“He’s not breathing! Shammael! He’s not breathing!!”

“Get out of the way, girl, before it’s too late!”

She remembered hearing the Healer's urgent voice as if from very far away, and she had barely even noticed the tremendous ripping, snapping sound in the background when the ‘Mighty one’ had torn a tree right out of the ground and thrown it at Taskkarr, nor the mighty bellow that had announced the minotaurs’ retreat.

Likewise, she had barely felt the pain when the old man had shoved her aside, even though he had almost grabbed her by her broken arm. There had only been numbness – a deafening, desensitising numbness that had made it hard to think and move. Part of it had been pain, admittedly, but the greatest part of it had been pure shock. She simply couldn't believe what she had just seen. It had made no sense... No sense...

This is no good. I can’t keep dwelling on it like this.

She leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes, intending to drive the bewildering thoughts, and perhaps some of the lingering numbness away with a couple of deep breaths, but quickly opened her eyes and straightened up again. The image of his ashen face had hovered just inside her eyelids, waiting for her to let her guard down.

Gods, I hate that look. So… empty. So lifeless. I can't believe it still gets to me this way... She almost shivered. Dead. I really thought he was dead. Only dead people look that empty.

She let her breath out through her nose and tapped her fingers against the side of the gently steaming cup she was holding in her hand.

But he wasn’t dead, was he, Samina? Not even Healers can heal death. Just let it go, already.

More to distract herself than anything else, she took a deep swig from the cup and let the awful taste push the numbness away for a brief moment. Then she glanced down at the man on the bed beside her.

He looked more like himself now; not quite as pale and empty anymore, thank the gods, and his thoroughly bandaged chest rose and fell rhythmically – but he still hadn’t moved, not even an eyebrow. Not since they’d gotten him back here to Shammael’s cabin, on the makeshift stretcher formerly known as the Healer’s cloak and a few, unsuspecting young birches. He’d even been stripped down, placed in the bed, healed again and bandaged up - and still nothing. Nothing at all.

Shammael had hastily and with a look of looming defeat admitted that he had done as much as he could at the moment – temporarily patched up his broken spine and ribs, mended tissue and nerves as best he could – but that there might be more severe damage to his brain. This meant that currently the Healer could not say for certain if he would wake up again. Ever.

Then he’d rushed off into the adjoining room and begun working on Taskkarr (who had been staggering and coughing blood in a most disconcerting way, but had insisted on walking all the way back on his own, announcing sluggishly that dwarves were made of sturdier stuff than manlings and elves, and that he’d suffered a lot worse than this at the hands of various demons), and had closed the door behind him.

Samina regarded the youthful, eerily still features of Judeau’s face, feeling a vague hint of nausea crawl around in her stomach, poking through the prevailing numbness. He looked kind of peaceful, as if he was merely sleeping – but without even the slightest flutter of an eyelid. She shivered and scowled menacingly at him, as if she could somehow make him wake up and apologise for causing her this discomfort, just by the fierceness of her glare.

Wake up, you hopping idiot. You damn fool. Wake up so I can smack some sense into you.

She almost jumped when a hand landed on her shoulder, but recognized the calm touch immediately – a touch that was significant because it was so rare. She looked up into Steelwing’s cool, grey eyes.

Crap, I didn’t even notice him come in.

“Has there been any change?” the tall elf asked quietly.

She looked away again, not feeling up to trying to analyse what she might glean in those carefully guarded, grey orbs.

“No, nothing.”

By force of habit, she noted the message that he wanted to send: This touch was his way of saying that he knew she was distraught, and that he didn’t want her to be. It was a touch meant to help her keep her feet on the ground and her head on her shoulders – but the slight gentleness in his voice let her know that though he didn’t 'approve' of her emotional state, he didn’t think any less of her for it.

Holding the steaming brew with her knees, she reached up and patted the long, cool fingers lightly. His hand lingered for a moment longer and then left her, having acknowledged her reassurance that she would be fine.

As the elf turned to leave again, Samina couldn’t stop herself from asking the one question that always seemed to pop up in his presence, and never seemed to get a decent answer:

“Do you care, Steelwing?”

She heard him pause and turn half way back towards her.

“Certainly. He fought well and bravely. It would be a shame to lose such a skilled warrior after such a short time.”

She nodded to herself.

“Of course.”

After only a brief silence she heard him turn around again and leave, quietly closing the door behind him. Samina let out a small sigh and wearily rubbed her brow. She still felt uncomfortably numb, but now, at least, there was the spark of frustration that she so well recognised and somehow made the world seem a little more as it should be. No matter what, Steelwing was still Steelwing – the man, the mystery.

She felt her frown turn into a smile at that thought, and a silent chuckle spilled over her lips.

“Sham... mael…?”

Her head snapped to the side, all of the numbness evaporating in an instant. Judeau was frowning, his mouth and throat working slowly as if fighting back the dryness of a long sleep. Small, hesitant tendrils of relief began to snake their way into her chest, and she barely dared to breathe for fear that she was hoping for too much in this seemingly miraculous change, but she forced herself to speak:

“…Judeau?”

He frowned deeper, then, slowly blinking, opened his eyes and turned his head slightly to focus on her. He held her with a hazy, confused gaze for a short moment before a feeble smile of recognition lit up his face.

“Samina. How are you?”

The relief finally overpowered her defences and washed in over her, for a moment almost making her forget her nausea and worry.

“How am I?” she laughed, shaking her head incredulously, “How are you, you damn… hopping… gods-cursed… son of a…”

She leaned back in her chair and let the relief wash over her in gentle waves, giggling to herself and shaking her head. He was awake, and he was all right. Nobody had had to die for her stupid mistake.

Finally, her giggles subsided and she looked down at him again. He was still watching her with a smile on his face, only now it was more the smile of a man who’s missed the point of a joke, but didn’t want to be rude and say so. It almost made her start laughing again, but she managed to rein it in.

“I’m all right, thanks to you,” she said softly. “Just a broken arm and some minor scratches. How are you feeling?”

His right hand clenched and unclenched a few times as he seemed to ponder her question, then his smile returned.

“Better. Sure, my chest hurts, my head feels kind of funny, and there’s a strange smell in here, but at least this time my arm is intact – and instead of having a dog here, licking me, there’s a woman, cursing at me.” His smile widened somewhat and he looked away from her in mock contemplation. “Maybe next time there’ll be a dog, cursing at me… orrrrr…”

Though she didn’t really understand all of what he was talking about, Samina got that part clear enough and gaped at him with an only half-joking astonished frown.

“Judeau!”

The blond man gave a short, hearty laugh that quickly turned into a groan of pain. His eyes immediately watered up and he clutched his own chest tightly, gasping for air. Samina put her cup on the nearby table, shaking her head, and walked over to the open fireplace and the small cauldron that hung over the smouldering embers.

“You hopping fool,” she murmured quietly, filling a second cup with the opaque potion.

“I’m sorry,” he wheezed when she returned, still with a smile – albeit a strained one – on his face. “Pain seems to bring out the silliness in me.”

“Well, that’s one way of dealing with it, I suppose,” she replied, holding the cup out for him. “Here, Shammael said to have you drink some of this, if you woke up. It’ll help you heal and dull the pain. Tastes awful, though, so be careful.”

Judeau gave the steaming cup a very suspicious glance.

“Uh – huh... say, do you know if he’s put any... um… ‘Heart’s Rest’ in there?”

“What?” She cocked her head to the side and frowned at him. “No, of course not, why would he do that?”

“Ah, no. Nothing. I just… he did that before, so… uh, help me sit up, would you? It’s kind of hard to drink when you’re laying down…”

“Yeah, sure.” As she helped him slowly ease into a sitting position, propping him up with his pillow and a spare blanket, she thought his last statement over a few times, but still couldn’t get it to make sense.

“Say, Judeau,” she prodded hesitantly, frowning in confusion, “How funny does your head feel? I mean, why would a Healer like Mr. Shammael try to poison you?”

The blond man carefully leaned back, panting and almost sweating with the effort of keeping his pain at bay. He gave her an equally confused glance.

“What?”

Samina retrieved his cup from the table and handed it to him. “Heart’s Rest is a deadly poison. Why would Mr. Shammael even know about such a drug, much less try to use it on anyone?”

“It’s only a poison,” a deep, raspy voice wheezed from the other end of the room, “If you don’t know the right dosage.”

The old Healer carefully closed the door to the adjoining room behind him and staggered over to the open fireplace, where he leaned himself heavily against the mantelpiece. He wiped the sweat from his unhealthily grey face with one big, trembling hand.

“Heart’s Rest,” he mumbled hoarsely, as if reciting something to himself. “Only as much as would fit under your nail, mixed into a warm drink, and your heart will no longer remember painful things. A pinch, mixed into a warm drink, and your heart will forget all strong emotion. Two pinches, mixed into a warm drink, and you will forget all emotion. Three pinches or more is lethal, as it will take away all will or purpose to live, and make heartbeat and breathing stop.”

“Shammael?” the still weak-voiced Judeau tentatively asked, “Are you all right?”

The Healer turned an ashen face towards the two of them and a wan smile made the wrinkles gather around his eyes. He looked very old, and very frail.

“Ah, you’re awake, boy. Good. Good, good. Had me worried there, for a minute.” The old man leaned back against the wall and slowly slid down to a sitting position. “I’m just a little tired, that’s all,” he mumbled, closing his eyes. “Too many broken bones, too much pain… too much… too much in one day.”

Samina rose, put her cup away again and hesitantly walked over to Shammael. She knelt down in front of him and studied his pale face worriedly.

“You look awful, Mr. Shammael. Will you be okay? Is there anything I can help you with?”

The old Healer opened his eyes again and frowned sternly at her.

“The only thing I want you to do, Miss, is to sit still and drink my potion. I am old, you know, not helpless. I’m just a little tired right now, but if I can get a quick rest then I’ll be able to heal you all up properly, and get your damn dwarves their curse-remedy.”

She gave him a lopsided smile in reply to his defensive aggression and stood up, offering him her hand. “Then I suggest you give yourself that quick rest, Sir.”

He huffed at her, but took her offered hand anyway. As he began pulling himself to his feet, Samina leaned forward and whispered quietly:

“Or a long rest, for that matter. You’ve done enough for one day, wouldn’t you say?”

He said nothing, but she felt him give her hand a quick, grateful squeeze before he let it go again.

“The dwarf will be okay,” he said as he walked past her towards Judeau’s bed. “It’s godsdamned unbelievable how much damage those little squats can take before they actually die. So cursedly stubborn! He’s got broken ribs, fractured head and spine, internal bleeding… bruises the size of bloody horses’ heads!” Shaking his head, Shammael sat down heavily in the chair next to the bed and picked up one of Judeau’s hands, pinching the skin on its back. “Can you feel this, boy?” Judeau nodded, flexing his fingers, and the Healer gave him a grunt of satisfaction before continuing his rambling, reaching for the blond man’s other hand:

“I’ve patched him up as much as I could, enough to keep him from dying right off, but a human would still be at least drifting in and out of consciousness… but that stunted little grunt… guess what he’s doing?” Shammael paused again, letting Judeau reassure him that this hand worked as well. Scooting his chair over to the foot end of the bed, the Healer growled on:

“He’s raving on and on about getting his beard back – he even tried to keep me from healing him until I’d started on the remedy! And he keeps yakking about how ‘pathetic’ and ‘frail’ humans are… I swear, if he comes out to check on me, to make sure I’ve started on the remedy, I will tie him to the gods-cursed bed! I’ll slip him a damn paralysing drug if I have to!”

Grinning to herself, Samina nodded and leaned back against the wall.

“That might not be such a bad idea…” She chuckled.

“Move your feet,” Shammael grunted to Judeau, who obediently wiggled his now-exposed toes. The blond man then politely tried to call the Healer’s attention,

“Shammael…”

“Can you feel this?” the Healer interrupted him, poking the sole of his left foot.

“Eh… yes… but, Shammael…”

“How ‘bout this?”

“Yes, fine,” the blond man answered, growing impatient. “But I need to know…”

“This?”

“Shammael! Listen to me!” The sternness of Judeau’s voice startled even Samina, and a surprised silence settled over the room. Judeau made a brief grimace of pain from the effort of shouting, but locked the old Healer’s eyes with a very serious gaze. “I need to know. Please. Who is hurt? Did anyone… are everyone alive?”

Shammael frowned and nodded slowly.

“The dwarf with the nasty attitude, Taskar or whatever, got himself pounded quite badly – He’s the one I was talking about: the one who’s doing a lot better than he should. The girl here got her arm smashed, but nothing more serious, and the other two are just fine. You’re the one we’ve had reason to worry about, boy.” Then the wrinkles in his leathery old face smoothed out and a slightly strained, awkward grin found its way onto his lips. “But now that it seems like you weren’t too messed up, either, I can finally take a break. You’re wearing this old man out, boy, getting pulped left and right… Can’t I take my eyes off of you for one second?”

Judeau had relaxed back against the wall when he’d heard that nobody had been more seriously injured than himself, and he smiled amiably at Shammael’s weak attempt at a joke. But Samina couldn’t help noticing that the blond man purposely avoided all eye contact. There was a shade of something else, something darker, underneath that easy smile of his, but she couldn’t properly identify it. She frowned inwardly, but said nothing.

Shammael slapped his big, rough hands down on his own knees and heaved an exhausted sigh, which was only slightly theatrical.

“Well, then. Since both my beds are busy, I’m thinking that nobody would mind if I slept a little in one of your tents – then, tomorrow, I’ll be able to patch you all up properly.”

He rose and turned, coming face to face with Samina, and the bounty hunter was honestly surprised to see a look of embarrassed regret on the Healer’s face. He stopped and uncertainly scratched the back of his neck.

“Of course we don’t mind,” Samina said, guessing that his hesitation was about using their tents without proper authorisation. “It’s only fair for us to let you use our beds, when we are occupying yours.”

“Mh-yeah… thanks,” he mumbled – somehow managing to make his voice sound harsh and grumpy, despite the look in his eyes. “Though… I’m… I’m sorry, girl, that I can’t heal you right now. I’m all worn out, and bones are one of the absolutely hardest things to fix. You’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”

“Oh… Well, that’s no problem at all, I assure you.” She smiled at him and patted the useless, splintered limb where it hung, tightly tied across her chest. “It’s just a broken arm. The guys needed your help a lot more than I did, so I don’t blame you for letting me wait.”

Shammael grunted and studied the bandage.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, hesitantly. Samina’s smile widened reassuringly.

“It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

The old Healer nodded, gave another slightly displeased grunt and walked away. Before he went out the door, he stopped again and turned back to them.

“Drink plenty of that potion, you hear? It’ll make my job so much easier in the morning.”

Samina tossed off a quick salute with her good hand, and Judeau nodded weakly. Seeming to be satisfied with that, the Healer departed.

Samina retrieved her cup and sat down again, and the two humans drank in contemplative silence for a while, until the scar-faced woman turned back towards Judeau again, a small but serious frown on her face.

“Judeau, there’s one thing I want to ask you… Just what were you thinking, back there?”

He glanced up at her in confusion. “Huh?”

“I mean… You almost got yourself killed, trying to save me. Just… why?” Not giving him a chance to speak, she continued, counting off the fingers on her good hand: “You know what they say: One time is no time; two times is a habit; three times, and you’re in a rut. You’re already up to ‘habit’, mister – even if you were very confused the first time. It counts.”

“Okay, hang on…” he interrupted, holding up a stalling hand. “Let me get this straight… you have a problem with me… saving you? Because… it seems like you’ve developed a habit of telling me not to do that…”

She sighed and frowned in annoyance at him. “No. I don’t have a problem with being saved. I’m having a problem with the way you keep recklessly risking your life. I’m beginning to worry about you… I mean, do you have a death wish or something?”

He sent her a very clear-headed gaze.

“No. Do you?”

“What? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“'Don’t save me'…?”

She sighed again and leaned back in her chair.

“Judeau, what I mean is: ‘Don’t save me – at the cost of your own life.’ If you want to parry for me, watch my back, or take my enemies down for me, that’s fine. Just do not take a hit that was meant for me. If I am not fast enough, or too clumsy, or make some silly mistake, or in any other way am not good enough to defend myself – then I deserve to get hit! But if you are good enough to not only fend for yourself, but also notice and intervene in my case, then you are far too good to lose – Especially in place of the one who messed up.” She looked back at him. “You understand?”

He regarded her with a very thoughtful expression on his face, tilting his head slightly to the side.

“But when you’re members of the same team, you’re supposed to look out for each other, right?”

“Sure.” She nodded. “But you’re also supposed to look out for yourself. You won’t be of much help to anyone if you’re dead, now, would you?”

“But if you died,” he said, still giving her that disconcertingly clear-headed look, “…That would be different?”

Samina let out a frustrated huff. “But listen to me, will you? If I mess up, then I deserve the consequences for that failure. My failure is not something that you, or anyone else but me, should pay for! My life is worth exactly as much as yours, but if I mess up, and you are good enough to intervene, your skills and your life would be the greater loss – it’s all about economics! Let me try to make that even clearer: Don’t. Die. For. A. Mistake. I’ve. Made.” She leaned back again with a sigh and looked away. “Or just call it an honour thing if you will – Like the dwarves, I have always paid my own debts, and I’ve always paid for my own mistakes.” After studying the contents of her cup for a moment, she silently added: “And I don’t want to owe anyone anything. Especially not something as big as that.”

After a moment of silence, Judeau took another sip of his brew.

“I understand,” he said, then heaved a small, indifferent sigh. “If it makes you feel any better, the mistake back there was mine, anyway.”

She glanced over at him. “…What?”

He met her eyes with one of his easy smiles, raising his cup in a small, light-hearted toast.

“I miscalculated. I intended to push you out of the way, join you on the ground, and have Steelwing kill the minotaurs for us.” He took another sip and gave a very slight and careful shrug. “Well… two out of three… but that beast was just a little bit too fast for my calculations. Monsters of that size are not supposed to be so agile.”

Another gentle wave of relief slowly washed over her, gracefully wafting away any remaining discomfort and numbness, and Samina gladly let the feeling settle into a smile on her face.

“Yes,” she mused, relaxing back against the chair, “Minotaurs are exceptional creatures. We are lucky that there are so few of them, and that they keep so much to themselves – I wouldn’t want to know what kind of havoc an army of those beasts could wreck on the world.” She let out a small sigh of relief and toasted Judeau back. “Well, I must admit, it feels good to know that it wasn’t my fault that you got hurt, after all.”

“Nope,” he agreed, mock pride filling his voice. “I got hurt by my very own stupidity, all by myself.”

She couldn’t help but snicker, and his smile widened. She held her cup out to him and he clanked his own against it.

“I’ll drink to that. To your health, fumblefoot!”

“And yours, dwarfling.”

“We’ll need it.”

At that point, Thirgynn stepped out of the adjoining room, followed by Taskkarr’s harsh voice shouting something in dwarfish. The miracle-worker turned back towards the commanding voice and nodded patiently.

“Yes, yes, I will ask him. Now lie back and let the healing herbs do their work. I will take it from here – trust me.”

Taskkarr made a long, displeased sound but delivered no more arguments, and Thirgynn quietly shut the door behind himself.

“Ah,” the miracle-worker said as he noticed the two humans, “It’s good to see you awake, Mr Judeau. I understand that your injuries were quite serious.” The dwarf strode over to the bed and gave Judeau an encouraging grin. “But you survived! Most impressive, for a human!”

The scout raised an eyebrow and gave an uncertain, lopsided smile.

“Gee, thanks…” Then his expression turned more serious, and his eyes narrowed as he studied the dwarf. “You’re not…? I mean, I saw you take an axe in the… right in the neck…”

“Oh, that.” The miracle-worker made a dismissive gesture. “I feel it, but it’s nothing, really. My Stoneskin spell sucked up most of the damage. Say, does any of you know where Mr Shammael went? I am supposed to help him get started on the remedy…”

“Shammael is resting, Thirgynn,” Samina said, giving the dwarf a very serious look. “Lay off him for a while, will you? He’s all worn out – completely spent.”

Thirgynn crossed his thick arms over his chest and frowned sulkily.

“Well, then he shouldn’t have expended precious energy on healing those minotaurs, I say. Most unwise.”

“He’s a Healer,” Samina explained patiently, “he had no choice but to save them, too. It’s his nature.”

“Well, it’s a most unwise nature, then,” Thirgynn stated matter-of-factly.

“Okay, sure,” Samina agreed with a shrug, “but he still can’t get started on the remedy, you know. With everything that happened, we never managed to get our hands on those last Dusklilies…”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you, didn’t I?” The miracle-worker slapped a big hand against his bald head and then, with a frown of concentration on his face, began rummaging through the Healer’s spare herb-bag that he’d been carrying over his shoulder the whole day – for safe-keeping. The dwarf’s frown turned into a triumphant grin, and he withdrew his big hand from the bag holding a sparse bouquet of long, white-stemmed, pale purplish-blue flowers.

“While you were all busy with building the stretcher and Taskkarr was arguing with the Healer about the minotaurs, I took the opportunity to pick them!”

Samina blinked at the beautiful, frail-looking flowers in Thirgynn’s hand, and then at the dwarf, himself.

“Well,” she said, a wide grin breaking out on her face, “I should have known… trust a dwarf to think practically!”

“No, no.” Thirgynn shook an admonishing finger at the bounty hunter. “Trust a miracle-worker to think practically. After all, even the best of dwarven warriors may forget themselves in the heat of battle, but a miracle-worker must always keep an alert mind.”

~
Judeau smiled and chatted with the woman and the dwarf for surely an hour or so, until Samina remarked that he looked tired and that they should probably let him rest. They had helped him lay down again and gone outside to, as Samina had put it, ‘Kill some food’.

He was tired. Really tired – all he wanted to do was to go asleep and not have to think for a while, but for as long as it took for the searing pain in his ribs to fade, he kept seeing Samina’s bound arm, and the mean-looking, blackish-blue bruise in the back of Thirgynn’s neck, before his eyes.

Because of me.

His left hand clenched around the demonic brand.

I shouldn’t have gone with them.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he pushed the unwelcome thoughts away, retreating into a small sphere of calm and silence. Right now he needed rest – all else could wait until later.

A faint whisper of the persistent thoughts reached him inside his concentration, bringing a small frown to his face:

My fault.

I know what I have to do.

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