Race for the Dory

Lontel winced as he watched Davlena gently ease his extra pair of pants over her chafed legs. She tried to do so bravely, but couldn’t help groaning. "Are you sure all of this is just from riding?" she asked accusingly.

"Yes," Lontel said. "Oberon didn’t do anything to you, and I couldn’t have even had I wanted. You don’t have the, uh, necessary equipment."

Davlena laughed. "I have it, but as I told you before, it isn’t there to be taken by everyone who is stronger than I am." After another struggle, she had on the pants. Using Lontel’s snare she tightened them at the waist so they wouldn’t slip off every time she stood. Lontel stared longingly at her bare chest and pulled off his shirt.

"You had best wear this also," he said. "I want to be able to look you in the eyes when we talk." Davlena looked at him questioningly, but took the shirt. "Women’s breasts tend to make men want to… We associate women’s nakedness with…" Lontel blushed and looked away as Davlena slipped into the shirt. After she was fully clothed, Lontel sighed and changed the subject.

"Does the stallion know you?" he asked.

"Of course," Davlena answered. "Wingfoot was my brother’s. When the lemonyx overran us in the desert, my brother put me on him and sent us north hoping speed would enable us to outrun Oberon." She paused and wiped away the tears staining her cheeks as she remembered her lost sibling. She sniffed and continued, "In the mountains we were captured by a large band of men. I was sold to Titarnaes. No doubt Oberon found Wingfoot while trailing us and either purchased or took him. He had to use strong magic to keep the horse in his control, but he doesn’t mind because he knows anything elven he controls weakens us and strengthens him in the end."

Lontel began to yawn, covered his mouth, and said, "Excuse me." It was then that Davlena saw the bandage on his arm. She touched it, and pain lanced through Lontel. He quickly jerked away.

"What happened?" Davlena asked.

"Would you believe a goblin bit me?" Lontel laughed. Davlena didn’t return his humor. She sat him down and gently unwrapped the bloodstained cloth. His forearm was swollen, red, and hot with infection. She studied it carefully, then looked into Lontel’s face and saw beads of perspiration running down his nose as he steeled himself against the pain of her soft probing.

"We have to do something about his right away," she said. Before Lontel could protest, she had Wingfoot saddled. She hung Lontel’s pack on the saddlehorn then beckoned for Lontel to climb on behind her. When he was seated, Wingfoot trotted into the night. Davlena stopped only when she found a small stream with clear water flowing in it.

While Lontel worked at getting a small fire started, Davlena searched along the stream. She returned to the small fire carrying many different plants. She cut open his water bag and used it as a crude bowl to crush the leaves of the plants together until she had a thick poultice. She gave Lontel a small portion of it saying, "Eat this."

He choked it down while she heated the tip of his dirk in the fire. As he watched the dirk heat, Lontel felt himself detach from his body. He was numb and distant from everything. The fire became dancing, twirling fairies.

He watched as Davlena pulled the knife with its red-hot tip from the fire and opened each festering wound. Puss gushed from them. He felt the pain, but it wasn’t his pain. It was dull, like the pain in a dream. Davlena worked quickly, reheating the knife often. Soon his arm was a mass of running yellow puss with rivulets of red running through it. Davlena worked each wound until only red blood flowed from it. Then she chanted softly and dabbed the poultice onto Lontel’s arm. She covered it with strips of blanket she had washed in the stream.

Lontel’s eyes became heavy and soon he was asleep. Davlena covered both of them with the remains of the blanket and quickly fell asleep to the rhythm of Lontel’s steady breathing. Just before sunrise Wingfoot nudged Davlena awake. She wiped the sleep from her eyes and turned to Lontel. His hair was matted with perspiration. She felt his forehead. It was much too hot.

Her movements woke him. His forearm felt like it was on fire. Slowly he sat up and tried to focus on his surroundings. All he could make out were darker shadows against the already dark surroundings. Where was he? He didn’t remember anyplace like this. He heard a voice. It sounded vaguely familiar, but it wasn’t one of the whores he often slept with.

"Are you okay?" Davlena asked. Lontel didn’t answer, but wiped the sweat from his brow and rubbed his eyes. Gently Davlena touched his arm, and the pain wrenched a short cry from him. He knocked her hand away. He got up on wobbly legs and began stumbling around.

"Where am I?" he asked finally as he stood weaving like a drunk.

"You’re in the Central Plains with me," Davlena answered. "You have an infected arm where a goblin bit you. The infection has caused a high fever which is affecting you." Lontel stared in the direction of the voice. He blinked and rubbed his eyes. Slowly they focused on the elven woman sitting near him. In the dark he could make out very little of her features. As he studied her, his feverish mind slowly recalled the events of the past days.

He lurched to the saddle. "We have to reach the boat," he wheezed as he feebly fought the saddle. Davlena helped him with it and soon Wingfoot was carrying them across the prairie at a smooth lope.

Even with Wingfoot’s gentle stride Lontel weaved dangerously. Davlena knew the ride was more than his body could stand, but there could be no stopping. She rode behind him and tied him to her praying he would survive.

"I am a master thief!" Lontel suddenly stormed. "Let go of my arm, monster. It’s on fire! My arm is on fire! I’ll kill you Titarnaes. Any other guild master would have promoted me years ago. I am no man’s apprentice. Help an elf to become a master thief. Hah! Only a fool would do such a thing. Elves will only lead you to your death." Lontel jerked so hard he and Davlena nearly fell. Wingfoot sidestepped in mid-stride to keep them in the saddle.

"Thank you," Davlena said to the lathered horse.

"No!" Lontel screeched. "I can’t swim to shore again." Tears streamed down his face. "Take the elf. Please don’t hurt me. Please don’t hurt me. I can’t swim to shore again. I can’t…" He slumped forward weeping softly.

Davlena hugged him as she held him upright. He had endured so much and saved her from a fate worse than death, but she could do nothing to help him in his hour of need except hold him on Wingfoot as the stallion galloped to the river pounding the very life out of him.

All day they ran, stopping only twice to let the lathering Wingfoot drink and force some liquids down Lontel. Every now and then Lontel would emerge from his delirium but always he slipped back after only a few short minutes. Davlena never even had time to tell him how thankful she was or how sorry she was he was in the middle of this horrible nightmare. Wingfoot slowed his pace to a walk when night came, but he kept moving. Both he and Davlena could feel the evil of Oberon pressing ever closer.

By noon the next day, Davlena could hear the waters of the North Enil. At the same time she felt two invisible knives stabbing her in the back. She turned and saw six riders coming hard. One of them had yellow robes whipping behind him.

"Find the wind, mighty brother," she said to Wingfoot, and he broke into a dead run. Davlena looked back and saw the riders were losing ground, but not much. They would be on her before she could get Lontel into the dory and it launched. She began slapping Lontel and shaking him more than the killing run was.

"Lontel, you must awaken," she yelled frantically. He shook his head but began slipping away again. Davlena pounded her fist into him. "Lontel! Wake up! Oberon is upon us. We have to launch the boat." He lifted his rolling head and looked at her through blood red eyes. His mouth formed words, but he said nothing. He looked back at the riders chasing them.

"Cut us apart," he whispered hoarsely. Davlena sliced through the blanket holding them together and slid the dirk back into its sheath she now wore. As they reached the river, Lontel slid fell from the saddle. Davlena jumped from Wingfoot and scrambled back to help the crawling Lontel to his feet. As they stumbled to the boat, Wingfoot charged by them.

Lontel heaved the anchor into the boat and slumped against it. "Push!" Davlena screamed. "Push it into the water!" Lontel nodded and shove at the boat from his knees. It moved slowly towards the water, and Lontel fell to his face. "Get up, Lontel" Davlena cried. She grunted as she inched the boat to the water. Lontel crawled to the boat and put his shoulder into it. Behind them Oberon yelled and horses whinnied.

Wingfoot rammed into the smaller horse the wizard rode, knocking him from the saddle and sending the horse rolling. A lemonyx caught the black stallion in the shoulder with an axe blow. Scarlet flowed down his leg. He turned on his attacker and rearing clubbed the lemonyx with his flashing hooves. Another stabbed him in the side with its sword. Wingfoot wheeled around, but another hacked his haunch. The mighty stallion crumpled.

"The elf! Get the elf!" Oberon bellowed as his servants waited for him. The lemonyx galloped for the river.

Lontel felt the boat suddenly become lighter and move more easily. "Get in," he croaked. Eyeing him worriedly, Davlena did as she was told. Lontel grabbed the bow and pulled himself to his feet. He climbed into the dory and grabbed one of the oars. He grunted under the strain as he shoved them away from the bank. Once the current caught them, he secured the oars into the locks as quickly as his trembling hands could and began pulling them to the center of the river.

Hooves clattered on the riverbank gravel. Lontel looked up and saw the four surviving lemonyx urging their horses into the water. He dropped his oars and readied his sword, but by the time the nervous horses had begun swimming towards them, the current was sweeping along the dory. Davlena worked the tiller furiously and to Lontel’s amazement soon had them riding down the east fork of the river. He looked back to see their pursuers splashing out of the water onto shore where their master sat his mount. Their figures receded quickly as the swift waters carried Davlena and him down river.

Lontel slumped down into the bow of the boat and fainted. Davlena glanced back. This faster river would carry them away from Oberon more quickly and hopefully get her out of the reach of his spells before he could work up another incantation to entrap her. She cried softly thinking of the tragic end Wingfoot had met, but consoled herself knowing he had died aiding her and would never again be put under Oberon’s yoke. She looked at Lontel’s pale, hot face and wondered if he would survive. Surely he had pushed his body too far.