Dark Healer (An Empire Falls Book 1)

by Harry Leighton

  Dark Healer

  By Harry Leighton

  End of an Empire

  Book One

  For Jonathan, without whom none of this would have been possible. Taken from us too soon, you are sadly missed and we are forever grateful for everything you were and did. I hope this book lives up to the advice you gave us.

  Heartfelt thanks to proofreader Rosie and Designer Faye. Rosie for tidying the original mess of text and Faye for forcing a rewrite of the description of a major character because the artwork looked better than any description of him that had gone before.

  Many thanks also to everyone else that has provided advice and support over the years. This hasn’t been an easy project to get this far and it probably wouldn’t be here now without your help.

  Hopefully you all know who you are.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Part 1

  Part 2

  Part 3

  Part 4

  Part 5

  Prologue

  The best part of posting the bounty sheets was seeing the faces of the hunters when they realised they weren’t on them. Well, that’s what he liked to think. He never liked bounty hunters. It was a tricky job and often ended in violence. It attracted a group of people skilled at tasks the law usually proscribed, and an overzealous hunter could easily end up on a bounty sheet if an aggrieved family had the means. You just had to do it right, and that made up the professionals. For everyone after a quick bounty … it got difficult.

  Every town did things differently, but here the clerk of the court liked to begin the day by posting fresh bounties, which meant some poor soul had to open the doors and let the grizzled, dangerous hunters in.

  Today there was a group waiting outside, because there were rumours of a particularly large prize available. As the wood was pulled back they surged forward awkwardly, keen to see the news but not keen on getting into a fight with each other.

  After some pushing, shoving, and making sure the more respected hunters got to the front, the crowd was in front of a wooden board with the sheets pinned into it.

  All eyes were drawn to the one in the middle. A merchant, an actual merchant, that they could pursue for a wedge of silver.

  This was truly a good day.

  “That’s a fucking weird one,” a hunter noted, as his eyes scanned the rest of the board. If everyone was targeting the merchant, maybe he could sweep up the rest.

  “What?”

  “People trafficking.”

  “That’s not weird, that’s…”

  “Of disabled people.”

  “You must be reading that wrong, no one wants…”

  A shadow fell over the group. A heavy, aged voice from the back asked, “Did you say trafficking disabled people?”

  The hunters in front turned, and discovered that a man who’d deliberately hung back had now stepped into the fray.

  No one wanted to argue with this lump of scars, so they answered, “Yes.”

  Jonas reached over and ripped the sheet off the wall. A clerk looked up as if to complain, then looked quickly back down when she saw the man’s face.

  He was big, grizzled and now looked capable of murder. There it was, on the page. A man called Braxis was capturing and transporting disabled, sick, ill people, for God knows what reason.

  He’d hunted for years, but now Jonas had gone cold inside. His heart was beating but his veins were ice.

  It couldn’t be, could it?

  Not after all this time, not as he was coming to the end.

  It couldn’t be him.

  “Anything interesting?” said a voice that could only be a young woman. The other hunters turned, realised this was Jonas’ apprentice, and averted any judging eyes. Jonas didn’t keep you around if you weren’t good. Or about to be.

  “Interesting case,” and that wasn’t a lie.

  “Ooh, what?”

  Jonas folded the sheet before she could see it. “People trafficking. For slavery.”

  “Sounds promising.”

  “We’ll have to travel.”

  “I’m happy to see the world.”

  He’d have to tell her. Eventually.

  Part 1

  Daeholf shifted slightly, uncomfortable on his stool, hunched slightly over the table and looking grimly down at the beer. He didn’t really want to drink it if he could help it. It’d be all too easy to order another, then another. Oh, he could take it, that wasn’t the problem. Or rather it was — he drank rather too easily at times and he knew that wasn’t a good sign.

  He’d seen men take to drink in the army, good men turned into bloated, red-nosed wrecks, ruined by what they craved. He could see the temptations though. He’d been through much in his fifteen years of service and though still a young man he’d seen a lot of horrors, some that haunted him to this day.

  On the other hand, he didn’t want to drink the water here either. Sat alone at a table in a dingy tavern in a poor bit of town, he’d seen the stream where the people got their water and would have felt bad even washing in it.

  Maybe he was just used to better standards now, he mused; the empire did look after its soldiers reasonably well. And it wasn’t that long since he’d been one.

  He’d experienced firsthand what drinking bad water could do — the war in the south a few years ago had been a mess and resources had been scarce. He’d spent several days violently ill with a fever and it was only the ministrations of the company sawbones that had seen him right in the end.

  Strange man that as he thought back now, always boiled his water to make tea. It was a habit that Daeholf had picked up for a time but it was always seen as odd by his men so it wasn’t something he’d really been able to keep up through his various redeployments. And he’d learned through his long series of promotions to captain that being seen as odd by your men was a bad thing. Gradual promotions from the dirt class of soldier he’d begun as had seen a sudden jump after all the war and death in the south and the shortage of good men. When he was leading men after being promoted ahead of a number of them it was important to fit in. So he didn’t keep up with the tea drinking.

  Looking at the beer in front of him now, it was something he’d wished he had. But … again, for the moment, it was all about blending in. The other men in the bar were drinking beer and he was laying low until his friends got back.

  It was easier drinking with them. Though he didn’t like to admit it to himself, they were a crutch, a prop for his willpower.

  He sighed and looked around. Sitting here not drinking was also going to stand out and the last thing he wanted was to draw too much attention to himself, especially after what he’d done a few months ago. Sometimes he regretted it, given what had ensued at the time. But ultimately it had been about shining a light on the decisions of the higher ranks of the empire. Something he was increasingly coming to discover was rotten to the core. And anyway, it was done now. All they could do was make the best of things. He was pleased to have fallen in with a couple of like-minded people, people who were trying to find their place but knowing that not all was well with the empire. Where that was going to lead though, he had no idea. In the short-term he had a journey to make, people he was long past due seeing. Thinking about them now made him smile but he hoped he wouldn’t bring them any danger.

  That was a sour thought so he took a sip of the beer, pleased that it tasted foul, and waited for the others to return.

  His thoughts were interrupted when he saw a thin young woman he’d assumed was the innkeeper’s daughter come running down the stairs and speak in hushed but hurried tones to her father. Daeholf’s face grew dark, his cheeks not red from jealousy but te
nsion, and he saw the man’s gaze cross the room and then settle on him. Then he started walking over.

  “You look like a guy who’d like to earn a drink.”

  Daeholf let himself laugh, looked at his mug, and replied, “Really?”

  “How about some free ale if you help me with a favour?”

  “No promises. But how?” He had plenty of time after all.

  “I want us to go upstairs and throw out a fellow causing trouble.”

  Daeholf had sized the innkeeper up as soon as he’d entered the inn, so he was able to instantly ask, “You’re a big man, why aren’t you doing it?”

  “Because he has a sword, so it’s call the guard, get this guy in shit and everyone else riled up, lose business, or you and I go throw him out and everyone has a pleasant afternoon.” There was a small pause, and then, “The Gods seem to have sent me an ex-soldier in you to help.”

  Daeholf looked down at his sword, and said to himself, “We should stop wearing these blades.”

  “Will you do it?”

  “Is he likely to hurt anyone?”

  “He’s drunk. He might.”

  Daeholf just sighed, stood up, and nodded assent to the innkeeper, who led them both upstairs. They came to a room where the owner’s son was stood in a doorway holding a chair, and Daeholf came forward, asked the chair wielder to step aside, and took his place in the doorway. In front of him was a man in what passed in this part of town for expensive clothes, holding a stolen blade. At this point Daeholf had both hands raised in front of him, palms forward, and as he assessed the man he asked, “You’re not for paying then?”

  “Get out of my fucking way!”

  Daeholf hadn’t just been a soldier, he had been in charge of soldiers, and he’d dealt with the sharp end when his men had got drunk and angry, and not a little bit scared, and he’d seen trained killers with minds and bodies hardened by marches and deprivation try to tear each other apart. Looking at the man in the room, he could tell there had been no training in how to use the sword but that didn’t make him much less dangerous. If he just charged him open-handed then there was a chance he’d be on the receiving end of something sharp before he got close enough to take the man down. He looked down momentarily at his own sword. That would be one way to go, but he wasn’t intending to kill the man. Motioning to the innkeeper’s son, he took the chair. Clumsy weapon, but it would be an effective enough shield for the purpose. He weighed the chair to get the feel of it before surging into the room. As expected, the drunk tried to swing the sword but Daeholf parried with the chair before slamming bodily into him. Dropping the chair quickly, he grabbed the man’s sword arm with one hand, the other round his throat and slammed him into a wall so hard he dropped the blade and briefly blacked out. Maybe all those years facing drunk soldiers had been helpful after all.

  Daeholf and the innkeeper dragged the man downstairs, liberated enough money from his purse to pay for the room, and then threw him out of the door so he landed with a loud splash in the muddy road.

  “Making friends I see, then.”

  Daeholf looked up to see a tall thin man watching with an amused look on his face.

  “You’ve been a while Zedek. Trimas not with you?” Daeholf said.

  *****

  It had been a strong horse, the kind you could ride for leagues, and that’s how it and its rider had ended up in this town. But today Trimas was leading it along by the reins, through busy streets which smelt of animal flesh, dung and sweat. His target was up ahead, past the west gate and near a stable block set up outside the walls. He was soon through, avoiding an incoming toll by signing himself out with the guards, and he imagined the horses peering out at their brother from their stalls, wondering if the ailment was serious.

  Trimas walked his mount past the stables, curved round until he’d almost doubled back, and there was a wooden building which had been painted in black pitch. Not for aesthetics, but to keep the disease carrying smells away. A man came out as Trimas tied the animal up, a man dressed in a long leather jerkin stained with blood and bile. He wore a feathered hat, the one nod to his wealth in the whole place, and came over.

  Trimas was looked up and down. Tall, broad, black skinned, armed. The stableman shrugged and looked back at the horse. “Want me to examine him?”

  “Yes,” Trimas said, adding sadly, “Take a look at the tongue.”

  The hat was placed on a blackened stump, and the horse’s mouth was opened. The animal surgeon peered in, sniffed, tilted his head, and then began shaking it. “That’s early blue tongue alright.”

  Trimas looked at his animal and patted it on the shoulder. He knew what this meant, but the surgeon said it anyway. “It’ll have to be spiked, and every beast travelling with it. You come from south?”

  “Yes, yes we did. We have four horses. Had, I suppose.”

  “Bring them, law gives you by the end of the day. Then I’ll spike them.”

  “Okay, we thought this would be the case. I’ll fetch them.”

  “And you’ll need the money for the fine.”

  Trimas had turned to go, but froze and looked back. “Fine?”

  “Yes, they imposed a fine for all blue tongue cases. Stops people bringing them out of the south.”

  “Stops people reporting them…”

  “You know how the capital is, laws and fines for everything. Makes you wonder who makes them all up.”

  Trimas considered replying, arguing, but he was familiar with the people who made the laws up, and he could believe there was now a fine for this. “Alright,” he sighed, “I’ll go get the horses and the money. How much?”

  He walked back through the town, mind diverted from the bustle of people and onto finances. This wasn’t going to be good. He was soon entering an inn, where his two companions were sat looking at a map the thinner one had sketched. The smells of smoke and ale were a welcome change.

  “Hello Trimas,” the thin one said, “how did it go with the horse?”

  “It’s blue tongue, Zedek,” he said as he sank into a seat, “so we’ve lost all four.”

  “Thought so. Daeholf and I have been working out new travel plans. We can’t afford new horses, and whereas we could ride forty miles a day, our travel time will double with us walking twenty miles a day, and our food costs will rise, but we’ll reduce that by the cost of the fodder we’ll save…”

  Trimas looked over at Daeholf, who remained silent but raised an eyebrow in exasperation at their friend’s thoughts.

  “So I think we’ll be able to make it.”

  “Yes, about that,” Trimas began.

  Daeholf smiled slyly at Trimas. “What’s happened?”

  “There’s a fine for blue tongue cases. We get to pay it.”

  “How much?”

  He told them. Zedek looked down at the map he’d drawn, then back up. Daeholf got a reply in first.

  “We’d have been better off not reporting it,” and he spoke like he was ready to hang the idiot who thought it up.

  “That’s the empire for you,” Trimas sighed. “Military running the outside, bureaucrats running the middle.”

  Zedek had finished looking at the map. “We’re about halfway between both your homes. We can’t get back to yours, or on to Daeholf’s without more money after your fine.”

  “Oh, so it’s my fine now is it?”

  Zedek looked up to apologise and saw his friend smiling.

  “We’re going to need employment,” Daeholf concluded. “Now what are we good at?”

  *****

  The room was crowded, which wasn’t unusual considering the importance of what was happening beyond. It wasn’t even unusual for the crowd to part as the man walked in, a tall, taut healer with peircing eyes.

  What was unusual was the male corpse in a room next to a another chamber with a woman giving birth.

  “Let me just have a look,” Marlen said, as he knelt down. “This man is dead.”

  “We know. That’s why we had to
get another doctor. For the birth.”

  “Yes, but I’m trying to discover whether I can save him…”

  “Fuck him, my wife is in the next room.”

  Marlen looked up into the red, heavily bearded face of the man who cared about only one thing.

  “Alright, show me the woman.”

  Through the crowd, into the next room, where a woman with an equally red face lay on a bed, looking like she didn’t give a shit who was coming to help, as long as they could.

  “There is blood on the bed…”

  “Things progressed while we sent for help.” The midwife looked terrified.

  “More blood than normal.”

  “Yes…”

  Marlen performed a quick examination, but felt eyes boring into him the whole time. In fact, the only people who didn’t seem suspicious of him were the mother and her midwife.

  “Right, clear this room and let me get to work. That includes you, I’m afraid,” and he nodded to the midwife.

  “What?” the husband barked.

  “I can save the woman and the baby, but I work alone for maximum focus. You all need to leave.”

  It occurred to him that there was an unusually large amount of people in the birthing chamber.

  “No one goes anywhere.”

  “You all go, or she might suffer. I need to concentrate.”

  “I am the richest merchant in this city, and I need witnesses to prove the baby isn’t swapped or changed and is mine. So we all stay.”

  Marlen looked at the husband. He did have the weight of common practice on his side, which was a problem, because Marlen’s miracle-working reputation didn’t come from entirely natural means. There was an unspoken lassitude in the empire about healers, but if people saw, or suspected, he could do magic … then he’d be in a world of chaos.

  “I cannot guarantee their lives if people are in this room.”

  “Then save the baby.”