In Thy Name

Chapter 5 - Flower and sword

It was not dark for long; red spots swam behind his eyes, a bright light outside his eyelids. Sareb's other senses slowly returned. Something soft under his head, but hard rock under his body. Chill air on his face, not the cold of deep night, but the lighter cool just before morning. A soft, low voice mumbling words in an unfamiliar tongue, punctuated occasionally by yawns. Dull aches traveling through him in waves, and swelling in his head. He groaned, and the voice stopped.

A faint clinking sound. Sareb cracked open his eyes, quickly shut them again against the bright light. "Mage," the low voice said in Sev-Halla.

A Gladiari voice, the voice of Frostarrow, the brother of...Stormwind, who was trapped...somewhere. He had tried to save her... Had he saved her?

He didn't dare open his eyes, but Teshem should be here, he remembered; Teshem could tell him. "Ophilos," he groaned.

"Your friend is not here," Frostarrow said gently. "I sent him back to the castle."

Sareb forced himself to sit up, clutching his head. The pounding worsened, and he spat out a few choice words in Masunyi.

"You can rest," Frostarrow said. "We are faring all right here."

Sareb wished the Gladiar would stop talking; each word was a wave of pain through his head.

A hand touched his back and a voice spoke in Æs-halla. Sareb flinched away and snarled a word that would stop the spell; a rather rude word at that. Then his brain caught up. A cool spring... The start of a healing spell.

Healing? He didn't know of any Gladiar save for Teshem who would do such a thing for one such as him.

But he'd be foolish to start trusting in Frostarrow's kindness. Such a thing didn't exist among the Gladiari.

Squinting against the light, he crawled over to the wall and huddled against it, facing away from the two Gladiari, and worked his fingertips slowly backward from his temples, the way his father had taught him. He wanted to smoke, but in a cave with two strange Gladiari was hardly a good place to separate his mind from his body. Again.

The finger massage helped some, though, as did the soothing words that Frostarrow chanted-the low hum of his voice could hardly be called singing. Still, Sareb clamped his hands over his ears in feigned annoyance. Where was Teshem? Why wasn't he here?

He forced himself to stand, swaying, the pain just an echo of what it had been before, and turned toward Frostarrow. The Gladiar sat against the wall with his sister resting against his shoulder, her hair a black circle around her head, her padded shirt new and white, hardly stained by her mail. Her face looked as though she had been lost in deep sorrow just before falling asleep. Frostarrow looked up at Sareb without ceasing his dirge-like chant, his eyes as calm and distant as a clear night sky.

Sareb folded his arms and forced himself to remember. "The Forest-Born Decadarchos...went back to the castle?"

"Yes," Frostarrow said, ceasing his chant. "He could not wake you."

Sareb scowled. He didn't appreciate being left with strangers when he was unconscious-especially not Gladiari.

"He trusted me with his name," Frostarrow said softly, looking down at his sister's face and brushing some strands of hair back from it. "Or at least, a name of his. Teshem."

Sareb stared at him. Frostarrow kept his gaze on his sister's dark head, still except for a slight twitching of her lips.

"He said you were good at healing," Frostarrow continued. "He thought you might be able to help my sister."