Iefyr nodded, continuing to work silently. Each place she touched, the painful red color of his burnt skin softened—not fully healing, but eventually the burns looked as though they were a week old, instead of hours. When she reached his hands, though, she let out a soft sound of dismay.
“I’ve been healing some of the others who were injured,” she said, examining his fingers. “I have little of my strength left. I’ll try to heal his hands as much as I can, but… I might not be able to do much more until tomorrow.”
“I have someone looting the druid’s tent now,” Brugo said. Krujha nearly jumped, having all but forgotten his presence. “I’ll bring any herbs we find to you. Hopefully, there’ll be something.”
Krujha nodded, realizing that a small crowd had gathered around, elves and orcs alike watching silently. They all must have known who Alwyn was, or at least what he had done—he could see the worry and hope in their faces in equal measure, watching Iefyr heal him.
To them, at least, Alwyn was a hero. The full story, thetruestory, of what had happened might never make it beyond the ruins of the rebel camp, but these few, at least, would know.
“Let’s find him a place to rest,” Iefyr finally said softly, looking up at Krujha. “Do you want to stay with him, Krujha?”
“Yes,” he said, the word coming as naturally as his own breath. It hadn’t even occurred to him they might be separated. “Yes. I’m not leaving him.”
“Let’s get you both settled, then, and I’ll bring whatever herbs I can find. Tomorrow, hopefully, I can do more—and I worked for a much more powerful healer back in Castle Aefraya. Maybe we can travel together, to make sure he gets the best care.”
Krujha nodded. “Yes. Please. My job here is done. And so is his. We’ll head back tomorrow.”
“I could use you here, cousin,” Brugo said. Krujha looked up at him, glaring. The orc grimaced, adding, “But, well. Maybe someone should send word of what’s happened to Aefraya, too.”
That settled, he gingerly lifted Alwyn into his arms again, carrying him as he followed Iefyr away from the cluster of elves and orcs, and off to a quiet tent where the sick and injured were resting. It was only when Alwyn was settled down into a cot that Krujha allowed himself to collapse, exhaustion burrowing deep into his bones, and finally close his eyes.
Chapter Thirty
Alwyn
When Alwyn opened his eyes again, he had no idea how much time had passed.
The last thing he’d been aware of was Krujha holding him, the fire going out, Zesh and Yarug dead behind him—but now he was somewhere else, and pain radiated through his body, so intense that he couldn’t focus on anything else. He tried to move, whimpering in agony, but something was keeping him bound. But hewasmoving, maybe on a horse, and every step felt like someone shoving salt into his wounds. Even the light in his eyes was excruciating—he squeezed them shut, groaning. His tongue felt like sand in his mouth, and his pulse throbbed painfully in his hands.
He thought the fire was out, but now he was sure that flames still bit at his skin. Vaguely, he could hear voices near him, bits and pieces of their words filtering through his consciousness.He’s waking—too soon—can help him?
Something washed over him, the cool touch of a healing spell, and the relief was too great for him to wonder where it came from as he gratefully sank back into sleep.
This time, though, he dreamed.
He sat on the bank of the river by the cottage, the distant, familiar sound of the waterfall in the background. A small fishing pole was in his hands, and he was watching an older man with a fishing pole of his own. The man’s voice was indistinct as he spoke; he couldn’t make sense of the words, but he somehow knew the man was his father, and that they had been here many times before.
He could hear a woman’s voice calling him, just as familiar, and he dashed off. It was warm and humid, but not painfully hot, not like the fire. Rocks dug into his bare feet as he ran, but the cold water of the river splashed his legs, too, until he turned to clamber up the hill to the cottage where his mother waited for him.
Then they were all sitting around the table, three of them together. His parents were talking to each other as they ate supper, and Alwyn looked up at them both, trying to make sense of a conversation clearly not meant for him. But he felt content just to be here with his family. He was still warm from having spent the day out in the sun, and he knew the next day would be more of the same.
Then his mother was tucking him into bed. He couldn’t hear her voice, but he knew she was telling him goodnight, and that she loved him, and that they would go fishing again in the morning. Then it was dark, and he was frightened, so he felt for the candle she had blown out just a moment before. The flame burst back to life as he reached for it, sending the warm, comforting light flickering through his room. He smiled, the frightening dark banished, and settled back into his bed. Still, he could hear the roar of the waterfall in the distance, and when his eyes closed, the flow of the water consumed his vision.
He could feel it now: the water flowing through him, the weight of it slamming into his shoulders as he ducked his headinto the stream, the rush of it filling the space where his magic had been. It was part of him for just a moment—only as long as it rushed down from between the rocks high above, then quickly flowed over and through him, and away along the river that would eventually reach the ocean. It was all part of him, and he was part of it all, the enormity all at once terrifying and sublime.
For a long time, a lifetime, all that existed was the rushing water, the sound of it so loud it drowned out everything else. But then the noise morphed, the rhythm and cadence of it changing, until it sounded almost like words. Itwaswords, and the sound he was hearing was a voice, distant but familiar—then a second voice, one that was unknown to him.
The familiar voice was a man’s. Not an elf, but an orc.Krujha. He remembered it all at once. Their mission together, their cold nights made warm in the wilderness. His smile, sweet and earnest. Why had he ever tried to convince himself that he hadn’t fallen in love with him?
It sounded like he was singing, the way he did when they traveled. Alwyn clung to the words, riding them up and up as if they were a raft, carrying him through the river that had so thoroughly consumed him just moments before.
When he opened his eyes again, everything was hazy and indistinct. His eyelids felt heavy and scratchy as he blinked, trying to make sense of his surroundings. He was looking up at the sky, but he was moving—from the way the movement bumped and jostled him, he thought he must be in a horse-drawn cart.
Pain was a dull thrum in the background as he stirred to wakefulness, but quickly rose to a sharp point when he tried to look around. Any movement at all felt like being stabbed with a hot iron, so he quickly gave up the effort.
“Alwyn,” he heard Krujha’s voice, somewhere above him. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Try to relax. You’re hurt. We have youbandaged up pretty tight right now. But we’re with a healer, and we’re taking you back to Aefraya to see another healer, too.”
Alwyn could feel his heart pounding, but he tried to slow it down. He took in a long breath, his lungs groaning in protest, before giving a tiny, cautious nod. Another voice came—a woman’s, one he didn’t recognize.
