One of these Knights - 3

Candle in the Rain

Pain, persistent as dragon claws, dragged me into wakefulness.  Nausea struck instantly as I opened my eyes.   I slammed my eyes shut, but the nausea did not stop.  Fighting back a groan I offered up a quick prayer for self-healing to the Light.  The response was mercifully swift; the nausea abated and my initial agony subsided a little.  Once again I tried to open my eyes.  This time they stayed open long enough to note that the chamber in which I lay was suffused with a pale blue-green luminescence. I blinked into the soft gloom, picking out the details.  Some of the glow came from mushrooms growing along the edges of the stone walls and some from blue-green lichens.  The chamber was pleasantly cool and I did not see any red glow that might indicate a magma chamber.  That was a relief as I was quite sure the black dragon could have easily used it as a road to search for us.  I could not tell how far we had fallen, but I hoped it was halfway through the world.  Mature black dragons are deadly and few on the world could hope to defeat them in single combat.  

As I pondered my position I realized that my head was pillowed on a raised area of hard metal, the icy cold of it biting into my neck.  Turning my head, I saw Thassarian's head and chest and his right arm.  His arm had an extra angle to it and I winced.  My head was on his hip and I was lying at an angle to his body.  My legs were propped over Koltira, who was face-down on the stone floor of the cavern.  Both of the men were missing pieces of their armor.  A few more healing spells brought most of my pain somewhere into the bearable range.  I'm going to be the most amazing colors later on, I thought as I contemplated the bruises that began to show up through my torn leather armor.  The worst of the pain, though, had been emanating from my left arm, trapped under Thassarian's body.  None of my limbs appeared to be broken so I sat up slowly, rolling Thassarian over gently to free my arm.  Sitting upright between the two death knights, the cause of my pain became clear.  My arm had been cut, long jagged slashes, some shallow, some deep, ran from just below the shoulder joint halfway to my wrist.  More cuts decorated the back of my hand.  Blood, strangely dark and thick, welled slowly from the wounds.  I blinked at the injuries.  What has happened?  If I had been cut like this in a battle I would have been close to bleeding to death by now.  

Something sparkled on the periphery of my vision – a harsh blue glow unlike that coming from the fungi in the cave.  A great two-handed sword had fallen point-down and stuck several inches into the stone floor proved to be the source of the glow.  Unreadable runes, burning with uncanny coldfire, glowed along the length of the blade and a fanged death's head decorated the elaborate hilt.  A twin to that blade lay partly under Koltira's body.  Dark spatters and tendrils of dried blood marked the metal of the elf's sword.  As I watched, some of that blood was consumed by the coldfire, causing the runes to glow brighter and sending a fresh stab of pain through my wounds.  Shuddering, I gripped my arm.  The limb felt cold to my touch.  

Light protect me, I thought as I fought off a surge of panic.  The death knights do not bother to sheathe their weapons, but carry them naked across their backs.  They came loose as we fell and cut me.  Scourge-forged weapons, if they aren't poisoned, the metal itself must be deadly to the living. Once again, I prayed for healing and felt the Light's own magic ripple over me, but while my bruises and headache eased, the pain in my arm did not.  Resistant.  Figures.

Muttering softly, I dug into my supply of bandages and bound my arm.  While the fingers and hand still worked, they felt stiff and clumsy, as if I had put my arm in ice and gotten it numb.  Necromantic magic runeblades, unclean at best, my thoughts spiraled around, spiked with chagrin.  Wish I'd paid more attention to Brother Stephan and the rest when they tried to teach us about the Scourge and their dangers. Never mind, I can't waste time on self-recriminations.  

My immediate needs dealt with, I turned my attentions to my companions.  Both of them were still unconscious.  If they were breathing it was so slow I could scarcely see it.  But I felt they were still "alive".  Thassarian had a badly broken arm, while Koltira had a number of gashes and gouges on his face, head, and limbs where the armor had been torn away by rocks.  Their plate armor had mostly shielded them from the worst damage, although the missing and ruined pieces would need replacing.  

Not my problem to provide armor to Arthas's knights, but I can't just leave them here wounded.  And besides… I patted my sides and grimaced.  My own sword and long knife were gone, lost in the fall.  I can't just cut their throats.  I ran a hand through my stringy hair.  I can't.    

Abandoning my thoughts for the moment, I set about arranging the two knights into more comfortable positions on the stone floor of the cave.  Their cloaks provided decent cushions for their battered heads.  Koltira had a long knife still strapped to his hip.  "Need to borrow this," I said softly, pulling the blade free.  The pommel was shaped into a skull, with glowing blue gems for eyes.  "Ugh, death's heads on everything you wear.  Doesn't your master like variety?  What's wrong with flowers?"  Gingerly I used the knife to cut lengths of bandages and set about binding their wounds.  Their blood was thin, pale and cold.  When a small amount of Koltira's blood ran over the cuts on my left hand, the chill fire of it crawled up my arm and I gasped at the renewed pain.  

It…it's not their swords alone, but their blood!  I've… we… when we fell and then lay in a heap, we bled on each other's wounds.  Oh…  I sucked in air slowly, willing myself not to cry or scream.  Focusing on their pallid faces, my heart contracted with mingled pain and pity, so blended I could not tell one emotion from the other.  There is no hope for them and yet…  I set my jaw stubbornly.  All right, I'll do what I can, for all the good it will do.  I must be mad.  My grin was lopsided.  I'm told Arthas went mad before he became lord of the Scourge.  Mad paladins, a fine tradition.

I was unsure if calling the Light to heal them would help or harm, and so I used what bandages and healing potions I had instead.  Those at least did not care if the user was good, evil, or indifferent.  Lastly I straightened and set Thassarian's broken arm, pressing one of the long swords into service as a splint.  As soon as I set the bone's edges into place, I could feel it begin to knit under my fingers.  I should linger no longer, they will soon awake and I will be in worse trouble than I already am.  

Finished at last, I stuck Koltira's knife into my belt, rose to my feet and began to follow my nose and the scent of fresh air in hopes that it would eventually lead me to the surface.