“With Valor’s help, yes,” Jala answered firmly, though she did have doubts on her own capabilities at this point. Having to be carried up to the cave had done nothing for her confidence.
“I don’t. I have very strong doubts you can win against her in perfect condition but we shall see. I’ll be nice though and put your fears to rest. Time travels differently in the Darklands. It has to, you see, or she would never be able to tend to the dead properly. There are five days to every one in the sunlit world. You two have been in the Darklands for thirty-one days so far. Not even a week has passed above. You have time. Well, as far as your blood oath goes. As to your pregnancy, I couldn’t say. This would certainly not be the place I would want to bear a child.”
Jala blanched at the thought and looked up sharply as Valor took the bottle from her hands. Silently he pulled what remained of her boot from her foot and began to apply the tonic himself. “Valor, I can do that,” she objected but he ignored her completely. With a heavy sigh she rolled her eyes and looked back to Fiona who was watching her.
“You are a Dasharan,” Fiona said with a faint smile. “Once upon a time so was I. That didn’t end well at all,” she added in a voice that was near whisper.
“I don’t know what that is or what even brought it up. Unless it means ignored by those that you travel with,” Jala began, but paused as she noticed Valor had ceased moving and was eyeing Fiona with an unreadable expression. It was obvious he knew what the word meant.
“You will learn eventually. I hope it ends better for you than it did for me,” Fiona said faintly and turned her attention away from them as she began to dig through the pile of dead once more, her eyes searching for anything that might be of use.
“It’s not a bad thing,” Valor murmured and returned to smothering her ankle in the foul smelling liquid.
“Are you sure? Because neither of you seem inclined to tell me what it is. If it was something flattering, surely there wouldn’t be hesitation,” Jala protested, quietly biting back a yelp as he straightened her foot.
“It has to be aligned to heal right. You don’t want to limp for the rest of your life. Hold still a moment. This is going to hurt like bloody hell,” Valor warned as he pulled gently on her foot with one hand and braced the bones of her leg with his other.
White fire shot through her leg and she closed her eyes, reeling. “Oh gods, I hate you right now. Once my foot heals, I’m going to kick you for that,” Jala whispered through short breaths.
“And when you don’t limp tomorrow, I hope that sentiment changes.” Valor replied calmly as he applied more of the tonic to the swollen, bruised flesh surrounding her foot.
“How far do we have to go before we reach the city?” Jala asked Fiona, her voice still quavering a bit but she was desperate for something to think about aside from the throbbing pain.
“We have to skirt around the Forgotten. That will take us at least two weeks. Then we will be in Trystan’s domain, which will require caution if you two want to avoid a fight. So figure another week or two there depending on how actively they are searching for you. That will put us on the outskirts of the city which is guarded by Davrian who we will most likely have to fight. I don’t see any way of getting around that particular bastard,” Fiona explained and then shrugged. “Pray he doesn’t injure you too badly though, because at that point there are no holes to crawl into for healing.”
“What is the Forgotten?” Jala asked. None of the names Fiona mentioned meant anything to her, so starting at the head of the list for questions seemed the best option available.
“The Forgotten dead, not even Death can remember who they were. Over the course of centuries everyone has forgotten who they were, including themselves. They are bitter and vicious. Even the demons avoid the Forgotten,” Fiona explained.
“The Trystan you mentioned is Trystan Veyetta?” Valor asked quietly as he at last finished with her ankle and leaned back once more.
“Yes, you are Hai’dia aren’t you? So that would make him, what, a cousin of yours?” Fiona asked. She glanced up briefly at Valor as she spoke but quickly returned to rummaging.
“Uncle,” Valor corrected and looked to Jala. “He was a Shadow mage. We don’t want to fight him,” he warned.
“What about Davrian?” Jala asked, looking between the two of them.
“DavrianDelvayon I’m guessing. I don’t know many others with that first name.” Valor offered glancing at Fiona to see if he was correct.
“Someone trained you well Arovan. DavrianDelvayon, a renowned Spellblade as well as an accomplished war leader. Father of RenDelvayon, the current ruler of Delvay. He fell against Nerath the red, consort of Queen Wilamere of Nerathane,” Fiona said, her voice taking on a scholarly note as she recited the history.
“So, expect something like Neph from him?” Jala asked Valor who shook his head with a frown.
“Neph is more spell than blade. A true Delvay Spellblade uses magic to enhance his sword work rather than just magecraft. Davrian will use his magic to make him faster or stronger as well as protecting himself from magic, but he likely won’t be hurling bolts of fire at us.” Valor explained.
“Sounds easier than facing Neph,” Jala said with a shrug.
Fiona laughed and looked up at her with a grin. “Easy for the mage to say. It’s the one carrying the sword that will suffer the brunt of Davrian. You ready for that fight Arovan?” she asked looking to Valor.
Valor let out a long sigh and glanced at his ribs. “Not at this very moment, but I will be,” he said, though there was a note of doubt in his voice.
“You don’t sound so sure about that,” Jala pressed gently.