Belly of the Beast Warren Thomas (e novels for free .txt) 📖

much spellcasting, and the effects of self-healing, and that she’d be all right soon enough.

            “I’m puzzled,” Quinn said during their first rest stop. “I thought only mages could heal battle wounds. I have always been told, by witches no less, that they could only heal the most common of injuries, and that anything flesh wounds was beyond Witchcraft.”

            Joelle nodded agreement, but Armin spoke for her.

            “What you say is true, Quinn. But Joelle is a Gifted One among our people,” he said, eyes shining with pride. “A very few Vikon are blessed by our Goddess, Blessed Maag. They are given special Gifts, and Joelle’s Goddess-given Gift is Healing Magic. She’s fully as powerful as any mage in magical healing.”

            “Self-healing is a little more difficult,” she whispered. “Especially healing such a deadly wound as I received.”

            “Magic requires an expenditure of energy,” Armin said. “Life energy. Few witches need to store as much energy as needed for healing magic. It’s very difficult to find and store.”

            “That’s true. I had a very large supply of energy magically hoarded,” Joelle said. “But I decided to place healing spells on everyone in our section before the battle, and that depleted my reserves dangerously. I barely have enough for myself.”

            Tane’s hand went instinctively first to the place she had touched him, then to his own battle wound. The wound was healed over now, with bright pink flesh. He could just denote a sensation of heat under it. He could well imagine such a powerful spell draining her.

            “That was a dangerous thing to do,” Quinn said. “If I understand right, you in effect magically winded yourself just before the battle began.”

            Armin was just as grim as Quinn, if not more so. Joelle was obviously avoiding his eyes, even as she winced at Quinn’s words. Tane felt his breathing quicken. Such unselfishness! When everyone about him seemed preoccupied with themselves, Joelle reminded him that soldiers fought, and all too frequently died, for the lives and happiness of others.

            “She not only winded herself magically, but the spellcasting takes a definite toll of the wielder,” Armin added. “She was affected physically as well.”

            “Quinn’s right,” Tane said. “You shouldn’t have risked so much for us, though I for one am grateful.”

            He touched his leg wound, drawing everyone’s eyes to the pink flesh framed by torn cloth. Joelle smiled tiredly, and even Armin nodded in approval.

            “It’s wasn’t for naught,” Quinn said, well-pleased. Then he turned worried eyes on Raven, who had only regained consciousness twice, and then only long enough to vomit before passing out again. “Why hasn’t Raven recovered? Why does she seem so deathly pale?”

            “Raven took a hit on the head,” Joelle said, struggling to sit up and look the Tyrian’s way. Raven lay shivering under a blanket between Quinn and Tane. “My spell was cast to deal with open wounds. I’m too weak to cast a spell to see what’s wrong with her, and head injuries are baffling even to the most powerful wizards. It may take a priest of Sharel to heal her.”

            Tane grimaced. Everyone knew the Goddess of Healing and Medicines required stiff “donations” before She blessed anyone with Her healing touch. Or more specifically, Sharel’s priesthood demanded the payments. Still, they were cheaper than mages and more reliable, too. Tane started wondering what he could get for his sword back in Kestsax. Bearclaw was a fine blade, and siege prices might bring him a hefty sum. The army would issue him a shortsword, though he never really liked them. He noticed Quinn stealthily palm his purse, as if weighing it for possible use.

            Raven lay unmoving at his feet. It very well might be her that they take to the Temple of Sharel. Raven had a heavy purse, too, but it would take all of them pooling their purses together to pay for a priest’s help.

            Tane couldn’t help but grin. Quinn’s generous act would earn him Raven’s eternal gratitude, and most likely her playful pursuit of the half-elf would intensify into something serious. He could already hear their banter, and see a desperate Quinn trying to fight off a love-struck Raven. Then he remembered the zombie horde rolling toward them and Kestsax.

            Quinn turned his way and smiled. “Don’t be so grim, my Leltic friend. She’ll be fine. I promise.” He gave Tane a comradely pat on the shoulder.

            A thunderclap reminded them of the fast approaching army. Looking around, Tane could see refugees and the occasional mounted soldier scurrying across open fields and along the road. The approaching cloud bank was beginning to darken the daylight, giving everything an otherworldly yellowish-gray cast, like just before a terrible storm.

            Quinn swung up into his saddle before Tane handed Raven up to him. Tane took note of the gentle way the half-elf cradled her in his arms, resting her head between his shoulder and jaw so her neck wasn’t injured. He treated her with the same gentle concern Tane had seen fathers carry a cherished child. And considering how old Quinn was, Tane didn’t think that entirely an unlikely sentiment from him.

            Armin and Joelle continued to ride double, with Joelle in the saddle and Armin taking the less secure position behind her. The horse was large and strong, if not particularly fast. In fact, all three horses were draft beasts, unused to being saddled and ridden like so many palfreys. Despite that, Tane thought them holding up well.

            Armin, of course, had nothing nice to say about their prodding ways.

            Night fell before they reached Kestsax. Tane was in terrible pain from the long ride, and wanted to stop for the night. Quinn, who was ghostly pale himself, was hesitant. He agreed with Armin, that it was too dangerous. They didn’t know if the zombies needed sleep and had to bed down at night. No one wanted to take the chance, so they rode on through the huddled refugees.

            It was