* * *
The first thing that Kalan noticed was humming. It came from a low voice, as if the person wanted to occupy himself without making too much noise. He tried to make a fist and felt pain shoot up his arm. He was underneath a huge sort of blanket in a large bed, dressed in only his underclothes. Well-wrapped bandages were wound around his leg and arm. His eyes slowly adjusted to the light. Somewhere outside, a dog barked.
A short, squat little man with a long gray beard was sitting on a stool at a table, mixing something in a bowl. He hummed absently to himself as he mixed, occasionally muttering under his breath as if some new thought had just come to him. Every once in a while he would reach up and readjust his spectacles, which kept sliding down his nose. He had several open jars on the table next to him, and would reach into them and add ingredients to the bowl at odd intervals.
Kalan moved slightly beneath the blanket, testing his leg. Moving was painful, but the pain was less than before. He slowly moved his leg out from underneath the blanket, testing it gingerly on the floor beneath him. He knew he could not stand on it, but he was able to put a little bit of weight on it without falling to the floor. The bearded man paused in his mixing, as if he had heard something, then turned toward Kalan.
“Awake, are you? Wonderful. Didn’t know if you would or not. That is to say, had some doubts for a little while, but not too many. But awake you are, now. Wonderful.”
Kalan had to wait a moment before speaking, in order to decipher exactly what the man had said.
“Who are you?”
“Me?” The old man replied. “I’m no one. No one at all. No one important, at least. Some folks call me Delron. You can call me whatever you like, I’m sure that I have been called worse. How are you feeling?”
“I’m . . .” Kalan paused. “Did you say your name was Delron?”
“Delron. Yes.”
Kalan was taken aback. There was talk in the village of crazy old Delron, who talked to himself and live in a cabin in the Forest of Darkness. The old man was rumored to be a Healer of some kind, but no one knew where he had studied or where he had come from.
“Where are we?”
“This is my cabin in the Forest.”
Kalan gently pulled his other leg out from underneath the covers, leaning up against the bed post as he did so. He looked around for his belongings, hearing the dog bark again from outside.
“Where are my clothes?”
The old man looked at him through the spectacles.
“Your clothes? I’ve washed them.”
Kalan waited for a moment, but no more was forthcoming. Delron looked at him expectantly.
“Where are they?” Kalan asked again.
“Where is whom?” Delron said.
“My clothes!”
“Oh. Clothes. That is to say, over there.” The old man pointed to a neatly folded pile on top of a chair, with his swordbelt hanging over the chair back. Kalan started toward the clothes, then grunted as his leg buckled out from underneath him. He grabbed onto the bed for support.
“Well, you can’t have them yet,” Delron said smugly. He walked over to Kalan and grasped him by the shoulder and hauled him back into the bed. Kalan was surprised at the strength in the grip of a seemingly weak man. Kalan struggled to get past him.
“I need to get to my wife.”
“Not tonight.” The old man said. “There are strange happenings in the woods of late. Not a good time to be out and about.”
“She is in danger!”
“No, she is not.” The Healer said. “That beast was after you, not her. She will be safe for the night.”
Kalan gaped at him. “You saw the Shakzan?”
Delron peered through his spectacles. “Of course. Who do you think found you? After I got you settled down here, all I had to do was follow the trail of blood. You lost a lot of it, you know. Blood, I mean. A lot. And you left a mess down in the valley, yes you did.”
The Healer picked up the bowl he had been mixing and poured some of it into a cup. He began to mix in water to make a cloudy gray mixture. He held the cup out to Kalan.
“Drink this, now. It will help with your wounds.”
Kalan pushed the cup away irritably. “I need to get to my wife.”
He tried to get up again, and this time was successful. He held on to the bedpost as he shuffled toward the chair with his clothes on it.
Healer Delron walked alongside him, holding the cup in one hand and helping hold Kalan up with the other. Outside, the dog began to bark louder.
“I’m telling you, your wife is safe for the moment!”
Kalan stopped abruptly. He turned to look at the Healer.
“Mari is pregnant.” Kalan said. “She will have our child any day now. I will not miss it.”
“I have already been to see your wife.” Delron said. “She is in good spirits and said to tell you that she loves you and wants you to rest and heal your wounds. I have given her herbs that will delay her birthing until we can reach her.”
Kalan grabbed the back of the chair to brace himself before he fell.
“You have seen my wife?”
“I have.”
“How long have I been here?”
“Three days,” Delron said.
Outside, the dog barked louder, insistently. Delron turned toward the noise and crinkled his eyebrows, listening intently.
The dog let out a frightened yelp. Kalan stared at the door. “What is that?”
“Shakzan,” Delron said.
Outside, the dog let out a horrendous squeal of pain that abruptly cut off.
Kalan stumbled toward his sword-belt again. This time he made it. He pulled the sword from his scabbard and turned toward the door.
Delron had not moved. “Put the sword away,” he said calmly. “They will not enter this place. They have tracked your scent here, but will come no farther.”
Kalan held the sword firmly. “I flatter myself that I know a bit more about Shakzan than do you, old man.”
“I would not be so certain about that, Paladin.”
The careless ease with which Delron pronounced his title turned Kalan’s head. He had believed that no one in a hundred leagues knew who he was.
“How do you . . . “
”I know many things.” said Delron. “I know that the Shakzan will not step through that door, for one. Put down your sword.”
Kalan felt an odd sense of peace and a desire to obey the old man’s command. He slowly sheathed his sword, questions running through his head. The snarls from outside grew louder. A heavy object thudded against the side of the cabin. Delron walked over to the table and pulled out a chair for him.
“Sit, please,” said the old man. “You appear to be having trouble standing.”
Kalan did not realize how right the old man was unt
il he tried to move toward the chair and fell to the ground. A sharp pain stabbed through his leg as he tried clumsily to get up. He stumbled over and almost fell into the chair that was pulled out. Delron again offered him the cup with the cloudy mixture.
“Drink this.” Delron said. “It will help with the pain from your wounds. They will heal faster if you sleep.”
Kalan took the offered cup gingerly, taking a small sip. It had a bitter taste, but he kept drinking until the goblet was almost empty. The pain from his arm and leg disappeared almost at once, replaced a fuzzy feeling in his head.
“A damn shame,” Delron muttered to himself, looking towards the door. “I really liked that dog.”
Kalan looked at him. He briefly wondered what the old man was talking about, but the fuzzy feeling in his head suppressed all conscious thought.
“You need rest, my boy,” said Delron. “Let me help you to the bed.”
Kalan allowed himself to be lifted by this old man, wondering again at the surprising strength in such old arms. He slowly lifted the covers and slipped into the bed. Another loud thud came from the cabin wall; apparently the creatures had not given up yet.
“Rest, Kalan Banecroft.” the old man said quietly. “Rest, warrior of the Rock.”
The Winds of Change Page 2