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Hellion mounted the second horse.
“Ride through the cave behind you,” Odan instructed. “Take the first left. It will spill out into a valley. Head southeast until you hit the steppes. There will be cliffs in the distance. Ezulari is past the cliffs.” He shoved the reins into my fists.
“But what if we run into the dragon?”
“I’ll protect you,” Hellion said, though they were in no shape to be protecting anybody. “I’ll be with you the entire time.”
Odan backed away. “I’ll lead the scouts away from you. Don’t worry about me. He is your priority, Nevahn. Donotlet him die!”
Before I could protest further, Hellion gave a quick click of their tongue and started galloping for the cave. I didn’t dare let them out of sight, not with as woozy as they looked.
Darkness swallowed us, the cave mouth so narrow the horse barely fit. Every hoof beat, every breath echoed against unseen falling water. It was cool enough in there that I could see my breath, and too dark to see more than a few feet in front of us. At the speed we moved, I prayed we didn’t ride into a drop-off.
A Y in the cave tunnel appeared ahead. Odan had said to take the left offshoot, but Hellion went right, giving me no choice but to follow. We slid into a narrow, sloping path, a small trickle of water flowing alongside us.
Hellion was breathing so hard, their rasping breaths echoed off the cave walls. “Nearly there.”
We traveled down that slick tunnel for what seemed like hours before light found us. True to Odan’s word, the little tunnel spilled into a wide valley with patchy grass rising in a hill just ahead. The stream that had been at the horse’s hooves trickled into a wider body of shallow water with a rainbow of pebbles in the streambed.
Hellion didn’t slow, guiding their horse up the hill and onward, and I followed.
He’s going to die. The words pounded through me, wove through every fiber of my being in a constant parade. Ezulari was days away, even further than Lach Ban-Lenon had been from Cian’s camp. That arrow had gone deep, maybe penetrated a lung or nicked an artery. There was no way he wasn’t bleeding internally. And he wouldn’t heal as long as it was in him.
How fast would he bleed out once it was removed? No way to know unless I knew what damage was inside. Without a healer’s skill, I couldn’t.
We rode for hours without speaking. Hellion didn’t seem to have the breath. They’d started to sway in the saddle, too, holding the reins limply.
“Hel,” I prompted as we came to a crossroads near dusk. When they didn’t answer, I rode up beside them.
Sweat coated their face and their eyes were bloodshot. Every breath was a heavy rasp as if they’d been running, but their eyes were unfocused. Their whole arm was soaked in blood and hung at an odd angle.
“Hel, maybe we should stop,” I said.
“Almost…there,” they murmured. “Almost…”
Hellion suddenly slumped forward and started to slide out of the saddle. I rushed to prop them up before easing them down the best I could so they didn’t get hurt. On the ground, I tried to assess their condition, but I didn’t have the training. Best I could tell was that the Shadowbane was taking its toll. They’d just lasted longer than most.
I dragged them over to a small outcropping of boulders near a spring, first Hellion and then Cian. He let out a small, pained groan and moved his head from one side to the other, squinting with his eyes closed. Cian’s lips moved, but didn’t form words. I touched his forehead and spat a curse at the fever. Poison in the wound, blood loss, and fever were a bad combination. Even a non-healer knew that. The most troubling fact was that he had not moved to hide his wings, which I knew he would do if he had any semblance of awareness.
Hellion was feverish, too, but coming in and out of consciousness with pained moans. They winced when I touched their broken arm. Whatever was wrong, it was serious, but maybe not more serious than the arrow sticking out of Cian.
I had a choice to make. I could leave the arrow in like Odan instructed and we could ride hard for Ezulari, where he would likely die before I could ever locate a healer—if he made it that far. To do that, though, meant leaving Hellion, and I wasn’t willing to do it.
The only other option was to pull the arrow out and hope—pray—that his magic would heal him before he bled out.
I turned to Hellion. “Hel.” I gripped the back of their head. “Hel, please wake up. I need you!”
Their eyes fluttered open. “Nevahn? You’re alive?”
I don’t have time for this!“Cian’s been shot with a shadowbane arrow. I need to get it out of him so he’ll start to heal. Tell me how!”
“Leave it in. Find a healer,” they murmured and closed their eyes.
I shook them awake again. They winced and grabbed for their broken arm.
A pang of guilt ran through me, but if the pain kept them coherent enough to talk me through this, I’d use it. “There are no healers! Not for miles. He’s going to die if I don’t do this, so tell me what to do!”
Hellion made a pained sound. “Cut it out. If you pull, the barbs will just rip him open more. Need…fire.”
