Khollo had a strange sense of moving very fast in no particular direction, then, quite abruptly, the dust and dirt and boulders disappeared and there was a dizzying kaleidoscope of blue and gray and green whirling about in front of his eyes. Finally, Khollo’s head slammed into something hard and solid and everything went dark.
Chapter 58
Khollo slowly opened his eyes, wondering where he was and what had happened. He seemed to have fallen awkwardly, his arms and legs resting at strange angles.
The young Keeper stirred slightly. Immediately, his head began to pound and he experienced a series of short, stabbing pains in his right arm. Then, he remembered.
“Kanin!” Khollo shouted, suddenly wide awake. They had been falling, dirt and rock everywhere. Vertaga crossbowmen . . . some of them had managed to hit Kanin if he remembered correctly. And his arm had been broken.
Khollo rolled onto his side, propping himself up with his left arm. He was facing west across the heathland, which was covered in a scattering of loose rock and debris. There were rocks underneath Khollo too, sharp edged rocks that dug into his flesh. In the distance was a great host of soldiers, the remains of Relam’s army. Nearer to Khollo were several individual figures, scouring the heathland for something.
Khollo next became aware of slow hoofbeats, approaching from behind. Then, a startled exclamation and a rush of movement. The next moment, the hoofbeats had stopped and someone was crouching over Khollo. A young, fresh-faced somebody covered in the grime of battle.
“Khollo? Can you hear me? Say something,” Sermas urged, leaning over him.
Khollo grunted and sat up, Sermas backing away quickly. “Kanin?” he asked.
“We haven’t found him yet,” Sermas whispered. “Can you sense him? Talk to him, maybe?”
Khollo shook his head, wincing. “No, I can’t sense him.” Khollo looked back the way he had come, towards the mountain of Dun Carryl.
The peak had been rendered unrecognizable by Kanin’s efforts. The sharp cliffs that had marked the western face of the mountain were gone, replaced by a slope of rubble that rose for hundreds of feet. The canyon appeared to be totally blocked by rock and dirt.
“Kanin must be near,” Khollo croaked, surprised at how weak his voice sounded. “He . . . he carried me this far and then . . . must have thrown me clear.”
“What happened to your arm?” Sermas asked.
“Broken,” Khollo muttered, cradling it against his chest. “Help me up, will you?”
“Just a second,” Sermas muttered. He looked around, then ripped off his bracers, placing them on either side of Khollo’s injured forearm. Then, with a smooth, painful motion, the young cadet straightened Khollo’s arm and splinted it with the bracers, tying the padded armor plates tightly around each other to immobilize the broken bone. Then, Sermas stripped off his tattered cloak and fashioned a sling, which he draped around Khollo’s neck and forced his arm into.
“Better?” he asked anxiously.
Khollo nodded, breathing heavily. He reached out to Kanin again, and again felt nothing. The young Keeper stood, looking around, and his eyes fell on a regular ridge of pointed rocks just beyond the mouth of the canyon.
“No,” Khollo murmured.
He struck out for the canyon, stumbling and shambling, nearly falling every other step, Sermas shouting at him to wait for him, that he was in no shape to be up and about, that it was still dangerous. Khollo did not care. He recognized those regular, pointed shapes as the spines of a dragon. His dragon.
Sermas caught up to Khollo and pulled his left arm over his shoulders, helping him stay upright. They stumbled on, together now, slowly approaching the mound of rubble. Finally, they stood at the edge and Khollo could see what he had not been able to from a distance.
Patches of dirty green hide still shown through underneath the rocks, and a stretch of paler green extended from the pile. A wing membrane, torn in places, blood dripping from the wounds. At the base of the pile, Kanin’s snout protruded slightly, his jaws half open, his eyes closed.
“No,” Khollo murmured again, kneeling beside Kanin’s head. “Wake up Kanin,” he pleaded, tears blurring his vision. “Sermas, help me.”
Sermas knelt and shoved at the great head, prodding the dragon sharply. Khollo laid a hand along Kanin’s jaw, wondering if there was a way to check a dragon’s pulse. Then, he felt a stirring of warm air over his hand.
“He’s breathing!” Khollo cried, bending over Kanin. “Kanin, wake up!”
Kanin’s head tilted slightly, dislodging some rubble. Then, one of his green, opalescent eyes opened and gazed out at Khollo blearily.
I hurt, Kanin said quietly. Is there any chance you can dig me out of here?
Khollo bent over the great head, laughing and sobbing uncontrollably. He heard Sermas let go a whoop of delight, having seen Kanin’s open eye. The dragon’s wing moved, then part of his tail emerged from the stone and dirt. Khollo heard Sermas shouting for others to join them, to lend a hand. Soon, more and more people were arriving and lifting stones from the pile, shoveling dirt with their bare hands, piling rubble in shields to be carried away. Janis was there, and Hern, even Relam, streaked with grime, pale with exhaustion, but still helping. But through the whole process, Khollo stayed hunched over Kanin’s head, reassuring the dragon that everything would be all right, that he was unhurt, that the battle was over.
Finally, enough of the debris was shifted that Kanin was able to extricate himself from the hill. He whimpered and growled as he got to his feet and shook himself, stones and rubble cascading down to fill the
