Chosen of the Gods by Chris Pierson

Author:Chris Pierson [Pierson, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Tags: Fiction, Fantasy, General, Fantasy Games, Historical
ISBN: 9780786919024
Google: 1isxHQAACAAJ
Amazon: 0786919027
Publisher: Wizards of the Coast
Published: 2001-11-01T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

Everyone stared as Beldyn fell, dropping first to his knees, then slumping backward in a senseless heap. Some gasped, a few put their hands to their mouths, but coming so soon after the healing, his collapse took everyone aback.

With a cry. Cathan shoved his way through the mass of villagers, hurrying to the monk’s side. The holy light continued to burn, rippling silver and making soft, crystalline sounds, but Cathan didn’t balk. Holding his breath, he knelt hurrying and reached into the glow. It was a strange feeling, like putting his hands in a cool stream on a hot day, and the hairs on his arms stood erect, but there was no pain. Feeling around inside the light, he found Beldyn’s head, pillowed on one outflung arm and lifted it, propping it in his lap. The monk’s skin was clammy, and for a heartbeat Cathan feared he might be dead, but then he felt the body stir and the faint hiss of breath, and he sighed in relief.

Others were crowding close now, and the townsfolk parted to let them through, Ilista, Tavarre, Sir Gareth. Wentha was there too, somewhere—she had been standing beside him. Cathan heard their voices, taut with worry, but he didn’t listen; his attention fixed on Beldyn, his hands moving within the light to brush hair from the monk’s brow. The glow was already beginning to fade. Through it, he could see Beldyn’s youthful face, pale and slack, the lips parted, keeping a bit of the smile they’d held before he fell.

Cathan patted Beldyn’s cheek. “Reverence,” he asked. “Can you hear me?”

Beldyn stirred, moaning, and his eyelids trembled open. The blue fire in his eyes was banked, but it flared a little when he saw Cathan. His smile widened.

“You kept your word,” he said. “You came to my aid.”

Nodding, Cathan continued to stroke his cheek. “How can I help?”

Beldyn considered this. Letting out a shuddering breath, he glanced not only at Cathan, but the others as well.

“Help me up,” he said.

Cathan hesitated, looking at Ilista. The First Daughter bit her lip, unsure.

“Do it,” Beldyn insisted. “The Kingpriest’s warriors won’t wait for me to gather my strength.”

It was true, Cathan knew. Even now, the soldiers were heading for Luciel. Time was dear. So with a swallow, he grabbed Beldyn under his arms and rose, lifting the monk’s weight. In a moment, Beldyn was on his feet again, though he leaned much of his weight into Cathan’s shoulder. They exchanged looks, and Beldyn smiled.

“Thank you, my friend,” he said.

* * * * *

They left Luciel an hour later with whatever they could carry. The sun set soon after that, but they kept on, moving well into the evening. Finally, when it was full dark and they had put two leagues of wilderness between themselves and the town, they stopped and spent the night huddled and shivering in the shelter of a stand of aspen. They lit no fires, for fear of the Scatas.

Hours later, they woke—more tired, it seemed, than when they’d made camp—to the sight of ruddy light smearing the horizon.

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