The Healer's Legacy

by Sharon Skinner

  “And if he betrays us?”

  Kira sat beside him and put her hand on his arm. He seemed to ripple with excitement when she touched him. Milvari nearly blushed. She had never seen her uncle so affected by a woman. The sound of the hunter’s voice pulled Milvari’s attention back to the conversation.

  “I, too, hesitate to trust him, but he knows nothing of our defense strategy,” Kira said. “If he betrays our plans for the Demon’s Claw, we are no worse off than before.”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Mayet donned the worn cape and eyed herself in the mirror. With most of her face covered and the tattered skirts draped over her shift she could almost pass as one of the peasants. She scowled. It was the result she sought, but all too easily achieved. She examined her smooth hands. They told the tale of who she really was, a proper lady. She would have to keep them covered.

  She went out through her sitting room, careful not to make a sound. The banked fire cast a dim red glow through the murky gloom. Her skirt caught on a chair and, startled, she pulled up short. Her fingers tugged and twisted the fabric as she disentangled it from the arm of the chair. The layers of torn skirts hissed as she moved, mixing with the murmurs of her conscience. She hushed her misgivings with reasoning. Tratine would understand in time. Once he learned the responsibility of being a holder, he would know that she had done what she had to, that she did it for him.

  Keeping to the shadows, she paused to listen every few steps. It would not do to be caught dressed this way. There was no explanation she could think of that Milos would believe.

  She waited in the darkness near a little used side door for what seemed like hours. Her skin crawled with nervous energy. Just when it seemed the sun would refuse to appear, the stars began to fade against the black curtain of night. She slowly opened the door, just far enough to slip outside and closed it with a hushed click.

  There were already a number of people congregating at the gate, waiting to be let through. A gathering crowd of people moved in and out daily, bringing in supplies and going out to work on the defense structures, ditches and pike lines, that Milos and his men had designed and ordered installed around the hold. Mayet joined their ranks. A few people spoke in low murmurs, as if afraid to break the quiet of the day’s pale dawn. She stood silent among them, her hands tucked inside her ragged cloak and her head down in a posture of weariness, and prayed no one would speak to her.

  The gate opened and the crowd moved forward, flowing out of the hold to go to their respective tasks. Mayet followed a few paces behind a small group of women headed toward the forest. They dragged a small sled meant for firewood. When they reached the edge of the forest Mayet quickly headed off through the trees toward the north road. She skirted along the tree line, staying in the shadows. She would follow the road and meet up with Toril’s army.

  It would then be a simple matter to convince the warlord of the value of keeping Tem Hold intact. And perhaps he would see her value as an ally, a potential partner, or even something more.

  Mayet pursed her lips. A man as powerful as Warlord Toril would be more of a match for her than any landholder. Surely, a man as great as he would appreciate the virtues of a true lady. He certainly wouldn’t want that redheaded witch back once Mayet informed him of the harlot’s liaisons with Milos.

  * * *

  She walked until midmorning, staying along the edge of the road and watching for other travelers. The cold chill of winter still clung to the land and small piles of snow gleamed white in the hollows and shady spots beneath the trees. At the sound of approaching riders, she slipped off the road and into a nearby thicket where her feet sank into cold slush. She shivered as three men rode by, heading south in a hurry. Whether they were Warlord Toril’s soldiers or men from the region heading to Tem Hold, she couldn’t tell. She waited in the brush for a long while after they passed before stepping back onto the road.

  Her feet complained in painful throbs, her wet shoes chafing the already sore places. She’d not realized before how difficult it was to walk a great distance. Yet, the horseless peasants seemed to manage it easily enough. Her stomach rumbled hollowly and the small piles of dirty snow she passed made her realize how thirsty she was.

  Damn Milos and that woman! This was all their fault. They were the cause of all her sorrows. First Kamar’s death and her loss of position, the state of Tem Hold and the degradation of its holder, the threat to her son’s inheritance.

  And now here she was, subjected to taking this brutal path in order to put things to rights.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Kira stared out the window. The hazy blue sky belied the storm that she knew approached from the north. With Toril’s army a scant few days away, the hold’s inhabitants labored anxiously to complete the necessary defenses in time.

  Vaith snoozed in Kira’s lap. The little wyvern was no longer in need of healing, but took advantage of every opportunity to be close to her. Kelmir lay curled in the corner beside the fire. He appeared to be sleeping, but Kira sensed that he was alert to the goings on around him.

  When Milos had suggested his design to rescue Tratine, Kira realized they would need Kelmir’s help for the plan to be successful and had decided to explain to Milos about her method of communicating with her companions. It had taken some time to convince him, but after illustrating the point through a series of exercises, he had stared at her in surprise. After the rescue, Milos had insisted the cat be brought into the hold so that the people would grow accustomed to his presence before the battle. No one else knew her secret, knew of her bond with Kelmir and Vaith, but the people of Tem Hold trusted their holder and accepted his assurances of their safety with Kira’s companions.

  Milos sat at the table deep in conversation with several grizzled looking farmers and cot holders, men who had served in battle before settling in Tem’s region and would now act as Tem Hold’s captains for the coming battle.

  Jolon had left the hold two days earlier. Although his wound was still stiff and painful, he had readily agreed to help with their plan. Milos had worried that he seemed too eager, but Kira hoped they could trust the young man to do his part.

  Brilissa and her staff had worked tirelessly to speed up the drying and preparing of the harvested Demon’s Claw. Unable to use the mill for fear of contaminating the hold’s flour stores, they had ground the dried plants by hand. The job was well done and the resulting fine powder would be easy to mix into the army’s food.

  There was an insistent knock at the door. The men turned their attention to the interruption as a young man stepped inside without waiting. “Holder Tem,” he said. “There is an urgent matter that needs your attention.”

  Kira tensed. Could Toril have sent advancements?

  “What is it?” Milos asked, his eyes alert.

  “There is an envoy at the gate, requesting an audience with the Lord Holder.”

  “Is the Warlord with them?”

  “No, Lord Milos. There are no soldiers among them. They all appear to be gnomes. They claim they have come to aid Tem Hold and the healer who has taken refuge here.”

  Confused, Kira looked to Milos and then back at the messenger. “Did any of them give you a name?” she asked.

  “One of them said to tell the healer that Ryospar bids her greetings and his brother Ragnar, King of Uldastwer, sends his thanks for the healing of his only daughter, Talya.”

  * * *

  In the yard outside the main hall, a small group of gnomes stood in a semicircle behind their king. Each wore a stiff suit of lacquered leather armor and each held a sturdy axe. Their sharp blades glinted in the sunlight.

  Ryospar stood beside his brother and smiled up at Kira. She remembered the gnome’s gentle ways with the young goat. In his polished armor, Ryospar appeared much more imposing than he had when Kira had first met him in the woods.

  Kira and Milos bowed politely to the group of gnomes.

  Ryospar bent his thick waist, giving them a curt bow. “Afore ye
stands King Ragnar, Lord and Ruler of Uldastwer.”

  The king of the gnomes stood a half head taller than the other gnomes assembled around him. His armor was inlaid with a blue colored metal that shimmered in rainbow colors. Long black hair, twined with colored thread, spilled out from beneath his burnished helm. His pupils were black as wells, but the edges of his eyes crinkled as his face split into a wide grin. He bowed low. “’Tis an honor to meet the healer who brought my dear daughter back to the livin’.”

  Kira was taken aback. She wasn’t really a healer, she had never completed her training, but she decided now was not the time to raise issue with the title the gnome king had chosen to infer on her. “The child is well, then?” she asked.

  “Aye that she is, thanks to you. And we are in yer debt.” He put his hand on his chest and bowed his head.

  “I am pleased that Talya has regained her health, but your thanks is payment enough,” Kira said.

  The smile faded from the gnome king’s face. He raised one eyebrow and cast her a dark look. Ryospar coughed and stepped forward. “As yer know, the Uldast are well regarded as traders. We take pride in our bargainin’ skills and seek always to land on the best side of an agreement, but we hold our children dear. The Uldast deem no pact higher than that of a life debt. We have come to yer today to honor such a debt, and to make recompense for a precious life saved.”

  Kira held out her hands, palms up, in a gesture of entreaty. “I apologize, King Ragnar, I did not mean to offend you or your ways. I am honored you have come, but may I ask how you came to find me here?”

  The king nodded and the darkness slipped away as a smile lit his face. “Unlike the kingdoms of men, the kingdom of Uldastwer is not a place. It is everywhere our people dwell. Our network is great and we are able to communicate rapidly over great distances.”

  Kira realized she had been wrong about Ryospar. He had known about her not because he had been in contact with Toril’s men, but because of the gnomes’ ability to pass messages quickly and efficiently among their people.

  “We knew where ye were because our people have watched for ye, “ the king continued. He hefted his axe and leaned toward her. “We fight the same enemy.”

  Ryospar nodded in agreement. “’Tis true. Ye see, our people have suffered from the warlord’s depredations. Many a time have our folk been displaced and misused by his soldiers.”

  “Once my brother told me the woman who saved wee Talya and left with naught for payment was also the enemy of our own enemy, I knew the best way to repay yer kindness and get the best side of the bargain as well.” The king winked at her.

  “Aye,” Ryospar added. “’Tis why we’ve sought ye out. We and our kin will fight alongside ye and yers.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Mayet felt sorely used. The canvas tent offered no comfort from the cold night. She shivered in the darkness and rubbed at her wrists where men’s rough hands had bruised the tender flesh. The harsh voices of the mercenaries outside carried on the cold night air as they argued. “No lady dresses in rags,” one man said. “She’s only trying to save her scrawny hide by claiming to be high born.”

  “Give ’er to me,” said another. “I’ll show you what to do with a woman.”

  “When have you ever had a woman?” another snorted amidst a roar of laughter and heavy backslapping.

  “What if she’s telling the truth? What if she knows something worth hearing? D’you want to be the one to answer to him?”

  There was silence and then a disgusting sound as one man spat. “Ah, she’s not worth the trouble. Too scrawny to be any real sport.”

  Mayet cringed as heavy steps approached and the tent flap was yanked aside. A burly figure was silhouetted against the opening. She huddled in her cloak, her arms wrapped tight around her.

  “Come on,” the big man growled.

  “Where are you taking me?” Mayet demanded. She gasped when he gripped her arm and squeezed it till she thought the bone might snap.

  “You wanted to see Lord Toril, said you had information for him, didn’t you? Not that he’ll be any too pleased at the sight of you.”

  He led her through the group of men gathered outside the tent. They leered at her, grinning maliciously. Mayet tried to remain aloof, but her feet were covered in sores and the man beside her moved rapidly. He half-dragged her toward the center of the encampment.

  They arrived at a large well-lit pavilion, surrounded by guards. The man who held her spoke to one of the guards, who abruptly disappeared inside. He returned in a few moments and stood aside, holding the tent flap open. “Enter.”

  Mayet stepped up to the opening and the soldier pushed her ahead of him into the tent.

  Bright lanterns hung at intervals around a well-appointed space filled with colorful banners and tapestries. At the center of the pavilion, an ornately carved chair stood atop a heavy dais. A broad-shouldered man sat lazily in the chair, his blond hair and beard reflecting the lamplight.

  His dark eyes roved over Mayet, taking in her appearance, then he turned to the man beside her and smirked. “I have already enjoyed my evening entertainment,” he said, taking a drink from the heavy gold goblet in his hand.

  “Lord Toril,” the man beside Mayet went down on one knee and bowed his head. “This woman claims to be a—a lady of Tem Hold. She says she has news of your woman.” He grabbed Mayet’s arm and pulled her down beside him and her hood fell back. She caught a sudden movement out of the corner of her eye. The man, Jolon, the one who had turned sides in the fight to rescue Tratine, sat on a low wooden bench to one side.

  Toril set his cup down with a loud bang and her attention was drawn back to the dais. He leaned forward and his eyes glinted like knives. “What is it you think you know?”

  “I know the woman you seek. I know where she is hiding,” she said.

  “Is that all?” Toril waved a dismissive hand. “That is old news, is it not, Jolon?”

  The traitor, Jolon, stared directly at her, his face pale in the bright lamplight. Traitor? Her mind whirred.

  “My Lord Toril,” she said, holding her hands out in appeal. “I also have news of a traitor in your camp.” She did not trouble herself about the young man’s fate. Traitors deserved the destiny the wheel would bring them.

  Toril gave her a menacing glare. His fists opened and closed and the muscles of his arms rippled. “There are none among my men who would dare try me.” He swung his head on his thick neck, and surveyed the room.

  The Warlord’s voice was quiet, but Mayet heard the danger that lurked behind the calm. The man beside her flinched as Toril’s gaze raked over him. Her father had held such a swaying power. She recalled how, as a child, she had thought his look might crush her into dust. He had wielded his power like a club, but he had also rewarded his allies handsomely. Finally, here before her was a man she understood.

  Mayet gave him her most flattering smile. “I see that you are right, Lord. Your strength and power are formidable and none might come at you openly. But the rat that chews at the mightiest oaken pillar may in time weaken it from below.”

  Toril leaned forward, his eyes boring into her. “And who is the rat in my hall?”

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Wrapped in her heavy wool cloak, Kira gazed out from the top of the wall, waiting for Kelmir to return from his evening hunt. She was restless anyway, and pretending to watch for Kelmir kept her from having to explain to anyone who might be curious how she always knew the time of his return.

  A light gleamed in the distance, then another. Campfires. They flared up one by one to become a huge cluster of red and yellow stars that spread out across the land just beyond the river north of the hold. A watch called out and a messenger sped into the main building to carry word to Milos and his captains. Toril’s army had arrived.

  Memories of torn and bruised flesh lay cold fingers on her and she shivered. A small fluttering cry tried to release itself from inside, but she choked it down. Probing the fore
st south of the hold, she moved into Kelmir’s feline thoughts.

  Be watchful, Kel. He paused at his meal and sniffed the air. The wind carried the scent of fire and men upon it and he growled low in his throat.

  The forest hummed with the sounds of stealthy industry as Ragnar’s people toiled in the dark making their final preparations for the impending battle.

  Kira groaned. Why had it come to this? Why must there be more violence and death? Had the people of this land not suffered enough at the hands of the off-land marauders? Guilt and shame whipped around her. She gripped the top of the wall. It wasn’t her fault, she told herself. Toril was a deep dark well that could never be illuminated. He took what was given him, sank it to the bottom of his empty heart, and came back wanting more.

  * * *

  Dawn spread its light across the land and a swift breeze sent tattered clouds scudding across a pale sky. Few of Tem Hold’s residents had slept once word had reached them of the army encamped on the northern fields.

  Kira stood atop the wall, girded in leather and light chain mail. She hefted the weight of the short sword Ragnar had gifted her. Her years as a healer’s apprentice had not prepared her for war or taking of another’s life. Her time with Toril had done nothing to dissuade her that killing was wrong. Yet, here she was, preparing to join her friends on the battlefield. To defend their lives. And her own.

  Milos pursed his lips. “I don’t want you in the battle.”

  Kira sheathed her sword. She wanted no part in killing, but she would not remain behind while others protected her. She would fight for her freedom. “You will need Vaith’s eyes, and for that you will need me beside you on the field.”