Guardians of the Lost by Margaret Weis Page B

be asphyxiated is open to question.
    Gustav came to his senses, coughing and choking. He stared atthem a moment without recognition, then the memory of the battle returned full force. Waving smoke out of his face, he struggled to sit up.
    â€œEase yourself, Lord Gustav,” Wolfram said, laying a restraining hand on the knight’s chest. “Your foe is dead.”
    Gustav looked around. His gaze rested on the black armor.
    â€œTruly? Did I slay it?” He shook his head, frowned. “You must not trust it. I thought I killed it once before.”
    â€œUnless a pile of dust can reassemble itself, the thing is dead, my lord.”
    â€œI would not put it past the Vrykyl,” said Gustav quietly. “Destroy the armor. Bury it. Sink it in the river.” He paused, his eyes focused on the dwarf. “I know you…”
    â€œWolfram, my lord,” he said with a clumsy nod of the head. “You’ve seen me before, perhaps you’ll recall where.” Jerking his thumb at Jessan and Bashae, Wolfram leaned closer to whisper. “I try to keep myself to myself, if you take my meaning, my lord. I don’t like to brag of my connections.”
    â€œYes, I understand.” Gustav smiled slightly, then caught his breath with a sudden gasp as a spasm of pain shuddered through his body.
    Bashae put his thin arm around the knight’s shoulders. “You should lie down, my lord,” he said, taking his cue from Wolfram, probably not at all certain what a lord was. Bashae helped ease the knight to the ground. “Where are you hurt? Can you tell me? I am a healer,” he claimed proudly.
    â€œI know you are,” Gustav said, drawing in a shivering breath. “Your touch is most gentle.” He lay still a moment, eyes closed, resting. Then he moved his hand to his breast. “I am wounded here.” He opened his eyes, looked full at Bashae. “But there is nothing you can do for me, gentle friend. My wound is mortal. I die by inches every day. Still, I am a tall man.” He smiled again. “The gods will carry me a little farther. Let me rest and then help me to mount my horse—”
    â€œYou cannot ride, my lord,” Bashae protested. “You can barely sit up. We will take you back to our village. My grandmother is the best healer in the world. She will find a way to help you.”
    â€œI thank you, gentle friend,” Gustav said. “But my time is not my own. I am on urgent business. I cannot rest. The gods…”
    But even as he spoke, the gods took the matter out of his hands. Pain sharper than a sword lanced through him. Clutching his breast, he lost consciousness.
    Quickly, Bashae felt for the heartbeat.
    â€œHe’s alive,” he reported. “But we must take him back to our village with all possible speed. Jessan, you lift him onto his horse. I’ll explain to the animal what I want it to do.” He looked at Wolfram. “Can you ride?”
    Could he ride! Wolfram’s thoughts went to the days when he had ridden like the wind across the rolling tundra of his homeland. To the days when he and his horse had been one being, flowing into each other, hearts and minds joined. The image was so vivid and painful that it brought stinging tears to his eyes. Yes, he could ride. But riding was forbidden to him now. It was on the tip of his tongue to say so, when it occurred to him that if he did not ride, they would leave him behind. Leave him behind with the accursed black armor.
    He stumped swiftly over to the horse. The animal was admittedly taller than the short, stocky beasts he was accustomed to riding, but he could manage.
    Wolfram vaulted onto the horse’s back. The animal was restive, but the dwarf took the reins with a strong hand, patted the neck and clucked reassuring words. The horse relaxed, comforted by both the dwarf’s touch and the pecwae’s voice. Jessan lifted Gustav into place onto the