Sianim 02 - Wolfsbane

slowness of the bleeding told its own story, though Wolf should have been unconscious before he lost so much blood. Or dead.
    “ No! Plague take you, Wolf!” she said, and ran, ignoring the runes she destroyed on her way, ignoring the knowledge that by breaking his concentration, she could destroy herself and her father as well.
    She broke his focus, and he looked up. For a moment, she had a clear view of his scarred face, then the light from his staff went out. She caught him as he fell—as they fell—cushioning his head against her. She grabbed his sticky wrist and wrapped her hand around it, sealing the wound with her own flesh, but his skin was colder than it should be in a room this warm.
    In her heightened state, she could feel the wild magic he’d called reach for him, could feel his life fading. She had no time for panic; instead, she drew in a deep, calming breath and centered herself . . .

    Kisrah watched Gerem follow Aralorn out of the room. He’d overheard enough to have a pretty good idea of where they were going—especially since, once he looked for it, he could feel magic taking shape somewhere in the keep.
    Kisrah wasn’t certain that it wouldn’t be better if Wolf didn’t survive. No matter that Kisrah was virtually convinced that Aralorn was right to claim that Geoffrey was a villain. It did not take away the fact that Wolf knew black magic and carried its taint. By Wolf’s own admission, the Master Spells had not allowed Geoffrey to control him—and even if they had, the Master Spells were gone.
    If he followed her, he would be forced to choose—to help Wolf or to kill him; so he chose to stay with Nevyn while Aralorn’s uncle tried to heal him.
    “This damage had been mostly scarred over once,” the shapechanger said, finally looking up from Nevyn. “And only recently torn asunder. Violently.”
    “Can you heal him?”
    But Halven was looking around the room. “Where is Aralorn?”
    “Rescuing Wolf,” Kisrah said.
    Halven gave him a sharp glance but turned back to Nevyn. “I can mend the surface,” he said. “That ought to give Nevyn control over his dreamwalking self—probably return him to where he was before this most recent damage. True healing of such an old hurt will take a very long time, but it can be done.”
    “If he’ll let you try,” said Kisrah. “He’s stubborn, and his life has not made him fond of magic.”
    Halven’s eyes grew cold. “After the damage he’s done here, he’ll accept my healing, or I’ll kill him myself. Henrick is a friend of mine.”
    “Nevyn is my friend,” said Kisrah in warning.
    The shapeshifter’s mouth turned up, but his eyes did not warm. “Let me do what I can for him now, then. You go help Aralorn—there’s something going on in the bier room. Can you feel it?”
    Caught, Kisrah hesitated. “Yes.”
    “Go,” said Halven. “This will be easier without you here.”
    But not easier for me, Kisrah thought. He would have to choose.

    Halven waited for the door to swing shut behind the Archmage before turning again to his patient. The quiet was helpful but not necessary. Once he knew what had to be done, it was not difficult: A spirit was not meant to be divided. All he had to do was provide the magic to assist the weaving.
    It did not take long before it was done as well as magic could make it. Only time would completely heal the rift. When he was finished, he waved his hand, and Nevyn’s eyelids fluttered.
    Nevyn opened his eyes.
    “Welcome back, sir,” said Halven, not unkindly. “I think we may have much to discuss.”
    Nevyn rolled to a sitting position and buried his face in both hands. “It was me,” he said. “It was me all along.”

    Aralorn held Wolf’s wrist tightly in one hand, sealing the wound, though she feared it was too late. With her free hand, she touched the artery in his neck. For a horrible moment, she thought that he had no pulse, but then she felt the faint beat beneath her fingertips.
    He’d been holding to consciousness with magic, she thought. When she’d distracted him, he’d lost control of the power sustaining him and fainted.
    They should both be dead. She’d broken the cardinal rule of magic and interrupted Wolf. His spell should have turned this corner of Lambshold into a melted slag like the tower in the ae’Magi’s castle.
    It had not.
    She was so weary. If she’d been a human mage, she would have had to watch Wolf die. But there was so much power in the room that