The Healer's Legacy

by Sharon Skinner

  Dried blood stuck to Kira’s hands and neck. Bodies littered the ground, men and gnomes and horses. Still, the fighting continued. Kira needed to tell Milos what she had seen. “Milos!”

  “Here!” he called from behind her. She turned in time to see the holder pull his sword from a soldier’s chest and the man topple from his mount. The horse dashed away from its rider’s ruined body.

  “Milos.” Kira rode up next to him. His face was covered in sweat and blood. His shield arm hung limp at his side. “Are you hurt?”

  “My shield was shattered by a heavy blow,” he said. “But the bones appear unbroken.” He raised his arm and grimaced. There were ugly splinters sticking out of the back of his bloodied hand.

  “Vaith has spotted Toril. The rest of his men are still in the encampment. They seem to be ill. Jolon must have managed to slip the Demon’s Claw into the food stores before Toril butchered him.”

  “Good.” Milos gave her a hard smile. “At least he did not die in vain.”

  “There’s something else.” Kira hesitated.

  “Kira, this is a battle. I cannot fight it blind. I need to know everything you saw.”

  “I think Mayet is with him.”

  His face paled beneath the spattered blood and he tensed. “How could she—Are you certain?”

  “I was distracted by the fighting, but I saw her.”

  A blaring horn resounded from Toril’s encampment. The remaining soldiers whirled their horses around pulled back from the fighting.

  “They’re retreating,” Kira said.

  “It will give us time to regroup.”

  “We have to move quickly. We evened our odds with the gnomes’ trap, but if Toril decides to wait until the rest of his men are recovered from the Demon’s Claw . . .”

  “We will meet him before that comes to pass.” Milos called out orders and men and gnomes began to search the field for the wounded and carry them into the hold.

  * * *

  The bright afternoon turned chill as the late winter wind turned eastward. The hold’s remaining horsemen, archers, and footmen assembled in the yard, men and gnomes together. Kira spied Tratine among them. His face was drawn, his cheeks bright red from the bitter wind, but he sat tall and erect in his saddle, his bow at the ready and a full quiver of arrows on his back.

  She wanted to ask Milos to make Tratine stay behind, to remain in the hold where he might be safe, but she knew full well that on this day Tratine was no longer a child. With his mother in danger, this was also his fight. She knew as well, that all the hold’s able-bodied fighters were preparing to meet the remainder of Toril’s army. And if they failed, those who stayed behind would be left to face the Warlord’s terrible cruelty. She shivered at the thought.

  “Hunter! Kira!” Milvari ran toward her. Her hair had come partly undone from her braids and wisped about her worried face and her skirts were stained with blood.

  “What is it, Milvari? How goes the healing?”

  “We are doing what we can,” Milvari replied breathlessly. Her young face was tight with fear. “Master Jarrett is a great help, as is Brilissa. But we need more hands. I sent Alyn to ask if mother would come and help, but she wasn’t in her rooms—”

  Milvari’s words confirmed what Kira already knew to be true. It was Mayet she had seen with Toril. Pangs of loss from her own mother’s death tore at Kira afresh. How much should she say? “Milvari, your uncle and I will find your mother. For now, we need your skills in tending the wounded. You’re responsible for them, now.”

  Milvari’s cheeks were white and her eyes glittered with unshed tears.

  Kira turned away from the girl as the gates swung open and Tem Hold’s small force surged forward. Some of the hold’s men wore armor that had been stripped from the bodies of Toril’s dead warriors. Blood still caked the leather and steel, dulling the polished surfaces.

  Kelmir padded beside Kira. His fur was sprinkled with blood and he shone black-red in the sunlight. Vaith perched on Trad’s pommel, resting. Kira had called him back when the retreat had sounded, but now she needed his eyes again. One more flight, my little princeling, she coaxed. He tilted his head to one side and eyed her with his yellow orbs, then launched into the wind.

  The man who rode on the other side of Kelmir flashed Kira a smile. “He’ll be safer in the air,” he said, reassuringly. Kira smiled back at him. He believed Vaith to be no more than an unusual pet. There was no point in telling him otherwise.

  They halted just beyond the reach of the enemy archers. Milos galloped down the line and she rode to meet him. He had a new shield strapped to his arm, the edge of it resting solidly against his thigh. Kira worried whether or not he would be able heft the heavy circle of wood and iron well enough to protect himself from a quick blade.

  Milos followed her gaze. “I will manage,” he told her. “Now, let us not give our foe another moment to prepare.”

  * * *

  Arrows flew on both sides. Metal tips thunked deep into wooden shields and sliced through leather armor. Archers aimed high over the heads of their own horsemen, their missiles arcing in the air far above the ground before plummeting down among their enemies.

  Riders raced forward, a rumble of thunder beating against the solid ground. The clash of weapons rang in her ears as the two lines met. With Kelmir between them, Kira slashed left and Milos wielded his sword to the right. Guided by Vaith they fought side-by-side, cutting a path through the midst of the battle. Not far ahead, a bright red plume fluttering atop a polished helm marked their goal.

  Toril had joined the battle, surrounded by his strongest men. He swung his heavy broadsword with powerful strokes, felling each man touched by his blade. Kira recoiled as Dagger’s leering grin loomed suddenly before her. His old scar stood out white against his blood caked face and a new one ran across his other cheek. He sneered at her. “I will end this,” he shouted. “By ending you!”

  Dagger’s blade sliced down and Kira barely had her shield up in time to catch the blow. He expelled his breath in a hiss of rage and swung again. Shards splintered from the shield. He struck again and again. The power of his angry blows sent a blazing pain up her arm. She used her sword arm to help brace the shield against his attack.

  Kira gritted her teeth. Her arm was a burning leaden mass. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes. She wondered how long she could stand up against this barrage. Wondered how long her shield would hold. Which would give out first?

  Abruptly, the malevolent pounding stopped. Dagger’s horse screamed and reared back. The scarred man flailed his arms, trying not to fall as Kelmir swiped again at the horse’s hindquarters. Kira backed Trad away from the other animal’s thrashing hooves. Dagger lost his grip and flew out of the saddle. His horse reared and, mad with terror and pain, trampled its own rider.

  Kira’s stomach churned with a mixture of hate and disgust. Shield arm burning, she turned her attention back to the fighting. Around her the last of Toril’s main guard fell at the hands of Tem Hold’s men. Before her Rasten held three men at bay as Toril turned and galloped back toward camp, his red plume wavering atop his now-dented helm.

  She pulled on Trad’s reins, pressing in with her knees to urge him after Toril. Milos was immediately at her side. Kelmir loped behind them as they followed the Warlord into the camp. “Where is he heading?” Milos called over the din of clashing swords.

  “I don’t know,” Kira answered. “But I don’t think it’s a trap. Vaith hasn’t seen much movement in the camp since this last affray started.”

  Kira and Milos raced past rows of tents and the forms of sick men, following close behind the fleeing warlord. Toril yanked his horse to a halt and jumped down. He crashed through the dark opening of a dirty canvas tent. Kira and Milos pulled the horses up outside the tent and dismounted warily, weapons at the ready.

  Milos signaled to Kira to move around to the other side of the doorway. She nodded, but before she could move Toril burst through the opening, dragging
Mayet with him.

  He forced Mayet before him, one arm around her waist and a knife at her throat. “Stay back,” he barked.

  Mayet struggled against her captor but her hands were bound. She was worn and exhausted, but when her red-rimmed eyes spied Kira, her face turned angry. She tried to lunge at Kira. “Filthy harlot!” she screamed. “This is all your doing!”

  Toril pulled her back roughly and she whimpered. “I see you know a kindred spirit when you see her.” A tight sneer drew back his lips. A thin red stream trickled down Mayet’s neck where the tip of his knife had cut into her flesh.

  “Let her go,” Milos told him.

  Toril sidestepped toward his horse, dragging Mayet with him, his eyes flicked back and forth, finally settling on Kira. “Come home, Kira, my sweet. Come to me and I will let this worthless ragged woman go.”

  His smile was charming and his voice held the promise of pleasure. Kira knew it was a lie, but Mayet must be saved. Kira took a step forward.

  “No,” Milos said quietly, stopping Kira. “Let her go and I will grant you safe passage from these lands.”

  “These lands are mine. I saved them from the marauders.” Toril’s fingers dug into Mayet’s flesh. She let out a small yelp. “I am Lord Toril. I need no favors from a lowly holder.” Tears trailed down Mayet’s dirty face.

  “Toril,” Kira said. His eyes slid back to her. “Have you forgotten who you were? What you promised? You were the people’s hero. You were my hero.” She tried to keep the tremor from her voice. How was it she could have ever felt that way? Bitterness and sorrow shivered inside her.

  His expression twisted into a snarl. “It is the people who have forgotten what I did for them.” He spat the words at her. “And you. I took you from that hovel. I gave you everything a woman could desire, and you gave me bitterness in return.” He yanked his captive closer.

  He kept one arm wrapped around Mayet’s shoulders, and held the knife blade firmly at her throat. He put his mouth beside her ear. “And this for the rat in my hall.” With a swift motion, he pulled the blade across Mayet’s throat and shoved her at Milos.

  Milos reached out to catch his kinswoman as her body collapsed against him. Toril ripped his sword from its sheath and bore down on Milos. His blade sliced through the air to strike the encumbered holder. Kira thrust outward and caught the blow on her sword. The force of the strike wrenched her arm and seared into her already suffering shoulder. But pain from this man was nothing new to her. She had borne up under seasons of abuse, learned to endure, to hide the hurt. Her blade arm held.

  Toril’s eyes locked on hers. There was fire in them. Fire filled with destruction. The fire from her dreams.

  Toril smiled. Heaving his sword up, he pushed her away. She staggered back. Cold prickles of fear crawled over her. Before her stood the man who had punished her again and again merely to satisfy his own lust for power and control. Behind her, the man she cared for tried to staunch the wound of his kinswoman. The sound of rapid shallow breathing told Kira that Mayet would soon die if her wound was not tended. She stood her ground to keep herself between them and Toril. The icy prickling turned to angry daggers and she squared her shoulders.

  Flexing powerful arms, Toril swung his sword. Sunlight glinted on the brutal blade as it arced over Kira. She raised her blade to block the blow. A clatter of hooves sounded behind her as something whizzed past her head.

  Toril’s eyes went wide as the arrow plunged into his shoulder, and he swayed backward. Then, just as quickly, he regained his balance and raised his sword to strike.

  With all her strength Kira thrust her sword into his chest. The blade cut through his leather armor and slid into his flesh as cleanly and easily as butchering a hare.

  The twisted fury on his face turned to surprise. He gasped as he fell to his knees. His gaze followed the length of the sword, traveled up her arms and rested on her face. He reached for her and Kira took a step back. He grimaced, slid from her blade, and toppled over. Blood seeped from the wound and flowed across his chest. He coughed, expelling flecks of blood. His fingers trembled, loosening their grip on the sword hilt. The shaft of the arrow quivered in his shoulder, then stilled.

  A moment of triumph and relief rose up in Kira, and then rapidly dissolved. Stunned by what she had done, she stood in silence, horrified by how readily she had turned from healer to killer. The sounds of battle swirled and faltered around her. A tremor shook her and she let the bloody sword fall from her hand.

  “Mother!” Tratine jumped from his horse, casting aside his bow, and rushed to Mayet’s side. He dropped to the ground, kneeling beside her. “Mother!” He pulled her away from Milos and cradled her head to his chest.

  The boy’s anguished cry brought Kira’s head around. Blood from Mayet’s neck spilled over Tratine’s hands. Her eyes were open, but unable to focus on the boy who held her.

  “It was for you,” Mayet rasped. “Everything I did.”

  Kira knelt beside Mayet. She tried to press a hand on the woman’s wound, though she could see from Mayet’s pallor and the clouding of the dying woman’s eyes that it was too late.

  With the last of her strength, Mayet pushed Kira’s hand away.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Milvari watched as Tratine touched the torch to the pyre. The gnomes had done her great honor. The sturdy scaffold they had built as a bier held her body aloft over the heads of the tallest men in the hold. The dried kindling caught quickly and the flames rose high into the night sky, dimming the stars above. Milvari cried openly. Her mother had rarely given her a kind word, but in her own way Mayet had loved her children. Harl moved closer to Milvari and wrapped his fingers about hers. She grasped his hand in return.

  When Uncle Milos told her of his plans to divide a portion of the holding between her and Tratine, Milvari had worried about how she would manage. But Harl had promised to help her and Master Jarrett said he was too old to start a place of his own and would stay on at the main hold with them. “You will want to raise horses and other livestock,” he’d said.

  “And you’ll need a good Stable Master,” Harl had put in.

  Through the billowing smoke and flame, Tratine gave them a sour look. Milvari remembered her shock when he’d returned from the battle covered in blood. She’d rushed to his side, thinking he’d been hurt, but he brushed her aside and stormed off. Later, he’d accepted their uncle’s announcement that the hold should be divided, but he’d done so grudgingly, and he’d made it clear that he disapproved of the growing relationship between his sister and Harl. “That’s Mother’s intolerance,” Milvari had told him. “Now, we must make our lives anew. I will follow my heart and be who I was meant to be.”

  Tratine had scowled and stalked away.

  Milvari stared past the flames at her brother and shook her head. No one could convince him that their mother’s death was not the hunter’s fault, that Mayet had gone willingly to the warlord in an effort to betray Uncle Milos and the people of Tem Hold.

  A log crumbled and fell, sending sparks spiraling into the cold night sky. Milvari shivered and Harl squeezed her hand. She turned to him with a smile, but her eyes returned to her brother. How long would he hold onto his anger?

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  A full moon blushed against the indigo sky as wisps of clouds scudded past. An early spring shower had drizzled throughout the day, leaving the cool night clean and crisp.

  Standing at the top of the wall, Kira inhaled the freshness of the night air. It tasted of green buds and the new herbs that grew in the patch of dark soil below. The scent of Milvari’s garden reminded Kira of Heresta and the little plot the old healer had tended so carefully.

  So much had changed, Kira thought as she stared over the wall at the fields awash in silver light. Across the way, the river rippled the moon’s reflection up toward the star-littered sky. Kelmir hunted in the woods while Vaith slept nestled in the pillows on Kira’s bed. He’d hardly noticed as she’d left the room, one e
ye slitting open just far enough to watch her don her cloak.

  She shivered in the cool dampness and Milos moved closer. He stood behind her, wrapped his arms about her, and placed his head beside hers, the warmth of his body radiating through her light cloak.

  “Kira.” His breath warmed her ear as he whispered her name and she turned in his arms. Her lips sought his and a tingling surge fired through her as they kissed. When they separated, she saw the question in his eyes. “Stay with me, with us.” His voice was husky with longing.

  Kira gently pulled away from him. “Milos—”

  He put a finger to her lips. “You don’t have to run anymore. You don’t have to hide. You can live here at the hold and hunt the woods with Vaith and Kelmir.”

  Kira searched his face. There was honesty there, and yearning in his eyes. Her body tingled with passion. But was this love? Her time with Toril had taught Kira to mistrust her own heart. She remained silent.

  “Does the time we have spent together mean nothing to you?” he asked. His voice rose toward anger.

  “It has meant so much. You mean so much to me.”

  Kira wanted to move away, to put a safe distance between them, so that she wouldn’t be tempted by his closeness, drawn to his strength. The wall at her back was cold and unyielding.

  “Prove it. Say you will stay.”

  She stiffened.

  He raised his hand to reach for her and she pushed back, flattening herself against the wall. Milos dropped his arm. He shut his eyes and his jaw tightened. “I am not the one you fear.”

  Kira struggled to keep her pain and longing at bay. Why must he make this so hard? Why couldn’t he understand? It wasn’t that she wouldn’t stay. She couldn’t. She had already given up all that she was for a man and had nearly lost all that she might one day be.

  He opened his eyes and watched her, his gaze intent as she touched the medallion that now hung from a thin chain around her neck. “I—” she began. She wanted to say yes, to fall into his arms. She wanted to let him be strong for her and protect her. But fear gripped her. No! Not again. She had thought Toril would keep her safe, but he couldn’t protect her from himself. She stared up at the stars, her eyes burning. “I’m sorry, Milos. Truly.”