She gathered herself and leapt. As she flew toward her brother she glanced into the pass in time to see his attack slam into a massive dragon made of ice. It roared louder than the explosion, bits of its body flying in all directions.
Damien thudded into her arms.
He groaned. “Hey, sis. I think I overdid it.” Then he passed out.
She landed in the snow, turned, and sprinted toward camp. There’d be healers there. Someone could do something for him. Jen ran so fast a wake of snow rose and fell on either side of her, washing over the occasional group of soldiers she passed, their shouts and curses drowned out by the wind in her ears. She dodged the sparse trees and weary soldiers with equal indifference. Her only thought was to get Damien to the healers as fast as possible.
A couple minutes later the first tent came into view. “Hang on, little brother, we’re almost there.”
Damien gave no sign he heard her. He lay in her arms, limp and still. If not for the rise and fall of his chest she would have thought he’d died. She clenched her jaw and headed toward a sprawling white tent with a red cross on the side. Wounded soldiers in torn armor surrounded the tent. Jen shouldered her way through them.
“Hey!” A big bald man with an arm hanging limp at his side grabbed her and spun her around. “What do you think you’re doing, cutting to the front of the line?”
Jen narrowed her eyes and snarled. “Take your hand off me or you won’t need a healer.”
Whether the look in her eye or the cold tone she used, something made the wounded man take a step back and raise his good hand. The others must have noticed the altercation because when she turned around a path had opened for her to the front of the tent. Jen hurried inside.
Dozens of cots filled the inside. Healers of all sorts, both mundane and sorcerers, tended moaning, groaning, and bleeding soldiers.
The stink of blood and death almost overwhelmed her.
Six cots to her right, John Kord knelt beside a wounded woman, his hands glowing as he sealed a gash on her side.
“John!”
He turned his handsome face in her direction and his eyes went wide. John and Damien had been close when they were little and her brother mentioned they’d gotten reacquainted at the tower. He finished with the woman then ran over to them. “What happened?”
She told him as they walked over to an empty cot. Jen laid her brother down and John made a pass with one hand over his chest. He nodded to himself.
“Well?” she asked, a quiver in her voice.
John smiled. “Don’t worry, he’ll be fine. Channeling that much soul force all at once exhausted his body. It looks like he used a little of the energy he needed to maintain his life functions, which explains why he passed out. He’ll be sore as hell for a few days, but other than that I don’t expect any lasting impact.”
“How long until he wakes up?”
John shrugged. He didn’t seem at all worried, which set her mind at ease. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“Can I stay with him?”
“Sure, grab a stool. I’ve got to get back to work. Hey, when this is over we should get something to eat.”
Jen shook her head. He never failed to ask her out when they met, and no matter how many times she turned him down he kept trying, even in the middle of a war. She had to respect his persistence. “I’ll pass.”
He sighed, apparently having expected her reply. John left her alone with Damien. Jen glanced around and found a forgotten three-legged stool half hidden under a torn cot. Not ideal, but it was better than standing. She settled down beside her brother, took his hand, and closed her eyes to try to nap until he woke up.
Chapter 37
Damien hurt everywhere. From the tips of his toes to the top of his head he was one giant ache. Even his hair hurt. He and pain were old and bitter acquaintances, but for all the injuries he’d taken at The Citadel he’d never before hurt everywhere all at once. This was a new experience and he didn’t like it at all.
Around him groans of pain filled the air. It sounded like he wasn’t the only one that got hurt, though he was probably the only to sustain self-inflicted injuries. He opened his eyes and a white roof filled his vision.
The healers’ tent, of course. Somehow he always seemed to end up with the healers. He turned his attention inward and found his soul force regenerated, but his shield hadn’t recovered. He drew a little soul force and winced. How long would it hurt to use his power? He supposed it didn’t really matter. He focused through the pain and recreated his shield. When he finished drawing on his power the pain faded a little.
“Damien?”
He turned toward his sister’s voice and found her sitting beside his cot. “Did I get it?”
“You hit the dragon, but I didn’t see what happened to it. Don’t ever scare me like that again.”
Her eyes were red like she’d been crying. It was a rare thing, seeing his powerful, fierce sister with tears in her eyes. He hoped to never see it again, much less be the cause of it. “Sorry, sis. I couldn’t think what else to do.”
A cough sounded and Damien turned to see General Kord and the pale sorcerer that led the army’s sorcerers standing near the entry of the tent. Damien tried to sit up, but Jen put a hand on his chest, forcing him back into bed. “Sir?”
The pages entered a moment later carrying a pair of folding camp chairs. They set them up and the general and sorcerer sat beside his bed. “I was on the
