by M. D. Grimm
Lance spat bloody saliva right in his eyes. Ulfr shoved Lance away and scrubbed frantically at his face. The warriors shared worried glances that grew fearful when they heard the thundering hooves of Lance’s stallion. Many scattered, disappearing into the wreckage.
“Come back, you dogs!” Ulfr’s command fell on deaf ears.
Lance smiled despite the pain. An enormous stallion, as gray as storm clouds, galloped toward him. With fiery eyes of coal black and a mane and tail to match, Brutus was a wondrous creature of strength and ferocity. Ulfr had bought him as a colt, intent on training him for his own use. But little Lance had earned the beast’s trust, and no other person was able to ride him. A few had been trampled to death when they attempted to test Brutus’s patience.
Ulfr snarled and backed away from Brutus who snorted in annoyance and flipped his head back. He ran right up to Lance and inserted himself between his rider and Ulfr. He stamped the ground and kicked up mud, his tail flicking in alarm, and his eyes rolling in rage.
“We aren’t done yet, Lance,” Ulfr said, still backing away, axes ready. “If you survive, I will come for you.”
Lance groaned and rolled over, grabbing the stirrup, knowing he had no strength to pull himself up. Brutus lowered to the ground, nickering softly in concern. Lance tugged and pulled and managed to flop over the saddle.
“Get me out of here,” he said hoarsely, breathlessly.
Brutus whinnied and carefully rose to his hooves before trotting away. Lance looked over his shoulder and observed Ulfr swinging his axes, the other warriors starting to return to his side. Ulfr never made idle threats. If Lance survived, he would have that warlord on his heels forever. Unless he killed him first.
Lance closed his eyes and opened his mouth, narrowing his focus on breathing. Just breathe.
Chapter Two
Gust stalked the deer, one that had wandered away from her family. He moved silently, sliding through tall grass and weaving around trees. He’d been hunting since he could walk, and he knew this forest as well as his own town. The trees were tall and thin, spaced widely apart, and the ground was thick and mossy. Birds sang above his head, mixing with the occasional chatter of squirrels. The sun was hot as it shone through the leaves and beat down on his head. He wore a short-sleeved tunic and breeches of dark green while he’d exchanged boots for sandals. If it was this hot in spring, then summer would be incredibly unpleasant.
He held his bow and arrow at the ready, bright green eyes sharp and assessing. When he spotted her, he crouched and aimed. She nibbled on grass and flicked her ears occasionally, listening, alert.
Patience was a virtue in all things, and he’d learned it early in life. He took silent breaths, waiting for her to get into position. He lowered his bow a fraction, just enough to compensate if she heard the arrow upon release. A humane kill was the only way to hunt, and he didn’t want her to suffer. So he waited. And waited. There!
Gust held his breath and released the arrow. It sped through the air and punctured through both lungs, dropping her immediately. He jogged over before crouching, relieved her death was as painless as he could possibly give her. He said a prayer of thanks to the spirits and to the deer for her sacrifice. He prayed that her spirit would find peace with Batsa, the keeper and protector of animals, both living and dead.
He tied her front and back legs together, then slung her over his shoulders, and headed back home. It wasn’t far, less than a mile. She would be well received and every part of her used in his aunt’s healing hut. Nothing would be wasted.
He bypassed the road and walked over the uneven ground of the forest. Bandits used the roads and never hesitated to rob unwary travelers. And there was more activity than usual because of the upcoming snake festival. Although most of it centered in the east toward Apys, the capital city of Cairon, where the queens Cleptra and Sifus ruled. While the majority of folks would journey to Apys, Gust knew only a few of his own townsfolk would leave. Thebys celebrated their own snake festival, and while it wasn’t as grand as the one in Apys, it offered just as much fun and entertainment.
Due to the increase of activity, the two earls who had lands farther north had ordered soldiers to patrol the main roads. The earls’ families had been generous patrons to Thebys over the years by sending about a dozen soldiers to stay in his town during harvesting months. Of course, Thebys was then obliged to offer a percentage of their bounties in payment, but it was an amicable arrangement that had benefited both parties satisfactorily. Sure, Thebys’s council might grumble now and again, and yet they knew what would happen if they refused assistance.
Thebys was an isolated town in the southern kingdom of Cairon and one of the best suppliers of wheat, wool, and leather. They also had their fair share of artisans and merchants. It was a good town and one he was proud to call his own.
Gust smiled. He and his aunt carried on the proud lineage of healers, which had started with his earliest ancestors, the ones who founded his home. Many generations before, tribespeople traveled north, seeking a different life, away from the southern desert lands that could only offer limited water and food. His ancestors had settled in Thebys because of the rich soil for farming before the empire absorbed them and much of the territory south of them. Due to that, his people had dark skin, a trait that was uncommon for most of the empire. However, over the years many of his people had spread to the other kingdoms, seeking different professions.
The Nifdem Empire was ruled over by Emperor Gaiuss and Empress Aurelia. It was made up of the three kingdoms of Swenen, to the north, Grekenus, to the west, and Cairon, to the south. The imperial palace and court were at the Hill of Tarran, up in the mountains, at the center of everything. Outside the empire’s borders lay vast expanses of wilderness and deserts, inhabited by deadly predators and warring tribes. The emperor wanted to expand the borders of his empire, and yet that continued to prove challenging since the tribes ruthlessly guarded their lands and rejected any alliance offered to them.
Gust turned toward the modest river that flowed down from the mountains and split the forest in half. He would follow it until reaching home. He glanced over his shoulder once, musing that it wasn’t so long ago that he’d itched to journey the other way. He’d wanted to travel away from his home, to lend his healing to anyone in need. He once wanted to explore the entire empire and then return home with grand stories. But personal tragedy had struck before he could leave, and he’d needed Thebys more than anything else. His aunt had been more than happy for him to stay, and they’d clung to each other in mutual grief.
The steady sound of heavy hooves reached his ears, disrupting his thoughts. It came from behind him. Odd, it was rare for travelers to use the forest roads. Gust quickly ducked behind a thick trunk and lowered the deer to the ground. Panting slightly, he nocked an arrow and peeked around the tree. He didn’t have to wait long before a magnificent steed appeared. The stallion was larger than any horse he’d ever seen, and the gray and black coloring were stark and absolute. Parts of his bridle gleamed when the sun’s rays bounced off it, and the horse kept his head high and his ears tall, clearly alert.
Once Gust shook off the initial awe, he realized the horse was carrying someone. He squinted and quickly determined the pale rider wasn’t in the best condition. In fact, he appeared to be naked and covered in wounds.
Gust sucked in a breath of shock.
The horse paused by the river not far from Gust and turned his head in both directions before bending slightly to drink some water.
The rider had to be dead. This close Gust could hazard a guess as to the severity of wounds. And all that blood! He’d seen his fair share of injuries and had a good idea of what abuse a body could take before shutting down. Yet, when the horse lifted his head, he turned it as far as he could and nuzzled the rider. He whinnied softly and tugged on the rider’s hair with his lips. Then he bounced slightly as if trying to rouse him. When neither worked, he snorted in obvious frustration.
Co
ming to a decision, Gust returned the arrow to his quiver and slipped his bow over one shoulder. He swallowed hard and stood before stepping out from behind the tree. The better angle allowed him to see the man was indeed naked and covered in blood and mud and bruises.
As soon as Gust exposed himself, the stallion lifted his head and snorted in fury. He spun around to face Gust head on and neighed shrilly.
Gust held up his hands, heart hammering. “Whoa there, boy. Easy. I’m a friend, not a foe. I can help your rider, okay? He looks hurt. I’m a healer and so is my aunt. We can help him.”
As he spoke in Taris, he inched closer. The stallion watched him with more aggression than the bobcats and bears that frequented the area. He whipped his tail around and kicked at the ground, snorting and neighing again.
“Easy, easy. I won’t hurt you or him. I promise.” Gust kept his tone soothing and gentle as he came closer. He didn’t dare try to go around the horse. If he wanted to check on the man’s condition, he had to go through the stallion.
The horse lowered his head, reminding Gust of a bull about to charge. Coal black eyes watched him with malice.
He gulped.
Gust went with instinct and lowered to his knees and slowly removed the quiver and bow, setting them to the side. Then he held out his hands again. “I’m not the enemy. I’m not a warrior. I’m just an archer and a healer. Do you want your friend to live?”
There was certainly something special about this stallion, as evidenced by the intelligence burning in his eyes alongside the determination to protect his rider.
“He’s dying, you have to know that. I can help him. My aunt can help him. I don’t live far.” He pointed down the river. “Please, I want to help him. Please.”
The stallion finally seemed to understand. He snorted, as if in warning, then slightly turned, exposing his rider. He bobbed his head in anxiety while blatantly eyeing Gust. Gust kept his movements slow as he stood and approached the wounded man who lay on his stomach in the saddle, not moving. Gust placed a hand on his shoulder, feeling warmth and life. Bruises spread from his nose and covered most of his face and one eye was swollen badly. Gust blew out a breath and lifted the other eyelid, struck by the unusual shade of blue, as well as by his pale skin and blond hair. He was certainly not from around here.
Gust’s dark skin looked even darker against the white of the wounded man. He was cut, sliced, bruised, and punctured, no part of him spared. Blood had caked on the saddle, and a quick glance showed it was finely crafted. How long had the man been on his horse like this? How was he even still alive? The blood loss alone should have….
Gust bent close to the man’s face. “You stay alive, you hear me? Stay alive. Keep fighting. We’ll do our part if you’ll do yours. Don’t leave your magnificent horse riderless.”
Gust hurried to retrieve his bow, quiver, and deer. He grunted as he shouldered the deer and then returned to the stallion. They had to move fast but also do nothing to jar his patient. Gust grabbed the reins. The horse eyed him again and thankfully didn’t fuss over being handled.
“Let’s go.”
The horse followed, snorting now and then.
When they left the forest and Thebys appeared over the rise, Gust’s legs nearly buckled in relief. His home was tucked away from obvious sight, hidden from most unfriendly eyes. It was situated at the bottom of a hill with large mountains in the distance, acting as a natural border. Several rivers flowed from those mountains, making the soil rich with nutrients. Large swatches of fields and meadows spread out on all sides, inviting and peaceful.
As he led the horse cautiously down the shallow slope, he hollered for help. It wasn’t long before several men and women ran over.
The horse tensed and snorted, head lowering once again in warning.
“Easy. They want to help your rider, too.”
Gust handed off the deer to Horem, an apprentice healer, and grabbed the reins again, guiding the horse even as Heqet, Horem’s trainer, made a quick assessment of the man’s injuries.
“He’ll be lucky to last the night,” she said in Coptin, Cairon’s native language.
The horse shrieked with panic and nearly reared up, which would have dislodged their patient. Gust gasped and tugged hard on the bridle, staring the horse directly in the eye.
“We won’t let that happen. I swear to you, he’ll live. But he won’t fare well if you send him tumbling down the hill. Calm yourself, horse. We will heal him.”
The stallion snorted and kicked up some dirt but appeared to calm. Gust sent Heqet a withering look as she gaped at the horse.
“Hurry, we need to get him to my aunt.”
They descended the slope into town and hurried to the healer’s hut. It was actually much bigger than a hut and contained five healing rooms and a robust kitchen, plus two rooms in the back for himself and his aunt. The two other healers and their apprentices lived elsewhere, either in community homes or with their families.
“Careful with him.”
Sabra and Ata, two other apprentices, hurried out and, together with Heqet, they lifted the patient and hefted him inside as Gust led the way and called for his aunt.
“Kissa! We have a dire one!”
A homely woman with a curvy body and gentle brown eyes came at a run, eyes widening at the sight of them. Her dress was a soothing gray, made of light material and without sleeves in deference to the warm temperature. It also fell just below her knees, something the bigger cities in the central region of the kingdom would find scandalous. She chose the dress over the customary gray jerkin that all healers traditionally wore.
“Hurry! Room four, that way.”
Gust led the way and the others set the man on the bed before Kissa thanked them and shooed them out. She shut the door and quickly washed her hands in the basin by the bed.
“Tell me,” she said.
Gust told her all he could as he yanked off his bow and quiver, setting them on a chair before washing his own hands. He returned to his aunt’s side, and they cleaned their patient from head to toe, doing all they could with poultices, stitches, and bandages. Gust quickly crushed the herbs needed to make healer’s ink, and between him and his aunt, they managed to paint their patient’s body with dark blue symbols of healing, making the markings heavier around his face, chest, and groin to counter any internal bleeding or head trauma. The deep puncture wounds gave Gust the most worry. Several were deep and he could still hardly understand how the warrior had survived such blood loss.
Gust looked to his aunt, and she gestured for him to say the needed word. He closed his eyes, seeing the symbols in his mind as he murmured the divine word for healing. Only fully-trained healers were taught such words. They were closely guarded secrets. To invoke divine assistance had to be done carefully and with humble respect.
When Gust opened his eyes, he sighed in relief to see the ink fade, visible acceptance to his plea. Not every injury required such measures, and it was the healer’s job not to take such actions lightly. In an instant, the warrior wasn’t so pale and sickly-looking. Yet he was far from out of danger.
“I’ve never known anyone to sustain this many injuries and still live,” Kissa said as she pressed a damp cloth to his forehead. “I know we have no idea how long he was on his horse but the blood was dry and flaky, so it had to be days at least.”
Gust could only wince in sympathy at the bruising to his groin. “He’s a warrior. You only have to look at him and that horse of his to know that. Maybe… I think they made him run the gauntlet.”
Kissa frowned.
“I heard the gauntlet is set up as punishment for traitors,” Gust said. “If they survive being beaten by their fellow warriors then they get to leave. But the point is for them not to live.”
“We’ll have trouble with the council, then,” she said on a sigh. “They won’t want a warrior in their mist. Especially not one who turned traitor.”
“We don’t know anything, yet,” Gust said, instantly
defending their patient. “We can’t condemn a man who can’t speak for himself.”
Kissa sent him a look. “You know every patient under my roof is under my protection. If the council wants him, they can go through me.”
Gust winced, ashamed at his outburst. “Apologies. I just….”
“I know.” She smiled. “You’re passionate like your parents. It’s right that you feel protective over a man you discovered and rushed here.”
The mention of his parents brought a sharp ache to his heart. He nodded and they fell silent as they finished their treatment. Once done, they carefully tugged the soiled blanket out from under their patient, letting him rest on a clean one.
Gust drew up a thicker blanket to just under his chin.
“We need to get some water into him,” Kissa said. She filled a goblet and added a small sprinkling of herbs before sitting next to the man on the bed. She gently opened his mouth and dribbled water into his mouth. It was a moment before his throat muscles finally worked and he swallowed. Kissa sent Gust a smile before dribbling more water into his mouth. Gust blew out a breath in relief.
A sharp whinny sounded outside, followed by shouts and curses.
“Gods.”
He ran out of the room and dashed through the hut, skidding to a stop when he made it outside. The fierce stallion was on his hind legs, kicking his front hooves at the four men trying to corral him. His eyes burned with fury and absolute refusal at being handled.
Bakari got too close and got a hoof in the shoulder for his trouble. He slammed into the ground with an oomph and gripped his shoulder. While Jaden grabbed him and tried to drag him out of the danger zone, Amin and Jabari moved to either side of the horse, attempting to grab his reins.
“Get away from him!” Gust hurried over and shoved Amin back a step. “You’re making it worse. Get back! Back!”
He suspected they had tried to mount the magnificent beast, intent on staking claim. Foolish. Absolutely foolish and dangerous.