Death & Magic (The Barefoot Healer, volume I)

Death & Magic chapter 44

Lelsarin? she said. Are you all right? No answer. Lelsarin? Are you there? Perhaps the spell that killed Shendar — destroyed Shendar — had hurt Lelsarin too — perhaps even killed her. The girl-thing would have to look out for herself for now. Adramal didn’t know how to help her at the best of times — wasn’t sure if she could be helped.

The path was more obvious in daylight. The Kreztalin probably knew about it. Should she depart from it? No — she might easily get lost or, worse, run into a bear or a pack of wolves. Specks of glittering dust stuck to Adramal’s skin — white, black, red, yellow. She tried to brush them off, but they clung like burrs. She hurried on.

Sooner than she expected, she reached the river bank. There was no sign of the boat. Two sets of footprints in the mud led from the water’s edge into the forest. Nearby were some short tracks where a heavy object had been dragged out of the water. On the other side of the river lay Zemil Square and the Watch building. This had to be the right spot. The boat must have drifted off during the night.

She waved and shouted, hoping to attract the attention of someone in the city. No answer came. The city seemed unusually quiet. Had the people all gone to watch Lorgrim and Rakbanorath being executed? Her struggles had been for nothing, then. Shendar had got her way. Adramal fell to her knees, sliding in the mud, weeping helplessly.

“I still say we should leave her there. Nothing good ever came out of the Marchwood.”

Startled, Adramal looked up. Two men in a boat approached from downstream, one rowing enthusiastically, the other struggling to control the fishing rods that dangled from the stern. She pulled a hand out of the mud and waved to them.

“Stay there,” said the rower. “We’ll come and get you.” To the man in the stern, he said, “Magical creatures usually look a lot prettier than her.” To her, he added, “Begging your pardon, Lady.”

“And you’ve seen enough of them to know, have you?” said the man in the stern.

The rower beached the boat and jumped out. “You’re wounded,” he said as he helped Adramal to stand. “We’ll take you to a priest in the city.”

She shook her head vigorously.

“What did I tell you?” said the other man. “Get away from her!”

“I’m human,” she mumbled. I’m not so sure any more.

“Her arm’s in a bad way,” said the rower. “Magical creatures don’t bleed.”

“Take me to Captain Tagahra. City Watch.”

The rower took her hand and guided her to the boat, where he helped her to sit on the bench at the stern. The two men sat on the middle bench and took an oar each. The boat rocked as they pushed it clear of the bank.

Pain burned in Adramal’s wounded arm. Each speck of Shendar’s remains that clung to her felt like a hot needle. Nevertheless, her eyes closed and her head drooped.

“Here,” said one of the men, “you take over for a bit. I’ll make sure she doesn’t fall out.”

She remembered nothing more.

“Adramal, can you hear me?”

Adramal opened her eyes and saw only darkness. A hand rested on her shoulder, and she turned to see a woman standing behind her. How —? All around was dark, and yet the woman was as visible as if she was standing in sunlight. This reminded her too much of where Marik had searched her memories. Adramal took a step back.

“Don’t go,” said the woman. “Not that you can go yet, but I need to talk to you.” The woman was several years older than Adramal, with a plain round face, and hair that glittered like silver. She wore a long dress of pale green, fastened at the waist with a belt of polished wooden segments. Her feet were bare.