Faerie Lord

Thirty-Nine

Henry thought he might be dreaming. His eyes were open, but what he was seeing wasn’t making any sense. The face staring down at him was blue, for cripe’s sake. Blue skin, blue hair, blue eyes. Behind the blue face was a blue-white sky, bleached by the relentless sun.

Henry closed his eyes and discovered there was water on his lips. It was a marvellous discovery, a truly marvellous, cheer-you-up discovery. He smiled and was still smiling as he sank into the dreamless darkness.

He woke with a start. He was still lying on the sand, but he seemed a little better. Much of the pain had gone from his arm, although his leg ached through that scary numbness. But the main thing was he felt stronger in himself, as if he’d had an energy shot. And it was night, which meant it was cooler. In fact it was so cool he shivered. He moved his head and discovered someone had lit a fire.

His energy shot ran out abruptly. (Just moving his head seemed to have done it.) He lay there, breathing heavily and staring out towards the flames.

He was lying propped against a massive boulder, which wasn’t where he fell. That meant somebody had moved him or moved the boulder and he didn’t think the boulder was so likely. Somebody moved him, then lit a fire, but left him a little way from the fire, underneath the boulder.

Henry groaned. He wasn’t sure if the groan reached his lips.

In the firelight he could see he was in a large natural hollow, protected on three sides by rocks. There was no sign of vegetation, nothing to explain where the firewood came from.

A silhouetted figure passed between him and the fire.

‘Nnnnyyyhhh,’ said Henry.

The figure returned to his field of vision as it trotted towards him. Henry blinked and the figure resolved itself into a naked boy. His skin looked jet black in the firelight.

‘Are you awake?’ the boy asked anxiously. He squatted by Henry’s side.

Who are you? Henry thought, then discovered his mouth wasn’t working properly as he asked, ‘Oooo or ooo?’

But the boy understood him somehow. ‘Lorquinianus – Lorquin. Tribe Luchti.’ He held a bulging little leather pouch under Henry’s nose. ‘Do not talk and for Charaxes’ sake do not move. Just drink.’ He placed the pouch to Henry’s lips.

Henry was expecting water, but the liquid was tart and slightly viscous. It cooled his mouth like menthol, then trickled in a cold stream down his throat. It had to be a stimulant, and a powerful one at that, for he felt his strength beginning to return at once. His breathing eased and his eyes began to focus properly. Lorquin, the boy, looked hardly more than twelve years old, small for his age and very lightly built. There was no way this youngster could have carried Henry on his own.

Despite the warning not to talk, Henry made a massive effort and said, ‘Hello, Lorquin. I’m Henry.’ Then he drank a little more of the liquid. Lorquin smelled funny, not exactly unpleasant, but a body odour that was… smoky.

‘Are you too hot?’ Lorquin asked.

Henry started to shake his head, thought better of it and simply said, ‘No.’

‘Too cold?’

‘A little.’ He smiled at the boy. Regardless of who had actually moved him, he felt grateful to this youngster.

‘I’ll find something to cover you,’ Lorquin said, ‘I don’t want to move you closer to the fire. I don’t want to move you anywhere more than I can help.’

‘Thank you,’ Henry whispered. Even though he was feeling better, he didn’t much want to be moved yet either.

‘The best thing,’ said Lorquin soberly, sounding more grown-up than he looked, ‘would be for you to get more sleep. Sleep through the night, if you can; just lie still and rest if you can’t. You have to gather up your strength – you’ll need it.’

‘Why?’ Henry asked.

‘I have to amputate your leg tomorrow,’ Lorquin said.