Daniel lurched and tottered along behind the group, his mind numb and tired. Days and months later, he would find himself unable to properly recount the passage, the chaos of battle and the effects of his Gift taking its toll on his recollection. More so, his exhaustion from his earlier usage and his still-healing injuries drove him to distraction, such that he was of little use to the fight.
Rather, he ran behind his team, accompanying Omrak and lending aid to the group with his Healing Aura. Somewhere along the way, he had lost a Level and the ability to use the Skill at a higher level. He knew, deep within him, that something had changed in his Gift, something had broken in the repeated and harried usage. Even now, he could not help but wonder how many of his Skill Proficiencies still worked. Shield Bash was gone, the shield on his hand a lump that felt unnatural in his hand. Too many moments of training, too much of his life memories withdrawn. There were others, he knew that he had lost.
Erlis giving him a chance to keep some of his healing skills. But he couldn’t remember, couldn’t recall what he did at the clinic back at Silverstone. The days there were hazy now, the faces half-remembered. Instances and cases were starker, the symptoms he used to diagnose clearer. The people . . . faceless.
Something hit him in the side and he stumbled to the side, falling to the ground. He struggled to his feet, shaking his head, combat instincts faded. The second strike caught him on his breastplate, staggering him upwards and driving the air out of still full lungs.
He swung his fist, feeling it connect and bounce off. For a moment, he wondered where his hammer was. Then another strike from the sword-wielding attacker took him back down to his knees. Daniel caught the return attack on a raised shoulder, sending the blade skittering off the pauldron and onto his helmet, ringing his head but leaving him mostly unharmed.
Shocked, perhaps. But unharmed.
Then, a fast-moving, dark blur hit the attacker from the side, coming in low and wrapping itself around the fighter. Daggers flashed, limbs twisted and tossed and the fighter fell to the ground, the Catkin crouched over him. A dagger dove downwards, stabbing deep into a neck and then exited.
By this point, Daniel was on his feet. He had a hand up, ready to punch—why was he punching? Where was his hammer? —but the Catkin was just staring at him, crouched low. Her ears swiveled back and forth as she turned her head, whiskers flicking in the wind.
“Run!” the Catkin—Asin! that was her name—barked.
Daniel ran.
He wished he knew what was the problem, why he could not seem to understand what was happening. His head spun every couple of minutes, the flow of the battle constantly frustrating him.
Ahead, a boy with two swords was carving his way through a pair of attackers that had escaped past another Adventuring team. He literally jumped and spun through the air, his swords held outwards as they cut across throat and through armor like butter.
Then, another stumble, a hand pulling him up by the elbow. An older man, looking worse than Daniel himself felt, pulled him up. Beside them, the Mage turned and ran backwards, her robes flapping at her legs as she raised her hand. A shield, one that vibrated and twisted the very air, making the Healer—that was what he was, a Healer—vibrate.
Incoming arrows bounced off the shield, some empowered attacks diverted as the shaft of the arrows they held cracked apart under the vibrations. They still fell, but off course and deflected as they were, they were significantly less dangerous. A few Skills, requiring the entire arrow to work, even flickered and died, leaving the attacks no more dangerous than, well, a hail of arrows.
“Lady Nyssa, you must hurry!” the older gentleman called back, urgently.
“I will. But this time, it will be me who guards you! Run, or else I won’t be coming either.”
Frustrated, the older man chivvied Daniel along. He shook his head, pushing aside the byplay, focusing ahead. More enemies were coming, some riding horses, others giant wolves. Infantry clashed with the Adventurers, as the group ran for their lives, the walls of Warmount looming ahead but still seeming so far. Explosions from spells, the ringing of weapons on armor and the screams of the dying rang through the mountain constantly. It was bedlam, and Daniel’s mind shrank a little from it all even as his soul crowed and glowed.
“War Champions arriving from the south!” A hoarse shout, one filled with fear, caught their attention.
“How many?” Another voice. Arrogant, idiotic, foolish voice. Daniel was irritated just hearing it, though he couldn’t remember why.
“Half dozen.”
“Ba’al’s tears.” The words were said as a curse, but softly. It still carried through the battlefield in a trick of sound and circumstance. There was a long pause, then the voice rose, this time louder and firmer. “Maximum Force—to me! We hold the Champions till the prince is safe. Use everything. Don’t hold anything back.”
More movement, more people streaming. He noticed a group break away, joining the newly formed Maximum Force. Words were being exchanged, a lot of gestures thrown around. Daniel was forced to look away, to focus on his running, his breathing labored.
Stamina was good, so why was he panting? Why was his heart beating like the stretched skin of an Orc’s war drum? Why did he even know what an Orc war drum sounded like? He had never heard one, had he? He’d never been in a war.
Gaps.
Too many gaps.
And noise, coming from behind him now. Screams and roars, the roar of explosions and the hum of magic coming to life. The sky darkened behind Daniel, eve as the postern door was thrown open and other Adventurers streamed out, some moving to guard him—him? Why was he being guarded—and others to the still figure in the giant blond man’s arms.
Even more figures were appearing above the wall, including an elf with long hair, hauling back on an oversized bow. Aiming into the distance and loosing an arrow that was made of blue light and green, that seemed to flicker to life as a giant cat formed around it. Then it was off, streaking through the sky and above him.
He ducked, feeling his soul quail at its passing. A hand gripped his arm, he was pulled in further and then, suddenly, he was hearing the word “safe.”
Somehow, he didn’t feel safe. He just felt confused.
***
“What’s wrong with him?” a voice snarled, a finger pointing.
Lady Nyssa took her time answering, pulling her Mage robes down and smoothing them out. She glanced over at Daniel, the “him” being asked about, and then spoke, calmly. You had to be calm, especially when everyone else around you was not. Even if your heart was thudding in your chest like it would rip itself out and spill all your secrets. Even when you were not certain. Especially when you were not certain.
“Daniel has used his Gift significantly. To heal himself, Charles, and to stabilize the prince. I fear he is paying the Price for his indiscriminate use.”
The Royal Bodyguard shrunk a little at the word Price. Everyone knew that those so Gifted had a Price to pay. Sometimes it was their health. Sometimes it was their lifespan. Other times, it was even more esoteric. But there was always a Price.
Even so, he shrugged away the socially constructed fear, duty overriding it all. “The prince lies unconscious, his wounds barely tended. The other Healers have cast healing spells to no effect. They say he was poisoned.” A pause, a deeper breath. “If he was attacked by the assassins like you said, then whatever his Gift does, it can fix the prince too.”
“I know,” Lady Nyssa said. “But he needs a few minutes.”
“The prince might not have that!” the Royal Bodyguard snapped.
“And if he makes a mistake?”
That dire comment had the man freeze for he understood what that might mean. After all, a Healer was what he was because of his ability and knowledge. A confused Healer was as much a danger to the patient as whatever ailed him.
“Fine. He can have . . .” The man paused, turning, and fixed his gaze on one of the nearby Healers. When the man returned the stare, he made an impatient sound.
“Uhh . . . maybe a few hours. He’s stabilized, and mundane healing has kept the wounds from reopening and clotted. The poison is stable for now, but . . .” A shrug. “I just don’t know. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
The bodyguard nodded, staring back at Lady Nyssa. “You have an hour. Get him calm. Get him ready.”
Lady Nyssa nodded, and walked off to Daniel. Nearby, Asin was seated beside Daniel, who was looking better, less panicked as he chewed on the roll of meat and bread that she had handed him. Her eyes watered as she neared the pair, the spices from the meat making her wince.
It was a strange feeling, being around so many others without her shadow. Charles had been taken away by the waiting Healers the moment they had arrived in Warmount, the man almost ready to collapse. She had watched them take him away, and only arrived late to see the burgeoning problem with the Royal Bodyguard. Now, now, she finally had time to breathe.
And worry.
For all that she had tried to reassure the bodyguard, there was something seriously wrong with Daniel. He was not acting like himself. She had seen him concussed, seen him stabbed and crushed and under pressure and she had never seen him like this.
Squashing the fear within herself, she spoke softly and gently to the pair. “Daniel? How are you doing?”
“I’m . . . I’m better.” Daniel shook his head. “I’m sorry, I wanted to thank you. For the . . . the . . . Sonic Wall?” Some of the confusion cleared up as he recalled the name. “Yes. Sonic Wall.”
“No thanks needed between party members,” she said.
“We’re party members?”
Asin nodded, then raised a finger and pointed. “Omrak.”
“I remember him. He’s . . . wearing a shirt?” Daniel paused, confused.
Asin grinned, letting out a little chuff of laughter while Lady Nyssa just looked confused. She shook her head, dismissing the incongruity. Why would any Adventurer be delving without a shirt?
“Lady Nyssa.” Pointing to her, Asin continued. Finger tracked to the side of the woman. “Shadow—Charles.”
“Her shadow is named Charles?”
“My bodyguard is named Charles.”
“Oh, right!” A nod. “The older man. He looked bad. Minor concussion, remnant poison and blood loss. Wounds weren’t fully healed and he reopened them on the run.”
“Exactly!” Lady Nyssa said, happy to see something of his old expertise returning. Or at least, still in play.
“And the last one . . . Josh?” Daniel said, tentatively. The Masters of Arms was standing, nervously, in the corner. No longer in battle, he kept shifting from side to side, uncomfortable in the presence of so many.
“Johan.” Lady Nyssa corrected gently.
“Right. Right. And we were in a team with a . . . Roland. And he was important.”
“Yes, he was.”
Then, eyes widening, Daniel bolted upright. “I remember! I have to finish healing him.”
Lady Nyssa let out a relieved breath, at the same time Asin let out a low yowl, clawed hands clamping down on an elbow. Daniel paused, looking at the Catkin.
“You. Bad. Must stop.”
“I’m fine.”
“No.”
“I’m fine.”
“No.”
“I’m—”
“NO.” The Catkin stood up, waving her hands around. “NO. You broken. Heal. Break further.”
“I have to do this,” Daniel said. Confused as he was before, there was a thread of iron in his voice at he made the statement.
Lady Nyssa, watching the pair of argue cleared her throat.
“Break. More.”
“If so . . .”
“NO. FRIEND NO BREAK!” Asin shoved Daniel.
Again, Lady Nyssa cleared her throat.
“I have to—”
“NO.” Tail stuck up directly beneath her, another Adventurer moved towards the pair. The Catkin turned, lightning fast, and snarled at him, her ears going flat against her skull. The man, seeing something wild and untamed in her eyes, backed off.
“Asin, I can’t . . .”
The Catkin spun around, hissing at Daniel as he tried to speak.
“Enough!” Lady Nyssa snapped, fed up. The Catkin glared back at her, and facing the untamed wildness in her eyes, almost quailed. Then, she remembered the Royal Bodyguard who would likely see them all in the dungeons, just long enough for the king to send them to the headsmen. But most of all, she recalled the still, pale body of the prince. A man who had fought with them, laughed with them, ate with them.
A party member.
“Enough.” Lady Nyssa’s voice grew softer as she put a hand on Asin’s shoulder. The Catkin pulled away, but it didn’t stop the noblewoman’s words. “Daniel has to do this. If not, the prince—Roland—will die. He’s a friend too, isn’t he?”
A reluctant nod. Then, Asin jerked her chin up. “Daniel best.”
“He is. A better man than any of us. But he needs to do this. He wants to do this.” She jerked her chin to Daniel who was listening to the pair, his eyes a little distant now. Lost, again, somewhere. “Let him.”
“Broken.” Asin’s voice was softer now.
“Then we’ll pick up the pieces. But he has to do this. For us.” Mulish, but softening. “For Roland.” Asin’s face softened even further, the bonds of companionship showing. “For himself.”
And now, those big, jade eyes began to pool with tears.
“Asin.” Daniel spoke softly. “Please.”
“Fine . . .” The Catkin turned away, and Daniel gave her back a sad smile. Then, the man straightened and turned, walking towards the wooden doorway in front of which the Royal Bodyguards stood. To where Roland lay, tended by Healers who scrambled to save him.
Lady Nyssa watched, and if there were tears in her eyes too, well, she was not ashamed of them.