Anglewart nodded. “All right. We’ll have to find a capable assistant to take his place. He can learn along with you.”
“What about Farrell?”
The King thought for a minute. “That is a good idea, eventually. For now, he’s only ten, just starting his soldier’s training. No, you need an assistant, a Head Bailiff. I would like you to choose someone of your own age, someone you feel comfortable with, for you will hopefully spend many years working together.”
Eldrin nodded agreement, but his face was sad. Anglewart put his hand on his son’s shoulder. “I know it is not your calling, even if it is your blood. That is how life works sometimes.”
Alone again, Anglewart moved some of the papers on the desk aside, took a fresh sheet of parchment and a quill, and sat to organize his thoughts. Before he had written a single word, however, there was a light knock on the door. In response to his permission, it opened to admit the Lady Thalassa. Her face was very pale, or perhaps it was the contrast with her black widow’s dress. The King noticed that the colour was the only element of mourning in the outfit, for the dress was full, made of expensive fabric, hung with jewels and extremely low cut at the bosom. There was also nothing sad or cowed in the young woman’s approach across the study, although when she reached the King, she knelt in front of him and bowed her head.
His hand was resting on the edge of his chair, and after a few moments, she reached out and took it in her own, a bold thing to do, then raised her eyes to his face. “My Lord?” she said, speaking before he did.
“So, my Lady Thalassa, you are now a widow, so soon after becoming a bride. I am sorry.”
“And free to marry again, my Lord,” she said.
“Ah, you were always bold, weren’t you?” Anglewart suddenly felt crowded by her. He lifted his stick from where it was leaning on the side of the desk and struggled to his feet. He walked over to the window, looked out briefly, then turned back. He caught the surprise and revulsion on her face. “Yes,” he said, “I am an old man now, a cripple.” As an afterthought, he added, “You may rise.” She did and stood there, beautiful and haughty. What did he ever see in her? Did Ermin reach so far into his mind? No, he reminded himself, don’t blame Ermin for that. It was you who became hungry for power.
He studied her for a moment, took on a light tome. “Perhaps a life in the Women’s Retreat House would suit you?”
As he knew it would, this remark brought a dark red flush to her face. She sputtered, but apparently could find no words, because she turned on her fine heel and ran from the room. That was a little more nasty than was called for, he thought, but couldn’t resist a brief smile.
Chapter 147: Jessa
The night after Jessa’s meeting with the King and Lady Merrit, the former Queen arrived at the infirmary, a group of Widows and Sisters with her. “Head Mother,” Jessa exclaimed in surprise and, out of long habit, grasped her skirt to curtsey.
Melisande reached out instantly to restrain her hand. “No.” She moved close to Jessa’s ear and whispered. “Until Eldrin marries, you are the highest lady in the Realm, Dragon Priestess.” It took Jessa a minute or two to absorb this. Her mind and heart had been filled utterly with the necessity of organizing the infirmary and caring for Locheil. She had become used to giving commands without thinking about why even men leaped to obey her. “I have sent a message to Marle and heard back,” Melisande said, in a more natural voice. “She is at the Healer’s School, but says she will come and bring other Earth People Healers with her. For the time being, these Sisters and Widows have volunteered to help care for the wounded men.”
Jessa looked at the women standing behind the Head Mother. She recognized all of them and they obviously recognized her, staring at her in frank curiosity. “I explained about the Servant Jessa, who was taken by a Dragon in the Eastlands, being your secret Second Twin.” Jessa nodded, her mind racing to keep up with these developments. She must remember that they believe her to be Liandra, who has never met any of them before.
The expressions on the women’s faces also said they were frightened, as of course they would be. Few would have set foot outside the Women’s Retreat House since whenever they entered. She addressed them: “This is a courageous thing you are doing. Thank you.” The women had begun to look around at the rows of seriously ill soldiers filling the room. Several lifted their sleeves to their noses. Jessa had spent so many hours here she had ceased to notice the smell of rotting flesh as the men’s Dragon wounds festered.
Best to keep them busy. Jessa called over a King’s healer and gave him the responsibility of assigning the women to tasks. Within an hour the aisles between the rows of cots whispered with the swish of grey skirts as the brave volunteers from the Women’s Retreat House carried water and bandages, bathed brows and washed wounds, their Head Mother among them, her sleeves rolled up, serving along with her flock.
At one point Melisande came to visit Locheil briefly. She frowned as she touched his flushed face. “Will the men not recognize you?” Jessa whispered very softly.
“Few would have seen me close up,” Melisande replied, equally softly. “And belief is strong. The woman I was is dead, not only to them.” Jessa puzzled over that comment, while Melisande studied Locheil’s face again. “Marle and the Healers will know what to do when they come.”
There was not, however, time for Marle and her knowledge to arrive. Later that night Locheil began to struggle for breath. Jessa put her arms around him, raising his head and shoulders a bit higher, in hope that it would make it easier for him. He gasped another breath, and another, and then he sighed and beathed no more. Slowly, gently Jessa laid him back down. In her mind she was wailing to the sky: No! No! No! No! No! But she was all too aware of the position she held now, of the many eyes upon her. Instead she laid her head down on Locheil’s still chest and quietly sobbed.
Moments later, Melisande was behind her, holding her shoulders. “Go about your business,” she heard the Head Mother say to those who had paused to look.
They sat like that for what seemed like a long time, until two men arrived with a stretcher to take Locheil to the room that served as a morgue. It was Jessa’s own decision that the dead would be taken elsewhere quickly, but now she had to restrain herself from clutching Locheil’s lifeless body and refusing to hand him over.
Melisande took her to Liandra’s old room. Waving away the servants, she changed Jessa into one of Liandra’s soft nightgowns and put her to bed, where Jessa could only clutch the pillow and sob into it. Melisande lay down beside her, a protective and comforting arm around her daughter’s shoulders.
Much later, well into the day, the door opened. Melisande raised her head to snap at whatever servant had disobeyed her order to leave them alone. It was not a servant. It was the King. After a moment, he too lay down on the bed, his long arm wrapped around both of them, the daughter he had saved and the wife he had killed.
Chapter 148: Jessa
Locheil’s funeral flowed over Jessa in a painful blurr. She hid her tears behind a translucent black veil, and so saw the proceedings as if in a thick fog, before her eyes and in her mind as well. Life without her beloved Locheil stretched ahead of her, on and on and on, barren of joy.
As she left the Cathedral, one of the King’s pages approached her with a message. The Healers from the School stayed in Portla the day before, a village less than a night’s travel from the capital. They might arrive before daylight. Jessa’s heart clenched in bitterness. They were too late.
King Leo and Queen Calanthra stayed for the meal after the service and then prepared to mount their carriage. Jessa rested her head briefly on Locheil’s coffin, sitting on an open carriage just ahead of the one that would carry his parents. They were taking him to the Southlands for burial in the family crypt.
Queen Calanthra looked around. “Where is your luggage, Liandra, dear?”
Jessa’s mind reeled briefly. “Luggage?”
“You will travel with
us, won’t you?”
This thought had never crossed Jessa’s mind. “Ummm, no. I have responsibilities here.”
Queen Calanthra’s brow folded into a frown. “Your responsibility is to Locheil. You are, were, his wife.”
Jessa took the Queen’s hand, unable to restrain yet another tear from trickling down her cheek. “If he were alive, it would take all that is left of the army to pull me from his side, but he is dead now. Others still live and are in my charge. They are mine to save.”
Queen Calanthra pulled her hand roughly from Jessa’s. “You are a disgrace to your family and mine,” she said. As her serving women helped her into the carriage, Jessa realized her in-laws didn’t even know she had accompanying the army to the Northlands. They thought “Liandra” had been here all along, dressed in silks, still a lady.
King Leo did take Jessa’s hand and squeezed it. “She’ll get over it,” he said.
As they pulled away, the page appeared again at Jessa’s elbow. “Are they here?” she said.
“No Princess, but the King requests your presence in his study.
The King himself let Jessa into the study, closing the door and locking it behind her. A circle of family was gathered there—besides Anglewart there was Eldrin, Farrell, even Head Mother Merrit and Imelda, who gave Jessa a warm, if sad, smile over Head Mother Merrit’s shoulder. The former Queen, Jessa saw, had tears on her face.
In the centre of them all sat a small, dark woman of the Earth People, wearing dirty rags. When she saw Jessa, her eyes widened and she clapped both hands, hard, over her own mouth. In a flash, Jessa recognized her. She was Mother Peg’s Apprentice, the one she had met when Lady Merrit had taken her to meet her sister.
“Liandra,” Anglewart said, “This is Maida.” As he spoke, tears lept into Maida’s eyes, which showed the reddened evidence of many tears preceding them. “I mean, since we are alone, Jessa, this is Maida.” Now Eldrin and Farrell peered at her with shock on their faces. The King looked at them. “There is more than one story needs to be told this night,” he said, and Jessa suddenly saw that his face looked years older than it had even earlier in the night. “But first, Jessa, Maida has brought news of Liandra.”
So, Liandra too was gone. It was almost too much sadness to bear, loss upon loss. After the stories and the grieving, Jessa felt a powerful need to return to the infirmary, to the men who lay there, needing her help, and the healers and Sisters, needing her direction. Maida looked terrible, but she needed to ask: “Maida, you are a Healer. We have a room full of men dying of Dragon wounds. We need you desperately. Will you stay here awhile?”
Head Mother Merrit frowned at her. “Liand … I mean, Jessa. The girl is exhausted. She …”
Maida interrupted. “Dragon wounds?” she said. “Do you have licorice?”
“Licorice?” Jessa repeated. “It that good for Dragon wounds?” She looked at Eldrin. “Does that grow around here?”
“Oh yes, in the woods. We used to mix it with sugar to make a sort of candy.”
“Can you find me some? Lots, actually,” said Maida.
“Take a group of men with you,” said Jessa.
Eldrin glanced at the window. “Not much night left. I’ll get a group of men together for the coming night.”
“I could …” Maida hesitated. “I could make it safe for you to go by daylight.” Everyone in the room turned to her, jaws dropped in surprise.
“The Dragons told Liandra they prefer cattle to humans, and they prefer the killing to be done for them. Do you have a herd of cattle?” She looked at the King. He nodded. “If we take one into an open field…you probably have an execution field, don’t you?” Anglewart nodded again. “If we take an animal there and kill it, and I tell the Dragons it’s for them, they’ll leave us alone as we hunt for licorice.”
“Are you sure?” Eldrin said.
She wasn’t, completely, but remembering what Liandra reported of her conversations with the Dragons, she was sure enough. She nodded.
“The Dragon Priestesses used to raise cattle for the Dragons, didn’t they?” Maida nodded. “So it wasn’t magic? Just raising cattle for the Dragons?”
“Well, it takes communication with the Dragons, an agreement.”
Eldrin turned to his father, face alight. “I could do that, Father.”
Anglewart’s face softened from the sadness it had borne all through this night. “And raise a few horses on the side?” he said. Eldrin looked at his own feet, blushing. “Seriously,” the King continued. “We will think about this. It cannot be you, you have other duties, but there is no reason we can’t organize ourselves to raise cattle in greater numbers if we can find a way to communicate with the Dragons.” Eldrin’s hopeful expression faded.
“So will you come to the infirmary?” Jessa asked Maida. “We are expecting a group of Healers from the Healers’ School. They aren’t here yet, but probably tomorrow night.”
Maida looked thoughtful for a moment. “Your Highness,” she addressed Anglewart, a touch of fear in her voice. “Excuse me for saying it, but there is a possibility that you have a Healer in your prison.” He waited for her to go on. “His name is Gleve. The last any of us heard, he was captured by a group of your soldiers at a bridge in the Eastlands.”
“Ah yes, I remember,” the King said. “I will have someone check.”
In the presence of row upon row of suffering men, Maida and Jessa were able to set aside their grief and become Healers first. An hour or so into the day, there was a disturbance at the door. A guard stepped in and asked for Princess Liandra. Maida rose and let out a small squeak, for behind the guard stood Gleve. He was dirty, thin and hollow-eyed. Maida, who was dirty, thin and hollow-eyed herself, flew across the room to embrace him. When they were finally able to separate themselves to arm’s length, Gleve said, “So, can you forgive me?”
“Oh Gleve,” she said, “I forgave you a long time ago, and then, when we all wondered if you were dead, I was so sorry I hadn’t had the chance to tell you.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “Oh,” she said, “And you’ll want to know, your friend Keiran is at the Healers School, last I heard, well and waiting there for word of you.”
“Keiran,” Gleve whispered. “I had no idea. I thought he was lost.” He passed his ragged sleeve over his eyes.
When he opened them, Maida introduced him to Jessa, and all three, the call of Healing stronger than grief and exhaustion, turned back to the fearsome work that waited all around them.
Chapter 149: Anglewart
A week later, the King visited the infirmary where the wounded were being attended to by at least twenty of the Earth People’s Healers. A group of them had arrived the night after Locheil’s funeral and Maida’s sudden arrival among them. The day before, Eldrin had overseen the butchering of a steer at the execution field and Maida had invited the Dragons to feast. Eldrin and Gleve had then led a group of soldiers into the woods, where the hunt for the plant they sought was far easier in daylight than it would have been with lanterns.
Jessa had created a well-organized system. The salve was produced and applied, each Healer, assisted by a Sister from the Women’s Retreat House, took responsibility for a small group of men. They laid their hands on their patients’ heads and feet, saying their strange prayers. Not a man had died since then, and most were recovering quickly. Now the need was for strong soldiers to assist with the healing men’s efforts to learn to walk again.
Moving from bed to bed on his own walking stick, the King gave what encouragement he could to the injured men. One man, struggling with a new set of crutches, said, “If you can make it back onto your feet, Your Highness, so can I.” This became a theme, until the King realized the best encouragement he could give was his own survival.
He noticed Farrell before his youngest son noticed him. The young man was working with an middle-aged Earth People Healer. He was on his knees and seemed to be bandaging the ankle of a man sitting in a chair, under the Healer’s direction,
judging by how often he paused and looked up at the man.
When the King approached the little group, the patient saw him first and slid to the front of the chair, obviously about to kneel on the floor. “No, stay there,” Anglewart said. “I know what it’s like to have trouble moving.” After a moment, the man sat back and settled for bowing his head.
Farrell by now had risen. “My Lord,” he said, “These Witch Healers are good.” He glanced at the old man he was helping. “Earth People Healers, I mean. Father, this is Father Thom. I’ve been assigned to be his assistant.”
“Your Highness,” the man said, bowing his head.
“I hope my son is serving you well.”
“He is, your Highness, and I am grateful for him.”
The King looked at the shining face of his younger son. Perhaps his gifts lay elsewhere than in the military after all. Unheard of that a son of the royal family should not be a soldier, but perhaps a different kind of soldier. Could there not be healers in the army?
Chapter 150: Melisande
Melisande knocked on the King’s study door. Delight crossed his worried face when he saw her. After checking the hall and closing the door, he bent to kiss her. She blushed. “You shouldn’t do that,” she said. “I shouldn’t do that.”
“No one can see.”
“You never know.”
He grinned at her, a quick flash of the high-spirited young man she had married. He also waved his hand toward a chair by the fire. After ordering two cups of wine he sat in the opposite one himself. “How are you faring, my dear? I know your grief weighs on you in secret, as it does me.”
“That’s the hard part, isn’t it?” Melisande held her wine cup between her hands, staring down into the ruby liquid it contained. “When Ortrude died I wore mourning and everyone honoured my grief with sympathy and silence. With both Torrie and Leandra …” She paused because her throat had closed. He moved his chair next to hers and laid his hand on her arm. A few minutes later, she looked up at him, smiling slightly, but with glistening eyes. “Thank you,” she said.
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