“I know,” Kevin murmured. “Even his eyes look funny.”
“Yeah. Fever-glazed.”
“Lydia! We’ve got to do something!”
“Got any suggestions? He denies there’s anything wrong, and he won’t even let me look at his arm.” The woman gave a wry little shrug. “It’s that damned sorcerer’s pride.”
And as the day progressed, it was surely only a sorcerer’s will that kept Naitachal going. But all at once a fallen branch twisted under the Dark Elf’s foot. As he struggled to catch his balance, his wounded arm struck against a tree trunk. With a choked cry, the Dark Elf collapsed to one knee.
“Oh hell.” Lydia tore at the makeshift bandage even as Naitachal weakly tried to fend her off. “Stop fighting me! You’re burning up with fever and—Oh hell,” she repeated helplessly, staring.
Naitachal’s dark skin hid any sign of inflammation, but the swelling around the still raw-looking gash was obvious even to the untrained Kevin.
“Wound-fever,” Lydia murmured. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“What could I say? What could you do?”
“I could have done something’. I knew the brandy wasn’t enough. Why didn’t I—”
“No. This is not your fault, Lydia.” Naitachal sighed.
“My people have somewhat more immunity to iron wounds than do the White Elves, possibly from living as close as we do to the inner Earth Dark. But such things are still perilous to us.”
“You still should have said—”
“No.” Naitachal struggled to his feet. “To stop is to die, as simply as that Come. I will keep up.”
“I doubt it.” Lydia muttered under her breath. “There’s a limit even to a sorcerer’s will.”
“I will keep up,” the Dark Elf repeated flatly.
Just then, Tich’ki came whirring back. “Strangers! A whole troop of people and wagons up ahead!”
“Wagons!” Lydia shook her head, puzzled. “Can’t be soldiers or those cursed trackers. Tich’ki—”
“I know. Find out more about them. I’m gone.”
She was back within a short time. “Forget any help from them. They’re nothing but some traveling minstrels.”
“Bah.” Lydia turned away in disgust “They’re useless.”
But Kevin, moved by a sudden wild hope, told Tich’ki, “Go on. What else can you tell us about them?”
The fairy shrugged in mid-air. “What can I say? They’re a colorful lot, and their leader’s a sharp-faced fellow with bright green eyes.”
Kevin started. It couldn’t be, could it ... ?”D-did you happen to catch his name?”
“Ber-something, I think.”
“Berak?”
“That’s it!” The fairy stared at him. “You know him?”
“In a way.” Stumbling over his words in sudden ‘eagerness. Kevin stammered, “L-listen, everyone:
Berak and his troupe is—are—friends of Master Aidan. We can hide with them for a while!”
“Look,” Lydia said shortly, “we’ve been lied to and tricked along every step of this little adventure of ours. Do you really think we can trust them?”
