Книга только для ознакомления
. He struggled to stand alone,
though the effort cost him. Sturm caught the Knight of Solamnia
by the armpits as he slumped toward the floor.
As the cleric of my tribe, it was my duty to heal, as best I
could, the wounds of my people. I rushed to Derek's side to
examine his foot. Even with his boot on, I could see that it was
twisted unnaturally. Gently slipping the furry glove off, my hand
touched the jagged edge of a bone. Blood flowed freely from the
purple, swollen wound. Swallowing a gasp of revulsion, I searched
my mind for an answer. But I had none. I hadn't the power to heal
this man.
Derek, thankfully, had passed out from the pain. I gently
maneuvered the bone back to what I thought was its intended
position, then let Derek's foot slide from my hand to rest on the
cold ground. Looking up suddenly, I found Sturm's eyes on me.
"Great job, Raggart," he said, smiling warmly. "Your trick with
the barrel was an excellent idea."
My mouth dropped in shock. How could he say that? Not only
had I crushed Derek's foot, but I'd given Sturm's enemy more
cause to hate him. Derek would never forgive Sturm for my
mistake! I couldn't bare the shame anymore. I spun around to flee,
but a firm hand gripped my shoulder.
"Do not blame yourself, Raggart." Elistan's soothing voice
enveloped me. "Sturm is right. Your quick thinking saved our
lives-including Derek's." He knelt down next to the unconscious
knight and laid a hand to his forehead
|
