Tibs’s attempts at dealing with the bandits on his own were thwarted by Jeremy. He’d sat himself before the tent and never took his eyes off it. He was light enough of a sleeper that, no matter how quiet Tibs was, even pulling the flap had woken the young man. He’d considered air to make himself completely silent, but he couldn’t know if he was awake until he checked.

  If he’d been able to suffuse himself with darkness, he would have made it out regardless of sounds or items he had to move out of his way since it caused people to not notice anything related to what he didn’t. Now, the best his etching did was pull in the surrounding shadows, and that, in and of itself, would be noticed.

  Jeremy was vengefully determined to ensure that Tibs wouldn’t be able to ‘play hero’ without him, it seemed.

  So, he’d resigned himself to going along with the others and slept the rest of the night. Graiden didn’t let him go ahead to scout alone when they were close enough he considered it warranted, and he hadn’t trusted Jeremy to prevent Tibs from rushing into danger, so, he’d made it clear that the only way he’d allow him to scout was if he went with Narkiar. The woman had spent years as a ranger for her king’s army until something she wouldn’t talk about had happened and she’d abandoned her post.

  He’d stayed with the group until the scouts confirmed where the camp was, then spent the trek there looking for way to break off and run ahead. But even with as little sleep as he had to have gotten, Jeremy was as alert as always and didn’t leave Tibs’s side.

  And now, while waiting for the signal, he watched from cover as two dozen people out of the three times that much he could sense went about the work of keeping a camp this size functioning. It looked a lot like theirs when they broke for the night.

  Jeremy and two others were hidden with Tibs. Graiden had broken them into six groups, and the others were still taking positions; surrounding the camp. They dealt with the three sentries they’d encountered silently.

  Graiden’s group was the one furthest from where they’d arrive. It ensured everyone else would be in position when he gave the signal.

  Their orders were simple; kill them all.

  Bandits were a scourge on anyone traveling. The only way to discourage others from taking it up was to make sure it was more dangerous than any other job they could do to survive. When a kingdom acknowledged bandits existed within their borders, it was by offering a hefty reward for their heads.

  Tibs didn’t know what this kingdom’s position on them was. He didn’t care about rewards; only keeping the caravan safe.

  The signal came in the form of a bird call, but it was out of the ordinary enough for the three bandits closest to Tibs’s group to go on alert as they broke cover.

  The Earth etching going from shoulder to hand, which would give him strength and protection, took most of the two reserves he’d prepared for the fight as they trecked. He’d filled three with Metal, and a large part of that was in the etching that reinforced his leathers, over his vital areas. Two had Air, for when he needed to boost his speed, and one fire for if he had to resort to drastic measure to keep the others alive.

  Explaining that one, if it came to it, would take some doing, but, at least, the camp had plenty of fires burning to shift the blame to, and some of the cauldrons over them had to contain fats, if only to waterproof the tents. Or could be believed to contain that if fire spread in an unnatural way when one was tipped over a fire.

  He barreled through the three on the defensive, putting them off balance for the others, and ran for the six who were only just realizing something was happening. Two had swords, one a club, one an ax, and the other two spears. With only the club as a threat, and his added protections, Tibs wasn’t worried

  He still had to be careful. His armor couldn’t end up damaged in a way he’d have to explain the lack of blood.

  He dispatched the first before the man was ready. The added sharpness to his blade easily piercing through the hard leather. He took hold of the ax head’s essence and nudged it aside as he turned, raising his shield to take the strike instead of his head. He stepped aside the coming sword, nudging it the rest of the way so it would miss him, as he shoved his shield into the ax holder’s face.

  He momentarily split his attention to get a sense of the entire battle. The bandits were splitting up to deal with the groups, with some remaining behind. Maybe as reinforcement. The bandits outnumbered them, but they lacked the training the guards had.

  He blocked the club as he turned and opened the sword wielder’s stomach, continuing to turn to also cut the club holder open. He straightened, raising his sword to block the incoming one, then locked them together with essence, grinning at the woman. He turned it aside, release it and raised his for the killing—

  His concentration shatters from the pain exploding in his shoulder. He stared at the arrow’s stone tip, unable to comprehend how—more pain as his sword flew out of his hand from the club hitting it.

  He barely got his shield up to stop the sword, unable to focus through the pain the motion caused his shoulder. He willed Earth for strength, but the moment he pushed against the sword, the pain broke his concentration again, and he barely moved it.

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  He stepped to the side, and the sword slid against his shield to hit the ground. Tibs gritted his teeth through the pain and brought it down on the woman’s head. The club got under his attempt at blocking it, and the pain in his side told him of broken bones without having to sense it.

  Why hadn’t he kept a reserve for purity?

  He kicked at the man’s leg, barely moving him without Earth for strength. Then he slammed his shield in an attempt to give himself space to breathe, only he sensed a sword coming at his back. He barely moved it, unable to fully grasp its essence, but it was enough to step out of the way and only have it scratch his armor.

  Motion warned him of an attack, but there was nothing there for him to grasp. His shield wasn’t up fast enough and caught it on the edge, wrenching his arm painfully and he staggered. He reached for Earth, but another hit broke his focus and he was on the ground. He grabbed the sword and swung it awkwardly because of the shield on his arm, but it was enough to gain him space.

  His etchings were gone, his reserves of earth nearly depleted, although there was plenty under him to call on, if he could only focus on that, instead of the pain.

  With a scream, a woman ran at him, a club coming down. The shield took the hit, but the impact hurt all the way to his injured shoulder and side. With a scream of his own, he pushed through the pain and against her, a ball of Air exploding to send her away.

  He needed a sense of the battle. Had to make sure his allies were—

  She was on him again, and he raised his shield, only for her to stop short. The pain exploded in his leg and he was on the ground. Pain again, his leg, his back. He needed to channel an element, bring this to an end. But they were all out of his reach.

  The pain continued once the blows stopped.

  Someone yelled, and Tibs forced his way through the pain. There were feet around him, metal clanging against metal. Other people screaming in pain. He needed to help them; to push off the ground, but he couldn’t move one arm. He sensed the stone tip, grabbed its essence and pull—

  The wooden shaft, scraping into his shoulder, shattered his concentration.

  He took hold of it again; he had to get it out. He couldn’t heal it until the arrow was out of his shoulder. His will had no strength.

  A shadow moved closer, and Tibs pulled his shield up, surprised at the lightness of his arm, until it was the only thing between him and the young man looking down at him. He knew the man, but Tibs couldn’t remember his name.

  “Do something,” the young man demanded, and Tibs laughed.

  He doubled over from the pain, any attempt at focus impossible. Fire would bring this to a definite end. He could breathe again, and knew there would be no survivors if he managed to unleash it in his state.

  He had enough focus. He could take hold of essence again, but there was little he could do without revealing himself. He nudged metal and stone away from his allies, turning death blows into glancing ones. When he thought he could do so safely, he channeled purity and set etchings on the worse of his internal injuries. He had to keep them small; he couldn’t risk healing something visible and have to explain it. At least he could make splints around his broken shoulder and leg to keep those injuries from being worse.

  Then he focused on what he could do to keep his allies alive.

  The cry of pain was wrenched from him when Jeremy shook him. “Don’t fall asleep. It’s dangerous when you’re this hurt.”

  “I’m not asleep,” he managed, when the pain subsided. Someone else screamed in pain, but he couldn’t take hold of the metal to help them. He cursed the young man, who was back to fighting, and Tibs played his part in them winning this battle too.

  * * * * *

  Jeremy offered him a hand, visibly in pain from the arrow in his leg, and someone moved him aside with a comment about sitting down before they had to cut the leg off. She picked Tibs up and brought him among the other injured.

  When he stood before him, Graiden was bloodied and cut. “Considering how eager you were to head off on your own, I expected you to fare better.”

  “He did okay,” Jeremy said, offended, and Tibs would have laughed, if not for the pain.

  “Until he lost his sword,” someone said.

  Until someone had shot him and a wooden shaft had shattered his focus. How had he missed an archer? Of course, those would keep away from the fighting.

  “Don’t you know how to fight without one?” Graiden asked, and Tibs had trouble working out what he meant, until he did.

  “I don’t make a habit of losing it,” he replied as a poor defense.

  The man muttered something unflattering, then turned. “Okay. Anyone without serious injuries helps the others to the road. We’ll set up camp and wait for the caravan to reach us. Be on your guards. Some of these assholes ran, and a few are bound to come back thinking they can avenge their dead.”

  “What about the dead?” someone asks.

  “If you think the elements are going to want their kind,” Graiden replied, “you deal with burning them. As far as I’m concerned, they can rot and be lost forever.”

  The responses were quiet, but the overall tone was displeasure. Tibs couldn’t make out who felt like Graiden, and who wanted to burn the bodies.

  “What about the taking the heads?” someone else asked. “We can get a silver for each bandit’s head we bring to the city guards.”

  “They’re going to be nothing more than skulls by the time we reach the city,” the chief said, “but if you think you can convince them where they came from, you go ahead. Just make sure no one comes complaining about the smells.”

  Graiden smiled as he offered Tibs his hand. Tibs could see the eagerness to comment on his state on the man’s face, so he reached for the hand with his injured arm. The life splint kept the pain to something manageable.

  A woman gasped as Tibs tentatively put weight on the leg wrapped in another splint. “I could have sworn they’d crushed it.”

  Only broken in three places. “It just looked like it. They weren’t hitting all that hard.”

  “Then you help the injured.” Graiden pointed to Jeremy. “Start with your defender. The way his leg’s bleeding. He’s going to lose all of his blood before we reach the road.”

  “Sorry.” Jeremy tried to stand. “I’m fine, really.”

  He wasn’t. His essence was thinner than it should be, and it was still leaking out. The arrow’s tip had missed the bone, but touched the channel in the leg that was more important than the others.

  He’d asked a scholar about it a long time ago. Why their essence was in channels, when dungeon made creatures just had it everywhere, and having to listen to the intricacies of the essence system in people had given him the kind of headaches that ensured he never asked again.

  “Doesn’t matter how fine you are,” Tibs said. “I’m not disobeying Gray. Stay seated so I can remove the arrow and bandage your injury. And take comfort. This means you get to sit around while the rest of us have to do all the work.”

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