by Sandra Elsa
He considered her words before replying. “I suppose it does make me curious. But not enough that I’m going to let you expose your power to the wizards of Relante.”
“How will I be doing that?”
Johann looked at her, his expression weary and long suffering. “That man out there is a scout for Telgar. Whether he gives these border guards information or not, they'll turn him over to the Wizard Corps for questioning. If they discover the Healing that you've done, they'll search you out and recruit you.”
His eyes grew shuttered, as he stared off into the distance. “I’m not certain any among them will have the power to recruit you forcibly once you're in complete control of your power. But as you learned yesterday, you have much to learn before that is true.”
He nodded to himself, mulling over a problem he seemed to be wrestling with. “None can know of your abilities. Under normal circumstances, Ronan does not force people into their military, but two years ago, Prince Lorun was killed in battle. Even in my remote part of the mountains, I've heard Lorth is gathering any warm bodies willing to follow him into battle for vengeance. The Wizards' Corps is usually the least ethical about their methods of conscription.”
Pink stared at Johann as his words sank into her weary brain, noticing he did not say recruitment when he spoke of the wizards. “That would not be a good thing would it?”
“No my dear, that would not be a good thing.”
Conflicted between doing what she felt was right and what Johann felt was wise, Pink told him, “I'll not use my magic to Heal him again, if that is your wish. But I have enough knowledge of normal healing to save him now. I cannot just sit back and watch a man die.”
Johann stood from his chair. “Let’s go see what we can do about him then.”
Pink was confused. “I thought you despised him for where he comes from?”
He gave her a tight-lipped smile. “There is that. But I've had the night to battle old demons. You're right. He is only a man following orders. No more and no less. Knowing the ruler of Telgar, it is even likely he had little choice but to do as he was ordered. I cannot let my prejudices cause his death. Especially when he may in fact have information these men need.”
Pink took care of necessary business and responded to the lure of the aroma of cooking bacon before she sought out her patient. If he had taken a serious turn for the worse she was confident the border guards would have been pounding on the stable door.
When she finished eating, she found the guard who seemed to be in charge and asked him, “How does he fare?”
The man surveyed Johann, standing on her heels. “He is, as he was yesterday. We would be most appreciative if you have the strength to look at him again.”
She nodded agreement and the three of them made their way to a lean-to where a rick of hay was stored for winter use. As she approached, the guard who maintained watch over him jumped to his feet and bowed as though she were royalty. Pink flushed in embarrassment.
She checked the soldier’s aura and found it much the same as it had been when she severed her connection with him. Possibly the green had strengthened just a bit. His face was grey and haggard, lines of pain etched deeply. The eyes remained closed.
The guards had removed his clothing and cleaned the wound, wrapping linen about it to keep it that way. She laid a hand on him. He was cool to the touch, clammy, sweat beaded on his forehead. Looking at Johann she asked, “Could you get my sewing kit for me?”
He returned from the stable to find her scraping the man’s side open to debride the wound. He realized from the lack of reaction from the soldier she must have at least put a block on his nervous system, but she was using one of the small throwing knives Dylan had given her to do the work of a normal physician. He breathed a heavy sigh of relief. It seemed she was going to do no more than she had promised.
She sewed up the wound with neat, precise stitches. When she finished, she sent a small burst of green energy to the soldier. Green eyes opened wide at receipt of this gift. She left the block intact. He wouldn’t be able to move, but nor would he feel the pain. His gaze followed her every movement, fear darkened them when the leader of the guards appeared in his line of sight.
“Don’t worry,” she told him, “if he wanted you dead, he need only have left you where you lay when he sliced you open.”
The soldier’s mouth opened, and he croaked something none of them could understand. The guard approached with a flask of water. After squeezing a small amount in the wounded man’s mouth he withdrew again.
The man licked his lips and tried again, she still did not understand him, but Johann said, “He is thanking you.”
Of course, how dense of her not to realize he would speak a different language. She smiled at him and reached out to touch his hand.
His eyes followed her hand and then panic invaded his voice as he spoke again. Even across the language barrier she could read his emotion.
Johann responded to him and the tight lines around his face and lips relaxed again.
She looked at her mentor and he said, “He was frightened because he could not feel you touch him, and his hand did not move when he wished it to. I explained it was only a temporary result of his injury.”
Dylan approached, carrying the water skin and she saw the man who seemed in charge of the border guards, heading for the stable.
Johann stopped Dylan, “Where is he going?”
Dylan followed Johann’s gaze and said, “He must report to his superior’s. It is seldom they manage to take a scout alive.”
Johann blanched, “His superiors?”
“Yes, Sergeant Garalan, is active duty in the Ronan army. He was sent here to assist the border guard in investigating the increased number of Telgarn scouts, we‘ve been sighting."
Johann didn’t wait to hear the end of Dylan’s statement, he turned and strode off to the barn. Pink smiled as she watched the sergeant arrive at the stable and find the doors closed to him. When Johann arrived, the doors swung open and the old wizard pushed the young sergeant through them. Raised voices carried snatches of the conversation to her, but even without the bits and pieces, she knew that Johann was demanding payment. She also knew that payment would be the man’s silence about her involvement in the Telgarn‘s recovery.
After a long while, Johann emerged from the stable, a grim look of satisfaction on his face. Moments later the sergeant followed on Dylan’s small wiry riding horse. He took off down the valley in the same direction Dylan had that first night.
Johann returned to her side and grumbled, “I’m an old fool. I should have seen him for what he was and settled the matter of payment immediately.”
“You could not have known. The border guard consists of more than a few ex-soldiers, like Dylan. How are you supposed to tell a soldier from a man who used to be a soldier?”
“He was far more professional than the rest. I should have known.”
Johann turned to Dylan, frowning. For the first time in her acquaintance with the old wizard she saw somebody look at him with fear. “He knew when he arrived here, we had a Healer.”
Pink recalled the sergeant’s words from yesterday. The border guard had spent days shadowing the Telgarn until he came within range of Dylan’s farm.
Color faded from Dylan’s face as Johann’s complexion darkened. “I’m sorry. I had no way to know you did not wish her known to the Corps. My original message would have gone to Relante and to the garrison where that man was posted.”
Johann raised a hand and Dylan flinched. The hand descended to Dylan’s shoulder and he shook, but Johann’s words calmed their host’s fears. “It's my fault. I know the military. I should have guessed. It's time I stopped burying the past. We are traveling to Relante. This only reinforces that I need to be more alert.”
Pink searched Dylan’s face. She couldn’t believe he had been afraid of Johann. Was that what it meant to be a wizard, that people feared you? She never wanted to see that fear
caused by herself.
Turning away from the drama being played out between her grandfather and her friend, she tended her patient. She smiled at the ease with which the word, grandfather, came to her mind. The Telgarn lying on the ground seemed to take the smile as being meant for him and he returned it.
She knelt beside him and smoothed his hair back from his forehead, using a piece of clean linen to wipe the sweat and grime from his face. In soft tones she mused, “Why are you here? You’ve certainly caused me a lot of trouble.”
In broken Ronese the man responded, I-sorry-cause-trouble.” He stopped and his eyes fastened on hers, with a clarity she hadn’t seen before. “I-here...Prince-lives...I here...find-you.” His eyes flickered to the wizard and Dylan, both of whom had become deadly quiet when the man spoke.
The ground trembled beneath Johann’s feet as he strode to where the injured man lay, Pink felt, as much as saw, him gathering the power of the earth he walked across. In the Telgarn tongue he spat a question at the man. A swift conversation followed.
The man lost what little color he had regained and his eyes often sought out Pink, as though for reassurance. Finally she intervened on his behalf, pushing Johann away with a hand firmly on his chest. “Let him be.” Her gaze turned toward the mountain range to the north and she said, “If he came over that range, he was underway long before we ever came here. He could not possibly mean he was searching specifically for me.”
Johann nodded agreement, “You're right. He claims he searches for a changeling he names the Daughter of the Wind.” A smile crossed Johann’s lips. “Thale truly has lost his mind if he is searching for changelings. They are a thing of children’s tales. Imagine, expending lives searching for fairies.”
Pink frowned recalling the title Lorn had given her. Was there more to this man’s words, than Johann believed? She pushed that thought away, unwilling and unable to try to puzzle it out.
Dylan shifted uncomfortably, rooted to the spot Johann had left him in. Johann acknowledged him and said, “Of course you must catch Sergeant Garalan and have him pass on the rest of the message.”
Dylan bolted for the stable and emerged only moments later riding bareback on the large warhorse. He tore across the fields in the path Garalan had taken earlier.
Responding to Pink’s inquisitive glance, Johann said, “It seems Prince Lorun may not be dead.”
Following that day, Johann became anxious to move on. Far too many people knew they were here, and knew they had magic. Dylan never again looked at Johann with the relaxed ease he had exhibited the first couple of weeks they lingered here.
Johann had lived for years using his magic for little besides housekeeping, denying all but its most muted existence. Its reemergence was something he fought to control.
Pink and Jon went back to their swordsmanship lessons. Herbal compresses, assisted by minute amounts of magic, sped the Telgarn’s healing. Johann bound the border guards to secrecy and spent a good deal of time, speaking with the recovering soldier.
If they rode hard, it would take the King’s army at least four weeks to get the message about the prisoner, and send someone to collect him.
Johann wanted to be on the road by that time, but he agreed to give her a couple more weeks to hone her skills.
When both his students had a firm grasp of the basics of swordsmanship, Dylan started teaching them how to use a dagger. He showed them which were killing strikes and which were disabling strikes. He showed them how to drop the throwing knife from its sheath, into their hands, and release it in one smooth motion towards the target.
Many afternoons they spent searching out the perfect stave of yew wood and then paring and sanding it down into a hunting bow.
When they were reasonably competent with the daggers and throwing knives, he helped them put the finishing touches on their bows and gave them a solid foundation in archery. Pink missed the target more often than she hit, but she knew what she was trying to do.
The day came when Dylan told them it was once again his turn to patrol. He indicated Sergeant Garalan, who had stayed behind to guard the prisoner and said, “I’m sure he would be willing to offer instruction. You’re welcome to stay and practice, but I must take my turn.”
Pink could see the impatience in Johann’s eyes. It had been three weeks since the message had gone out.
She had a good beginning in weapons training. Perfection would only be achieved through a great deal of practice. Practice could be achieved anywhere, so she suggested they should also be going. They wanted to get to Relante before bad weather set in, and it was beginning to get cool in the evenings.
Early the following morning, Dylan, Johann, and Pink packed their gear and prepared to leave together. Jon, tugged at his father’s cloak. “I wanna go daddy. I wanna go.”
Pink wasn’t sure if he had already forgotten his near death experience, or if in the way of youth, his confidence in his budding weapons skills convinced him nothing like that could ever happen to him again.
Either way, a firm look from his mother made him drop the cloak and go scurrying behind her. Angel came trotting up from the meadow. He had grown at least an inch in the past two months and close to one and a half hands since Pink had first met him. He was now nearly as big as the compact, agile, and versatile saddle horses the border guards favored for their hardiness and sure-footedness. He was over two years old now. Not only his body, but his intelligence seemed to be growing in leaps and bounds.
When they arrived at the main road, Pink hugged Dylan and thanked him for helping her make her bow and giving her lessons.
He hugged her in return and said, “A very small price to pay for my son’s life, and all the good you‘ve done here. You'll always be welcome.”
They waved as they watched him walk somewhat northwest, leaving the main road behind.
Pink and Johann turned east, following the road toward Manaken, the largest northern city in Ronan.
They traveled as rapidly as possible. Only four days after they left they drew to the side of the road and stopped to watch a squad of cavalry, clad in chain mail, wearing helms and tabards decorated with the rearing unicorn emblem of Ronan’s Royal Crest, pass by.
Chapter 15