Several of the younger men examining the pulley’s frame hopped down to race through the entrance. More people increasingly withdrew from the cliff edge to bustle around the pulley and help the recently-mended inside. A few greeted those exiting from the cloister’s main entrance to speak with priests and spellsters alike, the latter of which often had those same people scurrying off for supplies.
Not a single face was familiar.
He turned his attention to the stable entrance. Zurron stood amongst those staring at the pulley, although the look on his face was far removed from the shocked expressions of those around him.
Darshan strode to the elf’s side. Even from this new vantage point, he saw no sign of either Tirglasian prince. “Have you seen Gordon or Hamish recently?”
The man failed to answer his query, forcing Darshan to repeat himself.
“Nae since we arrived.” Zurron’s gaze barely left the pulley as he spoke. He shook his head. “I warned them. Why did they nae listen?” His dark gaze fastened onto Darshan. “Any word on the wounded?”
“Only that there are some on their way.”
“Any deaths?”
The ache in the elf’s eyes was almost enough to pull an instant ‘of course not’ from Darshan’s lips. Only in glancing away did he manage to regain his composure. “I cannot rightfully say.” Until the wounded arrived from below, all they could realistically do was hope Caitlyn’s warning had been soon enough to limit the chance.
The wait for those from below went by swiftly enough. The massive Tirglasian cart horses trotted through the gate, each one heaving and dark with sweat. Behind them, several makeshift litters dragged along the cobblestones. Other, more mobile, wounded persons sat atop the horses, some clinging to the riders to keep from falling.
Darshan hastened to lend a hand in the dismounting of the latter whilst others swarmed the litters.
“I told them,” Zurron muttered, seemingly to himself, as he aided Darshan in assisting a limping woman to a nearby bench. “I bloody told them.”
Darshan knelt before the woman, laying a hand on her knee and let his magic seek out the source of her pain. Fractured tibia. That explained her rather pallid appearance. Nothing beyond his capabilities and repaired within moments.
Issuing a few precautions at the woman, he scanned the courtyard in search of others who required his help. The men who’d been dragged here were still strapped to their makeshift litters and each one had at least a single spellster tending to them. He wove through the swarms, stopping beside Caitlyn.
She was bent over a man who bled from his chest. Already, her hands were dark with his blood. Unlike most of the others, little sound came from the man.
Darshan knelt at the injured man’s side. “Can I be of assistance?” Although she seemed to be struggling, it was potentially life-threatening for a spellster to assist another in healing without warning.
“I cannae stop the flow,” she mumbled. “Goddess, there’s so much blood. I try and… there’s something deeper. I…” She shook her head. “I cannae do this, nae without me diagrams.” Withdrawing her touch, Caitlyn stared longingly at the cloister entrance. “I need to—”
“Stay put,” Darshan snapped. He laid a finger on the man’s neck. There was a pulse. Weak, but there. “He cannot wait whilst you scan your notes.” All that knowledge. It sat in books and on walls… How could they be so reliant on them? Did the priests not let their charges study enough without conferring with old pages?
“But I dinnae ken how to mend this. We do bones, skin and muscles, nae—”
Darshan grabbed her hand, keeping her palm pressed hard against the man’s shoulder. “The body knows what it needs. You only have to aid it.”
Nodding, she closed her eyes. The strain of healing swiftly lined her face.
“You must push harder.” Even without trying, a tendril of his magic had seeped into the man through the finger Darshan kept on the man’s neck. As horrific as the gash in his chest was, mending such injuries was child’s play to an adept spellster. Something had to be underneath all that to reject Caitlyn’s attempts.
“I cannae do it!” She jerked her hand back. “It’s too much. We’re nae supposed to put ourselves into the effort. The Goddess’ claim to him is stronger than I.”
“What you are jabbering about? He—”
The heartbeat under his forefinger stuttered.
Without a thought, Darshan flooded the man’s body with his magic. The man’s very being seemed to latch onto the power, feeding off it like a leech.
The force of it tore a gasp from Darshan’s lungs.
Like a line-caught fish, he fought against the pull to no avail. His only chance laid in directing the flow of magic towards the injuries. Caitlyn had repaired a few, namely the broken rib, but a lung was still punctured. Not terribly, just enough to let blood in. He focused there first.
Sweat poured down his brow, blinding him. Still, he pressed on. Something else was feeding off his magic, something that the body required more than a mere lung.
There! Fluid seeped around the man’s heart, squeezing whenever Darshan tried to wrest his power back. He probed further and found a tear in the thin membrane surrounding the organ. Nothing seemed to be the likely cause of the wound.
He directed the fluid back through the tear to dissipate elsewhere. His head spun with the effort.
Sealing the membrane was a far easier task and done in an instant. And yet, the heart refused to stay at a reassuring rhythm. Don’t you dare die on me now. But what else could he do? What had the healing professors said on this?
There’d been that one case… It had been years ago. The old lectures little more than a wisp of a memory.
“Everyone stay back!” Darshan screamed. He crossed his hands atop the man’s chest. A tendril of lightning, barely more
