mighty crash that echoed like rolling thunder.
For what seemed a long time he lay still, his eyes tightly closed, his head spinning, his heart hammering in his chest. Then at last he became aware of a soft, pattering on his back, and a feeling of warmth. Gasping, he crawled to his knees and turned.
His eyes, so long accustomed to the dimness, squinted against the bright sunlight that poured into theclearing from the open sky above. The roof of vines had been torn through, and leaves and stems still pattered down like rain. Where he and Gorl had stood together only minutes before lay the reason for the damage — a great fallen branch. And beneath the branch was a mass of crushed golden armor.
Lief stared, unable to believe what had happened so suddenly. The Belt grew hot against his skin. He looked down and saw Gorl’s sword, lying right in front of him. Almost absent-mindedly, he picked it up. The topaz in the hilt shone clear gold. So, he thought dreamily, the first gem to be found was the topaz — the symbol of faithfulness.
Suddenly his mind cleared. His eyes searched for, and then found, the still, pale figure of Barda, lying at the edge of the clearing. He jumped up and ran to him, kneeling down beside him, calling his name.
Barda did not stir. He still breathed, but very weakly. The terrible wound in his chest was still bleeding. Lief opened the jacket and shirt, tried to clean the wound, tried to stop the blood with his cloak. He had to do something. But he knew it was useless. It was too late.
He barely looked up as Jasmine leapt lightly down beside him. “Barda is dying,” he said drearily. There was a terrible pain in his chest. A terrible sense of loss and loneliness and waste.
“Lief!” he heard Jasmine gasp. But still he did not move.
“Lief! Look!” She was pulling at his arm. Reluctantly he raised his head.
Jasmine was staring at the center of the clearing. Her face was filled with awe. Lief spun around to see what she was looking at.
The Lilies of Life were blooming. The golden arrows that were their buds had opened in the sunlight so long denied them. Now they were golden trumpets, their petals spread joyously, drinking in the light. And from the center of the trumpets a rich gold nectar was welling, overflowing, pouring in a sweet-smelling stream down to the black mud.
W ith a cry, Lief threw down the sword and leapt up. He ran to the patch of mud and thrust his cupped hands under the nectar flow. When they were full to the brim he ran back to Barda, pouring the nectar onto the wound in his chest, smearing what was left on his pale lips.
Then he waited breathlessly. One minute passed. Two —
“Perhaps he has gone too far away already,” Jasmine murmured.
“Barda!” Lief begged. “Come back! Come back!”
The big man’s eyelids fluttered. His eyes opened. They were dazed, as though he had been dreaming. “What — is it?” he mumbled. As color began to steal back into his cheeks, his hand fumbled towards the wound on his chest. He licked his lips. “Hurts,” he said.
“But the cut is healing!” Jasmine hissed in wonder. “See? It is closing of itself! Never have I seen such a thing.”
Overjoyed, Lief saw that indeed the wound was repairing itself. Already it was just a raw, red scar. And as he watched the scar itself began to fade, till it was nothing but a thin white line.
“Barda! You are well!” he shouted.
“Of course I am!” With a grunt, Barda sat up, running his hands through his tangled hair. He stared around, astounded, but quite himself again. “What happened?” he demanded, climbing to his feet. “Did I faint? Where is Gorl?”
Lief pointed wordlessly at the crumpled armor beneath the fallen branch. Barda strode over to the branch, frowning.
“This is his armor,” he said, kicking at it. “But there is no body inside it.”
“I think Gorl’s body crumbled to dust long ago,” Lief said. “All that was left inside that armor shell was
For what seemed a long time he lay still, his eyes tightly closed, his head spinning, his heart hammering in his chest. Then at last he became aware of a soft, pattering on his back, and a feeling of warmth. Gasping, he crawled to his knees and turned.
His eyes, so long accustomed to the dimness, squinted against the bright sunlight that poured into theclearing from the open sky above. The roof of vines had been torn through, and leaves and stems still pattered down like rain. Where he and Gorl had stood together only minutes before lay the reason for the damage — a great fallen branch. And beneath the branch was a mass of crushed golden armor.
Lief stared, unable to believe what had happened so suddenly. The Belt grew hot against his skin. He looked down and saw Gorl’s sword, lying right in front of him. Almost absent-mindedly, he picked it up. The topaz in the hilt shone clear gold. So, he thought dreamily, the first gem to be found was the topaz — the symbol of faithfulness.
Suddenly his mind cleared. His eyes searched for, and then found, the still, pale figure of Barda, lying at the edge of the clearing. He jumped up and ran to him, kneeling down beside him, calling his name.
Barda did not stir. He still breathed, but very weakly. The terrible wound in his chest was still bleeding. Lief opened the jacket and shirt, tried to clean the wound, tried to stop the blood with his cloak. He had to do something. But he knew it was useless. It was too late.
He barely looked up as Jasmine leapt lightly down beside him. “Barda is dying,” he said drearily. There was a terrible pain in his chest. A terrible sense of loss and loneliness and waste.
“Lief!” he heard Jasmine gasp. But still he did not move.
“Lief! Look!” She was pulling at his arm. Reluctantly he raised his head.
Jasmine was staring at the center of the clearing. Her face was filled with awe. Lief spun around to see what she was looking at.
The Lilies of Life were blooming. The golden arrows that were their buds had opened in the sunlight so long denied them. Now they were golden trumpets, their petals spread joyously, drinking in the light. And from the center of the trumpets a rich gold nectar was welling, overflowing, pouring in a sweet-smelling stream down to the black mud.
W ith a cry, Lief threw down the sword and leapt up. He ran to the patch of mud and thrust his cupped hands under the nectar flow. When they were full to the brim he ran back to Barda, pouring the nectar onto the wound in his chest, smearing what was left on his pale lips.
Then he waited breathlessly. One minute passed. Two —
“Perhaps he has gone too far away already,” Jasmine murmured.
“Barda!” Lief begged. “Come back! Come back!”
The big man’s eyelids fluttered. His eyes opened. They were dazed, as though he had been dreaming. “What — is it?” he mumbled. As color began to steal back into his cheeks, his hand fumbled towards the wound on his chest. He licked his lips. “Hurts,” he said.
“But the cut is healing!” Jasmine hissed in wonder. “See? It is closing of itself! Never have I seen such a thing.”
Overjoyed, Lief saw that indeed the wound was repairing itself. Already it was just a raw, red scar. And as he watched the scar itself began to fade, till it was nothing but a thin white line.
“Barda! You are well!” he shouted.
“Of course I am!” With a grunt, Barda sat up, running his hands through his tangled hair. He stared around, astounded, but quite himself again. “What happened?” he demanded, climbing to his feet. “Did I faint? Where is Gorl?”
Lief pointed wordlessly at the crumpled armor beneath the fallen branch. Barda strode over to the branch, frowning.
“This is his armor,” he said, kicking at it. “But there is no body inside it.”
“I think Gorl’s body crumbled to dust long ago,” Lief said. “All that was left inside that armor shell was
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