Warriors Of Legend

by Kathryn Le Veque, Kathryn Loch, Dana D'Angelo

  The fit passed and Micah collapsed incoherent, fighting to breathe. Kate held him, bathing his face and chest with a cool cloth while he drifted into a fevered delirium.

  Hubert lightly gripped her shoulder. “Fear not, lady, the baron is a strong man.”

  “Aye, Kate,” John added. “I’ve seen him survive much worse than this.”

  She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

  ***

  Micah stood at the edge of a black abyss. Pain rocked through him and he fell, spiraling downward, plummeting into agony. Bright light and awful visions tormented him, flashing across his sight, blinding him. Still he tumbled, spinning out of control.

  His descent stopped and Micah blinked open his eyes. Darkness shrouded his vision. Smoke from battlefield fires choked his throat. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t breathe. He held his sword tightly. Somehow he had lost his shield in the mayhem. His armor was badly damaged, blood flowed from various wounds. Micah staggered under the weight of his mail. He thought he searched for someone but he couldn’t remember who.

  The terrible visage of his uncle rose before him, sword held high. “‘Tis a shame that now you must die,” he roared.

  Micah brought his weapon up. His body screamed in pain. He lunged, his sword ripping through his uncle’s gut, blood splashing over his hands. Smoke blew across Micah’s face, he choked and gagged, trying to breathe. He staggered back, losing his grip on his weapon. His eyes watered and he blinked to clear them. The smoke faded. He saw a crumpled form on the ground, his sword rising from the body. Micah crawled forward.

  “Uncle, why? Why did you betray me?”

  The form moved. Kate stared up at him, blood trickling from her mouth, her hands clutched futilely at the sword in her belly.

  “Micah?” she whispered. “I loved you. Why did you do this to me?”

  Horror coiled around his heart, ripping it open with terrible claws.

  “Chérie? Oh, God, ma chérie…what have I done?”

  “Why, Micah? Why have you killed me?”

  He reached for her. Her body decayed before his eyes, melting into a skeleton that turned to dust, blowing away in the wind.

  “Kate!” he screamed, his soul wrenching in agony.

  The flames of Hell jumped around him. He heard Kate call his name but she sounded so far away. Hope burned through him. Please let her be alive. He clawed his way toward her voice, through the awful flames.

  “Kate!” he bellowed.

  “I’m here, Micah,” Kate said. He felt her caress his face lovingly.

  The flames vanished and he opened his eyes again. Kate held him close. Pain ravaged the core of his being. How could he find the strength to fight it? Kate’s cheeks glistened with tears, tiny drops of silver. He caught one on his finger, as precious as a pearl. He had to fight if only for her, he would not leave her a widow. He would not leave her to face MacLeary alone. Micah closed his eyes and slipped back into the darkness.

  ***

  John returned later but Kate was not sure how much time had passed. She stood at the table preparing another tea.

  “What is that?” John asked.

  “I’m mixing some Chervil to soothe his liver and stomach after the Bryony Root. I’m also adding some Blue Gromwell for his kidneys. Savin Oil runs a high risk of making the kidneys stop working. I’m also putting in Fennel and Willow Bark for good measure.”

  “Fennel? Isn’t that what they give babes with colic?”

  “Aye.” She smiled only to keep from sobbing. “Right now the poor baby has an awful bellyache.”

  John gazed at her a long moment. “Lady, Micah is lucky to have you.”

  Kate turned away. “I don’t know.”

  “You doing all you can…you have great knowledge.”

  “Thanks to Marjorie. She taught me much. My mother was also a gifted healer. Some say she had the Sight like Marjorie does. I wish…” She stopped. Did she dare say how much she wished her mother was here?

  “At least Micah has the best of care.”

  Kate shook herself and filled the cup. “How fare the other men?”

  John shook his head. “One died already. He suffered a fit and stopped breathing. Marjorie could do nothing. She fears two more will soon pass away. I sent a man to fetch a priest from Byland.”

  Kate’s gaze returned to Micah. “He can’t die, John. I won’t let him.” She stepped forward with the tea. “Will you help me?”

  “Aye, lady.”

  ***

  John stayed with her. Kate appreciated his company for in the early morning hours, two more violent fits wracked Micah. When they passed, Kate put her head on Micah’s chest and cried like a child. John gently gripped her shoulder.

  “Kate, you need to get some rest.”

  “Nay,” she said firmly and brushed her tears away. “I can’t leave him, John. Not now.”

  He nodded reluctantly.

  She looked back to her herbs on the table and wrung her hands.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Micah’s fits grow more violent. I must stop them or at least lessen them or they will be the cause of his death.”

  “How?”

  She bowed her head but the words froze in her throat.

  John stood. “Kate, if it’s something you need just tell me and I will get it. I will hunt down a unicorn if I must.”

  Terror gripped her heart and her mouth went dry. Kate clenched her fists so tightly that her nails buried into her skin. The cure might prove just as dangerous as the poison. But she had to stop the fits…did she dare try? Kate returned to the table and stared at the pouch that could help…or could kill.

  She closed her eyes wishing she never had to make this decision. Surely someone else could. Perhaps Marjorie. But she was overworked dealing with the other men.

  “Kate,” John said. “What is it? If you can ease the fits then do it, please.”

  “Hemlock.”

  John staggered backward. “What are you talking about? That will kill him for certain.”

  “Hemlock, in tiny amounts can help with fits. It is given to those who suffer from mania and the falling sickness. But you are right, John, in his weakened state I could kill him.”

  He thought for a long moment, dragging his hand through his hair. “Kate, if you know how to use the plant, then do it. If Micah has a chance for life, give it to him.”

  Kate looked again at Micah. It would do no good to speak to him. When they did get him conscious to drink the teas he was incoherent. She whispered a silent prayer and turned back to the table. Taking a leaf from the pouch, she a tore a small piece from it, dropping it into the mortar, ground it up and scraped an even smaller amount into Micah’s tea. She handed the mortar and pestle to John.

  “See that this is destroyed. I have another in the storeroom, with some other medicinal supplies. My keys are on the wall peg. If you will fetch it, I will be grateful.”

  “Aye, lady,” John said and turned to the peg. “Kate, where are your keys?”

  She turned, surprised not to see the keys hanging on the wall. “They should be right there.”

  John frowned and glanced around the floor. “I don’t see them.”

  “God only knows where I put them during all this. Break the lock if you have to.”

  “Worry not, I will take care of it.”

  “Thank you, John.”

  Kate managed to get Micah awake enough to drink his tea. She cradled him to her like a child and caressed his face. Fear raged within her along with an emotion that she never thought to feel. But it remained vibrantly real. Exhaustion battered Kate and she did not have the strength to fight it. Instead, she embraced it, only now seeing that what she felt made sense. Unfortunately, the realization caused her grief to stab even more deeply. “Please, Micah,” Kate whispered. “You must live…you must survive this.” She paused and took a deep breath, tears streaking down her face. “I love you.”

  ***

  John ground his te
eth against the rage burning within him. Three days! A total of four men had succumbed to the poison and Micah’s life hung by a thread.

  “My lord?” A servant said timidly.

  “What is it?”

  “The priest from Byland has just arrived.”

  John bolted to his feet. “It’s about time,” he growled. The four men who died had done so without absolution. John hoped they had managed to make their peace with God. They had been good soldiers. He walked to the bailey to see the priest dismount from his mule.

  The priest was of average height and build. He wore a simple brown cassock. He bowed as John approached. “Greetings, my lord, I am Father James.”

  “Well met, Father. I am Sir John Warin, Constable of Appleby. Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

  “Your messenger had us all alarmed. Is it true someone poisoned the baron and his men?”

  “I’m afraid so, Father.”

  The priest crossed himself muttering. “My brethren at the abbey are keeping all of you in their prayers. How may I be of service?”

  John fidgeted. “We have two men who require absolution as the healer does not think they will survive the night.”

  “How about the baron?”

  “I don’t know, Father James.” John turned and led the priest into the keep.

  To John’s shock, absolution also included bleeding. The priest insisted the church accepted bloodletting as practical healing and had saved many. The evil spirits plaguing the body had to be purged. John’s puzzlement turned into shock, then helpless rage. He had seen too much death on the battlefield from blood loss. How could slicing a vein be beneficial to the patient? Yet he held his tongue.

  Marjorie also seemed highly agitated. She said nothing either, lest the priest brand her a witch and order her death.

  Father James then asked to see Micah. John swallowed hard, trying to think of some excuse but nothing viable came to mind. Slowly, he led the priest upstairs, staring at the blade used to gouge patients.

  John knocked softly and opened the door. Kate vaulted to her feet, looking pale and absolutely exhausted.

  “The priest is here from Byland,” John said softly. “Baroness Kate de Montfort, this is Father James.”

  She inclined her head but obviously did not have the energy for a proper greeting. Father James patted her arm. “My condolences to you, your excellency. I see you are working yourself to exhaustion.”

  “It has been a long three days, Father James.” She spied the dagger and bowl he carried. “What is that for?”

  “Ah,” he said smoothly. “I use these for bloodletting—”

  “What?” she screeched.

  The huge weight slid from John’s shoulders.

  Kate puffed up like a little cat, barely able to sheath her claws. “I have spent days trying to keep my husband’s blood in his body. He has retched enough of it from his stomach.”

  “That is because it is tainted with evil and the poison. His body is trying to purge itself. Bloodletting only helps the process.”

  “It will hasten his death.”

  “Now, Baroness, I understand you are fatigued and distressed. You are overwrought and not thinking clearly. This decision is best left to wiser men.”

  John took a step back. Kate’s face turned bright red. Since meeting her, he had never seen her so infuriated. The veins on her forehead stood out and the delicate cords in her neck tightened.

  “Get out,” she said, her voice deadly with its softness.

  “My lady—”

  “Leave now.”

  Father James sighed. “You condemn your husband to death. At least allow me to give him absolution so he may meet God without the stain of unconfessed sins.”

  “Get out! I will have no one considering death in this room. Micah will not die nor must he be allowed to think he will.”

  “Excellency—”

  John stepped forward. Kate had too much to deal with. Glory, he admired her for standing up to the priest but even she needed help. “Father,” he said sternly. “My baroness has made her wishes known.”

  Father James looked at him, shocked that John would support a woman over him.

  John shook his head. “I will abide by her wishes.”

  Father James stomped from the room, muttering prayers for Kate and Micah’s souls.

  Kate’s body unclenched and she sank back into her chair, shaking.

  John closed the door and moved to her side, gripping her shoulder encouragingly. “You did the right thing.”

  “Did he bleed the others?”

  “I’m afraid so. Marjorie and I do not have the power to sway him.”

  Kate covered her face with her hands. “What if I’m wrong, John? What if I not only condemned Micah to death but to Hell as well?”

  His hand tightened on her shoulder. “Nay, Kate, you have not. You and Marjorie know more about healing than any priest I have ever met.” He paused. “Besides, I know Micah well. He is a warrior and no warrior would willingly spill his blood.”

  She looked up at him. “Nor would he willingly bare himself to a blade.”

  “Aye,” John said firmly.

  Kate thought for a moment. “I cannot leave Micah. Keep an eye on the priest, John. If he tries to bleed anyone again, stop him. Tell him I have forbidden it. The abbey owes allegiance to the barony and we in turn tithe. The abbot will not be pleased if we stopped our tithe.”

  “Aye, Kate,” John replied, smiling slightly. “I will make sure Father James understands.”

  ***

  The next day, Hubert fell in step with John as he walked to Micah’s room.

  “One of the men the priest bled died during the night,” Hubert said.

  John sighed. He did not wish to tell Kate the news. Yet it might help her feel more confident about her decisions. John had to admit the Hemlock lessened the severity and frequency of Micah’s fits. Kate’s choices had proved beneficial thus far.

  John paused at the door. He did not knock. Kate had received precious little sleep and he feared his rap would bring her bolting to her feet if she dozed off in the chair. Silently, he opened the door, peeking through. The sight threatened to break his heart. Kate kneeled next to Micah’s bed, her hands entwined with one of his and she pressed his fingers to her lips. She squeezed her eyes closed and tears streamed down her face. Micah’s skin was a pallid gray, his once strong body obviously suffering. John heard his breathing, a hoarse weak rasp. His chest barely rose and fell, with a terrible pause before rising again, as he fought for each breath.

  Kate whispered words of fervent prayer. She begged God to spare Micah’s life, offering to trade her own. John pushed the door open. A tiny creak of the hinges caused Kate’s eyes to fly open. His belly coiled when her gaze locked on him.

  “He’s dying, John,” she said hoarsely. “I can do nothing more.”

  He glanced at Hubert as they entered the room. John knelt beside Kate. Gently his hands covered hers and Micah’s. Hubert stepped around them with an unusual show of familiarity, and pressed his hand against Micah’s forehead. He closed his eyes and murmured a prayer. John remained silent, certain Hubert said goodbye to his liege lord.

  Hubert faced him. “I will be at the door.”

  John nodded. He waited for Hubert to leave then closed his eyes, and joined Kate in her vigil.

  ***

  Kate stopped praying only because exhaustion wouldn’t let her think straight. She opened her eyes and looked at Micah. His face seemed to have a bit more color. Kate blinked, thinking her imagination played tricks on her eyes. Then she realized Micah did not fight to breathe. She no longer heard the terrible rattle in his chest. Scarcely daring to hope, Kate touched his face. The fever had broken and he slept peacefully.

  Her heart almost burst with joy, and tears clouded her vision. Was this a true recovery or did she somehow misread the signs? Her fingers trailed down Micah’s throat and felt his pulse beating steadily. She looked at John, who s
at dozing with his head on the table.

  “John,” Kate whispered urgently.

  He opened his eyes groggily then bolted upright. “Is he…?”

  “Look at him,” she said, her voice tinged with desperation. “Tell me I am not imagining this.”

  John blinked in confusion. He crossed the room and felt Micah’s forehead. “His fever is gone,” he said in amazement. As dumbfounded as Kate, he stared at his best friend. Slowly his face melted into a grin. “You did it, Kate.” With startling speed, John scooped her into his arms and spun her around. “You did it!”

  Kate laughed, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Micah did it.”

  John set her on her feet and shook his head. “Nay, Kate, you did it.”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “All right, I helped.” Kate turned back to Micah and took his hand in hers. “Praise be.”

  The door opened. Hubert looked at Kate in confusion. He stared at Micah for a moment, a slow smile lifting his lips. “Do you need anything, my lady?”

  “Nay, Hubert, but thank you. Get some rest.”

  “Aye.”

  ***

  Micah caught snatches of visions. The bright light of pain blinded him most of the time and he fought with all his might.

  He heard Kate’s voice. “Micah, you must rest, love.” He faded in and out of consciousness, Kate’s touch soothing his torment.

  Micah awoke in his bed. Kate lay next to him, her arms around him protectively. Micah blinked the grit from his eyes. This was a strange feeling, to have someone holding him, comforting him while pain ravaged him.

  How different would it have been to have her arms around me when I battled for my life two years ago?

  Micah blinked again. Why was Kate in bed fully clothed?

  Micah did not wish to move but his throat burned with thirst. He stirred slightly, hoping he could sit up without arousing Kate.

  No such luck. Her eyes flew open and she nearly vaulted from the bed. “Micah?”

  He tried to speak but choked instead.

  Kate immediately grabbed a cup from the table. She braced his head against her and held it to his lips. In gradual sips, Micah quenched his thirst with wonderfully cool watered ale.