and came looking for you. The monster is good for something after all.
The gnoll was snorting and growling, trying to find his way through the snow to pursue his quarry.
"Let them go, Orvago!" Gair shouted as his father explained what the gnoll was trying to do. "Over here! I need you!" Then the elf slumped to his knees, as if the effort of shouting took the last of his strength. "I should have told Goldmoon and Iryl about the Que-Nal, Father." His voice was soft, cloaked by the sound of the wind-driven snow.
No, his father corrected. You were right to keep the knowledge hidden. It would not have prevented this.
"Camilla!"
There was nothing but the persistent shushing of the snow and Orvago's growls.
"Where is she, Father?"
Lost to you, Son. Mortally wounded, I'm afraid. She is slipping toward my realm. I will welcome her for you.
Gair shut out the rest of his father's words and groped furiously with his frigid hands, desperately trying to find Camilla. She was lying on her side, a layer of snow atop her, a spear lodged in her back. He felt her face, his fingers dancing down her body until they encountered the warm stickiness of her blood. Gair blocked everything else, focusing on his heart, trembling from fear of losing her, calling forth his healing spell.
The magic was dead within him. He was exhausted, physically and mentally, too spent to nurture a mystical spark.
"Please!" the elf whimpered as he concentrated harder, felt himself grow colder as all his energy was directed inward. His breathing became ragged, and he slumped over her still form. "Please!" He could sense his heartbeat, weakening himself further as he tried to draw energy from it. It thrummed irregularly as he gave up the last of his strength in an effort to find his mystic center. The penetrating cold, and a blackness that came up from nowhere and everywhere, swelled to surround him, and he felt himself lose his grip on consciousness and spiral downward. "No!" It was a hoarse whisper of protest. "I won't give up yet!" Just as he suspected he might fail himself, he found a last bit of energy left in his limbs, and the elf felt something stir within him, something inexplicable, a faintly mystical pulse.
He pictured it as a flame, and he crouched over it, protecting it from the wind and blowing on it gently to give it more substance. The image became more real in his mind until he could feel the warmth of the fire he was building. It was chasing the cold from his limbs, melting the snow all around him. He continued to tend the flames, fingers scrabbling over the dry ground he was mentally painting, gathering twigs and dead leaves. These he shoved into the fire, and it grew.
The elf pulled back from the image now, registering himself draped over Camilla. The warmth from the fire in his chest was surging down his arms and into her unmoving form. The waves were strong, as he'd felt them moving into himself when Jasper healed him on the trail in what seemed so long ago. He stoked the fire higher and was rewarded when he heard her gasp, felt her move slightly.
Still focusing on his healing wave, he reached around to her back, where the spear was lodged. It was not too deep, and he tugged it out, pressing his fingers into the wound and coaxing his mystical warmth inside.
She moaned softly.
"You'll be all right." Guided by Orvago, Iryl had found her way to the knight commander's side. "Gair is healing you."
"No!" The word was firm. She tried to push herself away from the elf's hands, but Iryl held her down, and Camilla hadn't the strength to handle the slight elvish woman. "Take me to town, please. There's an herbalist at the Sentinel. She'll see to me. No magic."
Gair's fingers fluttered across her arm, where he felt a broken bone. He couldn't set it, though he knew Goldmoon or Jasper could handle that task. He could stop the bleeding and ease her pain. He directed the warmth to flow into the arm.
Camilla was growing stronger, and Orvago helped keep her from squirming.
"I don't want this!" The words were almost lost in the still-blowing snow. "None of this mysticism. None of it. Let me die… or take me to town."
"I won't let you die, lady knight," Gair said. "And the port is days away." He turned his attention back to the spell and directed the last of the healing warmth into her. Thoroughly spent, he fell back into the soft snow, gasping and clutching his cold fingers to his chest.
"Willum," Camilla moaned. She was feverish, ranting. "Willum, don't let them heal me. None of their mysticism. None of it."
Iryl smoothed the knight's hair and cradled Camilla's face in her lap to protect it from the wind. "Everything will be all right, Commander Weoledge. Rest now."
The miniature storm died several minutes later, leaving behind snow that had all but covered the bodies of the slain Que-Nal and the two knights. One of the latter lived, barely, and Gair somehow found just enough mystical strength to stop his bleeding. The elf plucked at the fastenings of the armor and tugged it off the man.
The gnoll padded over, removed his own cloak, wrapped it around the wounded knight, and hoisted him gently over his shoulder. Orvago glanced to the west. He had followed their tracks to get here, and the storm that came from nowhere covered up all trace of them.
Iryl brushed the snow from the slain knight, ran her fingers across his eyelids to close them, and offered a quiet prayer to the departed Habbakuk. Finished, she joined Gair, who had removed Camilla's armor and was wrapping her in one of the blankets, then lifted her in his arms. The knight was as tall as the elf and at least as heavy, but Gair somehow managed to carry her.