Healing Lance (A Warrior's Redemption 1)

by M. D. Grimm

Gust’s expression softened. “You made sure I wasn’t but I need to care for him now.”

  Lance didn’t understand, not really, and nodded. Yet he stayed and watched Dakar like a hawk as Gust and Kafele dragged him off to the healing hut. He followed close, knowing it would be a while until Dakar felt cocky enough to demand another round. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that, and yet if he had to kill Dakar to protect Gust then he would. Without hesitation.

  They lowered Dakar to a bed, and Gust immediately began caring for him, his dedication to his occupation something to admire. Kafele lit several candles and set them around the room at Gust’s instructions. Then he gestured for Lance to step outside the room with him, and Lance frowned and complied. He wouldn’t move far down the hall and instead hovered near the slightly opened door and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Did you tell the truth back there?” Kafele asked. “Did you attack Dakar to protect Gust?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did Dakar try to attack you?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I made him stay down.”

  Kafele raised an eyebrow. “Are you really a warrior?”

  “Yes.”

  “You mean any harm to my people?”

  “No.”

  Kafele gripped his sword’s hilt. “You better keep your word on that. I will kill you if you harm any more of my people.”

  “I will only harm to defend. No one touches Gust, Sheriff.”

  Kafele squinted. “You sweet on him?”

  “He saved my life.”

  “So it’s a debt you owe him?”

  It was so much more than that but Lance couldn’t put it into words. He had no experience with anything soft and gentle. All he knew was the cold and the hard and the bloody.

  “Yes, I owe him a debt. If no one harms him, then everyone is safe. You have my word.”

  Kafele nodded. “Watch yourself, Lance. Because I’ll be watching you.” Then he walked into the healing room and spoke quietly with Gust. Lance stayed outside, unable to hear what was said. Whatever Gust told Kafele apparently satisfied the sheriff, and he left after a small nod to Lance.

  Lance gazed after him as he walked away. You sweet on him? Lance knew what that meant. Sort of. Perhaps the concept but not the feeling of it. With a shrug, he turned and poked his head in the room. Dakar’s eyes fluttered, and he continued to moan as Gust hovered over him, his expression a mask. Lance would have simply left Dakar in the dirt, which was a big reason why he wasn’t a healer.

  As Lance watched Gust heal, he pondered on the story Gust had told earlier. Was Gust a good man because he followed Anknet? Because he was a healer? Or was he a healer because he was a good man? What did that make Lance? Was he of Snet or another god? Instead of clearing things up, Gust’s story made things murkier. If he was a puppet of the gods, then which gods? Those of Cairon or Grekenus or Swenen?

  A short time later Gust finally sighed and moved away from the bed. He turned to Lance and frowned. “How long have you been standing there?”

  Lance was leaning back against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, his stomach protesting at its emptiness. He shrugged. He enjoyed watching Gust move with his quiet steps, his quick eyes, and gentle hands. It was calming despite the hard questions he was asking himself.

  “I’m making sure he keeps his hands to himself.”

  Gust snorted. “He can’t even remember his own name right now. His head’s taken quite a knock. I don’t think he’ll be eager for a rematch any time soon.”

  Lance felt his lips lift in a slight smile. “Good.”

  “I can’t feel the same since I don’t like to see others in pain.”

  “He hurt you and he scared you. He deserved it.”

  “Regardless, he’s my patient now.” He winced. “Something I doubt his father will be thrilled about.”

  “His father?”

  “A member of our council. He’s not the most pleasant man to be around, and Dakar is his legacy. I’ll have my aunt talk to him since he’s more responsive with her. Best not have him see you for the time being.” He took a deep breath. “Thank you. You know, for what you did.”

  Gratitude. It was an odd thing to hear. He liked it. Lance blinked and stood straight, shoulders back. What was the response?

  “You’re welcome.”

  Gust moved closer and laid a hand on his crossed arms. “You could have killed him, Lance. Do you realize that? I don’t want you to kill anyone in Thebys. I know you’re a warrior, and I’m grateful for the protection. But not at the expense of someone’s life.”

  Lance frowned. “What of your life?”

  “There are other ways to protect. Not all are violent and not all end in injuries or death.”

  “The effective ones do.”

  Gust squeezed his arm. “Please be careful. Remember, you’re not fully healed and you could hurt yourself worse. You’re finally walking and standing on your own, and we want to keep you that way. Plus, if you kill anyone the elders will either throw you out or hang you themselves.”

  Lance raised an eyebrow. They can try.

  “I’m sure the sheriff had some things to say, right?”

  Lance nodded. “He warned me not to hurt his people. I gave him my word that I wouldn’t so long as no harm comes to you.”

  Gust squeezed his arm, his green eyes shining in the candlelight. “You’re being hunted by whoever made you run the gauntlet. At least let yourself fully heal before you take on anyone else. Okay?”

  “I won’t let anyone hurt you.” He wanted to be clear on that. Did that make him a good man?

  Gust smiled and a blush rose to his cheeks. Gust was slightly shorter than Lance, and Lance realized he could stare into those bright eyes forever and never want to look away.

  They were life.

  “You’re sweet,” Gust said softly.

  Lance tilted his head to the side. “That’s good?”

  Gust laughed and the sound vibrated against Lance’s ears like the baby’s laugh had. Gust beamed with that grin and those bright eyes.

  “Yes, it’s good.”

  Lance shuddered out a breath. “You’re beautiful.”

  Gust’s eyes widened with apparent surprise, and the blush deepened. “Ah, thanks.”

  Lance’s stomach decided that moment was perfect to growl loudly. Gust laughed again and gently urged him out of the room.

  “Let’s get some food.”

  “Eat with me?” Lance asked as they walked toward the kitchen.

  Gust set a hand on Lance’s shoulder, and Lance felt the warmth right to his core.

  “I would love to.”

  Chapter Eight

  Gust didn’t know what to make of Lance’s sudden protectiveness. Where did it come from? Did Lance feel that he owed Gust a debt for saving his life? Or was it something deeper? The you’re beautiful comment still resonated in his head.

  He’d never been told he was beautiful before, at least, not with such guileless sincerity. Sure, Dakar had said it often but such a compliment was hollow when it came from a bastard. When Lance had said it… his heart had actually fluttered.

  Gust shoved a biscuit in his mouth, and Lance gnawed at a meaty bone across the table from him. They sat in the kitchen after Jabi and Ata became scarce right after they set down the food. Gust didn’t exactly blame them, and he was certain news had spread of Lance’s prowess despite the late hour. Gust wasn’t one to condone violence but, well, it was nice to have a protector. And Dakar deserved a little forceful persuasion for the shit he pulled years ago and that evening. He hoped it didn’t bite them in the ass too hard.

  Lance caught his eye, and his mouth quirked up at one corner. Gust smiled back.

  One thing he couldn’t ignore was Lance’s oddness. In the way he spoke and seemed to view the world. He was… simple? Not in a bad way but there was no cunning in his person. He was who he was, and he didn’t apologize for it.

 
; Lance gulped down some ale and burped. He finally sat back on the bench and sighed heavily.

  “Got enough?” Gust asked, teasing.

  Lance’s expression was somewhat sheepish, and he lowered his gaze, shrugging. “It was good. I haven’t eaten like that in a long while.”

  “I’m glad you ate it all. You need your strength.”

  Lance peered at his face. “How is your jaw?”

  “My—oh.” Gust fingered the dark bruise. “I rubbed paste into it. It’ll be gone by tomorrow.”

  Lance narrowed his eyes.

  Gust frowned. “Leave him be. Promise me.”

  Lance looked away, his jaw set stubbornly.

  Gust said nothing else, only stared.

  A moment later, Lance let out a sharp sigh and nodded. “While he’s in the healing hut, I will leave him in peace. If he continues to be a threat to you, I make no promises that he won’t end up back in the hut.”

  Gust blinked. That was probably all he was going to get. “That’s fair. Though I suspect he got your message loud and clear.”

  “Let us hope so,” Lance said softly. He stared at Gust for a long moment before speaking again. “Your parents are dead?”

  Gust grunted as if he’d been sucker punched. He looked away and gave a stiff nod.

  Lance lowered his gaze to the table. “Sorry. Forget I asked anything.”

  Gust blew out a breath. “No. You’re allowed to ask. I need to move forward. Yes, they were killed about three years ago.” He took a large swig of ale. “They were visiting a small village far northwest of here, one that didn’t have their own healer.”

  Lance blinked. “Your parents were healers too?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who killed them?”

  Gust clenched his jaw and shook his head, unable to answer. Lance eventually took the hint and didn’t ask anything more. He took a sip of his own ale and then played with the bones on his plate.

  Night had fallen as they ate and the faint jig of music reached them from outside. Lance frowned and leaned toward the window. Gust smiled, ready for the distraction, and stood.

  “Let’s get you some sandals, and then you should come with me. I think you’ll like this.”

  A large bonfire roared in its accustomed pit and many of the townspeople held instruments, playing seamlessly together. A handful sang a ballad that, despite the jovial beat, was tragic in content. Gust kept a light hand on Lance’s arm as their shoulders brushed. Lance looked around in surprise, and his mouth twitched with a suppressed smile.

  He didn’t smile much, did he?

  Gust had the sudden urge to get him to smile as often as possible. “Once every month we celebrate Drska and her gifts of the arts to humankind. What better way than to use the talents she’s given us?”

  Lance nodded, appearing pensive, attentive.

  “You came to us at the right time. In a few days, we’ll be holding the snake festival. It’s our biggest of the year.”

  “Snake festival?”

  “It commemorates the victory of Ausar the mighty over Appep the great multi-headed snake.”

  Lance looked confused.

  Gust grinned. “You’ll see. The story will be told countless times, and they’ll be games and prizes, and dancing, and just days full of fun things.”

  “Oh.”

  “Krath!” Gust flagged down one of the fiddlers. The older man grinned and paused in his playing to toss a lute underhand. Gust caught it and turned to face a shocked Lance.

  “I’m not just a healer.” Gust recognized the melody and strummed along with the frantic beat. His fingers flew over the strings, and he grinned at Lance’s continued shock. “My father taught me the bow, and my mother taught me about music.” Then, when he lent his voice to the music, Lance snapped his gaze up to meet Gust’s eyes and stared intently. Gust’s words faltered for a moment at the sudden intensity of the gaze. Thankfully, the song was one he’d known since childhood and ingrained memory took over.

  When Gust finally ripped his eyes away, his heart was pounding and his mouth was dry. Lance didn’t smile as Gust intended, and yet he’d certainly gained his attention. In fact, every time he looked back, Lance was still staring at him.

  The night grew darker as one song flowed into the next. People passed out drunk or from pure exhaustion, while a few continued to dance sluggishly. Lance never once looked away. Only when Gust handed the lute back to Krath and gestured for Lance to precede him to the healing hut, did Lance finally break the link. Gust blew out a breath.

  “Your voice is beautiful.”

  Gust blushed. Lance spoke so softly, Gust almost wondered if he’d heard him correctly. Then Lance skimmed his fingers lightly over the back of Gust’s hand, and the touch rocketed up his spine.

  “Can you sing?”

  Lance shook his head. “Never tried.”

  “You mean you’ve never sang? At all? Not even when you were alone or…?”

  “I was never alone.”

  The tone sent another shiver through Gust, the chilly, scary kind. “Do you play an instrument?”

  “Only sword, axe, and spear.”

  “Did you want to learn?”

  They stopped by the front door of the healing hut, and the moon’s light glinted off Lance’s pale eyes. They stood close and Gust could feel Lance’s heat pulsing against him. Inappropriate stirrings in his body had him silently lecturing himself. Lance was his patient. Perhaps even his friend. Such wayward thoughts had no place here.

  “I am made for war.”

  Gust swallowed hard. Lance didn’t sound angry or sad or really any emotion at all. He said it so plainly, as if commenting that clouds brought rain.

  “Can’t you choose now?”

  Pale blond brows furrowed, and Lance looked away.

  “You ran the gauntlet,” Gust said, undeterred. “You are no longer beholden to whoever commanded you. You can choose not to be a warrior anymore. Maybe you want to be a merchant or farmer or horse breeder. You can be anything you want to be now. Did you have any dreams as a child? Any fanciful ideas on what you wanted to be when you grew up?”

  Lance appeared to think it over. Then he shook his head.

  “What are you shaking your head to?”

  “To all your questions.”

  “How is that possible? All children have wild fantasies about what they want to be when they grow up. When I was really little I wanted to fly like a bird and was convinced that if I tried hard enough and prayed hard enough that I could accomplish it.”

  “I am built for war,” Lance said softly, steel lacing his words. “I was broken and trained and molded into a weapon. That is all I am. That is all I know. I don’t have any other purpose.”

  “But you can!” Gust pressed his palm against Lance’s chest. What a horrifying life, to be nothing except what some warlord made him. Not a person, only a weapon, a thing to use. Gust hadn’t been sure, not until that moment, if Lance had dedicated his life to Snet or another war god of the other kingdoms. Many warlords did, hoping it would bring them success in their campaigns. He was relieved to know that Lance still had choices.

  Lance considered his hand, making no move to take it or push it away.

  “Now is the time to dream,” Gust said. “Find a new purpose. You don’t have to be anything or do anything you don’t want to now.”

  “I’m good at being a warrior.” He paused. “I like being a warrior.” He lifted his eyes and flicked his gaze over Gust’s face. “I like protecting you.”

  Gust’s breath caught and he told himself to remove his hand. He didn’t. He couldn’t.

  Lance sighed. “But what sort of choices can I have if the gods toy with me?”

  Gust frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “You said the gods created us to be either kind or cruel. We don’t have choices. We’re just puppets. Like I was his puppet.”

  “Whoa, hey, no, that’s not what I meant. I’m sorry if it sounded like that. I was t
rying to explain how two people can be so vastly different but it’s not the gods that choose for us. We determine our fates. They gave us the tools, you could say, and we have to forge our own path. Our lives are full of influences from one deity to another but it is up to each of us to decide which path we walk. I wasn’t born a healer. I chose to be one. You never got to choose to be a warrior because a warlord chose for you. That’s different now. You’re free. Do you understand?”

  Lance slowly nodded, his gaze considering, his brows slightly furrowed. He laid his broad, callused hand over the back of Gust’s and gently pressed. Gust’s mouth went dry as he looked at Lance’s lips. Lance didn’t move forward and he also didn’t move back. He stood like a warm, strong statue.

  Lance wrapped his fingers around Gust’s hand and lifted it to his lips, brushing a faint kiss to the back it. Gust exhaled shakily as his heart jumped, and his stomach clenched. Then, much to his disappointment, Lance let go of his hand and stepped away.

  “Thank you. Good night.” Then he disappeared into the hut. Gust stood there, trembling, and vaguely heard the steady clop of heavy hooves before a large shadow passed by. Brutus nickered and swished his tail on his way to Lance’s window.

  Gust had to readjust his trousers as he pushed into the hut and made his way to his room. He first detoured to Dakar to check on him. He was sleeping peacefully. Gust watched him for a moment, shaking his head. He didn’t appreciate Dakar’s attention or his possessiveness, and their latest argument hadn’t been the first time things had turned aggressively physical. Gust hoped Dakar learned a lesson, for all their sakes. He didn’t doubt Lance’s skills and determination to keep Gust from harm. He regarded the hand Lance had kissed.

  Considering Lance’s horrific upbringing, he appeared to have an impressive capacity for kindness and gentleness. Gust got the sense such actions were new, and Lance gave a lot of thought before he acted on them. He hoped Lance did understand what he tried to convey.

  “I told him not to leave the hut,” Kissa said when she stepped into the room.

  Gust snorted. “I have a feeling that he hears everything but doesn’t always listen.”

  “Lukman was not pleased to see his son in my hut.”