Free SpringFire by Terie Garrison Page B

snorted.
    “We won’t know until we get down there. Come on.”
    It took an eternity to get down to the next level. The urge to rush had to give way to the need for caution. But we finally reached him.
    I could tell right away that he was still breathing. He lay on his side. Shandry tied the pony’s reins to the nearest shrub, then knelt in the mud near Traz’s head. She put one hand on his shoulder to steady him in place while she ran the other down his back. I watched her, anxiety making my heart beat hard.
    “His back’s all right,” she finally said, then she repositioned herself to check his skull. I found myself holding my breath until she looked at me and said, “Just a lump or two, nothing worse.”
    We gingerly turned him onto his back. And then we found that he hadn’t escaped completely unscathed when we saw the ugly angle at which his lower leg lay in relation to where it should be.
    “That’s bad,” Shandry said. “Do you know how … ?”
    “I’ve set a few bones, but always under the healing master’s watchful eye and never something this bad.”
    “You’re one up on me there. I know the theory, but haven’t ever done it myself.”
    “We’ll just have to do the best we can,” I said. I looked around, up and down the hillside, but there weren’t any sturdy branches. “There’s nothing to splint it with.”
    “Where’s his staff?” Shandry said. “It’s too long, but it’ll work in a pinch.”
    “Good thinking. Where’d it land, though?”
    Shandry spotted it first, halfway down the next bit of slope. “I’ll get it,” she said. “You check his arms and other leg.”
    “Be careful. One accident is already one too many.”
    “You’ve got that right.”
    I turned my attention back to Traz. Everything else felt sound, as far as I could tell. I was glad for his sake that he was unconscious, but I was worried, too. His skull might be intact, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t hurt his head. He was covered head to foot in mud, and had a scrape along his jaw. A few moments later, Shandry was back.
    “What do we do?” she asked, placing the staff on the ground.
    “Well, you hold his thigh in place, and I’ll straighten his leg.”
    She crouched down. “I’m awfully glad he’s not awake.”
    I just nodded, trying to summon the courage to do what had to be done.
    Shandry took hold of his thigh and gave me a nod. I took his lower leg in both hands and tried to ease it gently into place. It didn’t move. I took a deep breath, swallowed, and applied more pressure. Still nothing. Breaking out into a sweat of worry, I closed my eyes and reached for my maejic. I imagined Traz’s leg set to rights, and applied even more pressure, gently but steadily. His leg finally moved. When it was straight, someone cried out, and I didn’t know whether it was Traz or me. With another nod to Shandry, I let go and wiped the sweat from my brow. Shandry picked up the staff and positioned it while I dug rope out of one of the packs. We bound his leg securely, but not too tightly, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Only to realize that we weren’t anything like out of trouble yet.
    We were only halfway down the bends, and the footing was bad, but we couldn’t stay where we were since there was no shelter or wood for a fire.
    “The first way station is at the bottom,” Shandry said. “But it’s not going to be easy getting him down there.”
    She’d told us that the folk on this side of the mountain kept way stations for travelers. During the Summer, they’d each be manned with a cook and several other people to help manage things, and traders would set up to supply travelers with food and wares. The rest of the time, no one manned the way stations, but it was expected that anyone staying in one replenished the wood they used.
    “This is really not good,” Shandry said again.
    “We’d better just put him on Dyster and hope that he doesn’t come to on the way.”
    I kept a hand on Traz’s