Read Elfhunter for Free Online

face was pale, but she could see that he was a fine
representative of his ancient line. He swallowed painfully, opening
his eyes again—this time it seemed as though he actually perceived
Gaelen for a moment. His brow furrowed and he moaned miserably,
shaking with a sudden chill.
    Warming up a basin of water, Gaelen gently cleaned
the sweat and dirt from his face, speaking soothing words to him as
his eyes wandered aimlessly, looking at nothing. They were a
beautiful, calm grey, but right now they were red-rimmed and
over-bright with fever. Gaelen tried to warm him with more
blankets, but it seemed nothing could stop him from shaking.
    As his fever burned higher he became delirious,
speaking all manner of languages, including at least two rare Elven
dialects. Gaelen was fascinated despite her concern. She tried to
comfort him, and he would calm in response to her words. Then the
chill would take him again, and he would rave incoherently until it
passed.
    Gaelen glanced over at Galador, who was still hoping
that she would think of something to help his stricken friend. She
didn’t blame him for being anxious. With each episode of chills and
delirium,
     
    Rogond grew weaker. Soon he would be too weak to
fight off the sickness, and then he would be lost.
    "I must calm you somehow...to help you ride out the
storm of chills and madness. You are like a small ship at the mercy
of very large waves. You need…you need an anchor. I will do all I
can for you, Tuathan, for you are young, and you have a part to
play yet. Now I must hold you to this world."
    When the next hard chill came, she drew a deep breath
and lay down beside him, steadying him with her hands and her
voice. When the fever came on him and he raved at unseen enemies,
Gaelen held him down while Nelwyn cooled his brow with clear water.
They spoke soft words to him or shouted at him as needed. At times,
it was more than a bit frightening.
    Rogond was not seeing anything but his enemies, and
they were terrifying. At such times he would twist and fight,
grabbing Gaelen’s slender arms so tightly that she cried out in
pain as he tried to push her away. Then Galador would step in, for
he was stronger than Gaelen and could easily hold Rogond down.
Gaelen would sing her songs, and the enemies would draw away,
leaving only peaceful sleep behind them.
    Galador looked on in approval. Rogond’s life might
not be in their power to save, but he certainly had a better chance
now. At least someone was doing something. Galador had not known
what to do and had despaired, certain that his friend would die. He
had thought to bring women to help, but knew that they would be
unwilling to expose themselves to the sickness. She-elves were
therefore his next choice, for although they knew no more of
healing pestilence that he did, they still seemed to have unique
instincts. Galador knew, for example, that Gaelen’s idea of
embracing a raving, sweat-soaked, delirious man would never have
occurred to him, but it had certainly made a difference to
Rogond.
    By dawn’s light, Gaelen was weary from serving as
Rogond’s anchor through the long night. She had sung songs of great
power, and they had drained her. As she rested, Galador brought her
food and drink, apologized for his initial discourtesy, and thanked
her profusely for her effort.
    Gaelen assured him that all was well between them.
She was now hopeful that Rogond would live, but she knew that it
would be awhile before he was strong again. Regardless, she knew
that Galador would have to care for him without her.
    "We cannot stay here. You will have to take care of
him yourself as soon as the fever breaks."
    Galador’s eyes widened, his dismay obvious. "But...he
will need more than I can give, probably for some time. He is a
worthy man, worth saving! Why must you leave us in our need?"
    "We were tracking the creature that brought the boat
ashore. We have been in pursuit for many days, and the trail is
cold enough already. I cannot risk