The Last Wizard of Eneri Clare (75 page)

The young mage wasted no time, but scooped her up in his arms, gathered the limp frame to his chest as he rose from his knees, and ran off the battlefield to a more sheltered corner where the river still ran clear. As he laid her down in the muddy grass, Tvrdik thought with surprise how such a huge, powerful personality managed to be contained in the slight, frail body he held in his arms. Ondine appeared from the water, peering over the bank with concern. “Help me, Ondine,” the wizard begged, “Whatever healing powers you and your friends have, send them into the waters now. Ondine closed her eyes and concentrated, throwing her arms wide. It wasn’t long before the waters around her began to foam and bubble. Ripping off a piece of his sleeve, Tvrdik soaked the cloth in the stream. “Thank you, dear heart,” he nodded to the sprite. Then, supporting Rel’s head with one arm, he washed her face and head with the cloth, and dripped some of the energy-infused waters into her open mouth. He felt her stir, and she made a faint sound, but she did not open her eyes. Putting aside the soaked cloth, the mage shifted her position a bit so that he could lay both of his hands across her brow. He closed his eyes and concentrated. But, as he focused on his patient’s energy field, he could feel Jorelial Rey’s life force draining away. He was losing her. Tvrdik broke concentration and looked up at the pale, silent faces all around him, waiting and hoping; at Tashroth, standing quiet and immense just beyond, his enormous eyes fixed with desperate concern on the girl below. Tvrdik thought of all the disastrous consequences that loomed if he could not save her – the Legion failing, the kingdom fallen to Drogue, Xaarus trapped forever in a future of darkness. In that one frozen moment, he realized just how important this small girl was to the hopes and dreams of so many. He looked down at her peaceful, familiar face, dark hair now plastered to her forehead, and something inside of him broke wide open as he understood how much she meant to him as well.

“Come on…” he chided her, renewing his absolute concentration and shifting his hands, “Come on. You can’t go. You aren’t finished yet. You have work to do.” Closing his eyes, he focused every shred of energy at his disposal into his hands, and their ability to heal and restore. He whispered to the still form, “You must come back. Please. I cannot do this alone.” A second passed, two, three, an eternity. And then he thought he heard a murmur. He opened his eyes to see hers flutter and open wide, struggling to take in the meaning of what they were seeing. She lifted her head and groaned, letting it fall back on his arm. Tvrdik, with a deep sense of relief, dipped the cloth into Ondine’s special water once more, and bathed his patient’s face with its coolness. He leaned close to her and spoke in a low voice, “Jorelial Rey, you have had a very bad fall. How do you feel?”

One black eyebrow cocked, “I’ve been better.” Her eyes narrowed, “You look awful! How are you?”

He grinned, “Much the same, thank you.”

She raised herself to her elbows, mind beginning to clear, “Tashroth?”

“He is here and just fine. Beside himself with worry for you.”

“How do things stand?”

“We hold the field, still, but the day is not over, and news of your injury is causing our people to falter. They must see you alive and well, or all could be lost. Do you think you can walk?”

“Help me up.” He supported her weight on an arm, as the two of them tottered to their feet. Tashroth threw his head back and roared, and a great cheer erupted from the growing crowd of bystanders. Over in the stream, Tvrdik caught a vision of Ondine leaping in the waters and clapping her tiny hands in delight. Rel summoned a weak smile and nodded to the well-wishers, waving at them in assurance that she was fine. Runners set off in all directions to spread the good news. Tvrdik let out a long, shaky breath of relief.

“Come on, I’ll get you to Tash.” With her first step, however, he could feel her weight shift, and see her wince. “What is it?” he whispered.

“My ankle. I must have twisted it in the fall.”

“It isn’t broken. Likely just sprained. Here, put your arm around my neck…like this…good. How is your head?”

“Alternately spinning and pounding, but I can handle it.” They were just about to Tashroth now, and she leaned with gratitude against the great beast’s shoulder. The dragon’s head swung around to nuzzle her with great tenderness.

“I am so sorry, little one. I was sick with worry that I had lost you. Can you ever forgive my carelessness?”

“Don’t be silly, Tash,” she patted his nose, “it was my fault for not holding on. You saved us both with that amazing dodge. Without your quick reflexes, we wouldn’t be standing here. You know me; it’ll take a lot more than a little spill to keep me down.”

Tvrdik, knowing how close it had actually come, shot her a cryptic look, but all he said was, “Sit here a moment and let me work on that ankle.”

“There is no time. I’ve been out of the fray already far too long. We can’t let them get an edge on us.”

“This will just take a moment,” he soothed, “and it will help you to feel more like yourself, Jorelial Rey. A little patience with the healer, please, and you’ll be back in the saddle in no time.” He was directing energy into her injured ankle, strengthening it.

She wrinkled her face, “Why do you always do that? Why do you call me that?”

“What?” he looked up.

“Why do you always use my full given name? It’s a lot to say – not many people bother. They call me ‘Lady Rey’, or ‘my lady’, or just ‘Rel’. It just seems, well…odd.”

Tvrdik paused a moment and considered, “Well,” he finally answered, “because it is
your
name.” He shrugged. “There. That ought to get you through the next few hours. I am sorry I haven’t anything on me just now to wrap it with, but later on I will.”

He was making some gesture to emphasize the wrapping, when she grabbed both of his hands and held them still, while looking straight into his bespectacled face, “Tvrdik, thank you. I can’t begin to imagine what I would do without you.” She clambered, a little less spry than usual, up onto the green dragon’s back, and waved. Tashroth threw up his head to trumpet his thanks, unfurled his great wings, and they were off skyward again. The young mage was once again left below, scratching his head, “Funny,” he muttered, “I was just thinking the very same thing.”

Closing his eyes and mopping his brow with what was left of his sleeve, Tvrdik sighed, searching for his inner calm after the events of the last hour. But there was no time for reflection now, as Wynne reminded him with a gentle nudge against his elbow. The wizard mounted and the two companions set off around the battle theater to assess how things were progressing, and discover of what assistance he could be. With Jorelial Rey once more aloft and the Legions of Light newly invigorated, the shield-bearers doing their work all over the field, and Drogue’s army appearing to be in tatters, it seemed that things were taking care of themselves for the moment. He decided to pay a visit to the makeshift infirmary where the wounded had been taken. Perhaps he could be of some use there. Sending Wynne off to find the rest of the unicorns, the mage stepped into the circle of tents designated for the wounded.

Most of the healers had retreated there by now, and were busily applying bandages, salves and potions to a variety of cuts, gashes, broken bones, sprains, abrasions, concussions and gouges. Tvrdik looked around to see several score patients sitting or lying on cots, but Andrus and his colleagues seemed to have things well in hand. Tvrdik had supplied them well with a large stock of Xaarus’ herbals and remedies, along with detailed notes on how they could best be used. That had supplemented their own medical training enough for them to feel confident handling the wounds of war with much more efficiency than they had dealt with Tvrdik’s pierced arm only months before.

The young mage visited every bedside, smiled and praised the patients, assuring them that the Legions were still prevailing in the fight. Each of them seemed heartened, even star-struck by the personal visit, and pride overcame pain with them for many hours thereafter. Tvrdik was surprised and dismayed to find Stewart among the victims. He had been running messages between regiments on the field when a wild, riderless horse from Drogue’s cavalry came out of nowhere and trampled him. He had a nasty gash on his forehead, a cracked rib, and a sprained hip. Nothing could dampen the spirits of the big dog, however, and as glad as he was to see his old friend, he was more eager to be back in the fray. Tvrdik took a close look at the wolfhound’s injuries, and judged that Andrus had done a fine and thorough job tending to them. He implored Stewart to follow the healer’s order to rest for the moment, reminding him that he had already done his duty and then some. Stewart snorted in disappointment, but the mage flung an arm around the big dog’s shoulders and squeezed him, looking him straight in the eye and adding, in a low voice, “Please, my friend, take good care of yourself. I am depending on it.” That got a half-smile and a raised eyebrow from the canine, as Tvrdik took his leave with a scratch behind the ears. Andrus was soon behind him, and they stepped aside to confer.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” the healer began, “I wanted to finish bandaging that shoulder.” He gestured at a patient a few meters away.

“Don’t apologize. Everything looks well in hand here, Andrus. I thought perhaps I could be of some assistance, but you have no need of me.”

“I wouldn’t say that; there were times when we did wish we had the benefits of your skill, but we knew you were busy elsewhere. We made do, and well enough, if I may say so. It’s thanks to your efforts that these tents aren’t filled with ten times as many casualties.”

“Have there been any – I mean – did we…have we lost anyone?” He dreaded Andrus’ honest response.

“Miraculously, no. Just what you see – dislocations, abrasions, slices, a few concussions, and some fractures, not to mention several cases of a close encounter with a blue shield. But nothing that won’t heal. We’ve treated a few of the enemy as well…they are contained behind that barrier there. Same thing – nothing critical. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Tvrdik frowned, “We’ve been lucky so far, and I am more than relieved to see this, but the day is not yet over. It is not yet time to let down our guard.”

“I understand.” Andrus made a gesture, indicating the patients, “Do you have any suggestions or recommendations, sir?” Tvrdik put a hand on the Palace Physician’s shoulder, “They are fortunate to be in the best of hands, friend. I just dropped in for moral support.” Andrus smiled at that vote of confidence, and Tvrdik shook his hand, and headed once more to the front.

He climbed to one of the lower cliffs, from where he had a complete and not too distant view of the field. He arrived just in time to witness a most extraordinary scene unfolding below. Lord Drogue had cleared the field again, and then sent an entire regiment of mountain gnomes, along with his personal guard, marching in formation through the valley straight toward the defenders. They were steely-eyed, well-armed, and more disciplined and determined-looking than some of his earlier representatives. They bore down on the front lines of the Legions of Light in great numbers, bent on destruction. Tvrdik scrambled to raise his staff, searching his memory for a spell that would at least render the weapons of this new and dangerous force less lethal. But, before he could utter a sound, he saw a figure that, from this distance, looked like General Boone, waving a signal. A wall of dazzling bright blue light almost blinded him, even from the valley floor. All of the shield bearers had been lined up to face the new onslaught with a tight, many-layered formation, which they had held until the moment when the advancing foe began their final charge. Then, at General Boone’s signal, they had all raised their shields as one, edge to edge, creating one enormous blue mirror that spanned the entire end of the valley. Its first effect was to blind and stagger the opposition, slowing them down and weakening their resolve. But, then, as the first line of the assault opened their eyes and beheld themselves in the great wall of reflective blue light, Drogue’s toughest soldiers faltered, dropped weapons, sank to the ground, fled in confusion, or stood stock still. Confused, column after column of warriors arrived at the same place, only to be confronted by the steady mirror-shields, and the visions they showed from which there was no escape. Something about the shields acting in concert seemed to increase their power and range, and the Legionnaires holding them neither faltered nor flinched. Tvrdik’s hand in his pocket fingered the coin bearing Xaarus’ likeness, as he watched row upon row of Drogue’s fierce fighters succumb to the stark and sudden sight of their own inner ugliness…or their true core of beauty.

The wall of brilliant blue stood fast, and the would-be conquerors milled about in disarray on the field weeping, crawling, stumbling, bent over double in pain, or wandering away in madness. A formless howl arose from the valley floor, the like of which had never been heard, a composite of the most primal utterances of hundreds of lost souls rediscovering their wounded inner selves.

Tvrdik was so mesmerized by the haunting sound, and by the bizarre picture unfolding beneath him, that at first he did not notice Tashroth touching down lightly on the ridge nearby, and Jorelial Rey hobbling over to stand by his side. She touched his shoulder without a word, leaning for balance, just as entranced by the spectacle below as he was, and the two of them stood there in silence for a time, watching Lord Drogue’s final assault unravel.

“Brilliant maneuver of General Boone’s, was it not?” she finally spoke.

“Yes, indeed it was.” He responded, not shifting his gaze.

“Brilliant bit of sorcery in the first place, those shields…” she continued.

“I was lucky to stumble across the technique.” Tvrdik answered.

“I doubt that luck had very much to do with it,” she countered, then looked at him, “Tvrdik, it’s over. We did what we set out to do. Look down there…”

She was right, though her tone held no note of triumph in it – only weariness, with an edge of disbelief. Lord Drogue was still flying about on Valour, shaking his fist and shouting, to no avail. His cavalry had foundered, his catapults were in splinters, his sorcery had failed, half his forces deserted, another portion in a drug-induced sleep, and the rest now confronting their own inner demons, and in no shape to rejoin a pitched battle. He was, in essence, out of options.