“Get your fucking hands off me!”

Meleng recoiled, almost dropping the cloth he was using to try to clean the scratches on Felitïa’s cheek. He’d never heard her speak like that before.

Felitïa gasped. “Oh, Meleng, I’m so sorry. That wasn’t me. That was...” Her gaze turned towards Zandrue, who was pacing back and forth by the wagon. Where he’d lain Sam and Stavan down.

“That’s fine,” he said. “That’s okay. I understand.”

Felitïa had been doing this since she came back up the hill, periodically speaking for other people. Saying the exact words they were about to say. When Captain DeSeloön asked Meleng for a report on Sam’s condition, she had responded before he could. She had told him exactly what Meleng would have said and went on to tell him about Stavan just as Meleng tried to do that. All without having any prior knowledge of the two men’s conditions. It was unnerving.

But also fascinating! What was it like to hear other people’s thoughts? He’d wanted to ask her, but Zandrue was always around and she would probably say something disparaging, so he hadn’t bothered.

He raised the cloth to her face again.

“But really,” she said. “Don’t bother yourself. You should tend to Sam and Stavan.”

“I’ve done all I can with them. They’re sleeping now.”

Sam had taken a blow to the side of his head. His right ear was gone, as were several layers of skin on his cheek. He’d been lucky, though. Lying face first in the snow had helped staunch much of the blood flow. Meleng had cleaned the wound as best he could and wrapped Sam’s head in bandages.

Stavan was far worse.

Rudiger had been the first one to return up the hill after the battle, carrying Stavan in his arms. Blood was pooling from the stump at Stavan’s right shoulder where his arm used to be. Some tattered bits of cloak had been wrapped there to stop the blood, but they weren’t working.

Once they had lain Stavan in the cart beside Sam, Meleng set about trying to bind the wound better. There was blood everywhere, seeping into the wood. Into the sacks and chests. Sam’s clothes.

“What happened to him?” Meleng asked.

“Don’t know, didn’t see,” Rudiger replied. “Zandrue said something about the arm being dissolved away. But you should have heard him scream. Never knew a man could scream like that.”

Meleng was glad he hadn’t heard. He never wanted to hear something like that.

“I did hear it,” Felitïa said and Meleng snapped out of his reveries. “I didn’t know who it was, but I heard. Even felt it a little. You’re wise not wanting to hear something like that.”

She hadn’t been there at that time, yet now she was talking about it like she was. She must have heard it in his thoughts. He shuddered. How could something be so fascinating and so unnerving?

“Sorry,” she said. “I can’t help what I’m doing at the moment. Almost everything’s coming through. It’s all I can do to stop crying uncontrollably and screaming in rage. Go ahead. Clean the wound. I know you’re worried about infection, and you’re right to be.”

He dabbed the wet cloth on her cheek, wiping away the dirt and the blood there.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself,” she said. “You’re doing fine.”

“I guess,” he said. “It’s just...well...I’m not really trained for this. If I were a better...”

“Better wizard, yes, you could magically heal Stavan and everyone else. Like Agernon told you, you need to stop doubting yourself. And by the way, don’t be afraid to ask me about my telepathy. I know I can seem a bit secretive, but it comes from a lifetime of having to be. I’ll be happy to talk about it. Who knows? Maybe you can help me figure out things I haven’t been able to.”

“Oh, okay, I was wondering about...” he started.

“But it’s probably best to wait till I’m recovered a little more. I can’t concentrate at the moment. Five horses lost, sir. Damn. See? That was Greminy over there.” She pointed to where Greminy was reporting to DeSeloön. “Four burned in the initial attack. The other one broke two legs trying to run while hobbled. She was still alive when I found her. Must have been in terrible pain. I put her out of her misery. I mean, Greminy put her out of her misery.” Tears were forming in Felitïa’s eyes. “Oh gods, it was Simeria. Now DeSeloön wants to purchase replacement horses in Cromda. Poor Simeria.” Felitïa leaned forward, buried her face in Meleng’s shoulder, and began to cry.

Meleng hesitantly put his arms around her and held her. He had no idea what he should do or say to comfort her. He had always been terrible with these kinds of interactions. Truth was, he kind of wanted to cry himself. The full enormity of everything that had happened hadn’t quite resonated with him yet, though once it did, he’d need to find a secluded place to let his feelings out. Maybe he could talk to Jorvan about it? It dawned on him that he was probably telling Felitïa about it right now.

She raised her head. “Don’t worry about it. I won’t say... No, you should worry. I could blurt anything out right now. I know what I need. Something to focus on. We need to get Corvinian back. I’ll focus on that.” She let go of Meleng and wiped her face with the back of her hand—which got rid of the tears, but also smudged grime from her hand across it. So much for trying to clean her wound.

She snatched the cloth from his hand and used it to wipe her face. “Better?”

Meleng nodded.

“Captain!” Felitïa called out.

DeSeloön and Greminy turned to face her, snapping to attention as she approached them. “My lady?” DeSeloön said.

“You’re planning to make all haste to Arnor City.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“No,” Felitïa said.

“My lady, tonight has demonstrated that we are not equipped—”

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

“I know your reasons, Captain, but I said no. We’re going after Corvinian.”

“And just where would that be, my lady?”

“Wherever it happens to be. We have to find him. I’ll look everywhere if necessary. I will not leave him to the mercy of the Volgs.”

DeSeloön nodded. “Everywhere. That’s a very big place, my lady.”

“Don’t mock me, DeSeloön!”

“My apologies, my lady. I did not intend to mock. However, where do you plan to start? The Volgs could have gone anywhere.”

“We’ll start locally! We’ll…” Felitïa paused and scrunched her face in pain—or maybe concentration. Meleng couldn’t tell.

“My lady,” DeSeloön said, “when last seen, the Volgs were flying out over Lake Belone. Who knows where they’ve gone?”

“They can’t fly forever,” Zandrue said, coming over. “I’m with Felitïa. We should—”

“My point exactly,” DeSeloön interrupted her. “They can’t fly forever. Therefore, they had a specific destination in mind. Possibly a ship waiting for them out on the lake. Perhaps a location along the shoreline. Has it occurred to you that they must be receiving sanctuary from someone in Arnor? Are we supposed to board and search every ship on the lake? What of the ships that sail down the Tirin River? Shall we search every home in Quorge and Cromda, and every village from here to the Bay of Ras? When we don’t find them there, shall we expand our search to Mesdinine, Tyl, and Dorg?”

“We have to try,” Felitïa said, stumbling a bit. Zandrue reached out and held her arm to help her balance herself. “We have to try!”

DeSeloön stepped closer to her. “My lady, the boy is lost. You’re distraught. This is only natural.”

“Distraught?” Felitïa shoved him away from her. “You don’t know distraught until you have to feel it for everyone else as well!”

DeSeloön looked surprised as he recovered his footing, but he soon regained his composure.

Zandrue whispered something to Felitïa. Meleng couldn’t hear what, but it irritated Felitïa enough that she shoved Zandrue away from her as well.

“Oh, you’re one to talk about anger, Zandrue! Most of this anger is yours, you know!” Felitïa was shrieking now. “Gods, I can’t handle it! All of you in my head! Get out! Get out, get out, get out...” She dropped to her knees, sobbing and repeating the words over and over. Zandrue knelt beside her. Then Felitïa fell over, the side of her face hitting the snow.

Meleng jumped to his feet and rushed over. Zandrue lifted Felitïa’s head into her lap. Felitïa’s eyes were closed, but they flickered open as Meleng knelt beside them, then flickered closed again. They remained closed.

“The Volg did something to her mind,” Meleng said, taking another cloth from his scrip and using it to wipe Felitïa’s face.

Zandrue nodded. “She can’t control her telepathy right now. I’ve seen her overwhelmed before, but not like this.”

“She should have told me about her telepathy,” DeSeloön said.

Zandrue looked up at the army officer. “And if she had, would you have had a remarkable solution for right now or anything else that has happened?”

“Perhaps not,” DeSeloön acknowledged. “But nevertheless—”

“Well, you know now. Let’s leave it at that, shall we?”

DeSeloön took a second before replying, “As you wish. Siltons, on watch. Everyone else to bed. We continue as planned in the morning.” He turned back to Zandrue. “She will not object, I trust?”

Felitïa was starting to come round, and Zandrue helped her sit up. “We don’t really have much other choice, do we?” both Felitïa and Zandrue said together.

“No, we don’t, my lady.”

Before bed, Meleng checked on Sam and Stavan. Stavan’s wound was no longer bleeding as much, so he stitched it closed. It wasn’t easy, but he did his best. When done, he bandaged it back up.

As Meleng was preparing to sleep, Jorvan came and sat in the snow beside him. There was a distant look in the Isyar’s eyes as he stared up at the starry night sky. Meleng knew not to interrupt him in these moments of prayer, so waited for the Isyar to finish.

“How are you?” Jorvan said a few moments later.

Meleng sat beside him. “Okay, I guess. You?”

“Not good,” Jorvan said. “I failed.”

“We all failed tonight,” Meleng said. “It’s not your fault.”

Jorvan shook his head. “No. I was not here. I was alone. They...”

Meleng waited while Jorvan searched for the right words. The Isyar still had difficulty with the language sometimes.

“Ambushed me. I should not have walked away. I told Sam, but...”

Jorvan liked taking walks at night. Meleng knew he liked the cold, that it gave him to time to remember and think about his home in Isyaria.

“There was no way you could have known,” Meleng said. “I mean, they ambushed all of us. We were all taken by surprise.”

“But we were...separate. That is not good. We should be...together.”

Meleng shrugged. “Well, it’s done now. Can’t really go back.”

Jorvan took a deep breath and looked up into the sky again. “Tell me something good.”

Meleng grimaced. Was there anything good he could say? Especially when he felt so terrible himself? “Uh, well, uh, I had a spell go well. Sort of.”

“Good. Tell me.”

Meleng told Jorvan about the spell he’d used in the battle. Truthfully, he knew he had just been lucky. When Captain DeSeloön had come to him earlier in the evening asking about his magical capabilities, he had blurted out some ideas he had had about modifying the spell that had caused his book to burst back in Mesone. The Captain had been impressed and had immediately formulated a possible use for it should they find themselves in trouble. But Meleng hadn’t told him it was only an idea, never tested. He had expected that there would be time to refine it before it was actually needed. Doubtful DeSeloön had expected it, either. It had been pure luck that it had worked.

“Thank you,” Jorvan said. “You did good.”

“Well,” Meleng corrected him. “It’s you did well, not good.”

Jorvan smiled. “You did well. Thank you.”

Sleep didn’t come easily that night. Meleng lay on the ground, wrapped in the remnants of his sleeping blanket, much of which had burned in the Volgs’ initial attack—lucky for him, it had been between him and the fire, so he was grateful even if it meant being cold now. He stared at the stars up above, pinpricks of light that seemed colder than the air around him. They twinkled more than normal, though that was due to the tears in his eyes distorting them. Time almost seemed to stand still. Frequently, he heard movement in the camp and glanced to see who it was: someone different every time. It seemed no one else was sleeping well, either.

Meleng tossed and turned, but still sleep did not come. At one point, he pulled a book out of his scrip to study a little. As luck would have it, it was the one that had been the basis of the spell he’d used on the wagon, the one that had fallen apart when he’d tried to impress Corvinian in Mesone. It nearly fell apart on him again now, and he barely managed to catch a couple of the pages that threatened to blow away in the wind. Closing the book again, he stuffed it back in his scrip, then went back to staring at the stars. Eventually, he did drift off to sleep and dreamt briefly of paper floating in the air. Each sheet had the same words scribbled on it: Why didn’t you save me?