KILLING TIME – PART 3

By Allegra

See Part 1 for disclaimers.

As mentioned in my revision of Part 2, I am sooooo sorry to Arcadia Pendragon for removing Garsiv again. I will make sure I do a brotherly story with all 3 of them next!

Umm, this chapter was hell to produce so I hope it reads better than it wrote! But most of all, please, please feed the muse with a review, even a tiny weeny one-worder! Thank you.


Tus and Tamina had galloped as if their very lives depended on it, forcing their horses onwards with relentless fervour. Night had slid into day, the heat rising and then waning as dusk moved across the horizon once more. As their shadows lengthened on the sand, even Tus had to concede that it was time to stop and rest. They had ridden long and hard, hopefully matching the distance any hell-bent assassin could make in the same time. Both riders were still fuelled by adrenaline but their horses were not and fresh animals would be few and far between out here in the remote desert parts. If they were to find Dastan, they would need to rest and stock up on water or risk finding themselves walking the rest of the way, which would be no use whatsoever.

Steering themselves slightly off course in order to find an outpost, Tamina was relieved to see a small bevy of tents flapping in the breeze ahead of them, fires already burning brightly around the little settlement. The princess turned to Tus, catching his frown in the waning light. She understood his concerns – riding into a strange camp always brought questions and watchful eyes. As a royal, it was a dangerous move even when it was necessary. Tus would have been well versed in 'fitting in' but she recognised the anxiety that came with knowing one word out of place or a stamp of the royal household anywhere about one's person could bring heinous repercussions. If the men were cowards, chances are they would murder the strangers for whatever riches they could find. If they were men of guile, they would hold the king to ransom and then kill him anyway. At least Dastan and Tus would be reunited in the next life.

Approaching the camp, Tamina took in the rabble of misfits crowded round the fire. They were sharing a pipe and did not seem too wary of the two strangers approaching, their faces round and laughing. "And who do we have here?" asked a turbaned man who drew himself up to his full, impressive height. "You do not look like travellers," he asserted, narrowing his eyes shrewdly.

"And what do travellers look like?" Tus asked, immediately biting back the testy tone in his voice. "For that is what we are, I assure you."

"Then I must take your word for it. Do you wish to bargain for a place at our hearth?" The other men watched silently with interest.

Tus nodded, "I have little to offer but do not ask to stay long..."

"No more than a few hours, just time to rest the horses," Tamina interjected. Tus was unaccustomed to being interrupted by a woman and hoped that having a female in their presence did not bring out the lewd behaviour so easily aroused in such a male environment. Defending the princess's honour would only lead to violence, in which Tus hoped to be the victor but could not be sure, and would most certainly slow their journey down as they covered up their tracks.

The tall man's eyes flicked from Tus to Tamina and back again, measuring up their relationship. "Are you two eloping?"

Tus stepped forwards and produced a modest bag of coins. While it did not give him away as a man of considerable wealth, it would definitely be enough to gain the group's acceptance without further questions. "Some water and warmth is all we ask of you. With gratitude, let our business be our own."

The man felt the weight of the purse in his leathery hand and, pleased with what he found, nodded and gestured to the fire. "Make room for two more, boys. I will water the horses."

Tus and Tamina sat down awkwardly between two wizened old men who looked as if they had seen a hundred suns and partook of the wine which was generously passed in their direction. Tus could not help but notice the warm heat of the princess's body pressed closely to his and he could almost feel the tense tremble of her muscles beneath the cloak she had drawn protectively around her. He recalled their first meeting, the fierce defiance in Tamina's eyes and her cutting words, enough to match the most experienced wordsmith. She was a fine specimen of a woman and a challenge even to a king such as himself, with the entire kingdom at his feet. But, with strands of her jasmine scented hair blowing lazily across his face and the milky white flesh of her neck exposed above the cloak's clasp, Tus was reminded that she was nothing more than a slip of a girl beneath the tough exterior. She had honed an aura of lofty disenchantment out of necessity, a survival technique to warn men who would seek to take advantage, but it was a disguise. Now, alone together, united in their affection for Dastan, Tamina had softened and let her guard down. Perhaps unconsciously, she no longer defied Tus at every turn and now, huddled around the fire, she seemed to crave his protection.

Recognising his weakness for the princess growing, Tus forced his mind to divert itself. He could allow himself to become enchanted by her when there was work to be done. He needed to remain sharp and alert, ready for action. Clearing his throat, he placed a gentle hand on the princess's shoulder, feeling her jump minutely beneath his fingers. She fixed him with a challenging gaze and Tus smiled reassuringly. "Why don't you get some rest? I will keep watch."

Tamina opened her mouth to protest but she could not deny the fatigue spreading throughout her limbs and threatening to send her drifting off mid-ride. "Do not let me sleep for long," she instructed.

"I will not," Tus assured her as she lay her head down on a saddle bag and plumped it into a makeshift pillow. Closing her eyes, Tamina tried to imagine herself back at home in her own bed instead of surrounded by the prying eyes of strange men. She drew her cloak tightly around her small frame and turned her back to the fire.

Gazing into the curling flames, Tus listened to the idle chatter of the travellers, telling fanciful tales of battles they had fought in and extravagant palaces they had seen. Tus knew most of them to be lies but they were harmless enough, the dreams that poor men live upon and nothing more. As tendrils of smoke rose into the night breeze, Tus' mind wandered into the shadows of his own dreams. He saw Dastan's face, blue eyes filled with a fear the young king had never seen before. His brother's face bore signs of injury, a trickle of blood tracking a slow path down his temple. Dastan's lips were moving silently, seeming to repeat the same words over and over. No matter how hard he concentrated, Tus could not make them out. He called out but his brother did not hear him, they simply echoed in his own head. Dastan's face was pale, eyes shining with a feverish glow and Tus reached out to touch him, to bring him close. But, the harder he reached for him, the more distant his little brother became. Shadows spread into dark creases around Dastan's receding form, dark tendrils choking him until he was lost from view.

Tus' eyes snapped open and he looked warily around him at the faces of the other men. No one seemed to be giving him sideways glances and he realised he must have dozed off for a moment. Wiping a hand across his prickling eyes, Tus looked towards the princess, reassuring himself that she was safe and still peacefully asleep. Shaken by what he had seen, the king could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He could not afford to doze off again. He had been lucky that these men had not sought the opportunity to slit his throat and rape Tamina, or worse.

Standing up, the king stretched and wandered over to where the horses were tied up. They looked much happier now, with their soft noses nuzzling in a feed bag and a pail of water set firmly between them. Tus ran a firm hand along the flank of one of them, relishing the polished velvet of the animal's coat. The horse lifted his head and gently nudged his master's shoulder good naturedly before going back for more food. Rattled by his dream, Tus could not shake the image imprinted on his brain of Dastan. He had never seen his brother so desperate and afraid. Having survived as an orphan on the streets of Nasaf for the early years of his life, Dastan had learned tricks and wiles that meant Tus rarely saw him bested. The young king prayed the dream was not a prophetic one – he had to see his little brother again, to tell him how sorry he was for ever doubting him and to beg his forgiveness.

Feeling a chill wind at his back, Tus turned back to the campfire to wait out the next few hours before he could ride out again.


The heat that had rained down on Dastan's head gave way to a cold just as intense and the thin clothes he had been wearing upon capture provided the prince with little protection against the elements. Shivers wracked his body and his teeth chattered uncontrollably but still he pushed himself on. At times, his mind detached itself from the torment of trying to shuffle his wounded leg forwards and the pain that stabbed him to the core with each step. Dastan would drift off somewhere without feeling, his mind numbed beyond any kind of coherent thought. Then, a stumble or sharp jolt of pain would rouse him suddenly back into the real world and he would look around the endless lines of undulating dunes, completely at a loss as to which way he should go next. He had long since lost touch with the sun's compass and it was only deep rooted self preservation that propelled him onwards.

He was absently aware of the continuous trickle of blood still oozing from his thigh. While he knew there was nothing he could do beyond the self-fashioned tourniquet he had made, Dastan worried that any wound still bleeding so long after the attack was not a good sign. The view to the horizon did not seem to have changed for a long time, almost as if he were treading water, and the young prince felt his resolve weaken. What exactly was he returning to anyway? A family that had turned their back on him, a life spent on the run? No, there was nothing to look forward to. Hell, someone he had once called uncle had commissioned a hassansin to destroy him, his memory tarnished beyond repair. Was this truly the gods' plan for him? Had they set him up with a new family, with people who had shown a love he had never dared to believe existed before, only to tear it away from him? Perhaps this final abandonment in the wilderness was the last lesson he was supposed to learn before this life was finally done with him.

Losing his footing on the shifting sand, Dastan fell hard onto his side. For a moment, everything faded to black and the prince was surrounded only by excruciating, all encompassing pain. He could do no more than simply lie there, his hands pressed tightly against the wound's entrance, waiting for the agony to subside. Dastan panted hard, his body trying to draw in enough breath to defy unconsciousness that threatened to take him under. He squeezed his eyes shut as he rolled gingerly to his good side and struggled to pull himself up into a sitting position. There he paused, breathless and weak, unable to find the will power or the strength to go on any further. Visions of his home swam before his eyes, visions of Tus and Garsiv, of Sharaman. They were smiling at him, playful and full of love. Dastan swallowed back a lump in his throat, willing away the tears that prickled behind his eyes. He was dead to them. Very soon he would be dead to the world. But he was damned if he would take his fate lying down.

Staggering to his feet, Dastan pulled his head scarf up over his head and drunkenly weaved his way up the next dune.


"Princess," Tus urged, gently. "The horses are rested, dawn is breaking. We must take to the road." Tamina blinked sleep away and sat up abruptly.

"How long have I been sleeping?" she asked, suddenly anxious that she had slowed their progress.

"Not long, a couple of hours," Tus said. "Are you ready? Aron has prepared a hearty meal for us all before we set out."

Tamina raised a suspicious eyebrow. "Do you trust him not to poison us?"

Tus smiled at her mistrust of everyone. "They have been eating from the same pot. It would be clever indeed if they managed to poison us without harming themselves, too. Come," he gestured to where the fire had burnt itself down and a pot was positioned over it. Tamina had to admit that the smell was tantalising and her stomach was making its emptiness known.

After the princess had eaten her fill, the pair thanked their hosts and set their course once more. The short rest and generous portions of food had made the princess feel more human again and she hoped Tus was reasonable refreshed, despite not getting any sleep.

For several hours they rode, sometimes in silence, other times in conversation about the corners of the empire or prestigious hosts they had dined with. It was strange to Tamina how quickly she had warmed to Tus after the pillage of her city. Although he had always been kind to her, within reason, she had vowed never to take him into her confidence or allow him to see her happy. Yet, Dastan had united them and Tamina found herself grateful for Tus' understanding and protection.

The princess was so lost in her ruminations over what the future might hold should her alliance with Tus be made official, that she almost overlooked the slight blot on the landscape to the left of them. Pulling her horse to a stand still, Tamina narrowed her eyes. "What's that?" she asked, half to herself. Tus reined his horse in beside hers and followed her gaze.

"Over there!" Tamina shouted, pointing towards an almost indecipherable shadow on a dune ahead. Tus followed her finger and the pair spurred their horses onwards. As they neared the dune, the dim outline of a body came into view and Tus felt his heart rise into his throat. He had set out from the palace full of gung-ho determination to find his wronged brother and return him safely to a hero's welcome. What the young king had not considered was what exactly might have befallen Dastan and whether there would even be anything to bring home.

Tamina was dismounting from her horse before the animal had even ground to a halt and she skidded to the ground beside the fallen prince. "Dastan!" she called in vain. The body was sheathed in a fine layer of white sand, almost obscuring him, as the princess gently turned him onto his back. She choked back a gasp when she pulled back Dastan's head scarf. It was like staring into the face of death itself.

Tus landed at her side and Tamina glanced at him with tears glistening in her eyes. "I fear we are too late," she murmured, gently stroking a shaking hand through Dastan's dark hair. "Oh, Dastan," she whispered.

Tus pressed two fingers calmly to his brother's throat, waiting with bated breath for the sign of life he feared would not come. At first, there seemed to be nothing but, with a slight shift of his fingertips, the king felt the fading pulse of Dastan's beating heart. "He lives," Tus said quietly, hardly daring himself to speak the words with more conviction.

"What?" Tamina asked, incredulously. "Are you sure?"

Tus continued to monitor the beating for a moment longer before nodding, an unbidden smile springing to his lips. "For now." He looked down tenderly at Dastan, taking in the ashen face beneath the dirt and sand particles, dark lashes closed against the taut curve of his cheeks. Perhaps only once before in his life had Tus ever seen his brother so vulnerable, and that had been when they were mere boys, shortly after Dastan had come from a life of poverty to live in the royal household. Dastan had been found by their uncle, Nazim, crying in a corner of the olive grove. It had defied all logic to a young Tus at the time, but he was told that the urchin was having trouble adjusting to his new life, that he was mourning the passing of his old life. Tus had snorted at such a notion – how could Dastan be surrounded by so many riches and pleasures at the click of his fingers and miss the dangerous streets of Nasaf with their cut-throats and foul smelling sewers?

Tus had followed his uncle as the older man had scooped an exhausted Dastan up in his arms and carried him back to his own chambers, where he sat and watched the young boy sleep. But those had been happier times, when the prince knew nothing worse than exhaustion and the beatings of a merchant he tried to steal from. Never before had Dastan flown so close to the face of death as he soared now. It sent icy tendrils of terror through Tus' body to find himself so close to losing another brother. As if it were not pain enough to bury Garsiv, now that Dastan was restored to him, Tus would not let him die.

"Then we are not too late?" Tamina asked, anxiously.

Tus shook his head, "He is weak. We must pray that the gods show mercy." His eyes drifted over his brother's body, taking in the torn clothes and blood stains, some dry and others still moist. "There is more damage than exposure to this heat, but we need to be somewhere safe with water and shade. Help me," he motioned to Dastan's back. As the king pulled the prince up by his arms, Tamina slid behind his back as Tus gently eased Dastan back onto her. Tamina cradled him against her, not caring that she was showing more care than was proper for her station. Tus fumbled with his water skin and brought the rim of it to Dastan's parched lips. He tried to pour a little of the cool water into his mouth but it trickled uselessly down the prince's chin and Dastan gave no sign that he was even trying to swallow. "Come on, little brother," Tus murmured encouragingly. Looking up in concern at Tamina, Tus corked the skin and bundled Dastan close to his chest. As he shifted his brother's weight towards him, Tamina looked down at her own clothes, now stained with blood. The pair looked at each other, aghast, and Tus hugged Dastan close against him, peering over his shoulder to get a better look at his brother's back. Tamina lifted Dastan's shirt to reveal deep tears in the flesh of his back. Each cut was set about two inches apart from the next, some deeper than others and they ran in two clear rows. Scrapes ran between each slice as if something had been dragged across the prince's back.

"We cannot tend to him here," Tus repeated. "Bring my horse," the king urged, refusing to meet Tamina's terrified gaze. He lifted his brother's body up over his shoulder, catching his familiar musky scent beneath the smell of sweat and leather. "Stay with me, little brother," he murmured.

For a second, Tus staggered, but it was not his brother's weight that caused him to stumble. To his surprise, it was the unbidden wave of emotions that hit him as he considered the true reality of losing Dastan forever. He had mourned Garsiv, had seen his body given a prince's burial. It had left him with a growing pit in his stomach, like losing a part of you that can never be restored. But, Tus was still numb from the appalling spectacle of his father's death and Garsiv had followed suit so quickly. The king had barely digested the enormity of his loss.

But, losing Dastan was different somehow. It brought a new kind of sorrow that the king had no understanding of, something rooted in childhood vulnerability. Tus found that he could not accept the loss of his adopted brother like a king, not even like a man. It struck him to the deepest core of his being. Dastan's passing would never be made right by a royal funeral for he was a child of the nature, wild and free spirited. Every childhood memory flooded Tus' mind, moments of brotherhood, hatred, shared jester antics and solidarity against their father or a tutor. Dastan could not die, of that Tus was certain. He would not lose his brother today, or may the gods tremble in fear of the terrible revenge this king would wreak.

With the horse standing obediently, Tamina and Tus carefully manoeuvred Dastan's limp body onto the animal's back. It took some pushing and pulling before the pair was satisfied that the injured prince was not going to slip off. Dastan's head lolled forwards against the horse's neck, his dry lips parted as he drew in what little air his body was still able to pump. Tamina dared not hope for a miracle when the prince looked so far from redemption.

Tus drew a map from the folds of his riding cloak and set it before him. "We stand a better chance continuing in that direction," he said, pointing ahead. He quickly hauled himself up into the saddle behind his brother and pulled Dastan against his chest, feeling the prince's head roll listlessly and his heated forehead pressed against Tus' neck. He clung on to his younger brother as if his own life depended on it, his fingers moving across Dastan's torso as he held him firmly. Grimly, the king felt something hard and sharp as his hand crossed his brother's side. Shifting aside the fabric of Dastan's jameh, Tus saw the cruel torture of glinting metal emerging from angry, enflamed flesh. Cursing under his breath, Tus looked up at the princess but quickly made a decision not to tell Tamina, knowing it would be worse to try and remove the offensive object in the open desert and she would only worry futilely.

Kicking the horse into motion behind the princess, he held Dastan tightly as if hoping to pass on some of his own vitality. His brother's hand trailed limply against Tus' leg, the knuckles bloody from fighting. Tus frowned in suspicion, his mind working over the possible scenarios that might have led Dastan to this end, all of them equally dreadful.


The desert stretched infinitely out ahead of them and the horses couldn't race across it quickly enough for the king's taste. Dastan's life was hanging by a thread and Tus hardly dared face the possibility that his rescue mission had come too late. Since their direction no longer mattered, the urgent need for water and shade more pressing, the pair only rode for a couple of hours before a small settlement came into view.

As they approached the encampment, Tamina dismounted and led her horse towards the band of turbaned men who had formed an ominous line ahead of her. "We are seeking water and shelter for an injured soldier." She knew it was unlikely that news of Dastan's treachery had spread so far so fast but she wanted to maintain a low profile in case. "That depends on the price, my lady," one of the men said, his eyes wandering lustily over Tamina's body.

"Leave her be," came a frail bark from behind him. Tamina watched as an elderly woman, bent and gnarled as an ancient olive tree, moved towards the group. Unusually, the group of men parted for her in deference and the woman stepped close to Tamina. Her eyes shone with a glow too youthful for the wrinkled face they were set in. They flitted towards where Tus was still seated astride his horse, Dastan's inert body cradled against him. "Where have you come from?"

"We have been searching far and wide for our comrade. We heard he had been injured and left for dead. I could not tell you the names of half the places we have passed through."

Tamina could not hide the urgency in her tone and the old woman nodded her head in understanding. "You love him," she asserted, confidently. Tamina opened her mouth to speak but found herself at a loss for words. Surely a half blind vagrant could not tell such a thing from such a small exchange of words, but if it helped her find sanctuary for Dastan, she was happy to live with the assumption. "I have a tent you can use. Follow me." The old woman beckoned to Tamina, who shot a wary glance back at the group of men around her. The woman seemed to catch the gesture and waved her hand nonchalantly. "Oh, do not fret about these lugs. They are just passing through, regulars you could say. It is only me you need to appease," she laughed, showing toothless gum.

She led Tamina to a tent on the outskirts of the encampment. Expecting the worst, Tamina poked her head around the fabric door and was surprise to see that there were animal skins and colourful rugs on the floor, a haphazard collection of lanterns strung up against the central tent pole. An assortment of bowls and water skins sat in a pile on the far side, looking mostly like they needed a good wash and nothing more. "There's a small river to the north, no more than a few hundred yards," the woman added.

Tamina turned to her and offered her warmest smile. "Thank you for your hospitality. You will paid. But we might need to stay here for a few days," the princess said, hopefully.

"Oh, stay as long as you need, my dear. Most travellers do not stop for long. No one will have need of this place. I am just across the way, should you need me," the woman smiled again and ducked out of the tent, bracing her aching back as she did so.

Tamina immediately returned to Tus, gently helping him as he released Dastan into her arms. The prince's weight flopped against her and she almost lost her footing with the impact but, in an instant, Tus was at her side. He pulled Dastan by the wrists over his shoulder and followed the princess to the tent. It was hot inside but the relief from being under the glaring sun was enough.

Tamina set about piling blankets, rugs and skins into some kind of semblance of a bed before Tus set his brother down. He carefully arranged Dastan's limbs, stretching his legs out and ensuring his neck was in a comfortable position. As he did so, the king felt wetness on his hand and he looked down in horror to see a swipe of blood across his palm. "Princess..." he called.

Following his gaze, Tamina swallowed hard. "Are you hurt, too?"

"It is not my blood," he replied, grimly. His hands moved to Dastan's leg, where blood glistened against the fabric of his shalvar. Retrieving a small, sharp knife from his boot, Tus carefully tore at the cloth until there was a large hole. "We need water. There is too much blood here." He felt Tamina move from his side and heard her shuffling in the corner with the bowls then leave the tent. "Oh, Dastan, what have they done to you?" the king murmured, looking to his brother's blank face. The young king pressed the flesh at the top of Dastan's thigh, watching for where thick blood oozed out of the leg. Wiping aside the worst of it, Tus saw the raw edges of another jagged wound, similar to the holes made by the blades he had yet to attend to in Dastan's side.

With gentle ministrations, Tus took an inventory of his brother's injuries. There were the deep lacerations to his back and, when the king tore Dastan's shalvar open across his chest, his heart sank when the wounds continued a path across the lower part of his rib cage. Tus counted four deep wounds, one in his brother's thigh and three to his left side. Once the fabric of Dastan's clothes had been removed, it was evident that the injuries were caused by a circular blade made from three curving talons joined in the centre. This was clear because two of them were still firmly embedded in the prince's body. Then, there was the neck wound. It looked to be slightly older than the other wounds, already somewhat scabbed over and healed. But the inflammation around Dastan's throat told Tus that whatever instrument of torture had been used had done considerable damage.

Tus tore as much of his brother's clothing from his broken body as he could without causing further injury and, by the time he had stripped Dastan's wounds, he heard Tamina's footsteps returning with water. He turned to her, trying to hide his own fear. "We will need fire. Some of these wounds must be cauterised."

Tamina looked shocked and her voice trembled when she spoke. "Is there no other way?"

Tus shook his head. "His leg has not stopped bleeding and there are blades still embedded in his side. When we take them out..." He stopped himself, seeing Tamina's face blanche. "Trust me. It is the best way to contain the bleeding and give him a chance to heal."

Wringing a cloth from the water, Tus gently set about cleaning the blood from around Dastan's thigh wound. The flesh was worryingly cool to the touch and the king felt like a boulder had been slammed into his stomach when he considered what he was going to have to do. "We must work fast," Tus whispered. "He is still bleeding."

Tamina nodded. She had placed a cold cloth across Dastan's neck, hoping to help the swelling abate. The young prince was so still and she found herself staring in horror at the injuries adorning his body. She could not bear the thought of him suffering through it alone, at the hands of a man whose sole goal was to murder for a price. Dastan had seemed so strong before, ready to take on any challenge. Now, he looked fragile and childlike.

The princess watched as Tus carefully removed the small dagger he carried from its sheath and stepped outside the tent to put it on the fire. As she wiped a second cloth carefully over the wounds on Dastan's chest, she heard a hitching breath as she touched a particularly deep wound. "Dastan?" she whispered, pressing a hand to his pale cheek. "Dastan, it is Tamina. Can you hear me?"

"Mmn," he mumbled, moving closer into her touch, as if seeking assurance in the warmth of her hand. For a moment he stilled and Tamina thought he might have succumbed to unconsciousness again. Then, as Tus re-entered the tent, Dastan stirred again, his mouth moving in incomprehensible, whispered words.

"Dastan?" Tus breathed, relief spreading across his face. The king skidded to a halt at his brother's side, taking the prince's hand within his own and rubbing warmth into it.

Dastan's eyes opened blearily, taking a moment to find the blurry source of the voice in his ear. His brain was dull from heat and blood loss and he struggled to piece together what had happened. He tried to move and was instantly engulfed in white hot pain, searing through every molecule of his body. A weak frown passed over his brow and he hissed in a breath, squeezing his eyes shut against the glare of light around him.

"Don't try to move," Tus instructed, his hands hovering over Dastan's body, unsure of where to touch him without causing further pain.

Dastan's mind floated as it moved through the pain, trying to make sense of it. He was breathing hard, struggling to draw in oxygen. It hurt every time his chest expanded and contracted, his throat burned with a relentless throb. As he forced himself to focus on something beyond the pain, finally images began to filter through, of a dark robed man with whips and knives, of betrayal...of Tus. "Tus?" he managed, his voice hoarse.

"I am here," Tus replied, smiling. "You are safe now. Rest."

Dastan fought against sleep to open his eyes once more, wearily seeking out the blob that declared itself to be his brother. "Tus? But you..."

"Sssh, that is all over now. You are restored to us." Tus pressed his palm to Dastan's forehead, smiling down at the dazed blue eyes that he never dared believe he would see again. Then, relief was swiftly replaced with the grim remembrance of what he had been about to do. Slowing his words to be sure Dastan understood, he gripped his brother's hand tightly. "Brother, you have lost a lot of blood. The wound is not healing... We must seal it shut."

At first, Dastan did not seem to register what his brother was saying. Then, slowly his own grip tightened a fraction in Tus' hand. "Do what you must..." he breathed, exhaustion emanating from every syllable. He watched with detachment as Tus stood and lifted the tent flap, returning moments later with the glowing metal of his dagger. Every ounce of resolve Dastan had mustered suddenly fell away and he felt nothing less than utter panic and fear as his brother moved towards him until he could feel the heat on his face.

END OF PART 3

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