“Wake up, man,” Vanx said a bit louder. There was no response.
Vanx stood there a little while pondering the situation, then he bent down and picked up a small stone. He tossed it at the wizard’s stomach area. When the object hit the glowing lavender field he ducked away and covered his face. Nothing happened to the stone as it passed through the shield and landed on the wizard’s belly, but still the man didn’t stir.
Vanx didn’t want to leave him there, but saw no other choice. The others would be worried about him. He had been gone for quite a while. He doubted any harm would come to the wizard; the man seemed to be better protected than he and his companions were.
As he made his way back down the stream bed he decided that the wizard was what the Kobalts wanted him to find,
Why his thoughts had drifted to the Kobalts and their wolves from the unconscious wizard, Vanx wasn’t sure, but when his mind snapped back into place he was sure he had been affected by magic.
The magical dome’s shielding properties were more than they seemed, he guessed. It was a truly potent protection that not only shielded the physical body, but also misdirected the thoughts of those who came near so they would forget what they had seen altogether.
“HALT!” Trevin’s voice split the night, causing Vanx to drop into a defensive crouch. “Who is it?” he asked the darkness. “Vanx, is it you?”
If the situation were less dire, and the tension of knowing they were at the mercy of the Kobalts wasn’t weighing on him, Vanx might have had some sport with the young soldier. He could easily sneak around and creep up to tap him on the shoulder. As it was, Trevin was at the limits of his sanity with worry over Gallarael and the need to get her to Dyntalla.
“Don’t put an arrow in me, Trev,” Vanx called ahead. “I have far too much to tell you.”
“By the gods, Vanx,” Trevin sighed with relief. “You scared me. I expected you to return a while ago. We thought you were lost.”
“I found the owner of that pack and what’s left of his companions.” Vanx eased into view.
“What? Companions? Never mind that.” Trevin’s tone grew serious as his gaze finally found Vanx coming up the creek bed. “Gallarael’s fever has returned. I think it’s worse than before. We need more of your remedy. I–I-” His voice cracked and faltered, and Vanx could clearly see the tears pooling in his eyes. “I don’t know what to do, Vanx. What do we do?”
“I wish I knew,” Vanx mumbled under his breath. What he said out loud was, “Come, let’s have a look at her.”
Trevin was right, Gallarael’s fever was back. Vanx could tell before he even gained her side. She was brightly flushed and looked worse than she had after the initial bite, if that were possible.
Matty had Gallarael’s head cradled in her lap and a worried expression on her face. Darbon took a piece of cloth and a cup to the stream. The fire had burned down, so Trevin went about adding some deadfall while Vanx examined Gal. It didn’t look good. She was so feverish that heat radiated from her as if she were literally burning.
“We need to put her in the stream, and quickly,” Vanx proclaimed. He wasn’t sure that it would help, but he knew if her body didn’t cool down she would lose her mind or die from it.
As he and Trevin carried Gallarael to the water, Vanx decided that Gallarael’s best chance didn’t lie in Dyntalla anymore. It lay in the woods a half-mile away under a glowing shield. The wizard, if he was revivable, was obviously somewhat powerful. The kind of components in his pack and the complexity of the shield he had constructed around himself attested to his capabilities. Most wizards knew herb lore and throughout the history of the kingdoms they’d often served their lords as healers during battle. At least that’s what Vanx had been taught in the history books he’d read.
Gallarael was laid by the stream, instead of carried out into it. “We can’t just dunk her,” Vanx explained. “The shock of hot to cold could do more harm than good. Use the rags and the extra blankets to cool her off slowly.” He stood and looked up at the sky. The moon was behind the clouds, but he could tell that it was already sinking below the mountains. Dawn would be upon them soon.
Darbon watched helplessly, still clutching the cupful of water he’d come to fetch. Vanx saw him and was suddenly struck with an idea.
“Come on, Darby,” he said with a trace of hope in his voice. “And bring the cup with you.”
“Where are we going? How will we see?” the young apprentice asked as Vanx stalked upstream into the night. “It’s dark as pitch out here.”
“We’re going to fetch a wizard. Just follow me closely,” Vanx ordered. Then back over his shoulder he added, “And don’t spill the water from that cup.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
They hunt gray bears and ogres
and they kill them with bare hands.
You’d be better to slap the kings own face
than to cross a Highlake man.
A Highlake Mountain Man.
“They went into the Wildwood,” Kavin Karcher, a mountain of a man who was also known as Bear Fang, said with no emotion showing on his overly hairy face. He was a head taller than most men and smelled wild, like a boar or an ox. His hair and beard were unkempt and his dark eyes were as hard as iron. He wore clothes made of elk hide and shin-high lace-up boots. Beside the long dagger at his hip hung a one-handed crossbow, and his thick walking stick looked like it could easily be used as a club.
“No need to follow them in there,” Commander Aldean said with a sigh of regret. “No one has ever survived the Wildwood and lived to tell of it.”
“We’re talking about my daughter,” Duke Martin barked. “I don’t care if they walked into a dragon’s mouth. We will follow them until we find her.”
Since Duke Martin learned that Gallarael was among the caravan members he’d insisted on personally conducting the search for her.
“Duke Martin, I understand and respect your persistence, but it’s more likely that Gallarael is in the group the others are tracking.” Aldean let out a sigh to cover his unease. “Why would she travel away from civilization?” He looked to Coll, the duke’s dark-haired, black-clad advisor for support. The strange man seemed to be somewhere else in his mind and was no help.
“If your blood is too yellow to come with us, Commander, then you can return to the ambush site and wait on the others.” The duke glared at his one-time most trusted friend with contempt in his eyes. “Master Coll, Commander Karcher and I can continue just fine without you.”
The placing of his title before the treacherous trapper’s name wasn’t lost on Aldean, and what Coll was the master of, he had no idea.
Aldean was no coward, but to traipse off into the Wildwood following a trail that was probably made by escaped slaves or wounded haulers was suicidal.
“The two of them’s got boots on that were issued from your armory. Soldiers’ boots.” Bear Fang gave a
