Thero ran for the riverbank. Mika hadn’t gone far, after all. The boulder was easily visible from the outskirts of the camp. Running to the boy, Thero cast a light orb and fell to his knees beside the still, small body.

Mika lay on his face, arms thrown over his head as if he’d fallen. Thero rolled him over and gasped. The left side of the boy’s face was dark with blood, his left eye was swollen shut, and there was a nasty gash on his forehead by his left temple. The skin not covered in blood was white as milk. Thero felt for pulse and breath. The boy was alive, at least. Thero carefully brushed the hair back from the gash and found that it had bled copiously before scabbing over; it had been hours since he’d received the wound. Blood showed dark on a stone where he must have struck his head.

He patted Mika’s blood-crusted cheek gently; the boy’s skin was frighteningly cold to the touch. “Mika, wake up.”

When there was no response Thero quickly felt his neck, chest, and limbs, looking for breaks or other wounds.

“Oh, Illior!” One of the bones in Mika’s left forearm was broken; a bone end protruded through the skin, shockingly sharp and white and bloody. Thero carefully positioned the broken limb across Mika’s chest and lifted the boy in his arms, grateful for the moment that Mika was unconscious. He hurried back to camp, bringing the light orb along to illuminate the way. People saw him by its glow and ran out to help.

“Can I carry him for you, my lord?” a soldier asked.

“I can manage, but find the drysian and send her to my tent at once!”

Klia met him crossing the circle and followed him to his tent. “By the Four! What happened to him?”

“I don’t know yet.” Ducking through the tent flap, Thero placed Mika on his cot and took a better look at him. His clothing was damp and streaked with mud, and his boots were missing. The bottoms of his feet were cut in places; he must have been running barefoot. Undressing him gently, Thero looked for other wounds, but other than bruises and scabby scrapes on his knees, there was nothing else amiss, except for the arm and the clammy paleness of his skin.

“Where’s the damn drysian?” Klia shouted out to someone outside.

“Here, Highness.” Yana stepped in, staff in one hand and a boy beside her, carrying a heavy leather pack. “If you’d move aside, please, I’ll see to him,” she said to Thero. Pulling back the blanket, she made a quick inspection, then turned to her assistant. “I’ll need a small brazier, a pot, splints and bandages, and water.”

“Yes, mistress.” He left the pack by the bed and turned to go.