The Draykon Series (1-3)

Chapter Sixteen

'We have to get him to an infirmary.' Tren surged to his feet, his hands and clothes covered in Edwae's blood. He looked ready to run all the way back to Westrarc by himself.

   'Tren.' Eva caught at his arm, restraining him lest he fly off without thought. 'Look at him. He'd never survive the trip.'

   Tren looked. Poor Edwae lay inert save for the pained heaving of his chest as he fought to breathe. That ragged breath had stopped, started, stopped again; his chest was laid open with the same wounds that Eva had seen on Meesa's destroyed body. Finshay had ripped a cloak to pieces and bandaged Edwae's chest, but nothing could halt the flow of blood.

   'We must be miles from anywhere with a healer. We'll be lucky to move him at all without-' She stopped. She was going to say 'without killing him,' but Tren's face whitened so rapidly at the implication of it that she feared for his health.

   'Sit down,' she said gently. He obeyed, numbly. Finshay was still tending to Ed, brisk, efficient and entirely without sympathy. His ministrations seemed to be helping, however. Eva watched as he unstoppered a phial and placed it to Edwae's lips, forcing him to swallow the contents. After a few minutes Ed's breathing stabilised a little, and his contorted face eased.

   'What's that?' Tren asked, suspicious.

   'Pain draught,' said Fin. 'Strong one.'

   'How strong?'

   'Strong enough to kill a healthy person. He's got about an hour.'

   'What?' Tren knocked the phial out of Finshay's hands, leaned over to stare anxiously into Ed's greying face. 'How could you just -?' He stared at Finshay, tensed as if ready to strike him.

   'Don't be an idiot,' said Finshay brutally. 'He's going to die. Even if we could get him straight to an infirmary, he couldn't be saved now. We need him able to talk, get what information we can out of him.'

   'No,' whispered Tren. 'There's time, there must be more we can do for him. Something.'

   'Like what?' Finshay stood up, cleaning his hands. 'Forget it, Warvel. You can do the interrogation if it's going to bother you, but get on with it. There isn't much time.' He retired to the other side of the clearing, lay down with his cloak under his head as a pillow, and to all appearances went to sleep.

   Tren said nothing. He turned his face away from Finshay, his jaw clenched tight. He picked up one of Edwae's hands and gripped it hard.

   'Ed?'

   Edwae turned unfocused eyes on him, obviously seeing nothing. Eva fetched her notebook out of her bags and seated herself beside Tren. She handed him her water bottle.

   'He might be able to speak if he drinks something,' she said quietly. Tren silently took the bottle from her and fed Ed with a thin trickle of water, patient and silent as his friend swallowed some and spilled rather more.

   'Ed,' Tren tried again. 'Ed, you need to tell us what happened.' He gripped his friend's fingers as Ed tried to rise, placing a gentle hand on his chest to hold him down.

   'Don't try to move,' he said softly. 'You're badly hurt.'

   'So it appears,' said Edwae weakly. 'Somehow I don't feel anything.' He looked vaguely down at himself, puzzled.

   'You're under a pain draught.'

   Ed blinked at the bloody bandages that swathed his torso and abdomen. 'What happened,' he repeated. 'Right.' He eased his head back and closed his eyes. Tren leaned over him, repeating his name with growing urgency.