The Gauntlet Thrown

by Cheryl Dyson

  ******

  It was nearly dusk when Toryn thought he heard Redwing call his name. He turned in annoyance to see the reins drop from Redwing’s fingers. They trailed in the dust until the stallion’s hoof came down on one, snapping the horse’s head down and halting him instantly.

  Toryn watched as Brydon tried to dismount, but his feet crumpled under him and he sagged into the dirt. Toryn was off the mare in an instant and ran back to Redwing’s still form. Alyn wheeled her horse about.

  "What’s wrong with him?" she asked. "Is he drunk?"

  "I don’t know. He’s unconscious!" Toryn felt Redwing’s forehead. "No wonder he was complaining about the heat. He’s burning with fever!"

  Alyn swore, but dismounted and quickly built a fire. It was not the best place to stop, as they were surrounded by thick undergrowth and large boulders with no water in sight, but there was no help for it.

  Toryn dragged Redwing to the fire and then bathed his forehead with water from his water skin. He stripped off Redwing’s vest while there was still light enough to see by and tossed it aside without glancing at it. Alyn gasped loudly.

  Toryn followed her gaze to find her staring at the blood-soaked leather vest. The sheepskin was almost completely dark with dried blood. Toryn paled and turned Redwing over carefully.

  Four long, deep scratches curved grotesquely over Redwing’s right shoulder blade. The wound stretched from the top of his neck down to the base of his ribcage in a large curve. The cuts were dark and ugly and Toryn knew instinctively that they were infected. The gashes were partially covered by shreds of Redwing’s shirt, and those were caked to the wound by dried blood, and worse.

  "Curse me for seven kinds of a fool! I saw the cat take him off! Why did I not realize—?" Toryn swore bitterly. Stupid, stubborn Falaran! Was he so afraid to show any weakness that he would rather die than ask for help? Toryn ran to get Redwing’s pack and dug out a pan with which to boil water. While it heated, he bathed Redwing’s hot skin with a cloth dipped in cool water. He would send Alyn to find more water if they ran out.

  "Do you know anything about healing?" he asked Alyn, who shook her head.

  "Nothing beyond a strained tendon."

  "Is there a village nearby? Or an outpost of the Terrin Church with real healers?"

  Alyn shook her head again. "We are leagues from a village and the Terrin Church is not allowed in Akarska. Not even the healing branch."

  Toryn stared at her. "What do your people do about illness?"

  "The chief Horsemistress of each clan has healing skills. For serious injuries—well, my uncle once took his son to Kaneelis to visit the Temple of Healing. The boy used to fall down, thrash, and foam at the mouth."

  "What happened to him?"

  "They gave the boy herbs to take daily to prevent the falling sickness and told my uncle where they grow so that he could find more," Alyn explained.

  "In other words, for serious healing the patient has to leave Akarska, or die," Toryn said.

  Alyn colored, but bit her lip slightly and nodded. Toryn charitably said nothing further. He bathed Redwing’s wound with hot water and cleaned it thoroughly. Large bits of flesh peeled away and Toryn felt his stomach heave. He closed his eyes for a moment until the nausea passed, and thanked Adona that Redwing was unconscious. The infection was an ugly dull yellow and Toryn had no idea what to do about it except scrub until it bled freely again. Redwing’s fever was just as baffling, but Toryn laid cloth after cloth of cool water on Redwing’s head and neck until his shoulders were almost cracking from the strain. Alyn sat across the fire from him and watched. The meal she had prepared sat near the fire, uneaten.

  "Are you not deadly enemies?" she asked finally.

  "Yes," Toryn replied. He did not pause as he wrung out the water and soaked up more from the water skin.

  "Then why not let him die?" she asked.

  Toryn stared at her coldly. The question angered him, even though he knew it was logical enough. Alyn held his gaze for a long time. Toryn looked back at the face of his enemy. Redwing’s hair was matted from the water, not from sweat. Toryn knew a fever could be deadly and he wished that he knew what to do to ease it. He and his family had always been vibrantly healthy. He knew nothing of wounds, fever, or illness.

  "I don’t know," Toryn replied quietly and laid the cloth again on Redwing’s hot forehead. "Do we have any more water?"

  "I’ll see if I can find some," Alyn said softly and slipped into the darkness.

  Two hours later, Alyn had fallen asleep and Toryn’s hands, now prune-like from the water, continued their endless movement. It was fully dark and the fire had burned down to a tiny flame, but Toryn did not pause in his efforts to put more wood on the embers.

  "Gauntlet," Redwing muttered and Toryn started for a moment, thinking he was awake, until he realized Redwing was delirious.

  "Princess... the quest," Redwing mumbled. His eyes snapped open. "Assassins!"

  "Redwing?" Toryn asked uneasily, but the Falaran was not seeing him. His eyes focused on a point beyond Toryn’s head.

  "Redolians..." He trailed off again. Toryn wrung out the cloth.

  "Toryn! The lion! Look out!" Redwing yelled and thrashed. Alyn started awake, grabbing for her whip. "Toryn!"

  "He’s out of his head," Toryn explained. Alyn nodded and relaxed. Redwing calmed and lay still. After a time, he asked very clearly, "Where is Ven-Kerrick?" The words jolted into Toryn. Ven-Kerrick? Redwing was after the Gauntlet of Ven-Kerrick? That was his quest? Toryn nearly laughed out loud at the sheer lunacy of the idea. He rocked back on his heels and considered Redwing’s words. What else could it be? Ven-Kerrick had no resources, no rugs or tapestries, no leather goods, no jewelry or decorative urns. They were famous for nothing but the gauntlet. Even in Redol, they had heard of the Gauntlet of Ven-Kerrick. It was magical. An actual magical item wielded by King Kerrick in the War of the South to destroy the forces of Shaitan. It was a fool’s errand to think the Kerricks would ever part with such an object, even temporarily. It was practically holy.

  Redwing sighed and was silent. Toryn massaged his own eyes momentarily in weariness. When he opened them again, a woman, hooded and dressed in pale blue robes, stood at the edge of the wood. She looked more like a vision than reality. Toryn got to his feet unsteadily, his joints popping.

  "Who are you?" he whispered. He thought he might be infected with whatever had taken Redwing’s mind.

  "Is he injured?" she asked in a melodious voice as she came forward. For a moment, Toryn thought she was a spirit. He rubbed a hand across his tired eyes and blinked at her. She seemed solid enough.

  "That depends on whether or not you mean us harm," he said. He glanced over and knew that Alyn was also awake. One hand rested on her ever-present whip while she feigned sleep.

  The woman laughed and it was like a silvery tinkle of coins in a crystal jar. "I wish harm to no man," she said. "I am Verana, of the Order of the Rose. I am a healer."

  Toryn almost fainted with relief at her words, strange though it was to meet a healer in a place where there were no healers, and especially when one was most desperately needed. She came forward, knelt, and examined Redwing carefully. She immediately slung off her large pack and rifled through it. She drew out several pouches of dried herbs, leaves, powders, and a wooden cup. Pale gloves covered her slender hands, but they did not hinder her movements.

  Toryn threw more wood on the fire, building it up to allow her more light.

  "Please hold him down," she requested politely, "This will hurt."

  Toryn immediately held Redwing’s legs and Alyn got up at his signal to grip Redwing’s arms. The healer pulled a handful of grayish powder out of a bag and dumped it on the wound. Redwing thrashed mightily, but did not awaken. Alyn was flung off with a yelp and then Redwing’s convulsions ceased.

  "What will that do?" Toryn asked, shaken, as he released Redwing’s legs. Verana turned to him and threw back the hood of her robe. He gasped, for she
was unlike any woman he had ever seen. Her skin was very dark, nearly black, and her hair was mass of tight black curls, tamed in the front by two long braids. Her eyes were large and doe-like and she had a beauty that was almost ethereal.

  "The powder will kill the infection," she said, bringing Toryn’s attention back to the question he had asked. "Now we must deal with his fever. It is good that you bathed his head. It kept the fever from damaging his brain."

  She crushed some dried leaves in a cup and added some small pink flower petals before soaking the mixture in hot water. When it was a pungent tea, she strained out the leaves and petals and attached a strange tube-like contraption to the cup. Toryn held Redwing upright while she slid the tube down his throat and poured the drink into him skillfully. Toryn gagged slightly in reflex, but Redwing did not stir. Verana took clean bandages from her pack and wrapped his wound tightly.

  "There." She sighed as she tied it off tightly with the aid of Toryn’s finger. "That is all I can do for him. Now, let me look at your wound."

  "I don’t have any wounds," Toryn protested. He did not want any part of the excruciating grey powder.

  "Shirt off."

  Toryn muttered ungraciously, but tugged his shirt off. Verana watched him with one eyebrow raised and he silenced himself.

  She did not use the grey powder; instead she crushed a handful of dark green leaves moistened with water. After mixing it into a sort of sticky paste, she spread it over Toryn’s torn ribs and tied it in place with a bandage. The salve was soothingly cool and Toryn was surprised to feel his pain slowly ebb.

  "What brings you here right when we need you, anyway? Are you an angel?"

  Verana smiled and she actually looked angelic. She seemed ageless to Toryn. Her face was unlined but for small crinkles at the corners of her eyes. "I am a healer, not an angel," she said. "You have never seen an Ebon woman before, have you?"

  Toryn shook his head, somewhat embarrassed to have been caught staring.

  "We are not so rare in the south. As to your question, I was on my way back to Kaneelis from Falara. The way is easier through Akarska than Terris, although they do not like travelers passing through. I spent the winter in Eaglecrest training the healers there on some new techniques."

  "Did you know Redwing there? He is on some foolish quest to become king."

  Verana smiled. "No foolish quest, surely, when a kingship is on the line. He looks familiar to me, although I have never met him. I witnessed the ceremony that sent him off. There was a grand parade in Eaglecrest and many feasts." She patted her stomach. "Northern folk do love their feasts. I feel I’ve gained a stone or more in the past few months."

  Toryn wondered where she had put the stone, since she looked perfectly fit to him.

  "I left two days behind him, but strayed from the road early on to enter Akarska. I hope to meet a friend at the Waryn Trading Inn. I expected the Sir Brydon to be far ahead of me."

  Sir Brydon? "We were delayed by an avalanche on the pass."

  "’We?’ Have you traveled far with him, then?" she asked.

  "Not willingly, at first. I tried to kill him." Toryn shrugged. "I’m Redolian, you know."

  Verana raised a brow, but made no judgment, for which Toryn was grateful. She said, "My camp is not far from here. I was just about to sleep when I felt… I’m not sure. Something. I was drawn here as though someone were calling for help."

  Toryn wasn’t sure how to respond. "You’re traveling alone? Isn’t that dangerous?"

  "Not many people will harm a healer. Even bandits and raiders tend to respect the Order. And I have been trained in defense, when necessary." She pulled a large, sheathed dagger from a hidden pocket of her robes. "Although I far prefer to heal injury than cause it."

  "You are next, Horsemistress," Verana said, turning to Alyn, who looked at her with an expression bordering on insolence.

  "There is nothing wrong with me," Alyn snapped.

  "Nonsense," Verana said. Her melodious voice had a remarkable amount of steel in it when she wished. "A head wound is the most dangerous of all. Come here."

  Alyn reluctantly obeyed. Toryn touched his own head where Redwing’s arrow had cut a furrow, but it had been well treated and was nothing more than a healing scar, covered by his thick black hair.

  The healer examined Alyn’s head, pronounced it fracture-free and gave her a cup of tea for lingering pain. It must have been a potent herb that she used in the tea, for Alyn went to sleep almost immediately.

  "She is going to be all right, isn’t she?" Toryn asked. He had grown rather fond of arguing with the blond wench. Verana gave him a tired smile.

  "Akarskans are a strong people. It will take more than a knock on the head to stop one like her. Is it permitted for me to know your names? I know Sir Brydon’s. Redwing, is it not?"

  Toryn flushed. "Sorry. I am Toryn, son of Taryn, brother of Morgyn, Clan-Chieftain. He is Brydon Redwing. The girl is Alyn. That is all I know of her."

  "How is it that you travel with Sir Brydon, Toryn of Redol? After you tried to kill him?"

  "He spared my life," Toryn replied. "I suppose I’m staying with him to find out why."

  "Why you tried to kill him, or why he spared you?"

  "Perhaps a bit of both," Toryn admitted. "Where did you come from? Originally, I mean?" he asked. He found himself wondering what color her eyes were. It was impossible to tell in the darkness and the meager light from the fire and the quarter moon.

  "I was born in Kaneelis and spent much of my life there."

  "In Terris?" Toryn asked. "I’m still not sure how you knew we were in trouble."

  Verana’s perfect smile beamed out again. "Neither am I. But I never underestimate the power of Adona."

  With that she got up and pulled a blanket out of her pack. She spread it on the ground over a thick patch of grass. In minutes, she was asleep. Toryn put a hand out to touch Redwing’s forehead, somewhat shaken by the thought that he was a pawn in one of Adona’s plans. He suddenly felt sure that Brydon Redwing was meant for something remarkable. Something even larger than bringing peace to Falara and Redol. Maybe it was Toryn’s task to help him achieve it.

  Redwing’s skin was drenched with sweat. The fever had broken. Toryn mercilessly took a blanket from Alyn and covered Redwing to prevent him from catching a chill. If the Akarskan wench got cold, she knew where Toryn slept.