“Who?” Bryan gasped. “How-”
“Me name’s not important for now,” Rhiannon said softly. She moved to examine the wound, and eased Bryan down to the ground. The spear had dug in deep, and no doubt its tip was barbed. But Rhiannon had been numbed to such sights over the past weeks, and she went about her task calmly and efficiently. She realized that she could not hope to remove the spear through any normal means, not here in the dust, with each movement of the shaft causing the young half-elf such incredible pain.
Instead she spoke the runes of a spell-none that she had learned, but simply words that now came to her in her time of need-and the spear shaft warmed to her touch. A moment later it came alive, a serpent writhing in Rhiannon’s hands. At her call, it backed out of the wound, leaving the spear tip unattached and still inside the half-elf.
Bryan watched it all through the blur of his pain, hardly believing his eyes and unable to utter any of the dozen questions that flooded through his daze. Rhiannon eased her hand across the open gash, numbing the pain, and she watched as Bryan slipped down and closed his eyes. Then Rhiannon stood beside him, considering where she could take him to finish the healing.
But though her gaze began up over the steep rocky slopes of the gorge, it inevitably came back to the scene at hand, to the giant oak and its gruesome victims. She had killed again, had allowed the possessing power its outlet to devastation. She thought Bryan asleep and moved to the tree, stroking its bark and whispering apologies for the decades she had stolen from its life.
Bryan half opened one eye and watched the raven-haired woman, understanding her even less than he had when she first appeared. He understood her to be a friend beyond all doubt, and knew that he would be safe enough under her care. For the first time in so very long, Bryan put his faith in someone other than himself and let a comforting and necessary slumber overtake him.
“Oh, damn,” Bryan whispered when he opened his eyes and found himself barely inches from the face of a gigantic brown bear. He was in a cave, and if he had taken a moment to consider anything other than the snuffling nose-and the white teeth beneath it-of the bear, he would have noticed that the pain was altogether gone from his side. Right then, though, the half-elf lay very still, looking for some way out of this unexpected predicament.
“So ye’re awake, then?” came a voice from the other side of the shallow cave.
At first Bryan disregarded the question, concentrating on holding his breath and keeping his eyes lightly closed, feigning death. Bears do not feast on dead meat, he silently reminded himself, a lesson from his father that he had hoped he never would have to put to the test.
But gradually, as nothing happened, Bryan’s curiosity got the better of him. He peeked out again. The bear had slumped back on its haunches, munching on some unknown treat, and its inquisitive stare had been replaced by one that Bryan found much more pleasant.
Rhiannon’s thick black hair hung down, brushing his bare chest, and her dark eyes considered him for a long moment unblinkingly. “How do ye feel?” she asked.
Her question reminded the half-elf of his wound, and his hand reflexively went to his side. But neither blood nor bandages greeted him, just the smooth skin of a new scar.
“Who are you?’ Bryan stammered, looking at his still clean hand in disbelief. It was all coming back to him: the spear, the charging talon, the intercepting tree, and it all seemed too preposterous to be true. But here was the perpetrator of the impossibilities, barely half a foot from his face.
“Me name’s Rhiannon,” the young witch replied. “And I’m knowing yerself as Bryan of Corning.”
“How did you know?”
“Ye’ve made quite a name for yerself.” Rhiannon smiled. “Many’s the one coming across the river and giving ye credit for the escape.”
Bryan accepted the compliment humbly, a bit embarrassed, but too caught up in the beautiful woman’s name for any self-conscious feelings to take hold. “Rhiannon,” he muttered under his breath, certain that he had heard that name before. Perhaps in one of his father’s tales.
“Ye’ve slept through most o’ the night,” Rhiannon remarked, seeing the confusion on the half-elf’s face.
“How many nights?” Bryan asked, giving up on trying to remember and more interested in going forward with this introduction.
“Just the one,” said Rhiannon.
Bryan’s jaw dropped open. “I took a spear,” he gasped. He forced himself up and looked to the scar line on his side. “A wicked hit.”
“So it was,” said Rhiannon. “But you’re a tough one.”
Bryan had been unconscious during the healing, but even in that state he had felt the presence of Rhiannon. In the witch’s healing sessions she and her victim became linked, two souls battling one wound, and now Bryan began to unravel some of that strange bonding. “You healed me,” he said matter-of-factly, and looked up at her blankly.
“ ’Tis a gift o’ me mother,” was all that Rhiannon could offer. “Fret not on it. The pain is past, and nothin’ more is of any concern.”
“When can I-we, leave?”
Rhiannon glanced over at the surly bear. “As soon as ye feel up to leavin’,” she replied. “Me friend wants his cave back to himself, and I’m not for arguin’ with that one!”
“You, you and he, carried me up here?”
“Couldn’t be carrying ye by meself,” Rhiannon answered. “He’s friendly enough if ye don’t cross him.” She sent a wink Bryan’s way. “And he’ll work for a drop o’ honey.”
“But how can you talk to a bear?” Bryan had to ask.
Rhiannon accepted this next question, and the next, and the next after that, as inevitable, considering the surprises she had shown the half-elf. She answered him honestly each time, though she took care not to reveal too much about herself and she reminded Bryan in every other sentence that their bear friend wanted his cave back. All in all, it was a lighthearted conversation, almost a celebration, for these two who were seemingly destined to become close friends and allies. But then Bryan asked something that changed the entire tone of the discussion.
“That tree!” he exclaimed. “How did you make it grow so quickly?”
The half-elf did not miss the black cloud that crossed Rhiannon’s fair face.
“I…” she began hesitantly. “Me powers… I could not let ye die!” Rhiannon exhaled a deep breath and looked away, her light eyes rimmed by tears.
Bryan was sensitive enough to let it go at that. He propped himself up on one elbow and draped an arm across Rhiannon’s shoulders.
They said no more through the rest of the night, and when dawn came, they walked out of the bear’s cave to the animal’s grunting relief-and into the sunlight.
“I have a secret camp,” Bryan said after discerning their location. “Not far from here.” He pointed to a distant spur of the mountain.
“Let’s be going, then,” Rhiannon replied, and she started off along the rocky trail.
Bryan paused a moment to watch her go. She had freely discussed her powers concerning the healing, even of talking to the birds to learn of his whereabouts. But when he had shifted the conversation to the darker side of Rhiannon’s magic, to the killing wrath of the animated tree, she had choked up. Apparently the young woman wasn’t comfortable with that facet of her existence. Bryan had to pity her, for he knew that if she meant to spend any length of time on this side of the River Ne’er Ending, she would have to use those destructive tactics quite often.
The notion intrigued Bryan. What was the extent, he wondered, of Rhiannon’s strength? With her by his side, how much more could he do against the talons? Or even more important, what part might this magic-worker play in the overall outcome of the war?
Bryan took up his bow and started down the path after Rhiannon. He would have to let those questions hang unanswered for a while at least, for he had no intention of pressing Rhiannon about them. For all of his curiosity, he could not bear to see that dark cloud pass over her fair features again.