by TP Keane
*
Ol?rin was tiring, and holding the spell over the mountain goat was taking every last ounce of his energy. The task took considerable concentration, and the sight of Aramus slumped over the grey, hairy back of the goat was not helping matters. A long line of black blood matted the wiry fur, and Aramus's wings jostled limply every time the goat leaped over a fallen tree or a small stream.
"We must make camp somewhere so I can tend to your wounds," Ol?rin said.
They had left the mountain some two days ago, and travelled southward toward the dwarf mines. It was at least another three days trek, and Ol?rin feared that Aramus would not make it. He had haphazardly bound the young man's shoulder with some rags as they made their escape, but the bleeding had never stopped. Aramus had grown weaker and weaker as time passed, and Ol?rin suspected that a fang of a worgen was the reason why - the venom of which could cause unstoppable bleeding.
He knew he had to stop and pull it from his shoulder if Aramus was to live. But the queen would not let up in her hunt for them, and if the worgen were aiding her, they wouldn't be far behind. From the amount of blood Aramus had lost, it was apparent that it wouldn't be an easy extraction. He would need time to recover; time they did not have.
Ahead, a green wave of tightly packed trees, shrouded in fog, loomed ever closer. Ol?rin recognised it as The Shrouded Forest, and a sinking feeling made itself known in his stomach. Despite the lack of time on their side, Ol?rin knew stopping inside of the forest would be out of the question. If only they could ride through it quickly and reach the safety of the underground dwarven city of Balbuldor. There, they would at least have some protection from the queen's army of darkness. If the dwarfs despised anything more than thieves, it was the monarchy who taxed their wealth. They even went so far as to ignore their demands, and had crowned their own king, much to the queen's annoyance.
"Three days is too long," Ol?rin said to himself.
Directing the mammoth goat toward a large, hollowed tree at the edge of The Shrouded Forest, Ol?rin leaned closely to its ear and whispered. Almost immediately the goat stopped in its tracks and, as gently as it could, it lowered its body to the ground. Ol?rin used the tough goat hair to climb down to the ground, resulting in an indignant snort from the beast, and carefully slid Aramus off its back shortly after. No sooner had he rested the young man's limp body inside the hollow of the tree, then the goat retuned to its normal size.
"I thank you, my hardy little friend, you may go now," Ol?rin said, waving off the goat. The goat was startled to find itself far from where it normally grazed and, with wide eyes, suddenly bolted away from the two men at a great rate. Ol?rin hoped its blood-stained coat would draw the worgen away from them, and give Aramus the time he needed to heal. But worgen weren't stupid, and he couldn't rely on chance.
Ol?rin scanned the forest and smiled. If there was one place in Naretia that could provide everything he needed to heal Aramus, it was a forest. He knew this vast one very well too. Lost here during one of his wizard training sessions, he had come to make this forest his home for some three months before the Elders eventually found him. But he was also very aware of the sinister creatures that lay within the haze, and knew it was better to stay at the edges. Aramus was ashen and pale, and wouldn't be able to move anytime soon.
Leaning on his twisted staff to support his weary bones, Ol?rin got up and began to search the forest grounds for ingredients. After only a short amount of time he returned to Aramus with a handful of herbs, berries, and fruits. Tossing them onto the mossy ground, Ol?rin took off his wizard hat and rummaged through it, only occasionally cursing the chicken. Producing a small mortar and pestle, he got to work crushing the ingredients.
"What are you doing?" Aramus whispered faintly.
"Ah, you're awake. It would be better if you were still sleeping," he replied, concentrating on his work. "I have to take the worgen fang out from your shoulder, otherwise you'll keep bleeding, my friend. This pulp is to help with the pain when I do, and the infection after."
"If it's anything like ale, then I'm not sure it will work on me."
"I know," Ol?rin replied quietly. "But there's no harm in trying."
Setting down his tools, Ol?rin broke off a chunk of wood from inside the tree. He quickly removed as much bark and splinters as he could before presenting it to Aramus.
"Bite down on this," he said. "It's not going to be pleasant."
"Wait," Aramus said, turning his head away from the stick. "I want to keep the tooth."
"What? Why?"
"It's the first time I've ever really been injured. Think of it as a souvenir, so that I don't forget what it was like because I don't intend to get injured again."
'A small taste of human suffering,' Ol?rin thought. He nodded and, satisfied with his promise, Aramus bit down on the lump of wood. Ol?rin could see a small amount of fear building in the young man in the way his chest rose and fell tersely. His fingers dug into the moss below him, revealing the soggy soil beneath the green blanket. Ol?rin knew the poultice he had made probably wouldn't have the same effect on Aramus as it would with any other mortal being, but he had to try. If the tooth hadn't dislodged on its own with the uneven clomping of the goat's gait, then it was most likely lodged into the bone, and would cause an immense amount of pain while extracting.
Ol?rin took off the makeshift bandages and ripped Aramus's shirt to reveal the wounds in his shoulder; eight punctures (four on the front and four on the back of his shoulder) and a long straight laceration from a sword that reached from one end of his collar bone to the other. The laceration looked superficial enough, but the puncture wounds resembled the mouth of some dark cave. It was clear which wound had the offending tooth lodged in it, because there was only one of those caves still oozing black blood. Surprisingly, the rest of his injuries had already started to close of their own accord. Ol?rin suspected Aramus's ability to heal may have more to do with his heritage than anything else.
"Okay?" Ol?rin asked, scooping a glob of green pulp in his fingers.
Aramus took a deep breath and nodded. Ol?rin smeared the paste over all of wounds and heard the young man grunt in pain. He'd had this pulp on an injury before and knew that it stung terribly. But it was nothing compared to what Aramus was about to feel. Taking one hand and placing it firmly on the centre of Aramus's chest, to hold him steady, Ol?rin raised his other hand over the young man's shoulder.
Fingers spread wide, Ol?rin began to chant. His words whispered around the forest, like the rustle of autumn leaves as they were disturbed by some small creature passing through them. Over and over again he chanted until all his words muddled into one long stream of vowels and constants. Ol?rin could feel Aramus's powerful chest muscles tense under his hand and his breathing quicken. He could feel a heat rise up inside the young man as the pain grew worse.
Ol?rin visualised the tooth and willed it to come out, to follow the same path that it had entered, and to do it quickly. But the tooth was stuck, and would require more force. Ol?rin's chanting became louder and Aramus groaned against the pain. He writhed beneath the old man's touch, and his face contorted into an expression of pure agony. Aramus's feet pushed against the forest floor the louder Ol?rin became, and he struggled to keep him still. He arched his back and his wings flailed, surrounding them both in a tornado of fallen leaves and dirt.
Finally, Ol?rin began to shout his commands to the object inside of Aramus's shoulder and it began to move. Bit by bit, the tooth wiggled inside Aramus's bone. He let out a scream of pain just as it burst out of him and into Ol?rin's outstretched hand. Then it was over and Aramus collapsed unconscious against the tree. All around them The Shrouded Forest had become eerily silent as its startled inhabitants had run from Aramus's screams, no longer content to just watch them cautiously.
Ol?rin crumpled into the hollowed tree next to Aramus, and examined the bloody tooth in his hand. It was as long as his fingers and incredibly sharp too, like the blade of
a knife. After a time Ol?rin slipped it into Aramus's pocket, fulfilling his request to keep the gruesome trophy, but something more peculiar caught his eye as he did.
Lying on the ground beside him was the stick Aramus had bitten down on. Ol?rin picked it up and scrutinised it carefully, his brow furrowing and his mouth pursing into a thin line. Indented into the wood was the outline of Aramus's teeth. But the impression wasn't made by sheer pressure alone, like he was expecting. Instead it appeared to have been scorched as if Aramus's teeth had turned to fire and burnt it.
The vision Goddess Edwina had shown him came flooding back to Ol?rin. He recalled the image of Aramus wielding a terrible fire, and the thousands of hands burning beneath him, begging him for mercy. Ol?rin felt sick, like a stone had landed squarely in his stomach. He knew that the son of Dantet was rising from within the handsome fa?ade of this young man, and feared it would soon take him over.
Ol?rin stared at Aramus for a long time and considered his options. 'How easy it would be to kill you now,' he thought.
