MoftheH: Chapter 32 (Patreon)

"Is he...is he actually dead?" Thomas whispered, his voice shaking.

Darian bit his lip, thinking quick. He glanced at the dwarf's head wound, blood still oozing sluggishly. Making a decision, he yanked off his shirt and ripped a strip of fabric from the hem. He wadded it up and pressed it firmly against the gash.

"Here, hold this tight against the cut. It'll help slow the bleeding." He guided Thomas' hand to keep pressure on the makeshift bandage. "Stay with Aunty. Watch over him. I'm gonna run back to the village, get help." He squeezed Thomas's shoulder. "You'll be alright. I'll be quick as I can."

"O-okay," Thomas said, taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders. "Hurry, Dare."

Darian mustered up a smile he hoped looked braver than he felt. Then with a sharp whistle for the wolves to stay put for protection, he took off running fast as his legs could pump. His heart beat loud in his ears as he crashed through the bushes and trees, needing to get to the village.

Please don't die, he silently begged the dwarf. Just hold on a little longer.

Breck. He had to get to Breck. The smith would know what to do, how to help. He always did.

The blacksmith's shop came into view and Darian put on an extra burst of speed. "Breck!" he shouted, bursting through the door. "Breck, come quick!"

The brawny smith looked up from the horseshoe he'd been hammering to see Darian all wild-eyed and out of breath. "What's all this then, lad? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Please," Darian panted. "I need your help. It's an emergency!"

Breck set down his hammer. "Emergency? What're you on about?"

Widow Oliva, one of the smith's regular customers, leaned around Breck to frown at Darian. She was a pinch-faced woman, sour as old milk, and about as pleasant.

"Eh? What's that ragamuffin want? Breck, tell 'im to scat, I need my kettle mended."

"Shut it, you old bat," Breck said mildly. "The boy's got an emergency, or did you not hear? Go on, lad. What's happened?"

Darian gulped air, trying to slow his racing heart. "In...in the woods. By the old cave. We found a dwarf, and he's hurt bad."

For a moment it was silent, then Breck let out a low whistle. "Well I'll be damned. A dwarf, you say?"

"Pah!" Widow Oliva spat to the side. "Filthy things. Ought to leave 'im to the crows, you ask me."

"Good thing no one is askin' you then," Breck said, an edge to his voice. He turned back to Darian, his expression grim. "How bad's he hurt?"

"Real bad," Darian said. "He's got a nasty gash on his leg and a head wound. He's out cold, barely breathing."

Breck grunted, already moving to grab his coat. "Right then. Oliva, your kettle will have to wait."

The old woman squawked in outrage. "Wait? I've been waitin' half the mornin' already!"

"And you'll wait a good while longer," Breck said, bustling about gathering supplies - clean rags, a flask of strong spirits, and some leather straps. "Else you can take your business to the next town over, it's all the same to me."

Oliva’s mouth gaped like a landed fish but no more protests came out. With a final huff, she stormed from the smithy, slamming the door so hard the hinges rattled.

"Good riddance," Breck muttered. He shoved the supplies into a sack and slung it over his shoulder, along with a coil of rope and trusty Martha. “Now lead on lad, that dwarf probably doesn’t have much left in ‘im. "

They made it to the forest in good time. When they were a few hundred feet away, Darian whistled. The signal for Rusty and Aunty to make themselves scarce. Breck could not know about the wolves. Not yet.

Please be okay, he thought as they crashed through the brush to the clearing where he'd left them. Please.

Thomas leapt up as they broke through the treeline. Alone, just as Darian had hoped. His anxious gaze bounced between them. "Did you-"

"I brought Breck," Darian panted. "He'll help. How is he?"

Thomas turned to the dwarf, who lay as still and pale as when Darian had left. "The same. Breathing, but barely. He hasn't woken up."

Breck crouched by the small form, nodding approvingly at the makeshift bandage around the dwarf's head. "Good thinking with that, lad. Might have bought him a bit more time."

He frowned as he checked the dwarf's other injuries. "He's lost a fair bit of blood though. And I still don't like the look of that knock to the head. We need to get him to Kalyna quick as we can."

He glanced up, pinning Dariana with a look. "We'll talk about you leaving him here alone later. For now..."

With surprising gentleness for such a large man, Breck slid his arms under the dwarf and transferred him to the makeshift stretcher. "Grab an end, Dare. Careful now, no jostling."

Darian scrambled to obey. Thomas darted forward, snatching up a corner of canvas as well. Breck raised an eyebrow but didn't stop him.

They made their cautious way back to the village, the boys straining under their burden. The dwarf was small, but dense with muscle and heavy.

As the lane came into view, Thomas hissed, "Won't folks talk? Seeing...him?"

Breck grunted. "Oh, aye. They'll talk. But it can't be helped."

Sure enough, neighbours began poking heads out of doors and windows, murmuring behind hands as the strange procession passed. Some shied back, as if even being near a dwarf could bring bad luck. Others just shook their heads in disappointment.

Old Nelly peered at them, squinting behind her clouded spectacles. "That's no good," she murmured. "No good at all, bringing their kind here. Mark my words, misfortune'll follow."

Her daughter, Midge, clucked her tongue. "Strange doings," she agreed. "Mighty strange. What's this world coming to?"

Widow Harkin spotted them from her turnip patch. She spat on the ground and sketched a symbol in the air. A sign against evil. "Dwarves," she muttered darkly. "Unnatural creatures. No good comes of meddling with their lot."

Darian flushed, anger and embarrassment heating his cheeks. Thomas ducked his head, face red. But Breck just trudged on, jaw set. Ignoring the whispers and sideways looks.

They made it to Darian's cottage, the place suddenly seeming small and shabby compared to the smith's sturdy home. But Breck didn't hesitate, kicking the door wide.

"Mara! Clear off the table, I've a patient for you."

Mara looked up from where she was elbow-deep in laundry suds. Her eyes went wide as she took in the scene: Breck, filling the doorway. Darian and Thomas, dirty and breathless. And the unconscious figure they carried.

"What in the...Darian, what have you done now?"

She wiped her hands on her apron and hurried over. Getting a closer look at the dwarf, she blanched. "Is that..."

"A dwarf, aye," Breck said. "Your lad and his friend found the poor sod bleeding out in the woods. We haven't much time."

Mara pressed her lips together. Hard. "The table, then. Talia, fetch fresh water and rags. Quickly!"

Talia, who'd been silently gaping in the corner, jumped. "Y-yes, ma!" She scurried to obey.

As they transferred the dwarf to the table, Mara caught Darian's eye. He braced for a tongue-lashing, but his mother only sighed.

"You've a good heart, my boy," she said softly. "But you can't save everyone. Surely you know that."

Darian clenched his jaw. "I can try."

Mara sighed again, tugging lovingly at his curls. "Aye, my brave one. That you can."

Breck straightened from examining the dwarf. "That leg's going sour, and who knows what's happening inside his head."

Darian's blood turned to ice. "You mean...you think he'll die?"

Breck met his gaze squarely. "Without a healer? Aye, it's likely."

Darian's stomach churned. After everything, dragging the poor dwarf here, getting the whole village worked up...only to have him die anyway? He wouldn’t let that happen. He couldn't.

"I'll fetch Kalyna," he said abruptly. "Chom, give me a hand?"

Thomas nodded. They flew out the door to the herbalist's cottage before Mara could stop them.

The tiny, bent figure of Kalyna emerged at Darian's frantic knocking. She squinted at them, a frown puckering her face.

"Don't tell me that little girl is sick again. I told her mother, a few gooseberries aren't worth a belly ache..."

"It's not Talia," Darian interrupted. "We've an injured dwarf at our place. He needs your skills, Kalyna. Desperately."

The crone blinked at him. Then cackled, the sound as dry as last year's leaves. "A dwarf! Well, now. It's been a fine age since I've had my hands on one of the Stunted Folk."

She disappeared back inside, still chuckling. "Just let me fetch my kit, dearies. This should be interesting."

"Do you think he'll make it?" Thomas whispered. "Truly?"

Darian felt the question like a stone in his gut. "He has to," he said, more harshly than he intended. "Why else would we have found him?"

Thomas said nothing, his hand finding Darian's and squeezing. A lifeline in this mad day.

Kalyna emerged, a leather satchel nearly as big as she was slung over one bony shoulder. She crooked a finger at them.

"Take me to my patient then, boys. Mind you don't slouch, it's hell on the back. When you're as old as I am..."

When they arrived at the cottage, they found Mara and Breck bent over the dwarf’s leg, their faces tight with worry.

Darian sucked in a breath at the sight of the wound. Kalyna tsked.

"Oh, that is a nasty one. Stand aside, dearies, let Kalyna have a look-see."

She dumped out her satchel, dried herbs and strange instruments clattering across the table. Sorted through the mess and came up with a tarnished blade. Started slicing away at the angry flesh.

Talia, wide-eyed with her bucket of water, made a small sound of distress. Mara gathered the girl close, turning her face away. "Hush now, sweety. The wise woman needs to concentrate."

Darian watched, fighting not to fidget as the old herbalist worked. She packed the wound with a poultice that smelled like rot, ignoring the wince from her audience. Threaded a bone needle and began to stitch.

"What about his head?" Darian fretted. "Breck said-"

"With the bandage, the head will keep a moment," Kalyna said calmly. "Can't have him bleeding out from the leg now, can we?"

Darian grew silent, he could feel the questions battering at him, the desperate need to know what had happened, why the dwarf was in their forest. Who had hurt him. But he bit his tongue.

Finally, after an eternity, Kalyna snipped the catgut and sat back with a grunt. She wiped her hands, leaving streaks of red on her apron.

“Let’s have a look at that big head.”

She bent over the dwarf again, fingers probing the wound on his temple. Clicked her tongue at what she found.

"Skull's intact, praise the gods. But he's concussed, sure enough. It'll be touch and go when he wakes. If he wakes. But I've done what I can. The rest is up to him. And the gods."

She fixed Darian with a stern eye. "You'll need to watch him close. Any change, any sign of one of those wounds going bad, you fetch me straightaway. Hear?"

Darian nodded hard enough to rattle his skull. The herbalist softened slightly.

"You're a good lad," she said. "Foolish maybe, but good. Mind you don't let that soft heart of yours overrule your head."

Darian just nodded again. It seemed the only safe response.

Kalyna snorted. "Aye, well. We'll see." She gathered up her kit. "I'll be back on the morrow to check the dressings. Try not to have any more surprises for me, eh?"

After Kalyna left, Mara’s gaze switched between Darian and the dwarf.

"He can stay here," Darian blurted. "With us. Until he's better."

His mother and Breck both stared at him. "Darian..." Mara began.

"The shed," he pushed on stubbornly. "We can make him a pallet. I'll tend to him, Ma, you needn't bother yourself."

Mara opened her mouth, closed it again. She turned to Breck, something unspoken passing between them.

The big smith rubbed a hand over his jaw. "It's a kind thought, lad. But you've no idea the trouble a dwarf can bring down on-"

"Please." Darian heard the tremble in his own voice, didn't care. "He'll die otherwise."

Another moment of silence, then Mara threw up her hands.

"The shed," she said, resigned. "But you'll be the one to clean up after him, you hear? I've enough to manage without playing nursemaid to a half-dead dwarf."

Darian could have kissed her. He settled for a tight hug instead. "Thank you," he whispered into her apron. "Ma, thank you."

She sighed, "Aye, well. Don't make me regret it, my boy."

Breck carried the dwarf out to the tiny shed behind the cottage. It was cramped and musty, but it would give him a bit more privacy to heal - or to die with some dignity, a traitorous part of Darian's mind whispered.

As the blacksmith laid out some blankets to cushion the floor, the dwarf let out a low groan. Everyone froze.

The dwarf's eyelids fluttered, cracking open to reveal orange eyes. He opened his mouth and whispered:

"Please...my people...they are in danger. You must..."

But what they must do, they never found out. The dwarf's eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped once more into unconsciousness.

They all stared at each other, hardly daring to breathe. Darian's mind whirled. The dwarf's people were in danger? But from what? And what did the dwarf expect them to do about it?