Solivagant

Chapter Seventeen

Wade.

The name was spoken slowly and with difficulty, as if the user still struggled with the concept language. Wade ignored it, gazing blindly over Ember's head. The horse was still moving at full speed, racing across the uneven ground.

Wade.

Ember leapt over a root; Wade had to grab Asher to keep them both on the horse. His friend had fallen limp at some point, his breathing shallow and rapid.

Wade, listen to me!

A dark shape hurtled directly into Ember's path, forcing her to skid to a halt. Wade lurched forward, hitting his nose on the horse's neck. He looked up, blinking, jolted back to alertness. Aurum was glaring back at him, his golden eyes gleaming in the dim light of the stars.

What? Wade asked.

We need to stop.

Wade shook his head. The bandits—

The bandits are gone, and we've travelled miles already. The horse is about to fall over, and Asher is losing blood. You and Henry aren't much better. Aurum shifted, and Wade glimpsed his father sitting on the dragon's back, his face pale but determined. We must stop.

Wade opened his mouth to argue, but the only thing swirling through his foggy mind was an instinctive, desperate urge to run. He was defenseless against the dragon's cool logic.

"Fine." He caught himself. Fine.

Good. Follow me. Aurum blinked and slid between two trees to Wade's right. Wade guided Ember after him, letting her slow to a trot. Her feet dragged at the ground, and her sides heaved in tandem with her labored breathing. She stumbled over a shallow dip in the ground, and Wade nearly fell over her side. He had to grasp Asher's arm again to keep his friend from the same fate.

"Just hang on," he muttered, not quite sure whom he was reassuring.

Aurum finally stopped in the middle of a dense thicket, where they would be hidden from the eyes of any passerby. Wade's father shakily jumped off the dragon and ran to Ember.

"Here," he said, gently lifting Asher off the horse. Wade helped as best he could before dismounting. His legs were numb; he fell awkwardly to his knees before staggering upright again.

Wade's father carefully lowered Asher to the ground, laying him on his uninjured side. Asher stirred, his bleary eyes snapping open. He moaned and twisted around, weakly groping at the arrow lodged in his back.

Wade reached out and grabbed his friend's wrist. "You'll make it worse, Ash."

"It hurts like . . ." Asher trailed off and swore. "It hurts to breathe."

"Just breathe, son. We're here," Wade's father said, examining the arrow.

"What should we do?" Wade asked, leaning forward. His heart sank; the wound was much worse than he had first thought. The arrow had gone almost entirely through Asher's body, and had definitely torn through his intestines.

"I . . . I'm not sure." Wade's father looked like he had been struck. "If we pull it out, it will cause more bleeding."

"Take it out," Asher said, clenching his teeth. "I can heal myself once . . . once it's gone."

"Are you even strong enough to do that?" Wade asked. "You could hardly hold the bandits off."

"That . . . wasn't a matter of strength," Asher mumbled, his eyes momentarily sliding shut. "Just concentration. Turns out . . . being shot is very distracting."