Healing Lance (A Warrior's Redemption 1)

by M. D. Grimm

“What do you want?” Gust asked, determined to make Ansi focus on the good, the happy, and not the what if.

  “Healthy,” Ansi said definitively. “Strong and healthy with a clever mind. Boy or girl matters not to me.”

  Gust patted his shoulder. He continued to talk to Ansi about the happy future, steering him away from disturbing thoughts. It wasn’t long before Sabra stepped out, wiping her hands on a cloth with a big smile on her face.

  “You can come in now.”

  Ansi surged to his feet and raced inside. “Della!”

  Heqet stepped out of the room and pinned him with a glare. “Don’t shout!”

  Ansi withered under her glare and hunched his shoulders. “I’m sorry. But—”

  “She’s inside. She’s tired so you be quiet.” Heqet shook a finger in his face before stepping aside. Ansi tip-toed inside and Gust only heard faint whispers.

  He stayed in the entryway with Sabra. “Well?”

  “A girl,” Heqet said. “A big girl with her mamma’s eyes.”

  Gust grinned. “That’s wonderful.”

  He noted Heqet had sweated through her bodice and jerkin and she was barefoot, something she rarely indulged in. The heat was getting to everyone, apparently. Despite being in her late fifties, her body was toned, and her short skirt showed off strong legs.

  “Thank you for coming,” Heqet said. “I had enough to deal with without his worries.”

  “I understand. You’re welcome.”

  Heqet nodded to him before disappearing into the room with the happy parents.

  “Della told me something between contractions,” Sabra said as soon as Heqet was gone.

  Gust raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me the child’s not Ansi’s.”

  Sabra’s eyes widened. “No! Of course, she is! No, Della told me something that might concern you.”

  “What?” Sometimes Sabra drew things out that were better said immediately.

  She scratched her left calf with her right foot, an agitated tick. “Dakar is due back tomorrow.”

  Gust grunted. “Right. I think I knew that.”

  Sabra bit her lower lip and played with the hem of her blue skirt. “What will you do?”

  Gust shook his head. “Hope he has forgotten about me.”

  “He doesn’t seem like the type to forget.”

  “Lucky me,” Gust said sourly. Dakar was one bad mistake that wouldn’t let go. His father had sent him off to Apys for a more expansive education and to make important connections. That had been nearly a year ago. Gust would learn quickly whether the time away was enough for Dakar to lose his obsession.

  Sabra patted his arm.

  Gust managed a small smile. “How is your own courting life? Felix and Gemma?”

  Sabra blushed. “Oh, well enough. They traveled to Apys yesterday. Gemma has never experienced the snake festival at the capital so Felix offered to take her.”

  “And you’re all right with that?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be? It benefits me, and certainly all of us, if we can get along.”

  Sabra had an unusual relationship with a farmer’s son and jewelry-maker’s daughter. It had raised eyebrows early on and acceptance had come gradually. Instead of pursuing a husband or a wife, Sabra seemed happiest maintaining both. At first Felix and Gemma had avoided each other, but it heartened Gust to learn that they were attempting to get to know each other better.

  “Here’s hoping they don’t realize they like each other more than you.”

  “Bite your tongue!” She smacked his arm.

  Gust laughed. He left not long after and shut the door securely behind him. He waved to a few people as he made his way back to the healer’s hut. Every day there were more signs of preparation for the festival. Carved, wooden snakes glaring from windows, large and small silk screens depicting the magnificent battle between Appep, the great multi-headed snake of chaos, and Ausar, the son of Net, who was the mortal daughter of Ysys. The entire festival revolved around Ausar’s victory, and minstrels claimed it secured the union of the empire that his mother had undertaken. Whether true or not, people would take every opportunity to feast and drink until they passed out. Gust chuckled.

  The heavy clops of hooves made him turn. The warrior’s horse snorted and trotted right up to him, clearly wanting news.

  “He’s still running a fever,” Gust said, not the least bit embarrassed to talk to a horse as if he was a human. “He’s as comfortable as we can make him. The wounds are healing nicely so I’m optimistic.”

  The horse lowered his head and swished his tail, appearing impatient and worried. At least, that was what Gust sensed.

  “I’m sorry I can’t bring better news,” he said gently and held out a hand. When the horse didn’t move, Gust set his hand on his forehead. “I’m doing all I can. He’s my number one priority.”

  The horse lifted his head, turned to look down the lane where Gust came from, then back at him. If he could raise an eyebrow, he would have.

  Gust barely managed not to goggle. “I was helping other healers. A woman was giving birth, and her husband grows anxious during such times. Another healer that I trust with my life is watching over your rider. I’m returning to him now. I promise I’m not neglecting him.”

  The horse snorted and appeared to accept that answer. He stepped closer and tentatively nudged at Gust’s hand. Smiling, Gust gently stroked his face. The horse pushed closer, and Gust was delighted by the affection. He rubbed and scratched and enjoyed the horse’s faint noises of contentment. Eventually the horse shied away and turned to head back to the fields. He was so worried about his rider. It was a beautiful and sad thing to observe.

  Someone cleared their throat behind him, and Gust turned to regard Sheriff Kafele. He was an older, grizzled man with a cranky attitude and no humor whatsoever. There was also no one as loyal or more determined to keep the peace. He wore a mail shirt with a thick leather jerkin underneath, and he was never seen without his short sword. Unlike many in Thebys, he wore trousers tucked into knee-length boots. Not even the extreme heat in the summer could make him strip down.

  “Good day, Sheriff.”

  He grunted. “Is that the warrior’s horse?”

  Gust wasn’t surprised at the question. News traveled fast. “Aye. He’s staying in the unplowed fields south of town.”

  Kafele narrowed his eyes. “Wouldn’t he be better in the stables?”

  “I strongly suspect he’s divine. He’s as much a guest as his rider. Trust me, he understands when I talk to him.”

  “More reason to keep him under control.”

  “You’ve been talking with Bakari.”

  “Aye.” He eyed Gust. “Anything you want to add?”

  Gust sighed and quickly explained his side of the story. Gust got along with Kafele, as well as anyone could. There was no reason for the sheriff not to believe him.

  “The horse is worried about his rider. So am I.”

  “They both better stay under control or they won’t be here long.”

  Gust wanted to defend his patient, and yet until the warrior woke up, his story would stay unknown. “I understand.”

  “Good.” Kafele inclined his head to Gust before turning on his heel and marching away.

  Gust blew out a breath before taking the opportunity to make a few house calls. He had a handful of other patients to check up on, people he’d treated days ago. He kept the visits short and eventually returned to the healer’s hut and relieved Ata of his duty. Ata told him there wasn’t any change, and once he left, Gust sat on the side of the bed once again.

  “Keep fighting, my friend,” Gust said, staring at that pale, bruised face. “Your horse needs you. You have a long life ahead of you, and I would be honored to know you. I want to know your name and that of your horse’s. Please keep fighting.”

  He fed him a little more broth, grateful when his throat worked, and he swallowed. His skin was still dry and hot, and Gust continued to wipe him down.

&nb
sp; The next day was more of the same, though without the birth of a baby. Gust was called away a few times and managed to either keep it short or have one of the apprentices watch the warrior. There were four so he always had someone to call. A healer’s work was never done, especially not in town the size of Thebys.

  He knew Dakar was back but didn’t see him. He held onto the hope that he was no longer important to the spoiled man. His father was on the council and one of the wealthiest landowners in Thebys, owning the largest farming fields to the west. A number of people in town worked for him for decent enough wages. So it wasn’t surprising Dakar decided he was great simply because of his lineage.

  That evening all the healers and apprentices sat down to share supper. The eight of them only managed it once a month to reforge bonds.

  “How is your patient?” Seth asked Gust. Seth was the oldest of their healers and was the reason Ata and Jabi were more adept than many apprentices their age in the healing arts. He didn’t suffer any nonsense or laziness. Many an apprentice had been let go for lacking even a small amount of diligence.

  “Still fighting,” Gust said.

  Seth nodded. “I wonder at his story.”

  “He’s so pale,” Ata said.

  “I think he’s from Swenen,” Heqet said.

  Everyone looked at her.

  “He could be from Grekenus,” Gust said. “I’m sure many warriors are born and bred there.”

  Heqet shook her head. “Swenen. His coloring, eyes, and height give him away. I apprenticed there years ago, don’t forget. I know what I’m talking about.”

  “Well,” Horem said. “He’s certainly not from Cairon.”

  “He’ll tell us when he wakes up,” Gust said.

  “If he wakes up,” Ata said quietly.

  Everyone fell silent. Gust picked at his food. His thoughts were occupied with worry and hope. It was never easy for a healer to lose one of their patients, especially after so long a fight.

  “He couldn’t have come from Swenen, though,” Ata said. “His wounds were too severe for him to survive.”

  Gust kept his mouth shut about his suspicion that the horse was divine. He noticed his aunt did as well.

  “He might have been born in Swenen and moved down here,” Sabra said. “I can’t help wondering if he’s part of Ragel’s warband.”

  “He’s not,” Gust said sharply.

  Glances were exchanged but no one contradicted him.

  “Speaking of Ragel, I hear he’s on the move again,” Heqet said with a scowl.

  Seth grimaced. “Aye, I heard the same. A merchant told me he’d been spotted in the north.”

  “I know he has noble blood but it would benefit everyone if the queens captured him,” Sabra said.

  Kissa sighed. “And that’s the reason they won’t.”

  Gust had never seen Ragel, the warlord with a noble lineage, and was grateful for the oversight. He raided infrequently with a small group of loyal brigands. He mostly stayed to the far north or east, away from the capital city and the queens. He didn’t want to consider that his patient had been part of that warband and yet he couldn’t shake the possibility.

  Gust excused himself a short time later and returned to the warrior’s room. His fever had broken earlier that day and yet he continued to sleep. At least it was peaceful, and his breathing was even and strong.

  Gust sat in his chair, tugged off his sandals and once again set his feet on the corner of the bed and prepared for another long night.

  Chapter Five

  Blood and death. He always dreamed about blood and death—screams and pleas, the whistles of blades through the air, and the clanging of steel. The crackling fires and the smell of smoke and burning flesh. It was all he ever dreamed about when he did dream.

  Lance flinched and rose up out of the visions of death into quiet. He frowned, acknowledging the aches and throbs of his wounds. His face and groin felt the worst, and a few stabbing pains to his ribs were a constant reminder of the gauntlet. He had a headache. He took a deep breath of clean, stale air and took stock of his situation. He wasn’t on Brutus anymore. He was still, lying on softness, too much softness. He opened his eyes, blinking against the darkness, and stared at the thatched roof.

  The sound of heavy breathing nearby had him slowly turning his head. A young man sat slouched in a chair, arms crossed, bare feet resting on the bed. His eyes were closed, apparently asleep. Lance watched him curiously. His skin was dark so that meant Brutus had probably taken him south. His companion’s black hair was twisted into dozens of thin braids, all pulled back in a tail behind his head. His tight shirt and breeches showed off modestly muscled arms and legs. He was slim of figure, and the gray jerkin lying on the corner of the bed eased Lance’s tension. His companion was a healer. That was all right, then. Healers were sworn to save lives, not take them.

  As Lance’s eyes grew more accustomed to the darkness, he noticed a large window, currently closed with thick shutters. It was a simple room, a healing room.

  Where was Brutus?

  Lance looked at the young man again and shifted his leg, despite the soreness, to nudge the healer’s foot. He had to do it a couple of times before the man jerked awake and looked around blurrily. He yawned and stretched.

  “Pardon me,” Lance said, voice raspy. He spoke in Taris.

  The healer jolted at the sound of his voice and swung around, eyes wide, trying to see him in the dark.

  “You’re awake!” Thankfully, the healer knew the language as well.

  “It would seem I am.”

  The man scrambled over to a table and quickly lit several candles. He returned and held one close to Lance’s face. Lance flinched and squinted away from the light.

  “Sorry.” The man instantly moved the flame away. “I wondered if you’d ever wake up. It’s been four days since we brought you here.”

  Four days?

  Lance shifted his gaze back to the healer. He had a pleasant voice, gentle and joyfully enthusiastic. It was a nice difference from the cruelty and coldness of Ulfr’s voice and those of his warriors. And, wow, those were pretty green eyes.

  “You got a name?” the man asked.

  No one outside his merry band of slaughterers knew his real name. Everyone in the empire knew him as Scourge.

  “Lance,” he said. “Yours?”

  “Gustum. But please call me Gust. Your horse has been trotting past your window every day, snorting in impatience. Glad I can finally tell him you’re awake.”

  Lance warmed to know that Brutus was well. “Brutus. His name is Brutus.”

  “Good name.” Gust paused. “You want to see him?”

  Longing pierced his breast. “Yes.”

  Gust set the candle on the bedside table and then helped Lance into a sitting position. Lance grunted at the strain to his muscles and spikes of pain at random points of his body.

  Gust handed him a goblet full of water. “Drink that. I’ll be right back.”

  He went to the window and pulled back the shutters. The moon was full and high in the clear night, giving adequate light. It was warm with a gentle wind, carrying pleasing scents. Lance took a deep breath and bit back a wince when his chest throbbed with pain. Gust yanked on his sandals and grabbed the jerkin before rushing out of the room. Lance sipped the water, swishing it around in his dry mouth before swallowing.

  When Brutus’s heavy steps reached his ears, Lance’s grin stretched painfully across his face. He shuffled out of bed and struggled to stand, ignoring the pain, as Gust hurried inside.

  “Hey, easy! I didn’t say you could—Damn it.” Gust immediately grabbed Lance’s arm when he wobbled and pulled it over his shoulders. They shuffled to the window as Brutus poked his head inside, whinnying and bouncing in glee.

  “My friend,” Lance whispered and pressed his face against Brutus’s nose, nuzzling him, and stroking his neck. He acutely felt Gust’s hands on his waist and vaguely noted he was still naked. Gust had warm and surprisin
gly strong hands, with a couple of calluses, and they felt nice pressed against his skin. He took comfort from Brutus and Gust’s steady presence, momentarily forgetting his wounds.

  He was alive.

  His eyes popped open. Oh yes, he was alive, and Ulfr would be hunting him. He should leave immediately. Staying in one place was foolish, and he didn’t want Gust to be slaughtered. He was kind to him and kindness shouldn’t be rewarded with bloodshed. Ulfr would delight in torturing and killing a healer, especially one that kept his rebellious weapon alive.

  Lance pulled back and Brutus mouthed his hair with thick lips, tugging in affection. Lance chuckled, something he only did with Brutus, and patted him again.

  “I must leave,” he said.

  “You’re still healing, so that is the worst idea ever. Besides, I dare you to try to get past my aunt. She’s fierce when her patients won’t listen to her advice.”

  “I must leave,” he said again and pushed away. It stunned him when his legs buckled and he fell down. Agony radiated from multiple places, and he locked a groan in his throat. He’d learned quite early in life that to moan or cry out in pain only earned him more of the same.

  Gust cursed and dropped to the floor with him. Their gazes met, and Lance was stunned to see concern and irritation instead of disgust or amusement. He reminded himself again that Gust was a healer. He wouldn’t be like Ulfr and the other warriors, would he?

  Brutus kicked the wall of the hut, snorting with panic.

  “Oh stop it!” Gust said to Brutus. “He’s fine, he’s just being a stubborn ass.” Gust glared at him. “You’re going to hurt yourself worse if you don’t listen to me. Do you really want to be so ungrateful and ruin all the good healing my aunt and I did? Back to bed.”

  It confused Lance to see Brutus quiet under Gust’s words. It was only ever Lance that could calm the beast. It made him take a closer look at Gust.

  Gust man-handled Lance into bed, and Lance couldn’t contain the grimace as his body protested. His ribs ached like a sore tooth and it hurt to walk, due to the abuse to his legs and groin. Then Gust tugged the blankets back over Lance’s body and felt his forehead.