"Garin!" Tal roared and sprinted after him.
There'd been blood smeared across the youth's arm, too much blood, but Garin didn't seem slowed by it. Charging the foremost of the enemies, he stopped and raised his sword. Tal was still several paces behind when the draugars reached the youth. But before they could strike him down, unearthly words cut into Tal's ears. He cringed as the Ring of Thalkuun burned on his finger, and within, his blood surged.
The draugars, however, didn't fare so well. All had stopped fighting and were lined up in a row before Garin, like soldiers presenting themselves to an officer. The terrible words ushered forth from the youth's mouth again, and the draugars moved, twisting their swords around to point at their midriffs.
Then Garin screamed once more, and they thrust the blades into themselves. As one, they slumped forward and collapsed like grass before a scythe.
As Garin turned, Tal could barely meet his gaze. Something else looked out from his eyes, curled his lips into a triumphant smile, made him stand so unnaturally unaware of the deep cut oozing blood from his arm.
You got him into this. Now get him out.
Tal dropped his sword and raised his hands as he advanced on the youth. "Garin," he said softly, speaking as if to a skittish horse. "Come back to us, Garin. The danger's gone; you took care of it. Now it's time to come back."
His expression spasmed, eyes flickering, mouth twitching. Garin's shoulders slumped, but his eyes never left Tal's.
"You will let the blood flow," the youth whispered. "But he will incite the chorus to sing."
Then he fell forward.
Tal caught him and eased him to the ground. Garin groaned, and his eyes rolled up in the back of his head. He's free. Tearing his gaze away, Tal scanned the rest of his body and found the most severe wound was on his arm. And what a wound it was, with the flesh torn all the way down to the bone. He'd seen plenty of gore in his day, but he still found his gut twisting at the sight of the boy's injury.
"Garin?" Wren had reached them, and Tal saw her eyes were more panicked than she'd shown during the fight. "Is he…?"
"Get Aelyn," Tal ordered her as he pulled out his knife and began cutting off Garin's sleeve short of the wound. When it was exposed, he studied it. Clean it, stitch it, bind it. The old advice from the battlefield infirmaries that he'd worked in as a boy came back to him slowly. It was the best he could do out here.
Wren returned a moment later with the mage, and Tal glanced up from his work. "His arm is cut deep. I need you to purify the wound for corruption."
Aelyn nodded. "I'll require a catalyst — there's one in my pack."
He moved swiftly away while Wren edged closer. The young woman hardly ever seemed uncertain, but now, she looked as wary as Garin had when first entering the Smallstage. "He'll make it," she whispered, and it sounded more like a question than a statement. "He'll make it."
Keep her busy, or the panic will. "Bring me my cloak, or yours," Tal told her. "And my water flask and pack. Quickly!"
She scrambled to do as he'd asked.
Pulling off his shirt, Tal barely felt the cold as he kept pressure on the wound as he waited, his blood hot in his veins. Garin's face was pale, and his lips moved, but only faint, jumbled words came out.
As Aelyn returned and bent before the lad, Tal moved over, letting the mage sprinkle powder from a sack over the wound, then lay his hands over it, heedless of the blood that oozed over them. The mage began muttering just loud enough for Tal to catch the words. He listened intently, hoping he wouldn't need to say them himself, but determined to know them should the need arrive.
A minute later, Aelyn released his arm and stood. "That should have cleansed him of the most common corruptions."
"Then we've got to stop this bleeding."
As Wren returned, she offered the water flask and cloak wordlessly, though her eyes wandered over him, no doubt wondering at the scars and tattoos scrawled across his skin. Tal ignored her and poured the whole flask over the wound, cleaning it as best as he could, then ruffled through his pack. "Cut strips from my cloak," he instructed Wren, and she pulled out her belt knife and set to it.
Finding his needle and gut, he threaded the needle, knotted the opposite end of the gut, and glanced at Aelyn. "Hold the wound shut."
The mage only slightly scowled as he knelt and pressed the frayed splits of the flesh together. Tal noticed his own hands were shaking. The performance matters this time, he thought. But he'd overcome his stage fright long ago, and he inserted the needle through Garin's skin.
Minutes later, the wound was pulled tightly closed with a neat row of stitches, and Tal took the strips of his cloak from Wren and began winding them tightly around the wound. The bottom layer saturated the cloth almost as soon as he'd bound it, but by three more layers, the blood had stopped seeping through. For the moment, at least.
Tal glanced at the other two: Wren kneeling next to them, her face pale, Aelyn scanning their surroundings, his scowl growing more pronounced by the moment.
"We can't stay here," Tal said.
"That much is obvious," Aelyn noted irritably. "Unless you'd prefer that more Nightkin find us."
"He can't move!" Wren said fiercely. "Look!"
"I can walk."
Tal stared down in amazement as Garin sat up, his uninjured hand set to his head. A moment later, he came to his senses and pressed the youth back down. "You'll faint if you try and stand now. Wren, could you fetch more water?"
When she returned with another flask, Tal offered it to Garin, and the youth drank it down, reluctantly at first, then greedily. He'd nearly sucked the skin dry by the time Tal pulled it away.
"I'll bolster his strength if I must, but we need to leave," Aelyn said, fingers tapping on his arm.
Wren had stood again, fists clenched at her sides, eyes staring behind them. "Too late," she hissed. "Look!"
Tal whipped his head around and found dark shapes advancing through the trees. "Yuldor's prick," he groaned. He glanced down at Garin and met his eyes. "Can you walk?"
His face was pale, but his jaw stiffened, and he nodded.
Tal pulled on his bloodstained shirt and his leather jerkin after, and slung his pack over his shoulders. Then he hauled Garin to his feet and, keeping a supporting hand on his arm, his other hand clutched Velori. "Warn me if they get too close," he told Aelyn, then set forth, their pace excruciatingly slow.
The mage walked beside him, his eyes still peeled behind. "I don't know that they will," he said softly. "If they meant to attack, they would have charged as the ones before had." His eyes flickered over to Tal, bronze flashing in the fey light hovering above them. "They're herding us."
Tal looked up the hill. "Little wonder where. Still have your surprise ready?"
Aelyn smiled, the pleasure sharp and eager. "Just get me close, Harrenfel, and I'll take care of the rest."
If we survive that long. Even with all the close encounters throughout his illustrious career, Tal was starting to wonder if his luck was running out.
Fable’s End