Dave Smeds - The Schemes of Dragons

And he was inside. The power hummed, drawn from some last, unsuspected reserve. How much he didn't know, and he didn't waste time speculating.

He sped along the track of the sword gash, bolstering the repair he had begun hours before. Flesh rejoined flesh. Blood seeped from dozens of tiny ruptures. He sealed the holes, but the pooled blood remained in her lung and in the interstices of her chest cavity.

A jolt. Pain. He gritted his teeth and focussed on the blood. Red mist flowed out of Elenya's nose and mouth. Her lung emptied. She groaned as Alemar purged the last of the internal pools. He inspected carefully to be certain he had found all sources of the bleeding.

Scars next. He began to weave the flesh more tightly still, speeding nature's work. Lung and bone first, then muscle and connective tissue. Simultaneously, he stimulated her marrow to produce replacement blood.

His stomach heaved. He choked. The sorcery evaporated. In agony, against his will, he let go of his sister.

A great blackness welled around him, threatening to swallow him. He sagged back against Wynneth. He yanked off his gauntlet and amulet, so that they would not suck vital life force from him. He had not healed Elenya thoroughly, but though he strived, he failed to summon even one more drop of magic. He had not been on Retreat since his days in the desert, had never had an opportunity to fully restore his powers, and at last whatever reservoir he had tapped during those years had been drained.

But Elenya was out of danger. That was the important thing. He fought off demons of sleep. They needed a place to recuperate-a few days of refuge away even from their comrades.

They were near Garthmorron.

"My grandfather," Alemar murmured to Wynneth, his voice slurred by exhaustion. "Find him. The rythni will help. Take me there. Take Elenya there. Send the others away." He fainted before he finished the final word.

ELENYA AWOKE. She lay on a firm straw tick, covered with warm blankets. Wood smoke tickled her nose, and embers popped and crackled nearby. Every sense told her she was safe. She opened her eyes and saw that she was within a woodcutter's one-room cottage.

Her demonblades and rapier, as well as her gauntlet and amulet, waited on a stool within easy reach. Her clothes, laundered, the tears patched, hung on the nearest wall. Fresh bread and cheese lay on the table, with a flagon of wine. Broth steamed in the hearth.

Examining her breast, she touched a well-healed scar. She flexed her biceps, and found it stiff but unbruised. A glance in the small mirror beside the bed showed that the abrasions on her face were reduced to flesh-colored areas on her otherwise tan features.

In spite of this, she felt absolutely awful.

She tried to control her dizziness as she dragged herself out from under the covers. She noted, gratefully, that the chamber pot had been put close by. She hung on to the bed frame while she used it. By the time she replaced the lid she felt immensely better.

She tried to stand, but even pulling on the bed with her arms only got her to a stooped-over, bent-knee position. She coughed. The taste in the back of her mouth could have dissolved steel. She stayed there, legs shuddering.

"Here, now, what do you think you're doing?"

A man's figure stood framed in the doorway, features obscured by the brilliant daylight behind him. She recognized the voice. "Grandfather," she whimpered. "Help me get back in bed."

Cosufier Elb-Aratule picked his daughter's daughter up by the small of her back and the rear of her knees, lifted her into a sitting position, and propped up her spine with a pillow. He was still as strong as ever, though a bit grey and weathered.

"Alemar said you're to remain in bed until he returns," he said as he pulled the blankets over her legs. "You're not out of danger yet." He patted her hair. She realized from the scent and the unmatted texture that he must have washed and combed it for her while she slept.

"How long has it been?"

"Three days."

"That's…"

"Your lung hemorrhaged," Cosufier said gravely. "He almost didn't save you."

"I'm not sure he has yet," she said, stifling another wave of nausea.

Cosufier didn't smile at her attempt at humor. He waved at the hearth. "He had me make a soup-some herbs and things. I don't think you're going to like drinking it."

She didn't answer. For one thing, her throat ached when she talked, but mainly she knew that she would probably say something flippant, and she had seen her grandfather in this mood before. Her rump had never stung so badly as the time, at age eleven, when she had antagonized him at the wrong moment.

"How is Alemar?" she asked.

She wasn't certain, but she thought she saw a flicker of distress on her grandfather's face. "He's better than you are, though he's only been up since last night. He'd be here except that he's gone to rendezvous with a messenger from your father."

She tried to remember the last few minutes before she'd lost consciousness, but everything after she'd killed Enns was murky. "Is there news?"

"That's what Alemar has gone to learn," Cosufier said, pouring a small bowlful of broth and holding it out to Elenya.

She wrinkled her nose. "Smells like oeikani piss."

"That's the main ingredient."

She nearly lost her grip on the bowl.

"I didn't concoct the recipe," her grandfather said indifferently. "I just followed the instructions. He said if it was good enough for Shigmur, it was good enough for you."

She rolled the broth around in a disconsolate manner, and waited for it to cool. Her grandfather seemed unduly cross. She ran a finger over the pattern etched on the porcelain.

"This was one of Mother's," she said.

"Yes. I keep a few things here. It's one of the huts I used to use as gamekeeper."

"We're on the Garthmorron estate, then?"

"Deep inside it, yes."

"Is that wise?"

"It's territory known only to me and my former assistants. And I don't stay in one place long. Where better to hide than familiar ground?"

"You've seen the manor recently, then?"

He nodded, pressing his lips together. "No change. The Dragon's appointee is still in residence. He's let most of the servants be. Hoping, no doubt, a stray word will lead to me, or to you and Alemar."

"Have you heard from Lord Dran?"

"He's making the best of his retirement in Aleoth, though I know it hurts him to the quick to face the thought of dying away from Garthmorron. Seven generations of his family are buried in this soil. He had already picked out his tree."

Nearly as many generations of their own family had found their rest under the boughs of these woods, Elenya knew. And now Cosufier was a fugitive here.

"I'm sorry, Grandfather."

The old man shrugged as he threw another log on the fire. "Don't be stupid. If I'm going to blame you for the Dragon's actions I might as well blame Alemar Dragonslayer for killing Gloroc's parents in the first place. Yet if he hadn't, Elandris would never have been built, and Cilendrodel would never have been colonized, and Garthmorron would never have existed. You didn't have any choice about the Dragon hating you."

His words came out with an odd, bittersweet undertone. He was not telling her something. "Grandfather? What's wrong?"

He kept his eyes on the fire. "You should have let him go."

"Who? Enns?"

"Yes."

"Grandfather! He tried to kill me! He's responsible for Milec's death!"

"Yes," he answered wistfully. "Alemar and Wynneth pieced it together, with help from the rythni. He deserved to die. But you took a great risk. You almost died, almost lost the gauntlet. There would have been time for revenge later, under more favorable circumstances."

"He was mine," she stated.