Kevlin dropped to the ground beside Antigonus, who lay face down and unmoving next to the dead coals of the campfire. His chest barely stirred, and when he coughed, bloody foam dripped from the corner of his mouth.

Kevlin gently turned him over. Blood and dirt caked the front of his robe. Since Kevlin’s dagger was still sheathed between Rhea’s ribs, he swung his arm down sharply and twisted his wrist. A stiletto popped out from its hidden sheath between the layers of his leather wrist guard, and he caught the slender blade with a practiced move.

He cut open the front of Antigonus’ robe to find the makeshift bandage had come undone. The wound from Bajaran’s dagger gaped open, ragged and bleeding heavily.

Ceren joined him on the other side of the prone sentinel. With efficient precision, she cut a large section from Antigonus’ robe, balled the cloth, and pressed it against the old man’s chest. She looked worried.

“I’m going to follow those mercenaries,” Terach said.

“Be careful,” Ceren told him.

“Always.” He smiled, then loped off toward the trees. The man's stamina was amazing.

Ceren turned to Kevlin. “I need water to clean this wound. Hot if you can.”

It took only a few minutes to light another fire and set a pot over it. Meanwhile, Ceren tied off the bandage and rushed to her bags. She returned a minute later carrying a small green leather case about as long as Kevlin’s forearm and several inches thick.

“How’s that water?” Ceren asked.

“Warm, but not hot.”

“It’ll have to do.”

The interior of the case was lined with green velvet, and its various compartments held a wide assortment of healing supplies. Three rows of small glass bottles were nestled into recesses on one side, while the other held bandages, several bags of herbs, and a row of wickedly curved needles for stitching flesh.

“Are you a Healer?” he asked. Some Healers were gifted with powerful magic like stalwarts, while others, though lacking magic, could still work amazing cures with their herbs and tonics. Those Healers carried similar green cases.

“My father gifted it to me before I left on my journey.”

“But you know how to use it?”

“I do.”

Another puzzle. Healers often apprenticed for years. Why train and then not follow the path? Even stranger that she was also trained in the sword.

Ceren scanned the vials and selected one with an indigo-colored stopper. Holding the bottle far from her face, she worked the stopper free and waved it under Antigonus’ nose.

“What’s that?” Kevlin asked.

“Spirit of Hartshorn.”

Antigonus grunted and jerked awake, but then cried out in pain. Ceren put the bottle away, then placed a hand on the sentinel's brow and asked, “Do you recognize me?”

His eyelids drooped, and his mouth moved a couple of times before he finally whispered, “Water.”

As Kevlin fetched a cup of cool water, Ceren produced a bottle with a copper-colored stopper, measured several drops of thick, clear liquid into the cup, and mixed it with one finger. Kevlin raised Antigonus’ head while she held the cup to his lips.

Antigonus managed several sips before pushing the cup away and closing his eyes. A soft white glow enveloped his body and a faint scent of herbs rose around them. Kevlin inhaled deeply, and his aching muscles relaxed. A sound like a hummingbird's thrum intensified, as it had the first time Antigonus healed himself.

Ceren smiled and pulled the blood-soaked bandage from his chest. The magic flared, obscuring the wound for a dozen heartbeats before fading again.

Antigonus seemed to deflate and sagged against the ground. His skin looked as gray and brittle as old parchment, webbed by a series of shallow cracks as if it could flake away at the gentlest touch. It hung loose on his frame and he seemed smaller. It looked like the magic had burned away some of the flesh underneath.

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Ceren frowned over the wound. Kevlin leaned closer for a better view. It no longer bled freely but looked only partially closed. Ceren used a clean cloth and tarm water to carefully clean the wound, then smeared a vile-smelling paste onto it. She covered it with some soft cotton padding.

“I can’t heal this,” she said as she tied the bandage in place. “I’d hoped he could.”

Antigonus’ eyelids fluttered open. His gaze was clear, but weak, and his cobalt eyes were sunk deep in their sockets. He smiled at Ceren, and she leaned close.

“Can you heal yourself?” Ceren asked.

“The wound. . .difficult. . .Bajaran’s magic.” He spoke faintly, his breathing shallow. Kevlin and Ceren exchanged a concerned look.

“Not much time,” Antigonus whispered.

“For what?” Ceren asked

“Die,” he breathed. “A few days. Less than a week.”

He grimaced and closed his eyes, and in a moment drifted off to sleep. Ceren stared at Antigonus, her face stricken.

The grass nearby rustled and Kevlin sprang up, his sword half-drawn before he recognized Haisyl stumbling toward them. She stared with a haunted, despairing look, her face grimy and streaked with tears.

She stopped near the fire and complained, “I think I twisted my wrist.”

With a cry of rage, Ceren launched herself at the woman, grabbed her by the throat, and began slapping her across the face. Haisyl’s head whipped from side to side and she screeched and clawed at Ceren’s arm. Ceren only tightened her grip until her fingers shone white against Haisyl’s dirty skin. Blood sprayed from the corners of Haisyl’s mouth at each blow.

Kevlin pushed between them and pried Ceren off. Haisyl fell to the ground, clutching at her face and sobbing.

Ceren turned on Kevlin, her face a mask of rage, and struck at him. He caught her wrist and shook her by the shoulders until her teeth clacked together.

“Control yourself," Kevlin snapped. "Why are you doing this?”

Ceren shrugged free and took a moment to regain her composure. Her long, auburn hair had escaped its braid and hung loose across her face and shoulders. She brushed it aside and glared.

“Didn’t you hear Antigonus? He’s going to die in a few days, and it’s her fault.”

“How is it Haisyl’s fault?”

Ceren opened her mouth to reply, but paused. “I guess you didn’t see.”

“I guess not. I was kind of busy.” The corners of her mouth lifted in a hint of a smile. It was a good sign. Her crazed anger seemed to have broken.

“What did she do?” Kevlin asked.

“She distracted Antigonus while he was holding Rhea prisoner, interfered with me until Rhea could destroy that crystal prison, and when Antigonus caught Rhea in that cyclone, she attacked him. That’s how Rhea broke free. She’d have killed him if you hadn’t thrown that knife.”

Kevlin struggled to picture the timid Haisyl accomplishing all that. He’d dismissed her as a rather empty-headed, overly devoted servant, a bit on the crazy side.

“Really?” he said finally.

Ceren thrust her face close to his. “Are you calling me a liar?” Her eyes flashed with anger. They were lovely eyes if one could get past the belligerent attitude.

“It’s her fault,” Ceren repeated, “and she’s got to be punished for it.”

“Leave her alone,” Antigonus murmured from where he lay. “I will cast Truth. Tomorrow. We will know her guilt then.”

Kevlin shuddered and backed up a step. Truth was a powerful spell which denied anyone under its power the ability to speak falsehood. Under its influence, conflicting accounts of events could be resolved, and spells of darkness dispersed. Kevlin had experienced the power of Truth, and the memories still haunted his sleep.

Today they did not need Truth. Haisyl’s actions clearly marked her a traitor.

Antigonus spoke again, more strongly. “Where are we?”

Ceren briefly recounted their trek to the clearing the night before, explained a little about Dathan, and the sudden attack. At the mention of Kevlin’s early warning device, Antigonus said, “So that must be what lies burning at the edge of the clearing.”

Kevlin stood and noticed for the first time the small fire burning near the trees. He jogged over and found the leather ball, about the size of a newborn’s head, lying in a patch of burned grass with fire still spouting from the opening at the top. He turned it over with his foot and pressed it into the ground to smother the flames, then screwed the cap closed to prevent the fire from starting again.

When he returned to the others, Antigonus regarded the leather ball with interest.

“Is that photophor?”

“Aye. I’m surprised you know it.”

“In the past hundred years, I have learned the secret, despite how closely the Meinarri sailors guard it. How is it that you carry photophor so far from the sea?”

“I’m from Meldan.” Kevlin had not been there in years, and he didn’t think about it often. For him, the past was better left alone.

“Ah,” Antigonus said, as if that were somehow important. “In the hand of the Lady.”

“Aye, I sailed aboard my father’s ship as a boy.”

“Is that what they use in tempest lanterns?” Ceren asked. “How does it work?”

Since she’d already seen it in action, he didn’t see any harm in explaining it. “The ball’s packed with crystals that burn in water. Those mercenaries tripped a line that released a bent sapling I had it tied to. That tossed it into the air and shattered a small tube of water inside that could mix with the crystals.”

“I am glad you thought to use it,” Antigonus said before settling back. “Very cunning.”

"I suppose." Kevlin glanced up and found Ceren scowling again. She'd get premature wrinkles if she kept that up.

Together, they changed Antigonus into his spare robe, careful to jostle him as little as possible. From a silver chain fastened around his neck hung a soft leather pouch covered with silver runes that glowed in the early morning light. Whatever it contained looked to be about the size of a large egg. They were careful to avoid touching it.

As they finished, Terach returned to the clearing. He nodded toward Dathan and his other guards, who had nearly finished breaking camp, and growled, “Return to your master, Kevlin. I want you gone.”