Dark Healer (An Empire Falls Book 1)

by Harry Leighton

  “I suppose you’re going to say there was no elf war now either. Besides, many other cultures would disagree with you,” Zedek replied.

  “We’re getting off track here,” Trimas said.

  “Yes,” Daeholf said. “Agree with the festival or not, it is on tomorrow and we’re going nowhere for another day at least. We might as well try to make the best of it and try to enjoy ourselves.”

  Zedek’s shoulders slumped.

  “In deference to you, we’ll skip the costumes ourselves,” Daeholf said with a smile.

  Zedek relaxed and gave a defeated smile. “Okay, thanks,” he said.

  “Well, mostly,” Trimas said, grinning.

  “No purple,” Zedek said despairingly.

  *****

  Enough time had passed in the village for every elder, person of importance and any other even remotely interested party to gather outside Jagros’s home, or in some cases inside the home, and talk. Marlen had sat impassively, doing his best to seem inscrutable, answering the question directed at him less than honestly, as he heard them doubt and bicker and almost gamble on the result. Everyone wanted Jagros back and healthy, and some people were prepared to buy into the promise of the new healer to do this, prepared to celebrate him and reward him. But there were others who, while they’d mourn Jagros’s death, were more than happy to be able to prove to the others that travelling healers weren’t right, to make their point. It might have sickened Marlen if he didn’t know they’d be humbled soon enough.

  In fact, the time was now, as Marlen determined everyone who would arrive, and everyone who’d talked themselves into a corner, had done so deeply. So he stood, announced to the crowd that it was time, and then went over and caressed Jagros’ bearded face.

  Two blue eyes opened, staring upwards, and the room didn’t breathe, just stood frozen to see some sign of healing. Jagros turned his head, and brought a hand steadily up from his side to touch his skull. He found the plate, turned in wonder to Marlen, and then lunged up to grasp his arm.

  “You saved me, you saved me!”

  Marlen smiled, and the throng erupted in a cheer. Well, aside from an embarrassed few who now made themselves scarce.

  Jagros pulled himself up and swung his legs over the side of the bed as a parade of villagers came through to embrace him, and to touch the metal plate. Marlen found himself being hugged again by Lessos.

  Marlen soaked up all the praise and apologies, accepted all the embraces and offers of rewards, and grinned with pride at converting more people to his new skills. Then he found Lessos tugging his arm, and he was being guided out of the home and out into a street. It was dark, and a group had formed a semi-circle around the new healer.

  A man with a beard bigger than Jagros’s stepped forward, and Marlen remembered him shouting curses after him that morning. There was no apology, just “we are eternally grateful for what you have done, and we insist that you stay tonight, where we shall throw a feast in your honour”.

  Marlen weighed it all up. They wouldn’t have much of a feast at short notice, but he wouldn’t make any other settlements leaving now before night was here. So maybe a feast, such as it was, would be fine.

  He accepted, and was guided into the village’s small inn, where a constant stream of drinks was served to the people around him; he drank equally, but he could easily stop it affecting him. Soon most of the village had clasped him by the hand and offered thanks, soon much of the village seemed drunk, and then Marlen, still bursting with a pride being continually stoked, was guided into the largest house in the village and a meal began.

  Conversation was dulled for the first time since Jagros had woken, as the people filled their mouths, and Marlen’s mind had a chance to move onto other topics. He had long worried about how a supposedly great divine being had made humanity with great minds but weak bodies, and today had just reinforced that. The brain was such a delicate organ, and had such a weak eggshell to protect it. One kick from a horse, a common enough animal, and your head shattered. One blow from a mace, a common enough weapon, and you died where you fell. It was even possible to punch a man hard enough to kill him if you had the strength of the orcs, or so he’d heard. And it wasn’t just the skull that was the problem. Human limbs were terribly spindly, or seemed so to him after working on them. Arm bones, leg bones, all could snap, all did snap.

  Just imagine how I could redesign a human body so it would fit a soldier, or a labourer, just think of all the changes I could have made if you studied and worked like he had. It would be worth praying to a god who encased your organs in protective layers of armour, who gave you lungs and gills equally, who made eyes that would see in light and dark.

  Marlen had studied the human body and found it wanting. But that had led him to question God and find him wanting as well.

  *****

  The town spent the following day preparing for the festival. Banners were draped, streets cleared and torches hung. Daeholf, Trimas and Zedek sat at a table outside a tavern at the edge of the town square, watching proceedings.

  “Can I get you anything gentlemen?” a nearby serving girl asked. The three of them turned to look at her, noting her long legs, short skirt and tight low-cut top. And the fake pointy ears, horns gently poking out from the top of her long brown hair framing a pretty face and furry tail dangling from her waistband.

  “Another jug of wine thanks,” Daeholf said appreciatively.

  “Of course,” she said, noting their attention, smiling and shimmying slightly as she walked away.

  “Now that is an ‘elf’ I can get behind,” Zedek said quietly.

  “I’ll bet,” Trimas said with a grin.

  “What? No. I mean…”

  “It’s probably the wine talking,” Daeholf said, smiling at his friend.

  “Yes. Of course,” Zedek said, but his eyes didn’t leave the girl as she walked back into the tavern.

  “She is quite distracting,” Trimas said wistfully.

  “She’s probably married,” Zedek said with a hint of reproach.

  “Dressed like that, I doubt it,” Trimas laughed.

  “She’s probably just after a big tip then,” Zedek said.

  “I don’t know what to say to that,” Trimas said.

  “You really do have a one-track mind, don’t you?” Zedek said.

  “Same track your mind was on a minute ago I think.”

  “Why did I let you talk me into coming along to this?”

  “Mostly because you’d have stood out badly if you tried to avoid the festivities and we don’t want the attention. But also because it’s fun.”

  The girl returned carrying a pitcher of wine. She looked at the three suddenly silent men. “Have you been talking about me?” she asked, allowing just a hint of mischief to creep into her voice.

  “We were wondering who made your costume,” Zedek said smoothly. Daeholf and Trimas exchanged a surprised glance.

  “I did,” she said, sounding pleased, giving them a little twirl. “Do you like it?”

  “Very much,” Trimas said.

  “I couldn’t afford this year’s purple body paint though. It’s so expensive,” she said, looking directly at Zedek.

  “You look much better without it,” Zedek said firmly.

  “Aren’t you sweet.”

  “Thank you. It’s been a while since anyone has said so.”

  “Let me give you the money for the wine,” Trimas said.

  “That’s okay,” she said, still not looking away from Zedek. “This one is on the house.”

  “Very kind,” Zedek said.

  “My pleasure. See you at the party later?”

  “There’s every chance.”

  The girl nodded and made to leave.

  “Your name?” Zedek said.

  “Melisandre.”

  “Pretty.”

  Melisandre winked at him and moved off to serve someone else.

  “She didn’t even look at me,” Trimas moaned.


  “I think I might grow my hair and lose some weight,” Daeholf said, shaking his head and looking at Zedek.

  “What?” Zedek protested, looking at the pair of them.

  “She wasn’t looking for money,” Daeholf said. “She wasn’t looking for me or Trimas either.”

  “More’s the pity,” Trimas said.

  “Oh please. Nothing is going to happen. Given my circumstances it would be wrong. Very wrong. Very wrong indeed,” Zedek stated firmly.

  “I think he’s protesting too much,” Daeholf said.

  Trimas grinned.

  Zedek sighed and poured himself a cup of wine. They had no idea.

  *****

  The party was continuing into the night, with the food having been largely finished and the alcohol still flowing freely. Jagros himself had appeared, greeted by a roar from the assembled throng and had given Marlen a warm and ceremonial embrace. Then Jagros had got down to the hard part of negotiating his thanks to Marlen, who was pleased to see his work had stimulated this level of affection and debt. First Jagros had offered to give Marlen a collection of animals, saying it was all he had to offer until the harvests came in and he had silver on hand, and when Marlen had rebuffed the offer, explaining he was a traveller, a healer, and animals would be entirely unsatisfactory, Jagros had seemed offended. But Marlen got the man a drink, sat him down, and explained no thank-you present was necessary, the only thanks the man needed, if nothing to help his travels could be provided, was the thanks of the village. And he wasn’t lying: pennies would have been useful, but the love and affection of doubters was the most powerful tonic of all.

  The party went on, with a few people worse the wear for drink and sleeping in the corners, when Marlen heard raised voices outside. He recognised them, that was Lessos he was sure, and that was Jagros, so he rose, walked carefully through the crowd, and hovered in the shadows of the doorway.

  “We have to kill that cursed animal now.” It was hissed out, bitter, perhaps to Marlen’s mind even a sign of temporary insanity

  “No, love,” Jagros was pleading, “no, it’s…”

  “It nearly killed you, it would have killed you, we can’t let it live.”

  So that was the crux of it. An act of revenge might be played out. Revenge against a beast? Interesting.

  “I’m going to be okay, and if I forgive it, can’t you?”

  “Forgive it? It’s a horse, you don’t forgive a horse.” Marlen thought she had a valuable point. “What if it kicks someone else?” That was also pertinent.

  “Lessos, any horse can kick, it was startled, it wasn’t trying to kill me.”

  “But it nearly did. If not for that blessed man.”

  Marlen smiled to himself.

  “Then let’s try something else,” Jagros began. “It’s valuable, Lessos, very valuable.”

  “More valuable than you? Than our lives?”

  “I’m just saying, why not take it to another village, or the city, and sell it.” Lessos let out a growl of frustration, so her husband continued. “We could give it to the healer, he doesn’t have a horse, how about he has it?”

  “You want to reward the man who saved you with the thing that nearly killed you?”

  Marlen had to admit she was on firm territory here too.

  Jagros changed tact. “You’re angry, tense, emotional. Leave it for the night, think tomorrow, and if you still want it gone I’ll sell it? Okay?”

  Lessos looked over, her face full of hate, and Marlen was intrigued to then see her nod her assent to her husband, to say, “Yes, love, yes,” hug him, and then walk off. Knowing her face meant something else, he followed her through the village, always at a distance, until they came to the very edge, until they were both alone, and she went inside a stable block. Wanting to stay hidden for the moment, Marlen snuck in and hung back, and he saw Lessos raise the sickle she’d been holding this whole time, go over to a large brown horse, and strike at it. Once, twice, she cut into the front of the horse, who whinnied and bucked in alarm, trying to move backwards. This was clearly not a killer horse, clearly not one who’d strike out and fell a human, or it would have crushed the attacker. Jagros had been right, the blow to his head had been a pure accident. Not that Lessos was worried by that.

  “Die you bastard,” she hissed, and then jumped as she realised Marlen had come up behind her. “What are you doing h—”

  “You’ve missed.”

  “What?” She was expecting a scolding, but this reply seemed strangely warm.

  “Your cuts are superficial, they’ll heal in time and the horse will live.”

  Still afraid of being caught, she offered, “That’s good?”

  “No. You want to kill this horse, so you need to cut it here,” and he began pointing. “Make a deep scything wound here and here.” Lessos didn’t move, just stared back in surprise. “Come on woman, you’re here to kill a horse. Be professional about it.”

  Spurred on, Lessos did what she was told. As the horse cried out as best it could she made fatal slashes, and soon they watched the blood pour from the beast onto the ground, watched the creature buck and fade and fall on the floor and die. Lessos watched with a joy born of hatred, with an excitement born of the red mists which take everyone, from soldiers to farmers’ wives. Marlen watched clinically, picturing the failing circulatory system, pumping this horse’s life away, and he noted all the stages of bodily death. How typical, he thought, God made horses even weaker than us. Legs which won’t heal, no way to hold or pick things up. It’s surprising the military even bother with them. Then he looked at Lessos, whose anger and bloodlust was starting to turn into shock. She seemed so weak to Marlen, to have her resolve fade away so soon after, to have the sight of blood change her mind. She’d never make a healer.

  “Come on, come, it’s done now.”

  With nothing left to teach or show he put a hand on her shoulder and guided her out of the stable, guided her back to her house, and helped her wash the blade. Then they returned to the party.

  *****

  Daeholf made it back to their room in the early hours of the morning. This was the first time in a while he’d let go and enjoyed himself. Having mostly kept a lid on drinking, avoiding getting into any fights and finding an accommodating woman, he was feeling pretty pleased with himself.

  He noted with slight surprise and a smile that he seemed to be the first back to the room, having lost both of the others some hours earlier.

  The ramifications were ticking through his tired and slightly addled mind when Zedek appeared.

  “Ah there you are,” Zedek said, sounding slightly flustered.

  “Indeed. Here I am. Where have you been?”

  “Out looking for the pair of you.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. I was a little worried, especially given Slake and his associates are in town. I didn’t think it a good idea to split up.”

  It certainly sounded plausible Daeholf admitted. Privately though, he harboured the idea that Zedek wasn’t telling him the full story. Being a good friend he decided to drop it.

  “What was that?” he said after a moment, realising Zedek had carried on speaking whilst he was thinking.

  “I said have you seen Trimas?”

  “Uh, no. Not for a while. We got chatting to a couple of townswomen and things sort of spiralled.”

  “I shouldn’t be surprised,” Zedek said. “It’s not like it’s the first time he’s been thinking with his appendage. It’s unlike you though.”

  “We all have needs,” Daeholf protested.

  “Not as ravenous as Trimas’ seem to be though.”

  “No, no one else I know chases women that much.”

  “It’s going to get him into trouble.”

  “I’m sure it already has in the past.”

  “You think he has children?”

  “I think the technical term is ‘bastards’.”

  “Ugly word.”

  “True. And it wouldn’t su
rprise me.”

  “He’d take care of them though, surely?”

  “I’m sure he would. Assuming he knew.”

  “This is our friend we’re talking about here.”

  “It is. But we also both know what he’s like. He has a weakness for a pretty face.”

  “Yes, well,” Zedek said. “Let’s hope he’s okay.”

  “He’s a big man, I’m sure he’ll be fine. Unless a husband arrives. But if it makes you feel any better we can go look for him.”

  “Where shall we start?”

  “I’ve no idea. Any suggestions?”

  Zedek sighed. “Let’s get some sleep and hope he turns up. Separating was a bad idea you know.”

  “You’re right. Next time we’ll be more careful.”

  “Next time?”

  “None of us are monks. And it is important to fit in.”

  “Yes, well. Perhaps not quite as enthusiastically next time then.”

  Daeholf looked at Zedek in the candlelight. “Indeed,” he said after a moment and moved towards his cot.

  Trimas appeared about an hour later, fell straight into bed and started snoring.

  *****

  It had rained hard all morning, and Jonas and Alia had been firmly in the middle of it, having clearly offended God. But their horses had made a few noises of complaint, the roads had stayed solid and progress had been good. That wasn’t what made Jonas smile as the sun began to dry them.

  “What is it?” Alia asked, noticing her mentor’s humour.

  “I’m proud of you. All that rain and you didn’t grimace or slouch once. It just bounced off you.”

  “You’re getting soft.”

  “Maybe. But there’s plenty of people who can’t travel unless they’re in a coach, can’t stand the weather. But to hunt, well, shying away from rain and cold makes it harder. You, my apprentice, do not shy away.”

  “I marched behind an army,” she shot back.

  “Now you can march with it.” He stayed smiling, but felt a twinge inside as she turned away looking angry. She really wouldn’t be allowed to march in one, perhaps never with an imperial force, because she was too short, and it obviously rankled. He let her have her thoughts.