something that ran counter to his current mission. On the other hand, if Idalia ever found out that Kellen had let Jermayan take the blow meant for him, and then let him die afterward when he could have saved him, he knew she'd kill him. Twice.
He quickly stripped off Jermayan's surcoat, trying to be as gentle as possible. The armor followed, though it was like trying to peel a crawfish out of its shell. At least he could see the pieces of the armor and their fastenings, which was more than he could do when he was taking off his own. Then he lifted the padded undertunic to get a look at the wound. He bit down hard on a pang of nausea as he discovered he had to pull the undertunic out of Jermayan's side: the Centaur's mace had been spiked; there were deep punctures in the flesh, and Kellen suspected broken ribs besides. A serious wound, but not as bad as the gash in the surcoat had suggested. One of the spikes must have caught in the fabric and torn it.
I can't cast a circle on bloodstained ground. … He looked around for a clean place to cast his circle, then, as gently as possible, eased Jermayan onto his own cloak and dragged him there. The Elven Knight groaned in pain, but did not rouse to consciousness.
Since he was not as good a Wildmage as Idalia, there were things Kellen would need to cast the Healing Spell, and thanks to Idalia, he had them with him. Kellen covered Jermayan with his bloodstained surcoat for warmth, then went to Lily and rummaged through her packs, looking for knives, bandages, waterskins, and the leaves and herbs he would need.
The mule was skittish and upset, disturbed by all the blood and trying to pull away. But she was tied securely to Valdien's saddle, and Valdien— trained to war—stood steadily. Kellen was grateful; he didn't have the time to soothe her fears or try to catch her if she bolted. Jermayan needed help now, before he bled to death.
He took the jar of allheal as well. Jermayan had said it was really only useful for minor abrasions, but there was a lot of bruising involved in the wound. He wasn't sure how far he'd be able to heal Jermayan, and he wanted all the help he could get.
In a way, though, he was glad that he had something to concentrate on besides what he'd just done. If he thought about all those dead bodies—
So he wouldn't think about them.
'Can you find us somewhere to camp?' Kellen asked Shalkan as he gathered what he was going to need. 'Someplace not too near here—with water?'
He still didn't know who'd attacked them, or why—whether they were just common hill-bandits, or something more sinister—and he still didn't have the luxury of waiting around to find out. And even though they'd killed all of them, that didn't mean they didn't have friends who might come looking for them, and even tomorrow would be too soon for that.
'I'll take care of it,' the unicorn promised, trotting off.
His arms filled with supplies, Kellen hurried back to Jermayan. He took off his own armored gauntlets and drew a circle around them both with his dagger. Then he built his fire of bits of dried twigs and charcoal from his packs on a patch of earth scraped bare of leaves. When the charcoal had kindled, he sat cross-legged on the ground beside the Elf, and closed his eyes to assume the spell-trance that was so like, and yet unlike, the battle- trance.
Taking his knife he cut a few strands of Jermayan's hair, then added a bit of his own. He curled the strands into a tight lock, then touched them to the blood from Jermayan's wound, remembering what Idalia had done to heal the unicorn colt.
Cautiously, he ran his thumb along the knife blade, wincing as the flesh parted easily. Quickly, he added his own blood to the spell, and dropped the small bundle into the fire, along with the dried leaves of willow, ash, and yew for good measure, burned them along with three drops of his own blood.
Still in that dispassionate state, he closed his eyes again and gathered his own power in a knot around his heart, slowly pushing it outward until it met the physical barrier of the scribed circle with a faint sensation of resistance.
Grant me the strength to heal my friend, he promised the Powers, and I will pay the price for the healing.
It was done. Now all that was left was to await their answer and hear their price.
He opened his eyes, held in the calm, still center of the trance, to see the faintly glowing dome of his protections above them. He knew he'd done all that he could do with his Wildmagery, and that the rest was up to the Gods, so Kellen began cleaning and bandaging Jermayan's wound as well as he could, wiping the still-oozing blood away with a dampened cloth, applying allheal to the bruised flesh, making a thick linen pad to place over the ugly wound in Jermayan's side.
Kellen wasn't sure how extensive the healing would be—or if he would be granted one at all, after having killed so many men—but the one thing he was certain of was that the Wild Magic didn't look favorably on those who tried to use it as a replacement for everyday common sense.
Suddenly, as he worked, he had an abrupt sense of heatless force pressing down on him, as if giant hands, impossibly heavy, were thrusting down on his shoulders. He felt Power flow through his hands into Jermayan's flesh, and all around him the golden summer sunlight went brilliantly green, as if he'd suddenly been plunged into the
