Odyssey of Shadows

XXXVIII - Am I a Hero Now?

Lorthrendel bent over Aerysdren, his hands on the boy's shoulders. Aerysdren's eyes were shut; all color was drained from his face, and his breathing was ragged and laboured. But he was breathing. And was all that mattered.

Lorthrendel's own robes had formed a crude bandage around his wound, the blood causing it to stick to his skin. It took everything in the mage to stay conscious, and blood dripped from his mouth. Every move sent a bolt of pain through his entire body. He did not even hear Isendir calling his name.

"Lorthrendel!" Isendir was suddenly kneeling on the grass beside Aerysdren. Blood seeped into the Highlander's eyes. He gently shook the boy before turning to Lorthrendel, his eyes glinting in fury. "What happened to him? Where are we? You said you would-"

"Give him a break, for pity's sake!" Ragnus vehemently snarled from where he stood. "He's dying! Can't you see that? They both are, Isendir."

"Help-help me get him inside," Lorthrendel struggled out. He took a shaky hand and wiped the blood from his chin. "Up the stairs is a bedroom that we can treat him in. I-I have a spell-"

"Save your breath. I will help both of you. Just shut up and try not to bleed out everywhere before I can get to you." Varenyl, without another word, gently bent down and picked Aerysdren up as if he weighed nothing more than a small child. He walked swiftly over to the house, not waiting for the others. The calm, spring-like breeze that blew gently tousled his messy and caked hair as he went.

Isendir watched him go with worried eyes. He helped Lorthrendel to his feet and allowed the mage to lean on him. "Come on," he muttered, grunting under the taller man's weight. "I am...sorry. I guess I have you to thank for me being alive at the moment." He hastily followed Varenyl, half dragging, half carrying Lorthrendel. "But Leravacha and the others-"

"I made a promise, I-Isendir," the mage wheezed. He bit his lip to keep from crying out as they entered the small house, his hand tightly gripping Isendir's shoulder. "I will not let Aerysdren die."

The house was empty. A table sat in the middle of the room, with pots and pans hanging from the wall above a cold fireplace. The kitchen. A century or so ago a family sat at this table for supper and breakfast, but now it was only covered in old, dusty spell books and crumpled up pieces of paper.

Isendir hastily followed Varenyl up the stairs, helping Lorthrendel as he went. The wooden staircase creaked under their weight and Lorthrendel nearly fell more than once. When they finally made it to the top, Varenyl gingerly laid Aerysdren down on the bed.

"It's on his back," Lorthrendel whispered as he collapsed into a chair by the bed. He coughed, wincing in pain as it racked his body.

Varenyl only nodded in response. He began to gently pull the boy's shirt up so he could see the wound and slowly turned him over on his stomach.

The wound was ghastly; it looked like it had either fractured or severed his spine. There was no way the blood could be stopped, and it was a wonder that Aerysdren was even alive. The dim, ghostly white of bone could be seen.

The Sylvari grimly reached into his robes and pulled out some salve and bandages. "I can only ease his pain," he said with a grunt. "I cannot stop the bleeding and neither can I save him."

"Oh gods." Ragnus's green eyes turned sad and filled with anguish. He took his helmet off and held it between his hands, his head held low.

Isendir's eyes widened. He took a step closer to the bed, glancing at Ragnus. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Isendir...." Varenyl shook his head and looked at the Highlander as he did his best to bandage Aerysdren's wound. "You heard me. Only a cleric can heal him; it is a wonder he is still alive." He finished and gingerly turned the boy back over.