He'd been hanging from the wall for eons. Time no longer held any meaning. Hours blurred into days. Days could be mere hours. He no longer had any sense to it. His entire existence pared down to remaining sane long enough to hold off Aldreth. Nay. Nay. Nay. As long as he could draw breath, it would be nay.
The word fell from his parched cracking lips like drops of water falling to the ground.
He could not be certain there was even a point anymore. Surely Shaw had taken their clan into the Shadowrood by now where darkness could no longer touch them.
Shaw knew what had to be done and would not shirk from that responsibility.
The door swung inward, grating on the rusty hinges.
Toren used what little strength he had to lift his chin and attempt to face the witch head on.
The Healer Enchantress walked in and his resolve plummeted. Charity. So his suspicions were correct. She had been working with Aldreth all along.
'Twas a cruel turn of fate.
He let his head sink forward, no longer having the will to support it.
Truth be told, he had hoped to be wrong about her. He had started to seek out her image when Aldreth’s tortures became too much. He would recall the firm determination to her lips when she proclaimed she would save him. Even though it was possibly a lie. Had been a lie. He had been a fool, letting himself take hope and solace in her when it had all been another type of torture, a wicked game Aldreth and the Healer Enchantress contrived to get him to relax his guard.
"What has she done to you?" Her traitorous hand slipped onto his chest, warm and gentle, the other at his cheek, lifting his head so she could see into his face.
Lovely eyes peered up at him, brimming with convincing concern. He faltered, the desire to believe her worry was not false was overwhelming. His heart turned to ice caged within his ribcage. Nay. He would not be fooled again.
"He's feverish." Edeen?
Toren jerked against his bindings. His muscles went rigid. Nay, his sister could not be here. His gaze flicked to the side where Edeen's beautiful image wavered, hazy and indistinct where she stood close to him beside the treacherous healer.
"Nay," he rasped. "Please nay. Do not harm her."
"Shhhh, it's going to be okay." The healer cupped his cheeks to keep his gaze locked on her. "I promise."
She promised.
His throat closed around a swelling knot.
She moved a little to the side, out of his view, her palms slipping from his face and déithe help him, he felt bereft of her touch.
Strong arms slipped around him, calloused hands at his back, bringing renewed fire to his shredded flesh where the lash tore into him. He was pulled away from the cold wall and brought into a firm strong chest and he felt himself lifted, the weight of his hanging body taken from his arms. He cried out at the sudden ease of pressure as icicles prickled across the length of his limbs.
"Soft, you," Col's voice whispered close to his ear. "We have ye now."
Col? A spasm rolled through Toren. 'Twas too much. They could not be here. They could not, but he was desperate to believe it. He let his forehead fall onto Col's shoulder. It felt so solid and real. His toes were lifted from off the stone as he was completely held aloft, the weight of his body no longer a burden on his overwrought arms.
"Can ye get the bands off or no?" Col's tone tipped with impatience, so like Col.
"I'm trying," Edeen muttered and Toren grinned despite that they were concoctions of his fevered mind. They had to be. They could not be here, risking this.
Soft phrases, powerful spell words he couldn't quite focus on stirred around his skin, dizzying whispers of a fevered mind. Edeen's words floated like pale blue runes across his vision. The bands heated around his wrists, the telltale needling of a powerful spell being unwoven.
"'Tis not working," Edeen cried. Of course she could not unbind the spell. She was not real.
The heat intensified and all at once Toren's arms released from the wall and dropped. He cried out at the abrupt pain the sudden movement on his swollen arms caused.
"The bands are still on him." Col shifted him higher in his arms and his broken ribs and shredded back protested in agony too sharp to escape his throat. The lad bore the whole of his weight, which Toren thought was fairly impressive for a conjured imagining. "Aldreth will still retain a hold on him."
"At least we’ve got him off the wall."
"Worry about those later," the enchantress voiced. "Let's just get him out of here."
Apparently they were all in agreement for Col asked, "Are ye able to walk? Toren, are ye able to walk?"
Nay, he was certain he could not, though Toren nodded in the affirmative.
Col jostled him around to his side, drawing his stiff arm across his shoulders while he felt Col's other arm slide behind his back and grab onto the ragged tartan at his hip. Toren's opposite arm lifted and a smaller softer shoulder nudged up into his armpit as the healer pressed her body to his side, cool hands against his heated chest and back as though she was ready to balance him whether he swayed forward or back.
“Oh goddess, his back,” she cried and Toren could almost believe she cared.
And then they were moving and he realized how large of a lie he had told since his legs yielded no cooperation at all and his back was on fire, the bones of his ribcage rubbing painfully at every minute movement. A red-black haze lapped at the edges of the world, ready to take him back under.
The tops of his bare feet dragged across the uneven stone floor.
"Right, then." Col bent, dragging Toren down with him until his stomach hit the lad's shoulders and his feet lifted completely off the ground.
Toren cried out in anguish, his arms and legs dangling. Nausea rushed up to meet him but he couldn’t hurl anything out past the crunching of his bones, splintering the ends of his ribs. He couldn’t breathe around the gripping pain.
"You’re hurting him worse," Edeen cried.
"Put him down. Let me heal him." The little healer, though all he could see of either lass were the bottom of their skirts swishing around Col's boots.
"Remember ye cannot. Not in here. The witch will sense it." And Col started moving.
It was one of those jostling try-to-remain-conscious-under-a-horrific-amount-of-pain ordeals that Toren wasn't quite certain he could remain awake for. Or that he even was awake for. The dark floor blurred by with the slapping of boots on stone that echoed in and out of his awareness, growing blacker and redder with each shallow breath he tried to pull unsuccessfully into his lungs until the red flooded every surface and dragged him under.
Chapter Seventeen