WINDHEALER

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  A derisive laugh came from Conar's chiseled mouth. "You have trouble saying that name?"

  Brelan frowned. "I'm just not used to it."

  "It's always been my name, did you know that?" At Brelan's look of inquiry, Conar lifted one thick brow. "In the ancient Oceanian tongue, the word 'Conarus' means 'black-winged scavenger.' If that is what I am to become, the name is fitting."

  "Tohre will think so."

  The laughter left Conar's lips. "He'll not like my scavenging, that's for certain. Soon, there will be nothing that bastard does that I won't know about."

  * * *

  Brelan was already on board The Ravenwind, Paegan and Holm saying their good-byes to the other men. Conar stood on dock, gazing up at the ship that was, by rights, his. He sighed. When he was little, he had sailed on the Boreas Queen with Holm. He had enjoyed it more than anything else in his childhood.

  "She's a beauty, isn't she?" a soft voice intruded on his memories. Xander Hesar, the Healer, walked toward him.

  "She'll do her part."

  "As will we all."

  "I'm sure you will." Conar waited until the man was close to him. "I haven't thanked you for all you did for me in the Labyrinth."

  "It wasn't necessary."

  "It is. I am grateful for all the times you helped ease my pain." He gripped the Healer's wrist. "You saved my life more than once, and my sanity constantly. Thank you."

  "I did what I could. I only wish I had been able to do more."

  Conar let go of the wrist. "I've been told you knew Cayn? Where did you meet him?"

  "In the Labyrinth."

  Conar's tawny brow shot up. "I never knew he was there. When was this?"

  "Before you were born, obviously!" The Healer grinned. "He volunteered to serve there for a few years. I was there already, and when it was time for him to leave, he trained me as a healer. It was a way for me to have some dignity in that hellhole. For the most part, I was left alone."

  "Why were you there?"

  Xander shrugged. "Political reasons. I made one too many enemies among the Domination in Virago."

  "Who was Chief Priest there, then?"

  "A bastard named Faulkus. Tolkan Coure's younger brother. A mean-spirited son-of-a-bitch, but not as bad as I hear Tolkan was." He looked at Conar and saw a ridge of white around the young man's lips. "I suppose you know all about Tolkan, though, don't you?"

  "More than I ever wanted to. Why'd they send you to the Labyrinth? What'd you do?"

  "You know you don't have to do much to incur their enmity. Faulkus took exception to my marriage and made sure I didn't have the lady long." A glimmer of hatred shot across the Healer's face. "The Domination had other plans for my wife."

  Conar put a hand on the Healer's shoulder. "They sent you to the Labyrinth to get you out of her life?"

  "They told the world I was dead and then they wed my lady to another."

  A stab of rage went through the dark blue eyes. "They have a knack for doing that."

  "I loved her. I will always love her." Xander ground his teeth, speaking through a tightly clenched jaw. "There has never been a day that I have not thought of her, of what could have been."

  "What, perhaps, should have been?"

  "Aye!" Xander touched Conar's cheek. "The Wind be favorable to you, Lord Conar. I'll keep you in my prayers!" Spinning on his heel, the Healer practically ran up the gangplank. He didn't turn until Conar called to him.

  "My mother loved you, too, Xander."

  The Healer stared. When at last he could find his voice, he heard his words trembling. "How did you know?"

  Conar grinned, his eyes showing warmth for the first time in a long time. "It was merely a guess."

  "No one must know!" Xander came halfway down the gangplank so no inquisitive ears could hear.

  "Know what? That I'm a bastard? That the entire line of my father's loins are bastards?" Conar laughed. "It doesn't bother me."

  "Don't say that! No one must know her marriage was not legal!"

  "In the sight of the Tribunal I am sure it was legal. Otherwise, they would've never allowed them to marry. Only in the sight of the gods and man is it not legal." Conar looked toward Serenia's distant snow-capped mountain range. "But it doesn't matter, anyway. The monarchy is at an end, in Serenia and everywhere. When the Raven flies, there will be one rule—mine!"

  Xander shivered. The man with such terrible power was frightening to look at. He wouldn't want to be Conar's enemy. There was strength of purpose in those icy orbs, but there was also a promise. The promise that nothing would ever stand in his way again.

  "Use your power well," Xander warned gently. He laid a comforting hand on the young man's hard shoulder. "Please don't let the past govern the future."

  The anger softened. "I have no past. And my future is like the wind. It will carry me where I need to go; where I am needed. As for my power, He who gave it, will govern it."

  "Conar, when I was first at the Labyrinth, I knew a terrible hatred deep in my soul. A hatred so viral it nearly destroyed me. When I learned your mother had been given in marriage to another, and that it had been a love match, I wanted nothing more than to die. Cayn stopped me. He gave me a purpose, a reason to live…"

  "I, too, have a reason to live, my friend. I am going to see all those responsible for my living death pay for every moment I suffered!" His gaze went to the tall peaks once more. "And the gods help them, so will those who have caused me grief!"

  * * *

  "I said no, dammit, and no is what I meant! What part of the word don't you understand, Wynland?"

  "Papa, please! Give me one good reason why I can't go!"

  "I have said you can't, and that's the only reason I have to give!"

  "That's not good enough!" Wyn yelled back at his father. He stood his ground, staring at his father with the same stubbornness. His chin raised another fraction of an inch and he pursed his lips together as tightly as his father's.

  Conar would have liked to have throttled him. Never had he raised a hand to any of his children, his past preventing him from ever doing so no matter how much they had angered him. But as he glared at Wyn, and the boy—no, Conar thought with fury, the young man—glared back, his palm itched to slap the smug look of defiance off Wyn's face.

  "Neither Coron nor I are being allowed to go with him, either, Wyn," Dyllon remarked and flinched as Conar's dark eyes swung to him.

  "This is between me and my son!"Conar snarled.

  "Aye, it is!" Wyn echoed, flicking his annoyed glance over his youngest uncle. "And I'm going to have a reasonable answer. Why the hell can't I go?"

  Rylan Hesar glanced at Jah-Ma-El and silently whistled. What had been intended as a last-minute family get-together before the men left for Necroman had turned into a battle of wills.

  Coron and Dyllon had protested, too, wanting to return to Serenia, but Conar had also forbidden them. Older than the boy, the two brothers had understood, if not accepted the fact, that their roles would have to be played out in Chrystallus. Besides, both young men had wives and Conar refused to allow the women along on general principle.

  But Wyn was not so handicapped, and had revolted at the idea of being left behind.

  "Dammit, Papa! I want an answer!" The strong young arms of a swordsman-in-training folded over a chest starting to widen and thicken like his father's. He tossed his long blond hair out of his eyes and braced his feet wide apart. "Why can't I go?"

  Conar was vividly reminded of similar arguments he'd had with this boy's grandfather and that knowledge ate at him. I'm turning into my father, he thought dismally. He fell back on one of his father's favorite excuses: "I don't have to give you an answer!" Conar shouted. "I only have to give you an order and I expect it to be obeyed!"

  "That's not good enough! I'm too much my father's son to meekly accept what I'm told without comment or thought. I'm just as much my own man as he is!"

  "You smartass!" Conar took a step toward his son. "Who do you think
you're talking to?"

  "I thought I was speaking to my father, but I can see I'm speaking to the Raven, instead. So, I'll ask him. Why can't I go to Serenia?"

  Conar looked at his brothers—Jah-Ma-El, Coron, Dyllon. He looked at his cousin, Rylan. He glanced at his uncle. He didn't see any help in any of their faces, and suspected he wouldn't have received any had he asked or had they been able to provide it. He turned back to his son. "You want an answer? As the Raven, I say you are to remain in Chrystallus to help train the men your uncles will be recruiting. We cannot train them in the field. We don't have the time or resources to do so. To send them into the field ill-prepared, up against seasoned Temple Guards, would be dangerous for them and even more so to the men on the Force. I need men I can trust at my back. Men I can trust with our lives!"

  Wyn nodded. "As a member of the Wind Force, I can accept that, but as your son, I cannot. Any man can help my uncles train. I would rather be with my people, fighting for my country. That is my birthright. Now, as my father, tell me why I can't go!"

  Conar took another step toward his son, aiming to hit him. Any other man would have backed down, but not Wyn. He didn't even flinch as Conar cruelly gripped his shoulder. "As your father, you little snot, I say o remain in Chrystallus because I…" The blue eyes flickered, the hand on Wyn's shoulder tightened even more, but the boy showed no signs of pain. Conar stared into Wyn's stormy face and saw himself eleven or so years earlier, standing before his own father, demanding to know why he couldn't venture out in the midst of a killing storm to be with Liza.

  "Because what?" Wyn prompted.

  Conar saw his father's face superimposed over Wyn's, staring at him with a knowing look that had once warned him just such a day, just such a scene as this, would one day be his to play. Had it really been this hard for his father? Conar thought. Did I give him just this much trouble when I was young? If I did, he prayed silently, I am sorry, Papa. I'll make it up to you.

  The pain of knowing he would never see his father again this side of heaven made him falter, made his words heavy in his throat. His voice was softer than the men had heard it in a long time. "Because I have already lost everything I have ever held dear. You are my only son, Wynland, my only child. I will lose no more." He crushed Wyn to him in an embrace that squeezed the air from the boy's lungs. "I would lose what sanity I have left if I were to lose you."

  Wyn's arms went around his father. They clung to each other as though gripping a lifeboat in stormy seas.

  "Let me go, Papa. I want to be there for you. I don't want to lose you again, either!"

  Conar shook his head. "If I had to worry about you, what good would I be to my men?" He pushed Wyn. "Here, with our aunt and uncle, with my brothers, you are protected. Here, you are safe. Here, I would not worry about you. Don't make this any more difficult for me than it already is. It will be hard enough to leave you behind." He swept a lock of blond hair from his son's forehead. When had the boy gotten taller than him? "Let me have at least some measure of peace in this lifetime."

  Wyn buried his face in his father's shoulder. "I love you," he whispered, giving in to tears he hadn't wanted to shed.

  "And I love you."

  Jah-Ma-El turned away. He'd seen the look in Conar's eyes when he said the word "love." He didn't think Conar knew what the word meant anymore.

  Chapter 18

  * * *

  "As soon as I leave, I want you to send the message to our men in Virago, Chale, and Ionary. Tell them to meet you in Boreas on the fourth day of August."

  Rylan nodded, watching Conar tighten the cinch on his black stallion. "You'll watch your back, now, right?"

  "Don't worry about me." He made sure the cinch was secure, then turned to Rylan. "Just make sure you keep yourself safe, Hesar."

  "I plan on going to the palace as soon as I reach Boreas. Brelan will need to know about the latest. Is there anything you want me to do until you get there?"

  There was a snort of contempt from the finely chiseled mouth. "Keep her warm for me!" He swung up into the saddle. He looked at the hand Rylan had placed on his thigh.

  "Don't keep doing that, Conar."

  "What?"

  Rylan let out a tired sigh. They'd all been through this before. "Elizabeth is part of the past. Let her stay there."

  Conar's look would have quelled a normal man, but Rylan simply stared at him with worry.

  "She's very much a part of my future, Cousin. She just doesn't know how much!" He jerked on the horse's reins and dug his heels into the wide flanks, clicking his tongue.

  He had named the big black steed Seachange and had once chuckled evilly when asked what the name was supposed to mean. "I named my Serenian mount Seayearner for I longed for something only the sea could give me. The sea gave me something all right. A bitch who broke my heart! Once more the sea has provided me with a mount and this steed bears the name that has brought forth the Dark Overlord of the Wind! I have been changed by the unfaithfulness of the sea."

  Rylan watched him gallop to the head of a column of men. There was dismay on Hesar's face as he turned to the men behind him. "Let's get going."

  He and eight others would be leaving for Boreas on a pirated Diabolusian galley, since that vile country was still on friendly terms with the Tribunal regime. No one would think to stop a galley that flew a Diabolusian banner.

  Hesar glanced back from the gangplank. Conar sat ramrod straight in the saddle, his spine taut, his shoulders squared. With his blond hair glimmering in the harsh winter light, he sat with gloved hands crossed over the saddle horn and waited until the last of his men had moved into line behind him. The heavy fur-lined cloak that covered him from high collar to boot and lay draped over his stallion's rump blew back with the stiffening breeze. Rylan saw the black shirt and breeches that were now Conar's only color of clothing.

  "Take care, Cousin!" Conar called, lifting his hand. His steed pranced sideways, straining at the bit, and he clucked his tongue, stilling the massive animal's instinct to break into a run. He pulled on the reins; the beast obeyed.

  The jingle of harness and the plop of hooves on stone carried in the chill air. A light snow was already falling and it was predicted that a heavier fall would come before evening. The men were anxious to depart before the mountain passes to the south became slick with ice.

  Gathered along the northern wall of the palace, along the road that led down to the passageway to Necroman's border, were the many peasants and bondspeople who had worked to make this campaign a reality. They forged weapons, housed recruits, broke horses and helped train them, fed and clothed the more than one-hundred men who would be making the trek to Necroman behind Conar. These people had been loyal and friendly, and he was determined to show them respect and thanks despite the cold numbing his lips, hands, and toes.

  He looked up at the high palace walls and waved to his aunt and uncle. There was no moisture in the hard depths of his cold eyes—he had vowed to shed no more tears in his lifetime—but there was a dragging pain in his heart at leaving his relatives, at leaving behind his brothers, his son, the two nephews and one niece—the new generation of the McGregor line. He wondered at the feelings, amazed he could still feel anything after his bargain with Alel, or whatever god he had found that day in the sanctuary.

  "Maybe it's only her that's been erased from your heart," an inner voice taunted. He thought her name, her face, and found nothing. He was satisfied. With a grim nod of pleasure, he hoped she'd been removed from his caring.

  He looked at the people who had braved the frigid temperature to bid him farewell. He put his right hand over his heart. "You have my eternal gratitude for all you have done. We take with us your kindness and love!" His words were chips of ice, but no one heard the coldness. They did not want to. They smiled as he put his heels to his horse and the long line began to move.

  "May the Wind be favorable to you, Lord Raven!" a woman's warm voice rang out over the chill air, and her chant was repeated here and
there until every throat was alive with the words. It would become his new battle cry.

  * * *

  "May the gods ride with you, my darling," the Empress Dyreil whispered through tears.

  Her husband's arm draped her shoulder. "He'll be all right, Dy," Tran said and kissed her forehead.

  Dyllon patted his aunt's shoulder. "He rides with the Wind."

  "He is the Wind," Wyn corrected. He watched until the troop of men were no longer visible as they wound their way along the serpentine pathway into the white mist of the snows. "May the Wind be favorable to you, Papa."

  Wyn turned away, his mind divided between the man he loved and the slim Necromanian girl who had captured his heart and had left with her father on the trek. She had been the real reason he had wanted to go, but had dared not tell that to the Raven.

  His father might have understood, but the Raven wouldn't have.

  The last thing that man would understand would be young love.

  * * *

  They made camp for the night at the entrance to Miku Pass, the first of five treacherous switchback passes that would lead them through the mountains to Necroman. Snow had yet to reach this first pass, but already the air was becoming thick with cold and damp. The swirling snows they had left in the foothills would soon catch up with them.

  Cook fires were set and the meal began. In all, one-hundred-and-three men and six women were making camp on the overhang of Shiku Pass. The campfires ranged over a fifty-yard stretch of frozen ground and sent small spirals of smoke into the darkening sky. Twenty-seven pack animals were scattered along the long line of troop mounts, and because taking care of so many animals was a major chore, the men ate in shifts, lookouts posted to keep away predators and spies.

  Conar was restless as the men set about their tasks and ate. He had eaten his meal in silence, striding away from the others, plate in hand, gaze on the far peaks of his homeland as he stood and mindlessly shoveled food into his mouth. No one had bothered him on the trail; no one bothered him now as he sat well away from his men and their chatter. His black-booted feet were spread apart, his hands dangling between his open thighs. He stared at the snow at his feet. His silences were becoming as much a part of him as the frown on his face.