“You don’t know?” Koren shouted. “I will show you the price of incompetence!”
Jakob barely had time to look up, raising a hand in protest, when her first dagger took him in the left eye. Koren’s second pierced through his neck. She struck with such force that each was driven in to the hilt, the points protruding through the back of the guard’s neck and skull. She withdrew the blades as quickly as they had been produced, and then plunged them repeatedly into his body punching ragged, bleeding holes through the dead guard’s breastplate.
In a rage of his own, Elam swung his sword at a nearby chair, splitting it into kindling. He ripped down several of the banners and tapestries that decorated the chamber. Cursing and screaming, he began hacking at his own throne. Pale chips of gold and jewel-covered wood flew with each swing. In her shocked state, Koren barely heard him. Finally, his sword cut deep into the wooden throne-back and snagged itself. Elam struggled to free it, and then succeeded before sitting and sobbing on a nearby chair. The crown slipped from his head. It clanged to the granite floor and rolled across the room.
Koren, fists and turquoise dress now covered in blood, threw back her head and howled in frustration. There was nothing further to kill. Nothing to punish. She too sat, but she couldn’t seem to sob or weep. She clenched her fists and wailed.
Elam recovered first.
“Gashan!” he called. He stepped over the lifeless corpse between Koren and the open door.
“Yes, my lord,” one of the guards standing outside replied.
“You are now head of my bodyguards. Jakob failed me. Make the same mistake and you will share in his fate. Send messages to the bridges. I want both border crossings sealed. Then assemble a company of the guards in the courtyard. Tonight, we hunt my son’s murderer. I will bring Haldrin justice.”
“As you command, my lord,” the guard saluted.
“I want the murderer alive,” Koren added. She controlled her rage with great effort, fighting against killing the second guard to soothe herself. She would buy some wood elf slaves tonight. Five or ten might be enough. They would suffer and suffer well for her brother.
“As you command, Princess,” Gashan said.
CHAPTER FOUR
“No need of guards here, son,” the fat man said. He tilted back in a wooden chair, the springs groaning and squeaking in protest.
“Seems like I’m too late then,” Dain replied with a sigh. “This is the fifth mining company I’ve asked since I’ve arrived. No one’s hiring.”
“Most men would call that lucky. If you’d’ve been here earlier you might be lying in one of those shallow graves you passed by on the way in. Or in some damned orc’s belly.”
“If you don’t need guards, how are you planning on getting the gold through? Surely you aren’t giving a quarter of it to the elves?”
“Not that it’s any concern of yours, but we’ve got an army coming in to protect the next shipment. Up from Jerloc, Arctanon’s capital. Us big mines have all agreed to give them a cut, although it’s far less than the elves’ price. In return they are sending a full army escort. Hundreds of mounted knights, a thousand archers, and almost three thousand pikemen will be here month after next to protect our richest shipment ever,” the miner said. Still reclining back in the chair, he steepled his fingers and crossed them over his round belly.
Dain left the mine office and stepped out into Galena’s busy main street. A dull roar of activity rang up and down the town. Vendors hawked their wares on every vacant lot and street corner. The more honest peddled basic mining equipment. Others conned miners into buying “enchanted” gold-finding products guaranteed to make ore practically jump from the ground straight into waiting hands.
He had tried to find a claim of his own, but the best ground, the richest, was already taken up. Even the outlying areas of the stream, well away from town where the old miner suggested, had been claimed, though most went unworked.
Two-dozen buildings lined the main thoroughfare, divided by three cross streets. Two new side streets had been staked out, but other than a few tents, remained empty thus far. Along the thoroughfare, he heard the dry rasping of saws and the steady pounding of hammers as men built new storefronts. Galena was literally popping up overnight. The town had no less than five saloons, offering every form of vice or gambling imaginable. Dozens of barely clad prostitutes leaned over the second story railings atop each, calling out to passersby, soliciting an evening’s business. The night before he’d watched a small-time creek miner wager a nugget the size of a quail’s egg on a single hand of poker. Fortunes were being won and lost here in minutes, but Dain hadn’t yet found a way to participate. So far, he’d only grown poorer.
In addition to the saloons and mining offices there were three boarding houses. Dain had taken a room up on the second floor in the newest, and by most accounts, cleanest of the three. For a silver a day he had a room and two meals provided. Boon’s accommodations at the livery cost him another half silver. Each morning he felt the loss of his coins more keenly.
No one seemed to be hiring—not for decent jobs, at least. The mines, he knew, searched for journeymen laborers daily, but the work was dangerous and the pay poor.
One place left to try. He felt a foreboding sense of dread. The only option left him was the one place towns like this always the most trouble hiring for. He trudged uphill, against his better judgment.
At the end of the main street, above the rest of the town, stood a two-story hospital. One of Galena’s guard towers stood close by with its bronze bell and ever-present watchmen. He had talked to the guard commander about a position, up in one of the four watchtowers that surrounded the town, only to be rebuffed a few days before.
He climbed the few steps to the hospital’s porch and knocked before entering. Inside, a clerk sat behind a large oak desk. She looked up as Dain closed the door. Mountains of paperwork were stacked haphazardly in a multitude of piles around her, and only her head, complete with owl-like eyeglasses, showed from within the piles.
“Symptoms?” she asked.
“I’m not sick. Just looking for a word with Priest Verdant. Earlier this week, he spoke to me of a job. I would like to talk with him about it further,” he answered.
“Up on the second floor, he is in his office. Just take the stairs and turn right,” she replied before returning to her papers.
Dain slowly climbed the stairs, feeling a dead weight settle into his gut as he recalled Verdant’s earlier offer. They had met over breakfast three days ago at the boarding house and, after hearing of his troubles finding work, the priest had offered him a job on the spot.
Just as he cleared the last step, an office door swung open and the robed priest stepped out. A mane of curly brown hair ran down to his collar and, despite the faint smile, his dark eyes seemed somber. Initially, Dain had thought the priest to be younger than himself, but standing closer now, in a different light, he spotted the faint beginnings of wrinkles and a scattering of grayed hair. The priest wore a scruffy, thin beard. Grown to make him appear wiser and older, Dain guessed.
“Ahh, reconsidered my proposal have you, paladin?” Verdant asked.
“I had it reconsidered for me. No one else seems to be hiring. I thought I’d see a little more of what you had in mind,” Dain replied with as much of a smile as he could muster.
The priest smiled in return, a genuine one, Dain noted.
“Come with me then as I make the morning rounds, and we can speak more of both the position and your abilities.”
Verdant draped a gray, woolen cloak over his spotless white robes and led the way down the hallway on the hospital’s second floor. Narrow cots lined each wall in neat rows with a wide aisle between them. Most had patients laying in them. They skipped past the first few, pausing at the foot of the sixth, and Verdant turned.
“Most of our patients are injured not from mining, but from gambling and fighting here in town. A majority of the mines have some basic medical care and,
to be frank, if someone is seriously injured underground, the victim rarely makes it to the hospital.” Verdant gestured to the man lying in the cot nearest the two men.
“This gentleman was severely injured in a knife fight and is in danger of losing his right arm. He has a multitude of other wounds as well,” he continued in whispered tones. “As you may know, priests’ healing, my healing, is targeted, surgical. We don’t generally have the raw power and strength you paladins tend to possess. I have done everything I can for him while maintaining enough strength to treat my other patients, but I think this provides the best opportunity to see what you can do.”
Without pausing for a response, Verdant gestured for Dain to approach. A thick cloth bandage wrapped the man’s head, with a second on his right arm at the shoulder, and a third around his abdomen.
“Good morning, William,” Verdant addressed his patient. “Today you are in luck. A friend of mine is in town. Dain is a trained healer and would like to try closing your wounds. He may have more luck than I in getting you patched up.”
“I’m feeling a bit better this morning, Priest. I would feel better still if you could find me a nice meal, one with more meat in it, perhaps. The stew’s a bit watery for my tastes,” William said.
Verdant chuckled softly. “I will see if we can accommodate you later, but for now just rest and let Dain see if he can help you.”
William watched, neither moving nor speaking, as Dain knelt at the man’s bedside, examining his wounds. His injuries were extensive. Although they showed faint signs of healing, the irritated redness of William’s skin, especially around the wounds themselves, indicated that his body was fighting infection.
This man would not, in Dain’s estimation, survive another month without more healing than the priest could evidently provide.
Dain extended his palm up and began to pray. He felt the tiny spark spring to life. After several seconds of concentration it grew and, when he judged that he had gathered enough power, he pushed his upraised palm down into William’s chest.
The sharp explosion of Light flashed outward, fading quickly as always. Dain struggled to catch his breath. His vision swam and he swayed on his knees, blinking rapidly.
Verdant waited for the Light to clear then stepped to the injured man’s other side and examined his wounds.
“Yes, it is as I’ve always heard. Paladin raw power,” he mumbled, gently lifting up the bandages to check underneath. The wounds were knit together and the redness around them was gone. William lay unconscious.
“Can you specifically target certain areas?” Verdant asked.
“Not completely,” Dain answered. His head still spun, but his breathing had returned to normal. “I can try to focus most of my power in a certain wound, but I can’t limit the healing to just that area.” He stretched, his joints popping. “That took a lot out of me. I’ll need to rest a moment before we continue the tour.”
“No need for anything further. I have seen what you can do and would make you a fair offer. I have some refreshments in my office.”
Once back in Verdant’s office, the priest produced a clay pitcher from behind his desk and poured a large glass of water for Dain, along with a second for himself. Dipping behind the desk again, he brought out a loaf of doughy bread and a large hunk of cheese, which he halved for the two of them.
“I’ve no meat to offer you, I am afraid,” Verdant said. “While my order doesn’t forbid it, they do frown upon the eating of flesh. However, I sometimes indulge my cravings for a good side of beef. The Dancing Raven has the best ribeye in town.”
“Understood, and please, don’t trouble yourself over it,” Dain said, nodding. “I’ve worked with several priests before. Some had similar restrictions. Others didn’t.” He tore into the soft loaf, then washed down a large bite with the tasteless but cool water.
“I would ask a few final questions then, before making my proposal,” Verdant said.
“Ask away.”
“How often can you heal, to that same extent?”
“To be honest, healing was never my forte, but in times past I’ve been able to put out that much… maybe three times per week. It isn’t always predictable, as you know.”
“Of course, of course. It sounds like you need a day or two of rest between healings, then?”
“Yes, a day at least, and preferably two.”
“You draw strength from the Light?”
“Yes, there’s nothing demonic about it,” Dain said with a smile. Priests could be touchy about anything other than Light-based healing, he knew. Other magics, like those drawn from nature, often offended their sensibilities.
“And do you believe in our Creator and the righteousness of his Light?”
Dain hesitated. He knew the correct answer, the one the priest was looking for. He’d had it drilled into him since his youth. Yet his own life—the things he had seen and done himself in the name of the Creator—made him question it. Verdant would sense a lie if he attempted one.
“I draw Light from the Creator and I use it to do what good I can.”
Verdant blinked at him. “An interesting response. Honest, though not quite what I would have expected.” He paused for a moment, then took in and let out a deep breath and sat up straight in his chair. “Let us move on. I would guess you can’t do any enchanting or warding, or you would have found easy work in the south. Aural blessings? Are you able to perform them as well?”
“General enhancements on a person’s aura and curse removal aren’t an issue. They are commonly used in battle to help warriors fight longer and harder,” Dain replied, relieved that Verdant hadn’t pressed him on his faith. “Other, more complex blessings for crops or fertility, for example, are well beyond my skills. Mine tend to only last for a week or so. Again, it isn’t one of my stronger talents.”
“The mine owners request them for their men,” Verdant said. “They find that they work harder, recover from minor injuries faster, and maintain higher overall production after we bless their auras. If healing and blessings aren’t your forte, as you said, I would guess that you leaned more toward the warrior side of your order then?”
“Yes, I was a scout, mainly. Riding ahead alone to determine the terrain, tracking enemy movements, occasionally defending some objective until relief arrived. Not much healing involved.” He felt odd, telling a relative stranger all this, but it was also somehow freeing. “I joined up in the brigades during the middle of a long war and was pushed into battle quickly, without the benefit of full paladin training. My patrol got a crash course in trauma healing, a bit of aura training, and a lot of battlecraft. Mostly our battlecraft abilities are for defensive spellshielding, charging weapons, or enhancing physical prowess in battle. We were pressed into duty early, learning mostly in the heat of combat. Only a lucky few of us made it through the first year.”
Dain knew of only two others who had survived those hellish months. Faces and screams of dead comrades haunted his dreams far too often. Them, and the night rider. Always the night rider.
“I see,” Verdant said with a nod. “Well, as it happens, I have need of a man with your…unique skillset. As I’ve said, my form of healing isn’t suited for immediate trauma. We priests simply do not possess the strength or power. Our abilities are more attuned to boost the injured body’s natural recovery. Although a single priest can perform hundreds of minor healings each day, we have to conserve our strength with precision. On a busy battlefield we can heal, but our strength quickly wanes. William, for instance, would have taken weeks to recover under my care if he recovered at all. Your healing, with its raw strength, should have him on his feet in a couple of days and, as luck would have it, your other talents, your skill at arms, would also prove most useful to me.”
“What need would a hospital have for a warrior?” Dain said.
“First, allow me explain my offer. I will pay you three silvers a day to heal two to three times a week as needed. When not healing, you will perform aur
al blessings and curse removals along with another duty I require assistance with.”
“What sort of other duty?”
“Besides myself, there are two priestesses, Shyla and Tessa, serving the hospital and I have been approached by the mining interests about sending a healer into their mines, seeing to any minor ailments or other needs they may have. They think they can get more work from their laborers, with a bit of help from us. I’m sure you can understand that getting good men out here and keeping them is difficult.”
“You need someone to protect the priestesses then. Sending a woman deep into a mine, alone, with a lot of rough men would be foolish.”
“You grasp the situation perfectly. The mine administrators have assured me they would provide security, and I will take full advantage of their offer, but a good man with a sword, one who knows when and when not to use it, would make me more comfortable with the idea. The skills you mentioned make you the ideal candidate. Would such an arrangement be to your liking?”
“Four silvers a day and I get one day off per week,” Dain answered.
“Done.”
The golden elf capital of Mirr mourned the fallen Prince Haldrin.
Elam himself served as chief pallbearer, leading the funeral procession that bore his youngest son through the city. He fought off the tears that threatened to fall. A king couldn’t appear weak, even in the worst of times. Thousands of golden elves lined the city’s cobblestone streets, each dressed in somber blacks and grays. Women and young girls alike wore thick veils masking their sorrowful faces. Standing upon overlooking balconies and rooftops, Mirr’s citizens showered the funeral march with rose petals of a dozen red and pink and white hues. Like crimson snowflakes, the petals spun and somersaulted and drifted down. Their scent sweetened the air. Elam’s oldest son, Gallad, freshly returned from war with the orc invaders, served opposite the king, carrying his brother into the eternal afterlife.
Kingdom's Forge: Book 01 - Paladin's Redemption Page 5