The Hollow Grove: The Companions [Book 2]

[38] Help from the Order

Arataas alarmed the night guard as he punched through the rocky veil of the Scar training grounds. He clutched Slate in his two front claws, pulled tight to his belly. His hind claws dragged on the manicured grass to slow his approach.

"Make way!" shouted the Dragon. "I have injured! Get Balomar!"

The guards scrambled into the depths of the Scar, then came running with a stretcher. Arataas ignored them and barreled through the cave entrance knowing right where he had to go. He finally reached the infirmary and found Gilladrus, a Priest of Panadahe, cleaning up from his last patient.

"What's going on here?" Gilladrus protested. "This is most irregular." After seeing what the gold held, he waved him in. "Gods! Place him on the healing stone!"

Arataas placed his uncle on the large, white marble slab used for healing procedures. In the bright magic-born light of the infirmary, Arataas noticed Slate's eyes clouding over. Instead of his scales being an inky black sheen, they looked slimy and grey. His veins and arteries throbbed, threatening to burst. "I believe some kind of Demon magic poisoned him. I just don't know."

"Got to get him out of this state," Gilladrus said. The Man swept back his long white hair and tied it together with a leather throng. "Stand back! We must give him room to shift." He ran to his apothecary and removed a blue potion from a wooden wall rack and popped the cork. Carefully, he poured the contents into Slate's mouth.

Arataas pointed to a guard wanting to do something, anything to help.  "Get Balomar! Please!" The guard ran off with all she needed.

"Skraaah!"

The blue potion relaxed Slate enough to where he passively shifted out of his guised form.

Gilladrus did not get clear in time and Slate's rogue wing knocked him to the stone floor. He struggled to his feet, ignoring his scraped knees. "Mighty Slate. Can you speak?"

The ancient black responded with garbled nonsense.

"I need a sample of his blood," the Priest decided. He waved the gold over. "Arataas, hold him down."

Arataas gently held his uncle's claw in one, then gently pressed down on his elbow joint.

"Help him," hissed Slate in his dream state.  "Save him, Arataas.  There must be a way."

"I will, Uncle," said the gold, "I promise, but you need to hang on for us."

Gilladrus made a small incision between his scales and gathered the strange, dark blood in a glass vial. He shivered knowing full well that healthy dragon blood should be a bright red.

A thin line of blue light tore through the air and Balomar stepped from the seam in time and space, bringing with him a gust of cool air that bellowed his indigo robes and scattered the priest's sheets of scripture. He hurried to Gilladrus. "Poison?" asked the Wizard. His voice much higher in pitch and volume than his normal reserved self. He fished a glass magnification lens from one of his many pockets and examined Slate's blood.

"I believe so," Gilladrus said. "I must run some tests to find the origin." He sped to his apothecary. "See what you can do for him! How I wish for the days of Panadahe's grace." He clenched his fists as he reminisced.

Arataas understood the Priest's frustration all too well. The Order lost many Warriors since the day the god fell and Gilladrus lost his healing powers. And of course...there was Inori. "Try Jewel Weed first!" He said. He remembered that the plant's leaves cured the poisonous bite of the Demon. He felt sure Gilladrus already knew this though.

In the meantime, the Dragon prince related Balomar the story of Kellis Vöhl and how Slate pieced together the puzzle.

"By all the stars above," said the Wizard. He went to Slate and rested a hand on his massive forehead, his scales burned to the touch. "I've heard some wild tales, but you've never given me reason for doubt, Arataas." He produced a vial of dark volcanic dust from his black leather satchel. He sprinkled it over Slate and cast his incantation. "Calima Fortis Infidium."