A piece of tile moved, clunking as it shifted. She dug at that spot, hoping…
A soft tink sounded, like glass hitting rock, and she abruptly remembered her spectacles. She reached for her face to make sure she hadn’t lost them, but the frames weren’t on her nose.
Fresh fear lurched into her. Smashed in the darkness, with so little room to maneuver, she hadn’t realized she wasn’t wearing them.
As she patted about underneath her, hoping they’d landed close by, her fear threatened to turn into panic. Not being able to find her spectacles at home, in the safety of the temple, was alarming enough. But out here? With enemies all over the place and the city half-razed? How would she find her way home without her spectacles? Her vision was too poor for her to see sharply for more than a foot. Even if the city hadn’t been a mess made unfamiliar by all the rubble and carnage, she doubted she could have navigated the streets.
The sound of ragged breathing in her ears, echoing strangely in the tomb of rocks, made her aware that she was hyperventilating.Panicking.
Being aware of it didn’t make it easy to stop, but she attempted to calm herself, to smooth her inhalations and exhalations. For the moment, nobody was attacking her. She was in a better position than some. But not being able to find her spectacles gave her more reason than ever to climb out of the rubble and heal Sergeant Fel. She needed his help to get to the castle and figure out… whatever they could figure out.
Digging more carefully now, she pushed away broken tiles, wood, and stone. Soon, a hint of smoke reached her nose, tricklingin through the rubble. It reminded her of the fires in the city but also promised that she was close to escape.
The sound of someone crying in the distance floated to her. Fel wasn’t the only one who needed her.
As she moved about, he groaned and shifted slightly. He remained unconscious, but with less of his weight atop her, Syla dug and pushed more effectively. More smoky air flowed into what had almost been their tomb.
Fury simmered in her veins as she dug. Fury toward the collected tribes—the stormers, as they called themselves—and all dragon riders and everyone else who’d been involved in this attack. Especially that captain whatever-his-name-had-been. If he’d shot her with his bow, it would have been less ignoble than having his dragon casually flick its tail and destroy the building above her head.
The desire to live long enough to see Fel drive a crossbow quarrel through the captain’s heart renewed her strength. Finally, she pushed enough rubble aside that she could move fully out from under the sergeant and sit up. Pervasive smoke overrode the pleasant sea breeze that usually caressed the city, and she coughed, wishing for fresh air.
“Sergeant Fel?” Syla glanced about as she pushed part of a broken beam off him.
Everything around her was blurry, but in the dimness of encroaching twilight, there might not have been much to see anyway. If enemies were creeping about, who would know?
The alarming thought made her heart thump rapidly in her chest. Dare she go into a meditative trance and use her magic to heal Fel’s wounds? Normally, she wouldn’t think twice about it, but if ever she’d needed a bodyguard to watch her back while she worked…
She strained her ears, trying to detect threats nearby. Other than the sounds of a few people crying in neighboring buildings,buildings she had no doubt had also been destroyed, the city had grown quiet. Had the attack ended? She could hear the roar of the sea beyond the harbor.
Fel groaned again but didn’t open his eyes.
Syla shifted more rubble away from him and rested her hand on his side. Her arm brushed his mace. He’d been gripping it when the ceiling fell and half lay on it.
“Sergeant Fel, do you give me your permission to use my power on you?” Syla uttered the question formally, but she doubted he was conscious enough to answer.
The law required her to seek permission from him, or someone who could speak for him, since magic tended to bind those who’d been healed to the healer for a time. This was, however, an extenuating circumstance.
“I have a feeling we’re going to be bound together for a while anyway,” she murmured, shaking her head bleakly as she thought of his retirement countdown. For some reason, the thought prompted more tears, the certainty that he wouldn’t be able to retire now.
More tears flowed after that, tears for her family, for the city, for all those in pain or worse. It took her a few minutes, the darkness deepening, before she could get herself together, stare at the back of her hand, and reach for the meditative trance from which she accessed her healing magic.
With her fingers splayed across Fel’s chest, the moon-mark started glowing silver, and energy hummed through her. The magic of her gods-sense allowed her to see his body from within and find all the injuries, including one causing swelling against his skull, the likely reason he was unconscious.
A quiet clatter came from somewhere nearby. The alley outside?
The memory of the dragon and its fearsome rider swept into her, interrupting her concentration, and her magic faded. Justbefore the silver glow disappeared from her hand, she spotted its reflection glinting on something nearby. Glass. Her spectacles?
She lunged for the spot and patted around. Yes, there were the frames. Terribly bent. When she lifted them to see if they could hook over her ears, more glass tinked, pieces falling out. With dread sinking into her stomach, she realized she might cut herself if she donned spectacles with broken shards sticking out of the frames.
When she probed the eyeholes, her finger went through on one side. No glass remained. In the other… The lens was there but shattered.
“Dear departed gods,” she muttered.
After making sure no glass would jab her in the eye, Syla straightened the frame as much as she could and hooked it over her ears, hoping she would get some vision through the shattered lens. Sergeant Fel’s body came more into focus, but it was distorted, with a crack right in front of her eye.
Shaking her head, she turned her attention back to him. She had spare spectacles at home, but she needed help getting there.
“Another reason to heal you whether you can give permission or not,” Syla murmured, resting her hand on his chest and willing her power into him again.
