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.Since the young drow was clearly beyond help, Henge did not linger over him or waste any energy on grief.There was only one other drow fighter in sight, and he did not seem to be feeling any better than Brizznarth.So Henge moved on to the still form of his leader.He crouched beside the red-haired drow and realized—with decidedly mixed emotions—that Nisstyre was yet alive."What can be cured must be endured," he muttered, in a dark parody of a human proverb.There was a smear of blood on the wizard's temple, and Henge's seeking fingers found an impressive knot on the side of Nisstyre's head.The wizard would have a headache the size of Tarterus when he awoke, but he'd only been stunned.The club had hit a glancing blow.If that battle-mad human had connected directly, it would have split Nisstyre's skull and scattered his brains so far that the remaining pittance might transform the wizard into a credible priest of Lloth, mused Henge with a touch of dark humor.A quick examination assured the priest that Nisstyre had sustained only the one injury.The priest framed the wounded drow's head with his hands and began to chant a prayer to Vhaeraun, a plea for healing and restoration.The Masked God was with him;Nisstyre's eyes opened, focused on the priest, and then narrowed in suspicion."You are unharmed," he muttered thickly."Did you join the battle at all?"Suddenly the cleric wished he'd had the foresight to daub himself with some of the blood his younger brother had, shed so freely."Only the two of us survived," Henge said, calmly sidestepping the wizard's accusation, "and neither one of us got off much of an attack.""The human escaped?"Nisstyre's voice rang with incredulity.Brizznarth was the finest blade under his command, and Gorlist was fully the match of any five human warriors.The tattooed fighter had proven this, time and again.Nisstyre simply could not credit that his elite drew force might have met defeat at the hands of a single human.He hauled himself to his feet, ignoring the throbbing ache in his head.That Brizznarth and Codfael were dead was plain to see, but he would not accept Gorlist's fate until he beheld the body with his own eyes."Where is Gorlist?"Henge pointed toward the ravine.The wizard staggered over to the edge and peered down into the stream."He breathes," Nisstyre snapped."See to him at once!"The priest spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness."I have used all my healing spells for the day.""Then use this, and be quick."Nisstyre produced a vial of glowing green liquid from his spell bag and thrust it into the cleric's hand.He watched intently as Henge slid down the rocky incline and carefully poured the liquid into the fighter's mouth.The outcome was important, for Gorlist was valuable to the Masked Lord's cause.He was also Nisstyre's son, a fact that would have mattered far less if Gorlist had not been so skilled a fighter.The injured drow groaned and began to stir.Nisstyre cast a spell that brought Gorlist's battered body floating up and out of the ravine.The wizard noted the pink froth at the fighter's lips.He stooped and ran his fingers over the younger drow's torso.Three, maybe four ribs broken, Nisstyre thought grimly.He hesitated for just an instant before reaching into his spell bag for a second potion.This one was in a vial shaped like a candle's flame, and it gleamed like captured fire.It was a potion of last resort, for although it healed grievous wounds in remarkably short order, there was a price to pay for such healing.The rapid knitting of bone and tissue was agonizing, and the magic was fueled by the life-force of its recipient.The cure stole more energy, and caused more pain, than many wounded drow could bear.It killed at least as often as it cured.But Nisstyre had an idea.He handed the vial to the cleric, who had just scrambled up over the edge of the ravine."Pray to Vhaeraun," he commanded."Ask the God of Thieves to steal the life-force of another being to empower the potion.And if we are fortunate," Nisstyre muttered to himself, "the Masked Lord will take the life-force of the ore-sired human who did this!"Henge took the vial and began to chant in prayer.The wizard busied himself with another sort of preparation.He cut a length of stout green stick from a scrubby tree nearby and peeled off the rough bark.Gorlist would need something to bite on during the agonizing cure.The wounded fighter drifted back to consciousness, and his gaze settled on the fiery vial in the cleric's hands.A gleam of fierce approval lit his eyes, and he gestured for the priest to administer the potion at once.Henge hesitated in midchant."Do it," commanded Gorlist in a faint, blood-choked whisper.He spat and then tipped back his head so Henge could pour the potion into his mouth.The priest complied, and the fighter downed the fiery liquid in a single swallow.Convulsions gripped him at once.The other two drow lunged for the fighter and tried in vain to hold him down.Gorlist tossed them aside without thought or effort, utterly unmindful of their presence in the midst of the agony that seared through his every vein and sinew.Since he could do nothing but wait, Nisstyre found himself a comfortable rock and sat down for the duration.He had seen many fearful deaths—most of them of his own plan and execution—but never had he witnessed such suffering.Yet he watched impassively as the magic fire seared through his son's body.Finally Gorlist lay limp and still."Did he survive?" ventured Henge."He did."The answer came from Gorlist himself.The fighter spat out splinters of green wood and climbed slowly to his feet.Nisstyre noted the bloodlust in his eyes.It would be difficult, he realized, to keep the headstrong young drow from pursuing the human who had so grievously wounded him.Nisstyre hungered for the taste of revenge, as well, but he needed Gorlist to focus on an even greater prize."By all reckoning, I should have died," Gorlist said.He walked over to the wizard, all the while unbuckling- the leather bracers that protected his arms."I say you owe my bloodprice.Since I have no heirs, I'll collect it myself."Nisstyre did not doubt what the fighter would demand."The human was badly wounded," he lied."Although he escaped, he will not long survive."The fighter shrugged away this news and thrust his fist high, turning it so Nisstyre could see the thin line of scar that ran down his forearm."I want her," Gorlist said through clenched teeth.The wizard rocked back, momentarily at a loss for a response.Nisstyre tended to indulge his followers, encouraging them to enact revenge as the spirit moved them
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