“I’ll scout ahead,” Tich’ki said shortly. “I’m not night-blind like you humans.”
As she flew, though, she trailed behind her a steady stream of what Kevin assumed could only be curses in her native tongue: even though the thick curtain of leaves cut off the worst of the rain, her wings were plainly still sodden enough to hamper her flying.
“Come on,” she shot back. “No laggards,”
“Such a caring, gentle friend,” Lydia muttered.
She and Kevin followed after as best they could. Naitachal, dazed and exhausted, somehow managed to keep pace with them—
But if we don’t find shelter soon, Kevin realized, he’s going to collapse—and w with him.
But just when the bardling had decided they must have died and been condemned to an eternity of dark and wet and endless, thorny paths, Tich’ki came fluttering back. She landed on Lydia’s shoulder, panting, wings drooping wearily. But Kevin saw her sharp little teeth flash in a grin.
“Shelter,” she crowed. “Just up ahead: a big old shell of a tree. Hurry up, you’ll see.”
She was right The oak must have been truly ancient, incredibly vast in girth and all but dead. Time and age had worn a deep hollow in the base, a natural cave just big enough for two humans, one elf and a fairy to fit inside. It smelled strongly of animals and decaying wood, but it was blessedly dry and carpeted with a thick layer of crumbled leaves. Kevin, sure he was soaked to the very bone, couldn’t make up his mind whether to remove his cloak and freeze or keep the soggy thing wrapped about him and stay wet. Hopefully, he thought, the combined body warmth of four living beings would warm the tree-cave soon enough.
“Naitachal—”
The Dark Elf had fallen to his knees with a faint groan. Lydia hastily dropped to his side. “All right, I know you’re hurt. Let me see that arm.”
“In here?” Tich’ki cut in. “Thought you humans couldn't see in the dark.” She added in sudden alarm, “You’re not going to try lighting a fire?”
“In a tree? D’you think I’m mad?”
“I—No. That’s too easy a jest”
Kevin bit his lip nervously, just barely able to make out Naitachal’s crumpled form in the darkness. “I’ll try the Watchwood Melody again,” he said in sudden inspiration. “You know, the light-spell. I... think I can get it to last longer this time.”
There wasn’t much room to take the lute out of its case, let alone play it, but by squirming his way back into the tree-cave, Kevin managed to hit the proper notes and chords. He began to sing, hesitantly at first, his singing voice feeling rusty from disuse, then more strongly, secure that the storm outside would drown out the sound and praying that his small magics wouldn’t be noticeable to Carlotta.
And Bardic Magic stirred within him—The tree-cave began to glow with a feint, steady light, and Lydia nodded in satisfaction.
“Now,” she told Naitachal, “you will let me see that arm.”
The Dark Elf, eyes closed, made no move to stop her. Kevin winced at the sight of the long slash running halfway down Naitachal’s upper arm, but Lydia didn’t seem particularly worried.
“Arrow just grazed you. That arm’s going to be sore for a time, but hopefully that’ll be about the worst of it.” She paused. “You aren’t hiding any other wounds, are you?”
“No.” It was a weary whisper of sound. “My cloak cook most of the damage.’’
“Ah, so it did. Look at those holes.” The woman held up a fold of black fabric and gave a soft whistle. “You were lucky, my friend.”
Naitachal winced. “Another was not,” he murmured faintly.
“Ah. Well. I—uh—don’t think Eliathanis would begrudge us a chance to take care of the living before the— before we—’’
“Before we mourn the dead. Lydia, do what you think necessary to this slash, then let me rest”
She blinked at his suddenly cold tone. “Sure.” The woman hunted through the pouches hanging from her belt
