Running through the grass Orin slid next to Ardra, who was now kneeling but no longer moaning. “I’m fine,” she said, her voice strained. “Did you get it?”
“I think so. Are you sure you’re okay?” This sort of thing had happened to Ardra before. In fact this was the tenth time this year and it was beginning to worry him. Something was happening to her and they knew not what it was.
“It has passed,” she replied as she slowly stood.
“Was it worse than before?”
“It was. They seem to be getting stronger.”
“What are we going to do?” Orin asked, feeling helpless. “We need to find out what's wrong with you.”
“What can we do? We know not what afflicts me. Come now, no sense worrying about things we can’t control. Let’s dress the animal and set up camp. It will be getting dark soon.” Ardra walked away and Orin, increasingly worried, shook his head and followed.
The tantalizing aroma of the sizzling tulkick was intoxicating. The only food either of them had eaten that day was a few small pieces of dried taranger, a small squirrel-like animal that lived amongst the bonet trees. The meat was nearly done, droplets of fat falling onto the red embers in miniature explosions sounding like a chef’s dinner bell. With the precision and speed acquired from years of hunting, they had quickly dressed the small animal and had taken the choicest cuts, leaving the rest of the carcass behind. They had about three more hours before sunset and they used them to create some distance between themselves and the carcass in order to avoid any predators, particularly nygs, who might show up for an easy meal. The big wolf-like creatures that lived in the Dy’ainian steppes were small in numbers, but Orin and Ardra knew from experience that those superb hunters could smell blood miles away. They didn’t want to risk it.
Orin held a sharpened stick with a chunk of meat on the end over the fire until he couldn't wait any longer. Pulling it away from the fire, he used his hunting knife to cut a piece away, inspected it in the firelight, and tossed it into his mouth. Closing his eyes in pleasure he slowly chewed the tender meat. “Oh, I have missed the taste of tulkick.”
Ardra followed his lead and soon they were both chewing on roasted tulkick, enjoying the moment as if it were the best experience they had had in a long while. Perhaps it was.
“I think we should head into that town we side skirted the other day. We are nearly out of supplies and we have enough taranger furs to trade or sell.” Ardra looked into the fire but said nothing. Orin sighed. “I know you don’t want to go. But we will have to eventually. Let’s just get it over with. We do not have to stay the night.” Orin knew that his sister wanted to spend as little time as possible in town, though the thought of sleeping in a warm soft bed for a night was very appealing.
She looked up from the fire, her lips pursed in a slight smile. “I know you’ll want a few ales.”
“Maybe just one,” he said, returning her knowing smile. “We get supplies. Have a mug of ale. And be on our way.”
“Fine. But remember,” she said, her face now very serious, almost pleading. “You need to stay near me. Don’t leave me…no matter what happens.”
His smile left him as well, “I will not. I promise,” he said, matching her serious tone.
***
“Jarak does not look well,” Endler Ral commented as they slowly rode the road north. Ari and Rath sat in the cart, the reigns in Rath’s hands, carrying Jarak. Serix, Endler, Brant, and Cat rode ahead. They had been traveling for four days and the prince’s condition had failed to improve. In fact the last time they had checked him he seemed more feverish, his skin wet with perspiration. Endler merely announced what they were all afraid to acknowledge.
When they had all returned from Amorsit they had decided to get on the road quickly, despite Jarak’s condition, hoping to avoid any other assassination attempts. They had wrapped him in warm clothes and blankets and laid him in the back of one of Kaan’s carts which was pulled by an ox. The cart was large enough to carry Jarak as well as most of their supplies. They had packed the cart with food, water, healing supplies, their extra coin, the papers taken from Kulvar Rand’s estate, as well as warm clothes and blankets. The weather was cold and clear and luckily for them they had been successful in acquiring enough warm clothes in Amorsit for them all to travel comfortably. Despite the healing salves and supplies, Jarak’s condition was faring no better.
Brant had been thinking about something for several days and he now decided to voice his idea, thinking it might help. “I may have a solution,” he said. “Several years ago I met an old man who was a healer. He said he lived just outside the town of Torset. He may be able to help us.” Years ago, when Brant had first traveled to Amorsit, he had met the old man on the side of the road. They had shared their camp, and the old man, whose name was Angon, had healed his injured back, a result of his fight with the kulg that had attacked Kaan’s cabin. He was a Kynan, some sort of title that Brant knew nothing about. But at the request of Angon and his servant, Tilden, he was not to mention that he was Kynan as most people believed them to be demons and killers, something the Argonians had worked very hard to instill in the minds of most people throughout Corvell. Brant knew very little of the Kynan and why their reputation was so fierce. Angon seemed kind enough to him. But Brant remembered their warning and kept that part of the story to himself.
“Do you know how to find his home?” Cat asked.
“He said he lived just outside of town, the path to his cabin marked by a vylin tree. He made it sound like the tree would be easily spotted.”
“By my estimates we are near the town of Torset now,” Serix said. “Do you know if he was north or south of the town?”
Brant shrugged. “He didn’t say.”
They rode on for another hour before Endler suddenly pulled on the reigns of his horse, and the others, seeing him stop, did the same. “Look at that,” he said, pointing to the left.
They looked down the road and clearly saw what had caught his attention. “Let me guess, that is a vylin tree?” Brant asked. Several hundred paces down the road was a giant tree, the thick trunk rising high above the bonnet trees that surrounded the road. The steppes were sprinkled with large forests of the small trees and they had been surrounded by them for the last day and a half. But this tree stood out like a bright moon on a cloudless night. The trunk alone was three to four paces in diameter and as it rose above the canopy of bonnet trees, thick branches, most as big around as a person, sprouted in every direction. Bright red leaves, gently fluttering in the wind, covered the trees extremities, making it appear as if it were on fire. It was the most spectacular tree Brant had ever seen.
“That is most definitely a vylin tree,” Rath answered from behind them. “They are very rare in these parts and that might be the biggest one I have ever seen.”
“Well, should we look for the path to his house?” Brant asked.
“Do you trust this healer?” Cat asked uncertainly.
“I do,” Brant replied. “Besides, what choice do we have? Jarak’s wound looks bad and he is not faring well. If we continue he may not survive.”
“He must survive,” Serix said. “Let’s find the trail.”
They found the cart path easy enough. It was a well-worn trail that began just beneath the massive tree and meandered through the bonnet tree forest. They had veered off the road as the sun had nearly completed its daily descent. Just before the day became night, they encountered a small stone cabin surrounded by a grove of the vylin trees, each one as large as the one that led them there. Smoke rose lazily from the stone chimney and the small windows glowed with a warm light.
Everyone dismounted and looked around warily, their hands on the pommels of their swords. The grove appeared safe and quite peaceful, but they did not know this Angon, and Jarak’s safety was their utmost concern. Brant walked towards the entrance, a solidly made door of thick timber.
“I had a feeling I’d be seeing you again.”
> The voice came from behind them and they all whirled around, their swords hissing from their scabbards. Standing casually facing them was Angon, his hand resting on the largest nyg Brant had ever seen. The giant beast was nearly as tall as their horses. It let out a deep menacing growl that shook the ground like thunder. Standing beside the old man was Tilden, dressed in black, two swords held at his side. Brant hadn’t noticed it before, but by his stance and the way he held his blades, it looked as if Tilden could handle himself. When Tilden recognized Brant he sheathed them immediately.
Brant quickly sheathed his own blade and approached the old man. “Put your swords away, he is no threat. It is good to see Angon,” he said as he moved slowly toward the old man, keeping enough distance between them as the giant nyg growled again.
“Oh hush, Er’een, they mean us no harm. Now be off with you,” Angon ordered as he slapped the great beast on its flank. The nyg bolted away into the darkness leaving the group staring at the man in wonder. “It is good to see you as well, friend Brant,” Angon replied, his analytical eyes glancing at each man and woman, appraising them quickly before returning to Brant. “You look very different. I can see that the last three years have changed you, and despite my interest in hearing your tale, I take it you are not here for a friendly chat.” It wasn’t really a question, but Brant answered it nonetheless.
“I’m sorry I am not. We need your help.”
“Who is injured in the cart? He is a powerful Aurit.”
Serix looked back at the cart and saw that its wooden sides completely hid the prince. How did he know Jarak was in the cart and that he was injured? He stepped forward, his tone and stance on edge. “Who are you? How did you know someone was in the cart?” As he spoke he turned on his towd and reached out to draw energy from the two men. The old man’s aura was so bright that it hit Serix in a flash, causing him to step back and forcing him to turn off his towd.
“Please, young Lord, do not attempt to task from me. How I knew there is an injured man in the cart is irrelevant. But I can help him, if you will let me.”
Brant looked at Serix. “I trust him. He can help.”
Serix looked at Endler, who also appeared tense, his face mirroring his concern. It was also obvious by his expression that he too had turned on his towd and had been equally repelled by the man’s brilliant aura. He shrugged. “I don’t like it, but what choice do we have?”
Serix looked back at Angon. “I do not know who you are and I have never before seen an aura such as yours. But if Brant trusts you, and you say you can help us, then we have no choice but to accept your offer. The cart carries Prince Jarak, heir to the throne of Dy’ain, and he is gravely injured. You offer your help in good faith, and with appreciation, we will take it in kind. But know that his safety is our paramount concern, and if at any time we sense a threat, we will respond in kind.”
A flicker of a smile danced across Angon’s face. In the shadows of the setting sun it was likely that only Tilden, who stood next to him, saw it. “Well said and fair enough. Let’s get him inside.”
Once inside the cozy cabin Brant and Serix, under direction from Tilden, carefully laid Jarak onto one of the beds against the wall. The main room of the cabin was actually quite large, much roomier than it looked from the outside. There was a cooking space along one wall near the bed as well as a large rectangular wooden table with six chairs near the center of the room. The adjacent wall held a huge stone fireplace, wherein a blazing fire had been recently lit, and facing it were four comfortable chairs covered in worn but soft leather cushions. Every available wall space was lined with shelves, each one crammed with countless books. Brant had never seen so many books in one place. There was only one interior door and Brant guessed that it led to Angon’s private chambers. Bright lanterns hung from the walls and rafters, and combined with the light and heat from the dancing flames of the fire, the room was quite pleasant.
“Please, take rest,” Angon advised. “Let me take a look at him.” Serix and Brant stepped aside as Angon knelt next to the bed. Jarak had groaned some when they had set him down but he was still unconscious. His simple cotton tunic covered the bandaged wound. “Tilden, please come and help.”
Tilden moved next to him, and under Angon's direction, gently slipped the tunic over Jarak’s head. He groaned again, and a light sheen of sweat coated his pale skin. Serix and Brant stood over him while the others sat down in various chairs taking comfort from the warm fire. They knew they would just be in the way if they, too, tried to help.
Angon carefully inspected the wound but said nothing. Serix had cauterized it and there was now a thick scab covering the grisly puncture. The area surrounding the wound was red and swollen, like a small festering volcano arising from his shoulder, from which oozed a yellow liquid tinged with blood. Angon touched the wound, examining it in various places, causing Jarak to moan and writhe upon the blankets. Finally he leaned closer to smell it, then stood up abruptly, moving more quickly than expected for a man his age.
“The wound has gone fowl,” he announced as he turned to face them. “Poison from the injury has entered his blood and he will likely die from the contamination.”
Cat stepped forward, her eyes pleading. “But you can do something, right? You can fix him?” Her voice was strained and tears pooled in her eyes.
“You must heal him,” Serix added. “He is our only hope.”
“The words only and hope should not be said in conjunction,” Angon said softly. “Hope is not finite nor should it be leashed to just one man. You all bring hope to your cause.”
“We can't do this without him!” Cat snapped, running her hands through her hair in frustration as she turned away from Angon. Then she turned back to face him again, her demeanor turning again from frustration to pleading. “Please, can you heal him?”
Angon looked to Brant and back to the others. “I can heal him. But it will require more than poultices and herbs. I need to use magic.”
This time it was Endler who spoke, staring at Angon with a mixture of interest and suspicion. “What kind of magic? What are you?” he asked guardedly, unsure if he was just a commoner gifted with the Way or something else.
Brant watched as Tilden stepped closer to Angon, his hands resting on the pommels of his swords, his body tense.
“I’m a Kynan.”
Serix stepped away from the old man as Endler drew his blade. The scraping of steel echoed in the confines of the cabin as Tilden brought forth his swords and placed himself before Angon. But the old man’s hand stopped him. In two heartbeats Cat and Serix had also drawn their swords, all three jumping back from the man as if he carried the plague. The only one who didn’t bring forth his sword was Brant, who stepped in front Angon protectively.
“You brought us into the den of a demon!” Endler shouted, his eyes wild with fright.
“I have not! Put your swords away!” Brant growled, his eyes narrowing in anger.
“What is the meaning of this?” Serix asked. “Brant, do you even know what a Kynan is?”
“All I know is that he helped me and he is willing to help Jarak,” Brant countered. “He is no threat, despite what you’ve been told.”
Surprisingly it was Rath who moved between Angon and the others, his hands reaching out on both sides in an attempt to placate the two groups. “Listen to me! Brant is right. If he is truly a Kynan then he can heal Jarak.”
“But they eat human flesh,” Cat whispered, her sword held protectively before her.
“They do not! Listen to me,” Rath pleaded. “What you’ve heard of the Kynan are myths and legends created long ago and built on fear and superstition. Everything you know of them is wrong. He can help Jarak.”
“Finally, a learned man,” Angon said softly, a subtle smile appearing briefly.
“How do you know this?” Serix asked.
“Angon is right,” Rath replied. “I have studied many things. I have read ancient tomes and know much about the Kynan. They ar
e not evil. You have to trust me.”
“Put the swords away,” Brant ordered, his tone suggesting he was reaching his limit. The others sensed it as well.
“If you are wrong, Rath, then Jarak’s blood is on your hands,” Serix said as he lowered his blade and sheathed the weapon. The others, reluctantly, followed his lead.
“Good, now that we are done with pleasantries, let’s get started. Tilden, please make me the gorong tea. I will need it for my strength. The rest of you, please sit and relax. Tilden will prepare you food and drink while I work on Jarak. Once I start, whatever you do don’t interrupt me.”
“What are you going to do?” Endler asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.
“I will draw power from the earth, from the source of all things, and I will slowly introduce the power into Jarak’s body. I will seek out this corrupting force and destroy it, incinerating it until it is no more.”
Rath stepped closer to Angon, his academic mind eagerly searching for more information. “How can you do this?”
“Think of it this way, young scholar. Imagine the poison within him as being thousands of tiny insects flowing through his blood. If left alone they will multiply, sucking the life from him until he dies. I will hunt down each of them and burn them to ash.”
“You can do this without hurting him?” This time it was Cat who asked. Her initial trepidation towards him was replaced by hope infused with worry. The thought of Angon burning away the foulness in his blood without causing harm to Jarak was difficult for her to comprehend.
“He will feel discomfort. But I don't believe the putrefaction has fully compromised his body.” Tilden stepped over beside the old man and handed him a clay mug of hot tea. The hot water had already been prepared, so it only took him a few moments to mix the ingredients. Angon took the cup and quickly drank the tea. “Thank you. Now remember, under no circumstances are you to interrupt me.”
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