Between nightmares, people talked around him, tried to get him to swallow water. He saw Destarion and Varius with their heads together.
“Definitely leeches to suck out the poison,” Destarion said.
“There is a moss that grows in the forest that can be used in a poultice to help draw it out, too,” Varius replied.
Zachary was not sure if they were real or part of a dream, but he soon had nightmares of being buried in thick layers of moss, and he could not breathe. These gave way to giant, bloated leeches stuck to his body and sucking all his blood.
When he was on fire, cool, wet cloths were placed on his brow. Someone spoke to him in soothing tones, rinsed the cloth, replaced it. A familiar voice . . . Karigan? It must be a dream, and a much better one than the others.
“. . . and don’t you dare die on me,” he heard her say. “I can’t lose you, too.”
He sensed her rising to leave, and he flung his hand out and caught her wrist. “Don’t leave me.”
Her expression stricken, she eased back down beside him and took his hand in hers. “I’m not, and I won’t. I just needed to stand a minute for my back.”
“Don’t leave me,” he whispered.
Her eyes filled with tears. “I will not leave you.”
His last awareness as he slid back into darkness was of her sitting close beside him and holding his hand. This time as he slept, the hellish nightmares stayed away. A guardian seemed to keep watch over him, she in the gleaming armor of the heavens. Had he died? But when he awoke sometime later, he felt clearer, his vision steady. He made out in the flickering lantern light that he lay on a pallet in a circular chamber. Nearby, Karigan lay prone on her bedroll, breathing deeply with sleep. He was about to speak when another stepped between them and knelt beside him.
“Quietly now,” Enver said in a soft voice. “The Galadheon has only just fallen asleep and you do not want to wake her. She has been up long hours. Would you try some water?”
Zachary nodded, and found that he needed to slake a great thirst. Enver made sure he took it slowly. He asked questions between sips.
“What happened? Why am I sick?”
“The claws of the dark one that injured you were poisonous and caused corruption of the wound. Others have been likewise made ill and not all have survived.”
Zachary remembered now, having been told this.
“Destarion and Varius have done very good work,” Enver continued, “but sent for me to see if I could help.” He smiled. “The poisons of the dark ones retreat before the evaleoren of the Eletians.”
“How long . . . sick?”
“A few turns of sun and moon.”
“You mean a few days?”
Enver nodded.
Zachary tried to sit up, his head pounding, but Enver pushed him back down.
“You must rest, and not awaken the Galadheon. She has her own healing to accomplish, which has been delayed by circumstances. She insisted on coming when she heard you had been taken ill, and has been by your side almost constantly, no matter her own injuries.”
Zachary glanced at her, at her peaceful expression. “She stayed . . .”
“Yes, Firebrand, she stayed.”
He saw a flash of something in Enver’s gaze then, something feral, that coldness he had seen before. Was it jealousy?
It was a relief when Enver stepped back out. Zachary reached for Karigan’s hand, but she was not close enough. He contented himself with studying the curl of her fingers, the way her shortened hair fell across her cheek, and he fell asleep with her image in his mind, and this time it was a deep, restful slumber.
His next awakening was to a shaft of sunshine beaming through an arrowloop in the stone wall. To his pleasure, Karigan sat at the table writing, the light a nimbus glow around her, while all else in the room fell into shadow. He watched her for a while, her concentration as she dipped her pen in ink and wrote, the nib scratching on paper. After a time, she looked up and stared into space. Then, as if perceiving his gaze, she turned to him. Her expression changed entirely, rippling with emotion.
“You’re awake,” she said barely above a whisper, “thank the gods.”
Before he could speak, she sprinted across the chamber and pushed a blanket aside that hung over the doorway. “Donal, he’s awake.”
Donal replied softly, and Zachary heard footsteps on the flagstone floor hurrying away. Karigan returned and knelt awkwardly by his side.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
“Better to see you.”
She smiled tentatively. “Not half as glad as I am to see you awake. You were truly and deeply out for the last couple days, and I—we were worried.”
He could see it in her eye, and in the line that furrowed her brow. “It would take much more than a scratch from some demon to kill me.” He reached across his chest to touch his shoulder, but felt a bulging poultice instead.
“I should have known . . .” Karigan swallowed hard. “I should have known the touch of the dark ones would fester so.”
He grabbed her hand. “How could you have?”
She looked away.
“You may be Westrion’s avatar,” he said, “but that does not mean you know all there is about the spawn of the hells.” He squeezed her hand, but she continued to look away. She would be beating herself up over this for a while, he knew.
“I want to thank you for staying with me,” he told her. “It helped more than you can know.”