He had been falling in and out of consciousness throughout the remainder of the morning and all of the afternoon. Each time Killian returned and found him limp and slack-jawed, a jolt of fear surged in his chest at the thought that he would be left alone again. Yet, after a few minutes with Killian knelt by his side, Thorian would stir. His lids would flutter as the shock of cold seawater washed over the skin surrounding his wound, and he would fix his caregiver with a glassy stare. At first, this sudden sense of alertness in Thorian had filled Killian with hope, but it was clear as the hours passed that these moments of lucidity were more and more plagued with the onset of delirium.
It had not taken long to strip the cloth from the pant leg of Thorian's injured limb. Though he had elicited little reaction while Killian was in the process, prying the cloth loose from around the jagged splinter caused Thorian to wince. It was not as severe of a reaction as Killian had had upon seeing it. Buried into the flesh of his thigh like the head of a spear, the fractured plank stuck out by nearly four or five inches. Both the pant leg that had been torn away and the flesh beneath it were stained a vibrant crimson.
Each movement made by Thorian caused a fresh geyser to erupt from injury. Killian did his best to repurpose the cloth into a tourniquet, but the material was much too damaged to stop the flow of blood completely. Killian had toyed with the idea of pulling out the sliver, but quickly decided against it. Not only could the blood loss be dangerous, but the thought of performing such an action made his stomach turn. Instead, he had decided to snap the wooden shrapnel at its point of entry - an idea that didn't exactly fill him with joy either.
Despite his apprehensions, he had waited until Thorian had awoken once again before he explained what he was going to attempt. He wasn't even certain that Thorian had understood him in his delusions, but he made the effort regardless. From the first application of pressure, a small pool of dark blood rose and overflowed from the wound. Killian felt Thorian tense up and braced his forearm against his nephew's upper thigh to prepare for what was to come. His hand trembling and already thoroughly slick with an unsavory mixture of sweat and blood made the first attempt an utter failure.
Wrapping his fingers tightly around the object, Killian's hand slipped, and he ended up jolting it to the side instead. Thorian released an inhuman howl of agony, involuntarily bringing his knee up to where it connected with Killian's jaw. Falling backward and cursing loudly, Killian stood and paused to massage the point of impact. Thorian's head had slumped forward onto his own chest, apparently having passed out from the pain once more. For an instant, Killian debated whether or not to leave Thorian and attempt to find any others who may have wound up on the island.
Killian was far from a physician, with his only experience with medicine being caring for an elderly and incontinent man who was far past the point of no return. That being said, the one skill it had afforded him was the ability to tell when one had reached that critical point between the possibility of recovery and becoming a lost cause. Thorian had not reached that point yet, but he may as well have if there were no survivors with more practice than Killian. Still, he had not exactly been on the best of terms with the crew of the Korvinsfald, and Thorian had helped him bridge that gap. The thought of coming upon any of the Dwarven crew without Thorian as a natural barrier did not sit well with him.
Before he could think any further on the matter, Killian knelt down once more. Wiping his hand dry upon his shirt, he pressed firmly around the wound, gripped the sprinter, and wrenched it to the side with an audible crack. Thorian had not even stirred. With a sigh of relief, Killian raised himself up and made to return to the beach to gather more water. He was barefoot now, clutching the one boot that remained to him in both hands.
Using a partial strip of cloth, he had mended the sole well enough that it could hold enough liquid to bring back to Thorian. It would not leak so badly as to be completely gone, if he hurried with each trip. As he trod the same path to the coast he'd made a dozen times now, he became painfully aware of his own fatigue. He could do with some rest of his own, and his throat was beginning to become parched. Yet, it was Thorian that needed caring for and Thorian who would receive it.
Just as it has always been, Killian thought bitterly.
He knelt down and allowed the cool water to bubble over the rim of his boot, the sea caressing his fingers as it entered. It was a wretched thing, to be surrounded by water yet unable to drink. Killian was certain that if Thorian were sensible enough right now that he would feel the same temptations. You had to fight against your thirst - against your own instincts - by sheer force of will. Despite all that you had been taught, all common logic, your mind would be screaming at you for just a sip.
Next thing you know, you would be bent low, taking deep gulps of water that would poison more than it would ever cure. At last the container had filled and Killian rose to his feet, retracing his well-worn path back into the thicket. It was about halfway across the beach when he'd heard the shouting. Indistinct at first, he tensed up and froze in place, straining his ears to hear who - or what - could be causing such a racket.
"Up, UP! You filth! You swine! Think you've got it good now, do ya? Lounging about in the sun like a baked herring! GET UP, ASH TAKE YOU!"
A yelp like a wounded animal followed, and after feverishly scouring the horizon with his sand-crusted eyes, Killian finally saw them. A standing figure, just a few hundred yards away. He dropped the boot into the sand, and began a stumbling sprint across the beach. As he got within a few dozen feet he became certain: it was Durgan. Worn and in rags from the wreck, but it was the Dwarven captain to a certainty.
Killian could tell even though the Dwarf's back was to him. His roaring was reaching a fever pitch, and as Killian slowed to a trot and at last to a walk, he could at last see why. Beneath him, strewn upon her back in the sand, lay the frail and battered body of a young Orc. Killian doubled over with sudden fatigue, desperate to catch his breath. He steadied himself as the Orc-girl gazed at him with pleading and pain-filled eyes.
He did his best to ignore her.
"Durgan!" He gasped.
The Dwarf shifted just enough to glance at Killian over his shoulder.
"Swore I saw ya sink like a stone, just 'fore we capsized. So ya survived all that then, eh?" He didn't seem in the least bit surprised. "Don't suppose ya ran into the rest a my crew?"
Killian's mind went back to the Dwarf he had passed washed up along the shore. "I found one a little ways up there, along the beach. I couldn't recognize him, but he didn't make it." Killian swallowed hard.
Durgan turned now to fully face him, his eyes narrowed. "I meant alive, you mutt. What good are they to me occupied as pickings for crabs and gulls?"
"I need your help. It's Thorian."
Now the surly Dwarf's brows raised with intrigue.
"So that slagling survived the wreck as well? Now that does surprise me! Tell that anchor-drag to haul his arse to the north shore then. A couple of my lads set up camp there near the base a' the wreck. He's got ta earn his keep if he wants off this rock."
So there were other survivors? Killian thought with relief, his heart skipping a beat with excitement.
"He was injured badly in the wreck and needs treatment. I'll fetch him and we can navigate to your camp. If you'll only tell me where it is, we can make our way over and-"
Durgan cut him off with a sharp laugh.
"What was it did him in?"
Killian hesitated, taken aback. "It-it was a broken plank of some sort. He's got a piece of it wedged in his leg so that he can hardly stand. I think he might've struck his head as well."
"I wouldn't be too sure about that," Durgan replied with a wicked smile, "Boy has always been a fool, and worth about as much as one's gold. Leave him."
"Surely he would be better off where he can get warm. I know very little of medicine, but if any of your crew were physicians and managed to survive, he might yet recover."
"Aye, I'm sure there's a chance. But I've neither the time or resources to spend on dead weight. Especially now that my life savings have become another reef for the shattered isles."
Killian was aghast, "He's one of your crew, you can't just leave him."
Durgan's mood visibly soured, as his smile of almost lighthearted amusement curled downward.
"Seein' as it's my ship, my rations, and my crew, I think I can do whatever ash-blasted fancy I set my mind to, if it's all the same to you. With half my damnable stock drowned and the rest scurrying away like rats -" He gestured to the feeble Orc, who had twisted onto her stomach and was attempting to crawl towards the thicket, "-I'll call myself lucky if I can limp my way into Braemar Harbor with a tenth of what I set out with."
He shook his head with a sigh, folding his thick, filth-smeared arms across his chest. "I hate ta even offer it, skald, but I need all the hands I can get. I'll have somma my lads rebuilt while we track down the rest of my stock. Isn't that right, piglet?"
Killian watched as Durgan strolled leisurely over to the right side of the girl and delivered a sharp kick into her ribs. Killian winced at the impact, and the Orc curled into a ball and whimpered.
"If I've any fortune left to me, there will be some that survived that were worth the investment," the Dwarf kicked her once more, "I'm startin' ta think the lads in Kaladoch sold me damaged goods."
"I think she's had enough, Durgan."
The words were out of Killian's mouth before he knew he wanted to say them. Even as he watched Durgan's venomous scowl return, he did not know what had prompted his reaction.
"There's a reason I hate comin' through the Isles. It's all you Mid-Islanders, stickin' yer noses up like your piss-pots are gilded," He rested a heel on the forehead of the adolescent slave, "This 'ere is my property - no different from that lute upon yer back - and mine alone to do with as I like."
Killian watched time slow as Durgan raised his foot into the air, fully aware of what was to come. His breathing came in quick, shallow gasps, but it wasn't nerves or fear that took control of his mind. It was something new and different that he had rarely felt for another. With each microscopic movement lower the Dwarf's foot plummeted, a clear image flashed through Killian's mind like a waking horror. An image of a small body, wrapped in burlap.
"Stop."
It came from his mouth, clear and crisp, but Killian could hardly say that the word was his own. It held the weight of an order and the certainty of compliance. A command, spoken evenly and without inflection. It was as if, through speaking it, Killian knew that he would stop. And Durgan did stop, though he seemed to not know why.
Less than an inch above the face of the young Orc the Dwarf's foot hovered. He struggled for a moment, his face contorting with effort. It looked as if he was trying to force his boot through a forcefield. A single bead of sweat trickled past the bulging vein on his forehead as he clenched his teeth in the strain of his invisible struggle. Killian watched the event, an unnatural calm having come over him.
At last, Durgan seemed to make up his mind. Slowly, he took a step backwards and lowered his foot to the sand.
"I'll see you rot on this island, skald."
Killian's eyes met the Dwarf's, and he could see the burning fury remained, though his words were as cold as ice. Durgan hawked, the glob of spit staining the beach between Killian's feet. Then, he turned and wordlessly stalked up the beach to the north. Once his adversary was a sufficient distance away, Killian stepped silently beside the nameless Orc. She still gazed upwards pitifully; her face was marred with blood and bruises, one of her small tusks cracked and broken.
But her pleading stare no longer lingered on Killian's face, he saw now that she was staring past him. Her struggle ended before Durgan's boot had even found its mark.