Page 92 of Alora: The Maladorn Scroll (Alora 3)

“This version of the scroll isn’t making me sick,” Alora remarked.

“Nor do I feel the same draw as from the Maladorn Scroll.” Mera eyed the pages, frowning. “I must protect these from damage. It would be a tragedy to lose these writings again.”

“Oh, it wouldn’t be a big deal,” said Beth. “I’ve got the images backed up in the cloud. I could always print some more.”

Mera stared, her gray eyes wide, uncomprehending.

Beth chuckled. “Never mind. All you have to know is I can get you as many copies as you need.”

Speechless, Mera could only shake her head slowly from side to side.

Smiling at her astonishment, Alora stood and walked toward the basement door. “Come on, Meravelle. Leave those on the table and we’ll go see Bardamen.”

“I’m so grateful,” said Meravelle, joining her on the stairs. “For all of you.”

“No, I’m the one who’s grateful,” Alora insisted. “You risked your life for me. You were so courageous, walking into Vindrake’s camp all by yourself.”

“I was terrified.”

“Yes, but you came anyway. And you didn’t even have a weapon.”

“I have no gifting in strength or weapons or agility, so it would not have served me well to bring a blade along. But I wasn’t without defense.”

“Really?”

“I’m gifted in wisdom, and I carried it with me. It is both my weapon and my shield.”

“It must be nice to have a gift that can’t be stopped by a piece of iron around your foot.”

“Gifted or not, wisdom should always be your primary weapon. Without it, you’ll never succeed, no matter your strength or prowess with a blade.”

“Even after all of this—Vindrake’s attack, burning your town, threatening the Craedenza—you don’t wish you knew how to fight with a sword?”

Mera laughed, holding her hand on top of her head to indicate her shortness. “With a sword in hand, I might slice a warrior’s knees. With wisdom I can cut off the head.”

“Hmmm...”

“However, I’m always willing to learn a new skill, as learning is part of wisdom.”

“Okay... fair e

nough.”

When they entered the room, Doc was sitting in the overstuffed chair by Bardamen’s bed, watching his chest rise and fall.

“Still no change?” Alora knew the answer, but she had to ask anyway.

“Nothing.”

Alora would’ve known how discouraged Doc was even if her gift hadn’t told her. He stood up, holding his hands on either side of his head like it might fall off.

“I just don’t get it. He didn’t go that long without breathing. We got him out of there really fast.”

“Maybe the smoke?”

He shook his head. “There are signs of severe smoke inhalation, and he doesn’t have them. I think he breathed some smoke, for sure, but he’s been on oxygen for days now. He’s breathing on his own. His heart is beating on its own. There’s just no reason he shouldn’t wake up.”

“Did Laethan have any ideas?” Alora asked. “Before he died.”