The Worlds of the Sheaf

Fechlon - Part 2

     It was slow going on his broken leg, particularly in the places where the undergrowth was dense enough to tangle around their feet, and Drenn quickly became visibly frustrated at their lack of progress. That annoyed the wizard, who was going as fast as the pain allowed him, and he found himself wishing that Timothy was with them, so he could heal him. Don't be selfish, he scolded himself. The others might need him more than we do. We're on our own. We have to solve our own problems.

     His main problem, though, was his broken leg, and there was nothing he could do about that, or was there? An idea came to him and he asked Matthew to lower him to the ground. "I just remembered something," he told the others. "Something another wizard did once when he broke a leg. He mended it, with a Mend spell. A spell normally used on pottery and suchlike. It was never intended to be used on bones, but it worked nevertheless. I'm going to try it myself."

     "That is not wise," warned Drenn, however. "Healing is the province of the Gods. Beware lest you arouse their jealousy."

     "I'm not going to heal it, just mend the bone," replied Thomas. "The Gods know the difference, I'm sure." He fished around in his pockets for the material components and spoke the words, one hand on his leg at the point where he guessed the break to be. The place where the flesh was blackened and swollen with internal bleeding.

     The pain was such a surprise that he almost cried out. Only Matthew's earlier warnings preventing him from doing so. He couldn't prevent a hard grunt from escaping from between his clenched teeth, though, and he felt new sweat beading his brow. Under the pain, though, there was a strange feeling in his leg. The feel of something moving, as though the bone had acquired an independent life of its own and was experimentally flexing its muscles.

     When Matthew helped him back to his feet he was relieved to find that the leg now supported his weight. The spell hadn't done anything for the torn and damaged ligaments, though, or ruptured blood vessels, and the injury was still as inflamed and painful as ever, making every step an ordeal. "See?" he told the priest. "It's far from healed."

     Drenn grunted. "I'll see what I can do for you later," he said. "My Lord's presence is weak in this universe, but I may still be able to channel enough holy power for a minor healing. Enough for you to make a little more speed, perhaps."

     "He put all the healing power he had into your head this morning," added Matthew. "For all I know, he saved your life."

     "I'll pray to Samnos to thank him," said Thomas, and the priest nodded before turning his attention back to the way ahead.

     Thomas could walk now, after a fashion, but his leg was still stiff and painful and he found it hard to keep up with the others. His leg was crying out for rest and a chance to heal and his imagination conjured up alarming images of damaged tendons being weakened further by the loads he was putting on them.

     As time went by, though, he was surprised to find the going a little easier as the swelling began to subside, the exercise forcing leaking fluids back into surrounding tissues, and by the time night began to fall he was keeping up with the others quite well. He dreaded having to stop for the night though, knowing that his leg would be so stiff by morning that it would be almost useless, but there was no avoiding it. He needed sleep if he was going to be of any use to the others when the natives attacked. He would need a clear head to be able to cast his spells.

     Drenn took them to a ruined building he'd found earlier. The lowest level was full of compacted earth and shade loving plants, but a flight of stone steps led up to the next level whose floor, the priest had determined, was still strong enough to take their weight.