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side of the bed and pushed himself into a sitting position. As he took a breath, pain stabbed into his left side. He clenched a hand around his ribs, suddenly overcome with dizziness, and hunched over. Something was wrong with him. The inseam of his left pant leg was cut open, and where the leg peeked out he saw it was swollen and discolored. He tried to remember.

The City Center, the living window, the Shadow ship.

Where was Blaylock?

Breathing shallowly, he searched for mage energy, found none besides his own. He checked the time. It took a few moments to register. He'd slept over thirty hours.

Blaylock must have brought him here. Blaylock must have saved him, because he should have been killed by the fall. Galen tried to sort out the sensations of the impact. At the last moment before he'd hit the ground, his body had grown suddenly heavy, as if he were in an elevator slowing to a stop. Blaylock had conjured a platform beneath him, spreading the deceleration out over perhaps a second, lessening the impact.

Galen scanned his body. His lower left leg showed the incomplete knitting of two fractures, one of the fibula, and one of the smaller tibia. Three ribs on his left side were recovering from breaks. An assortment of bruises and scrapes marked various other parts of his body. Blaylock must have healed him partially; his own organelles would have taken at least a few days to affect this degree of healing.

The plan had been to flee once they'd been discovered. Yet he was still on Thenothk 4. Galen was grateful he hadn't woken to find himself on a transport heading away from the rim. He still had a chance to find Elizar, if Elizar was here. And now that he knew the spell of destruction would crush only what he wished, he could use it.

The energy of the
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