Queen of Thorns by Dave Gross

Author:Dave Gross
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Fantasy
ISBN: 9781601254634
Publisher: Paizo Publishing, LLC
Published: 2012-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Circle of Truth

Varian

Everything was dust. Dust was everything I could see, smell, or taste. Dimly I heard the muted voices of my companions. They pulled me by arm and leg, but instead of dragging me off to die, they were hauling me out of my sudden grave.

Blinking caked eyelids, I saw Fimbulthicket’s enormous, childlike eyes gazing down at me with concern. The rest of his face was a mask of dust. His little hands clutched my head. From the tingling sensation that suffused my skull, I knew he had repaired my fractured skull with his Green magic.

“That’s all I have left,” he said. “Kemeili?”

“Wait,” said Caladrel. “We mustn’t stay here. Can he walk to the next junction? I heard water.”

“I’ll take him,” said Radovan. I gasped as pain erupted in my hip and thigh. The collapse had shattered my bones.

My present agony was worth the sight I had glimpsed.

Arnisant licked my hand as Radovan bore me along the passage. “Boss,” he murmured. “You’ve got to stop getting your ass kicked so hard. You’re making me look bad.”

Trails of dust spilled down from the riven ceiling, glowing golden brown in the light Kemeili conjured on the tip of a dagger. She held it up like a torch and led the way.

I felt the damp in the air before we saw the reflection of the water. We turned twice before entering an unbroken passage similar to the one we first entered, with the singular exception that the trough running down the center of the hall was filled with clear water.

Kemeili set her dagger on the edge of the channel. “Get his clothes off, and help me bathe him. I can’t see what’s hurt under all that dirt.”

“Wait,” said Oparal. “I will tend him first. Leave his clothes on.”

Radovan set me down with my back against the low wall bordering the water channel. Oparal knelt beside me, her brow, lips, and heart already painted with the blaze of Iomedae. I read the silent prayer on her lips and spoke the final words with her: “Glory to the Inheritor.”

Her eyes met mine, but there was nothing but sincerity for her to see there. She removed her gauntlets and smeared the dirt on her mouth with the back of her hand. She grasped my hands and closed her eyes in prayer.

The warmth of the goddess spread through my body. Oparal had no need to touch my injury, only to lay her hands upon me and bestow the blessing of Iomedae. Some claimed the power of a paladin would not heal an unworthy subject, but Oparal and I both knew that was untrue. The choice to heal me was hers.

When she was done, I tried to rise to thank her properly. The pain lanced through me again, this time concentrating on my ribs. Wincing, I gasped, “My thanks.”

Kemeili peeled off my coat as Radovan pulled off my boots. “We could all use a bath,” he said, pouring a stream of dirt from a boot. The others agreed, as well they might.

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