Thomas

by Michael G. Manning

  She tried to get up, but something was wrong with her. She couldn't breathe, and her limbs refused to listen to her anymore. Slipping to the side she slid to the ground next to the dying man. Her last thought as darkness closed around her, was to thank the goddess, but she couldn't be sure if she was heard.

  ***

  Thomas came to slowly. He was lying on the ground in the dark. Dim light from the fire showed him the crumpled forms around him. Sluggishly he tried to rise, but nausea overwhelmed him and he began to retch. Feeling his skull, he found a soft mushy spot, which brought fresh waves of pain. His hand came away slick with what he thought must be blood.

  Crawling, he searched among the bodies, until at last he found her. Her nightclothes were soaked with blood, and more was pumping slowly out around the bolt in her chest. “No! No, no, no!” he moaned, as if words could reject the reality in front of him. She'll die in front of me if I don't do something. He knew there was little hope, however. If I draw the bolt, she'll bleed out. If I don't, she'll die just as surely.

  Bowing his head, he began to pray. His skills as a cleric were still small, and his spells were limited to orisons and minor blessings. Focusing his mind, he sought to connect with Delwyn more directly, to go beyond simple clerical spells to divine intervention. Please, you helped Grom. She’s dying. In the cool darkness, he got no reply, but a gentle warmth filled his mind.

  He uttered a short chant, and light began to shine from the symbol he wore around his neck. The carnage around him came to life in bright colors, pale skin and dark red blood. Islana was the only one still breathing, and he could hear a bubbling sound as her chest rose. It’s through her lung. There were no more choices, it had to come out. He only had one healing spell which should at least stop the bleeding and keep her from dying. If she survives having the bolt drawn first…

  He cast about for a few minutes until he found the crossbow and a few other bolts scattered where it had been hastily dropped. Examining the points, he was relieved to see they were leaf-heads rather than barbed.

  Islana screamed in agony, or would have, but all that came out was a gurgling wheeze. Her eyes locked onto Thomas as he tugged at something terribly painful. She felt a ripping sensation and then it was out. Briefly she saw the red shaft in his hand before he tossed it away. Bright light was pouring from something hanging at his chest and she could see a dark line of blood running from his scalp to his neck. “You need to have that looked at,” she tried to say, but her voice wouldn’t work; she was drowning.

  Thomas looked at her as she lay gaping, struggling to draw breath. Goddess please! Uttering the words, he felt her magic flowing through him, passing into Islana’s ruined lungs, and then it was gone. Straining, he waited, seconds passing like hours. The horrible gurgling had stopped, but was she breathing, or dead? Then he saw her chest slowly rise, and she began to cough, clearing the blood from her throat.

  The entry wound was still there, bloody and raw, but it was no longer seeping, so he cut strips from his tunic to bind it. Her own tunic was soaked in blood, ruined, so he cut it off and wrapped her in the blanket from her bedroll. He dragged his backpack over, searching for water to give her, when he heard new voices.

  There are more of them? Quickly slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he leaned down and slipped one arm underneath Islana’s shoulders, the other beneath her legs. Adrenaline had given him such strength that she felt light as he stood up again, but he knew it had to be illusion. Studying the foliage at the edge of their camp, he began to work his way in among the trees, leaving the open road behind.

  “Over here!” A man’s voice, loud in the quiet shadows; Thomas wasn’t nearly far enough away yet. “I found Wills, and Dougal, they’re dead!” More voices answered, but he couldn’t tell how many there were. “Light! There’s a light back there!”

  Thomas had been using his holy symbol to light the path, hoping to gain enough distance, but it had given them away now. Cursing silently, he whispered a word, and the light vanished. He found himself now in pitch darkness, and behind him the underbrush was rustling as they searched for them. It felt as if he and Islana had been swallowed by a black void, and he had no sense of movement as he walked. Step by step he kept going, branches clutching at their clothes and hair. In front of him he could see a soft light which soon resolved itself. Sarah was beckoning to him, and he passed through an endless empty space, while invisible vines and brush fell away from them.

  Eternity swelled and crashed over him in ceaseless waves, sprinkled with stars. The only sensation left was that of his legs moving, driving him onward. Dawn found him standing beside a brook, water rushing by over mossy rocks. A massive tree stood before him, one side rotten, opening into a semicircular area where the heartwood had once been.

  Not knowing what else to do, he went in, still carrying Islana, though he knew not if she was still alive. The cool air within seemed welcoming as he lay her down. He gathered moss to fashion a pillow for her head. At last he could do no more, so he lay down beside her, and sleep came for him like an old friend, stealing his pain away.

  Chapter 12

  Confession

  Grom was worried. Six days had passed since Thomas and Islana had left Port Weston. They should have returned sometime in the evening two days ago. Something was wrong. He had made his feelings known to Captain Martin, but the guard officer felt that Grom should leave such concerns for wiser heads to decide.

  The dwarf had not wound up at the temple of Delwyn in Port Weston by waiting around for ‘wiser’ heads to pull themselves out of their respective arses. He needed help however, for he had no skill at tracking. There being no experienced rangers currently at the temple, he thought of Delia. Not only did she have the requisite skills, but from what he had seen and heard previously, he thought she might be willing to help.

  As it turned out his intuition was correct. Delia was already missing them both, if for different reasons. What she hadn’t known was that they were overdue to return. She agreed to travel with him immediately, indeed she would have set out then, but dusk was upon them already.

  The next morning they were ready and already heading out the gate when the captain hailed Grom, “Ho! Grom, a word if you please.” The dwarf took a deep breath. He was no longer on parole, but being in the service of the temple guard, his actions were taking him into bad territory. Technically, leaving without permission was desertion of duty. In peaceful times that merited strong disciplinary measures, if it were during a time of war the punishment was death. Not that any of that would have stopped him.

  “Yes, ser!” He waited obediently as the captain strode toward him.

  “You are on gate duty today if I’m not mistaken.” Captain Martin frowned down at him, not failing to notice the travel pack on his back, “Taking a trip, Mister Grom?”

  “No ser, I was a wee bit hungry this morning, so I thought I’d bring some extra food to the gate to keep me stomach from growlin’.” The dwarf’s face was entirely serious.

  “I’m afraid you won’t be able to perform that duty this morning. I took your concerns to Grand Master Brevis. You are to take the apprentice ranger, Delia and set out in search of Brother Thomas and Islana.” The captain glanced at Delia, tipping his cap for a moment. “You would be Miss Delia I presume?”

  Delia smiled, “Delighted to make your acquaintance captain.”

  Martin looked back at Grom, “How fortunate, I see Miss Delia is also equipped with snacks and a bedroll.”

  “The weather has been so nice I thought I’d eat lunch outside.” She was positively beaming at the captain.

  “It’s six in the morning,” replied the guard captain.

  Delia winked at him, “I woke early and had breakfast at three. You should try it sometime captain, it’s very invigorating. Perhaps we could have breakfast together one morning—say around two a.m. or so?”

  Grom intervened, “We’d best get movin’, Captain.” He nudged Delia and they headed for the gat
e once more.

  They traveled for a day and a half before they saw the vultures. They picked up their pace, as it looked like the area the birds were circling might be on the road a mile or two ahead. When they rounded a bend half a mile further on, their fears were confirmed. The bodies were bloated with gas and gave off an incredible stench. The skin of their faces was so swollen and distorted it was hard to identify them. Islana's armor and weapons lay near the remains of a cold fire.

  Delia surprised the dwarf with her lack of squeamishness. Quite the contrary, she quickly began examining the corpses. She rolled each on its the side to check for insects, opened their shirts to see what their skin looked like, and even went so far as to verify their gender. After a few minutes her poking and prodding began to make even the normally stoic dwarf ill.

  “They’ve been dead for four, maybe five days at most,” said Delia clinically. “Their limbs are loose, so their death rigors have passed, and the bloating means they’ve started to putrefy.” Delia shook one of the corpses’ arms to illustrate her point.

  “Ye can stop doin' that, if ye don't mind.” Grom was distinctly uncomfortable at the casual way she dealt with the decaying bodies. “Any idea who they were or what might've happened to them?” Left unspoken was the concern that something similar had happened to their friends.

  “I can't be absolutely sure, but at a guess, they crept into the camp at night and attacked them. Islana killed these three but was badly wounded. Then she and Thomas escaped into the brush over there...,” she pointed at the brush and scrubby trees leading into the hills.

  The dwarf gaped at her, “How'd ye get all that from three bodies?” Grom knew of rangers who might be able to read a cold camp that well, but this was more than he expected from the young woman.

  Delia pointed at the remains of the campfire, “The ashes are smudged and kicked up, but the fire was never banked, which would indicate it happened at night. Thomas couldn't possibly have fought and killed all these men, so it’s likely she did; I've seen her sparring. I almost feel sorry for them.”

  “But her gear and weapons are still here. Ye're saying she killed 'em barehanded and unarmored?” asked Grom. He was still doubtful, but what she said had made sense so far.

  The ranger nodded, “Exactly. All three of them died by that sword,” she indicated a shortsword still sticking up from one body. Walking over, she pulled it out and slid it back into the sheath at the man's waist. “See, he died from his own sword. She took it from him and then used it to kill all three; probably he was the last one.”

  Grom whistled in appreciation, “So then she and Thomas ran?”

  She shook her head negatively, “Unlikely. This fellow had his jaw broken, and he was killed with his own sword. She probably took the weapon from him, breaking his jaw in the process, killed those two and then stabbed him after he shot her.”

  “Shot her?”

  “Mm hmm—the crossbow is over there. Very likely, he shot her in the back while she was dispatching his friends, then she came back and finished the job with him.”

  “Maybe he missed, and she finished him off,” suggested Grom, still holding out hope.

  “Nope, look here.” Delia pointed at a large darkened area on the ground. She walked around it until she found what she was looking for, “Here's the quarrel. That dark spot is where she bled out. See the indentations where her knee and elbow came down?”

  Grom sat down. His face was hot, and his eyes felt strange. When he spoke, his voice sounded a bit deeper and raspier than usual, “So she died? Is that what yer sayin'? An’ what about our Thomas?”

  Delia felt a sudden pang, her own detachment had shielded her from her emotions, but seeing the stalwart dwarf on the verge of tears struck a chord within her. “I don't know Grom, but I don't think she died here. Someone took her body away, probably Thomas himself. He drew the shaft and then carried her off—the trail leads that way. I don't think he would have done all that if she were already dead, but...,” she left her statement open as the scene in front of her blurred.

  It took them a few minutes to collect themselves, and then they started into the brush, following a cold trail. Delia's tracking skills were good, but she doubted she could have followed such an old trail if it hadn't been for all the blood. There's so much, there's no way she could have survived that.

  Grom followed her as closely as he could, but his short legs and heavy armor slowed them considerably. The farther they went, the more a sense of urgency built in her.

  “I'm going ahead,” Delia informed him. “I'll blaze the trail for you to follow.” She pulled out a small hatchet to mark the trees and began moving more quickly.

  Grom cursed and swore as he tried to keep up, but it was no use. The ranger broke into a graceful sort of lope, and he was left far behind within minutes. I'm comin' Thomas, don't give up! Don't let her die on us. It was uncommon for him to pray. Generally, he felt it wasn't worth the time if you didn't have something important to say, but this fit his definition. I know ye saved me once already, but this ain't fer me. Keep them safe an’ I'm yer dwarf, if I wasn't already.

  Delia ran nimbly through the trees, moving like a ghost across the landscape. She was at home again, but it gave her no joy. With catlike grace, she moved effortlessly on, pushing herself ever faster, until she found it difficult to keep following the trail. Her hair was streaming behind her as she ducked low limbs and leapt over rotting logs. She stopped abruptly. I've lost it. Damnitt! She swore and began to backtrack, cursing herself for losing time with her excessive haste. Then she heard something, was that a voice?

  Crouching low, she began slowly stalking toward the sound. There. A huge tree rose before her, the sound of soft voices was coming from the other side. She got closer, easing around one side, cautious lest she give herself away.

  Seconds later she was sure it was them, and she started to rise from her hiding place. She was within ten yards now, but something stopped her. Did she say Delia? Curiosity got the better of her, and she held herself still, straining to hear.

  Islana lay on the ground, cushioned by a large mound of moss and leaves. Her face was ashen, but there was no evidence of blood. Thomas sat close by, his robe in tatters, partly from his nighttime journey through the wood, and partly because he'd been cutting rags and bandages from the hem. A small pot was close by, and he brought a wet rag from it as Delia watched, using it to cool Islana's forehead.

  “You have to tell her,” Islana’s voice was soft, barely audible, and it had an airy wheeze to it.

  “Of course, I will. Islana you need to rest, you're wearing yourself out,” Thomas replied. He looked bad. He still had dried blood on his face and looked as though he'd been badly beaten, purple and yellow bruises adorned his cheek and arms.

  Islana ignored his suggestion, “I'm dying Thomas, I don't need rest. There's no point in dragging it out. I'd rather use what time I have to talk. There are too many things I haven't said yet.” The words came slowly; she had to work to get enough air out for each phrase.

  “Ok fine, but don't waste your breath, you're repeating yourself. And you are not dying,” said Thomas.

  “Tell Delia I'm sorry. I shouldn't have kissed you.”

  He snorted, “I kissed you. You have a fever, you're not making sense. Why would she care about that?” Even fatigue couldn't hide his surprise, though.

  “Don't lie, please. It doesn't suit you. I know about it already, she gave me a choice—but I was too scared. I let her...”

  Delia was shocked, the woman was dying, next to the man she wanted, and she was feeling guilty because she thought Delia had some sort of claim on him. The very idea was foreign to her concept of human relations. If he kissed her, why didn't she take what was offered? It was difficult to name all the emotions that washed over her. Pity and sadness, those were easy to recognize; anger too, that Islana seemed unable to take what had been offered; and jealousy. She herself had been rejected. Well sort of rejected. Obviously, Tho
mas' response to her seduction hadn't been entirely negative.

  The ranger became so engrossed in her thoughts, she didn't notice the bear until it was very close. She caught the sound of it snuffling as it drew close to where her friends lay. For a second, she was relieved, it was upwind from her hiding spot, and if she stayed quiet, it would probably pass on without noticing her presence. That wasn't true of Thomas and Islana though, and it seemed to have already caught their scent. Her eyes widened as it moved out of the brush, ambling toward their shelter. Delia had never seen a larger bear. It was a huge boar, all brown fur and rippling muscle, easily twelve hundred pounds or more.

  It might not have been a danger, if it wasn't hungry, but that didn't seem to be the case. She could see its excitement, ears perking up as it approached an easy meal. Thomas had seen it now; he was standing, scimitar in hand. He seemed calm, bravely standing his ground, but she could see him swaying. He can barely stand, much less run, thought the ranger.

  In her mind, she could recall Master Timon’s advice to her once, “The last thing a fool does, is loose an arrow at a grizzly. Don't do it, not unless you're standing on a castle wall, and even then, think it over carefully.”

  She was going to run. The bear could have them; nothing was worth being eaten. In her mind, Delia could see herself preparing to take flight. Only a fool would take on such a huge bear in its own domain.

  Her body however, had other things in mind. She watched her hands stringing her bow, the task sure and graceful from long practice. She nocked an arrow and drew in a long smooth motion as she stood. So silent had been her draw, that the bear was still unaware, though she stood only twenty feet behind it. The strain on the bow grew as she drew the arrow to its full extension. Softly she exhaled, and when her lungs were empty, she released the string.