Fuck.
I had no other choice.
Briefly propping Arken’s body up with my thigh, I lifted one hand to my mouth and bit down on the flesh of my palm, drawing blood to the surface with a single sharp incisor. Prioritizing speed over perfect accuracy, I smeared two fingertips in the blood, and with a quick gesture, tore a dark, shimmering cut into the very fabric of reality.
“Hang on tight,” I reminded her, locking my arms around her body before stepping through the rift.
The nausea hit immediately, followed by the immense, head-splitting pressure that came alongside traversing the space between the planes. I hated putting her through this, but I could handle her pain if it meant saving her life.
Even so, this was reckless, stupid of me to do—and I knew I would pay for it, one way or another. It didn’t matter. I had tosave her. With a deep breath, I located the other side of the rift and pushed us both through.
Oh thank fuck.We were just outside the gates, and nobody was within a close enough radius to have seen that ripple in reality before it dissipated.
“Rorick! Hans!” I bellowed, moving as quickly as I could without jostling Arken in my arms.
The latter came running immediately, and I was flooded with relief to see my second-in-command had arrived early to his shift tonight.
“Leshy. Northwest. It’s wounded, but not down. I just barely got her out—but she, the claws—the poison, I have to get her healed. Grab Jeremiah, Hanjae—whoever you can spare. I’ll meet you as soon as I—”
“Understood, Captain,” he cut me off before I could promise to join them. “We’ve got it covered, get the girl to a cleric.”
I nodded once, and then took off. Not to the infirmary, but to Mugworts—the closest apothecary, where I’d met with Arken earlier.
The old man behind the counter was having a quiet conversation with a customer as I burst through his doors with my bloodied companion in tow.
“Willowsbane,” I demanded, panting and out of breath. “I need a poultice with willowsbane and whatever else you have on hand for fresh wounds, now.” I could apologize for being a jackass later, but Arken was running out of time. “I also need red ivy extract in water—hot.”
“Er, yes, right—one moment,” the shopkeep stammered awkwardly, but quickly sprung into action, gathering the ingredients and heating his kettle. The other customer took one look at Arken’s gruesome wounds and quickly left the shop.
“What on Aemos happened to her?” he asked as he poured a splash of hot water over the ingredients, grinding them intoa paste. He poured what remained of the water into a mug and pushed it towards me with a dropper bottle of the extract. “Use whatever you need,” he added.
“Leshy. In the Wyldwoods.”
“Good gods! But they—they’re extinct!” the old man exclaimed.
“Not extinct. Just rare. But please, don’t be alarmed. The Guard is dispatched, and the damned thing is likely already dead. I can assure you, we’re safe here. Can you apply that poultice to some strips of cloth for a dressing?”
“Yes, sir—one moment.”
While he worked, I hastily added the necessary extract to the mug of water, hoisting Arken up against me so that she was more upright in my arms. She groaned in protest, but was thankfully still conscious—barely, but conscious.
“Arken, honey, I need you to drink this, okay?”
She nodded slowly and reached for the mug. I let her grasp the handle, but held on to the base. By now, the toxins had left her significantly weakened. The extract would stop it from spreading, and the poultice would help draw them out while the clerics did what they do best. This particular antidote was uncommon, nearly forgotten with time as it had been decades since we’d last seen a Leshy anywhere near this part of the continent. I only knew how to make it because I was taught… a long time ago.
I couldn’t help but wince at the grimace on her face as she drank. The taste was not pleasant, I remembered that much. Still, she followed instructions and finished the makeshift tincture.
“Good girl,” I said under my breath, pushing her hair out of her face. Her skin felt clammy and feverish, but I could already see some color returning to her cheeks. Thank the gods.
The shopkeeper wrapped the wound dressings in some waxed cloth, and I promised to return with payment the next day—double whatever the cost of labor and ingredients. He tried to assure me that it wasn’t necessary, that he was happy to be of service to the Guard, but I would return with the Lyra later regardless.
I ignored the few meandering townsfolk who stopped to stare as I carried this woman a few blocks east, to the nearest infirmary. I’m sure we were a ghastly sight to behold—clothing torn up and covered in blood, dirt, and ichor from the fight. Arken’s breathing had steadied a bit, but she was still in rough shape. My own body had started to ache as the effects of my arcana faded, but those pains were easy to ignore.
Finally, we made it to the infirmary where the clerics—Water Conduits who specialized in healing arcana—immediately flocked to attend to her. I gave them a brief, terse explanation of what had happened and how to apply the poultices, directing them to change the dressing every half-hour.
I meant no disrespect to their staff, but this remedy was not from Pyrhhas or Sophrosyne—it wasn’t even native to Atlas. Leshen were so rare that I had to make certain they would not attempt to close the wound before the ichor was out of her system.
I was relieved to find that High Scholar Helvig, arguably one of the best healers Sophrosyne could offer, was on duty tonight.