Enchanter's End Game

wounded. "The injured men here command all our attention and care."
    "I'll go then," Lelldorin declared, his eyes still streaming tears. He spun and dashed from the tent.
    Ariana sighed mournfully and drew a blanket over Torasin's pale face. Then she turned back to the wounded men who were being carried in a steady stream into her tent.
    "Don't bother yourself with him, my Lady," a lean-faced Arendish serf told her as she bent over the body of the man's companion. Ariana looked at the thin serf inquiringly.
    "He's dead," the serf explained. "He took a Mallorean arrow right through the chest." He looked down at the dead man's face. "Poor Detton," he sighed. "He died in my arms. Do you know what his last words were?"
    Ariana shook her head.
    "He said, 'At least I had a good breakfast.' And then he died."
    "Why didst thou bring him here, since thou didst know he was already dead?" Ariana asked him gently.
    The lean, bitter-faced serf shrugged. "I didn't want to leave him just lying in a muddy ditch like a dead dog," he replied. "In his whole life, nobody ever treated him as if he mattered at all. He was my friend, and I didn't want to leave him there like a pile of garbage." He laughed a short, bitter laugh. "I don't suppose it matters very much to him, but at least there's a little bit of dignity here." He awkwardly patted the dead man's shoulder. "Sorry, Detton," he said, "but I guess I'd better go back to the fighting."
    "What is thy name, friend?" Ariana asked.
    "I'm called Lammer, my Lady."
    "Is the need for thee in the battle urgent?"
    "I doubt it, my Lady. I've been shooting arrows at the Malloreans. I'm not very good at it, but it's what I'm supposed to do."
    "My need for thee is greater, then," she declared. "I have many wounded here and few hands to help with their care. Despite thy surly exterior, I sense a great compassion in thee. Wilt thou help me?"
    He regarded her for a moment. "What do you want me to do?" he said.
    "Taiba is boiling cloth for bandages over that fire there," she replied. "See to the fire first, then thou wilt find a cart just outside with blankets in it. Bring in the blankets, good Lammer. After that I will have other tasks for thee."
    "All right," Lammer replied laconically, moving toward the fire.
    "What can we do for her?" the Princess Ce'Nedra demanded of the misshapen Beldin. The princess was staring intently into Polgara's pale, unconscious face as the sorceress lay exhausted in the arms of Durnik the smith.
    "Let her sleep," Beldin grunted. "She'll be all right in a day or so."
    "What's the matter with her?" Durnik asked in a worried voice.
    "She's exhausted," Beldin snapped. "Isn't that obvious?"
    "Just from raising a breeze? I've seen her do things that looked a lot harder."
    "You don't have the faintest idea of what you're talking about, blacksmith," Beldin growled. The hunchbacked sorcerer was himself pale and shaking. "When you start tampering with the weather, you're putting your hands on the most powerful forces in the world. I'd rather try to stop a tide or uproot a mountain than stir up a breeze in dead air."
    "The Grolims brought in that storm," Durnik said.
    "The air was already moving. Dead-calm air is altogether different. Do you have the remotest idea of how much air you've got to move to stir even the faintest breath of air? Do you know what kind of pressures are involved - how much all that air weighs?"
    "Air doesn't weigh anything," Ce'Nedra protested.
    "Really?" Beldin replied with heavy sarcasm. "I'm so glad you told me. Would the two of you shut up and let me get my breath?"
    "But how is it that she collapsed and you didn't?" Ce'Nedra protested.
    "I'm stronger than she is," Beldin replied, "and more vicious. Pol throws her whole heart into things when she gets excited. She always did. She pushed beyond her strength, and it exhausted her." The twisted little man straightened, shook himself like a dog coming out of water and looked around, his face bleak. "I've got work to do," he said. "I think we've pretty much worn out the Mallorean Grolims, but I'd better keep an eye on them, just to be safe. You two stay here with Pol - and keep an eye on that child." He pointed at Errand, who stood on the sandy beach with his small face very serious.
    Then Beldin crouched, shimmering already into the form of a hawk, and launched himself into the air almost before his feathers were fully formed.
    Ce'Nedra stared after him as he spiraled upward over the battlefield and then