“Let’s see what happens,” Jonas said.
Alia came back with two pairs of throwing knives.
“These are not exactly imperial legal,” Daeholf said, examining them.
“Trying to back out?” Alia asked.
“No. No. So what are the rules?”
Alia looked around. “That tree, twenty paces away.”
“Yes?”
“Knot about six feet up?”
“I see it.”
“Two throws each, closest wins.”
“Who adjudicates?”
“Jonas.”
“Fair enough. Ladies first then.”
Alia sighed, stepped up and threw her first knife. The throw was a little wild and though it hit the tree, it landed some distance from the knot.
Daeholf looked nervously at Jonas who shrugged. He looked at Alia who also shrugged.
He sighed, set himself, weighed the knife and threw it carefully. It hit a couple of inches away from the knot.
Alia smiled at him. “That’s the spirit,” she said calmly, before taking her second throw. This time she was clearly much more measured and the knife ended up sticking out of the knot.
“That first throw was deliberately wide, wasn’t it?” Daeholf said.
“Maybe my throwing is a bit erratic,” Alia said.
“You were just trying to put me off, weren’t you?”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, straight faced.
Daeholf set himself for his second throw. Alia sneezed. Daeholf turned to look at her.
“What?” she said innocently.
He set himself again.
“I expect you to try and win,” Alia said just as he was about to throw.
Daeholf paused. He turned to look at her and eyed her slowly up and down. “Oh I am,” he said with a lecherous smile.
Alia looked nervously at Jonas. Daeholf winked at him when she wasn’t looking.
“You deserved that,” Jonas said to Alia.
Daeholf threw the knife whilst she was distracted. It was a good throw but Alia was the clear winner.
“Told you that you wouldn’t win,” she said, a little smug, before walking over to retrieve the knives.
Trimas approached Daeholf. “You were really trying there, weren’t you?”
“Yep.”
“You think the old bear would have been okay with you winning?”
“Maybe.”
“You wanted to?”
“Not what you’re thinking, gutter mind. She’s pretty but a lot younger than me. And frankly only doing it for a bet doesn’t do it for me however attractive a woman is.”
“So why try to win?”
“Because I don’t really want to spend the next few weeks knocking lumps out of her while Jonas watches.”
“Ah. You have a point. So why compete at all? Seemed like lose-lose in that case.”
“Wasn’t an easy way out without upsetting someone.”
“So what now?”
“I’ll have to train her. Carefully.”
*****
He was drinking in a bar near the dockside. He was too young but that didn’t matter since he was big for his age — tall and broad shouldered. Too big in fact, he reflected sadly, looking down at the big roll of fat around his middle.
He sighed, hunched, looking into his beer. More than big enough to get served in a bar, and that was why he’d ended up doing what he did for a living. Still, that was coming to an end, soon.
Sat alone, he studied the other patrons. There were two seamen playing dice quietly to themselves — maybe they’d finished early or perhaps they’d snuck off when their merchant master wasn’t looking. He paid them little attention and returned his focus to the chess set in front of him. He couldn’t remember where he’d got it from exactly but it seemed like a way to pass the time whilst he waited. In part, it was a way of distancing himself from what he was starting to consider his old life. He snorted. There was no way his soon-to-be old boss would have sat and played a game of chess with him. He was far too interested in robbing people. He’d probably have liked the set though if he’d known what it was worth. If only to sell. He made a move with a white piece then rotated the board to look at it from the black point of view.
Something felt strange, though that was probably just because he was playing chess by himself. It had certainly attracted a look from the barman when he’d started, though Lump definitely wasn’t someone you argued with.
Jonas he thought to himself. Not Lump but Jonas. Time to start thinking of himself differently and for what he had planned he was very much leaving his existing life and identity behind.
The time was dragging. Lacking company, the wait was starting to tell and he was getting restless. Patience he thought to himself. You have a plan and it’d be a real shame to spoil it now.
He took a sip of the beer, moved a black piece and rotated the board again.
Time passed and the inn filled slowly as the workers finished for the day. Jonas continued with his game but kept an eye on the door. Not long now.
There was a commotion at the door and a group of young men barged into the inn. Jonas upended the chess board and quickly swept the pieces into the box it formed. He set the box to one side and stood up calmly, facing the gang by the door.
There was something different about them. They fanned out along the wall without speaking. Some of them were holding themselves strangely and all were wearing heavy cloaks. They stood by the wall, waiting. The inn fell silent.
“What are you all for?” asked a seaman at one of the tables. There was no response.
A well-dressed man of medium height, sporting a neatly groomed beard and holding an ornate walking cane stepped through the door.
Jonas looked at him, startled. Something was wrong here. Very wrong.
“Ah, there you are Jonas,” the man said, smiling affably.
“Ah, yes, here I am, Marlen,” Jonas said, struggling to shake off his confusion. He had been waiting for his boss, hadn’t he?
It’d be okay when the press gang got here.
He noticed that one of the gang members was wearing a soldier’s uniform. A press gang uniform.
Oh shit.
Marlen smiled. “Perhaps it is time you came with us,” he said.
“I don’t think so,” Jonas said, stirring himself, picking up his table easily and in one swift movement launching it in the direction of Marlen.
Marlen stepped aside and inn patrons dived out of the way as the table flew overhead and hit one of the gang members standing by the wall with a crash. The man hardly moved but it did knock his cloak off. There was a collective gasp from the people of the inn. The man had three arms.
“Ah,” Marlen said, looking around at the stunned patrons. He shook his head sadly. “Now that they’ve seen that we’re going to have to take them all.”
This seemed to break the spell and as the gang started to move the inn turned to chaos, stools and tables overturning as everyone scrambled to their feet. The inn descended into a mass brawl.
A sailor approached Marlen holding a knife. Marlen calmly ran him through the chest with his cane. The sailor screamed, louder than should have been possible before it was cut off with a gurgle, blood suddenly erupting from every orifice, spraying everyone nearby. He collapsed to the floor, sliding off the cane. Blood pooled on the floor as the sailor lay still. The blood kept coming until it covered the floor, making it slippery. Those fighting were having trouble keeping their feet.
The blood kept pouring out of the soldier on the floor. Impossible amounts. The room was ankle deep. The fighting was panicked as the inn patrons tried to escape.
Marlen turned to look at Jonas who was standing still, dumbfounded. Marlen sighed.
The blood level kept rising. It was now knee high. Jonas snapped out of it and tried to get to the exit. He tripped on an upturned stool hidden in the blood and fell. Desperately he tried to keep his face out of it. Ma
rlen walked towards him, seemingly undisturbed by the blood, footing sure.
Jonas scrambled, unable to get a secure foot under himself and Marlen got to him easily.
“It didn’t have to come to this you know,” Marlen said sadly.
“It was wrong,” Jonas said, not really knowing what he was saying.
“It worked,” Marlen said. He reached out and grabbed the back of Jonas’s head. Jonas lifted an arm and flapped it at him but couldn’t break his grip.
“Your turn,” Marlen said, pushing Jonas’s face down into the rising blood. Jonas panicked, thrashing, but Marlen was strong, very strong.
He held his breath but it was no good, he’d have to draw breath eventually. Not this way. He didn’t want to go this way. Any way but this. Marlen was shaking him. The world started to go dark.
He gasped and suddenly he was awake.
Daeholf took his hand away. “You had me worried there,” he said, concern painted on his face.
Jonas looked around. They were all awake and looking at him, though only Daeholf had moved to his side. Alia was standing nearby, obviously having come back from watch. She looked scared. He must have made a lot of noise.
There was blood in his mouth. He had a moment of panic and tensed.
“Looks like you’ve bitten yourself in your sleep,” Daeholf said.
Jonas relaxed. Of course. Of course. He spat the blood out anyway.
“Sorry,” he said, voice rough.
Daeholf looked around. “Zedek, can you take watch?” he said.
“No problem,” Zedek said, gathering his bow.
“Trimas, can you take Alia and find a little more firewood?” Daeholf continued. Trimas nodded and got to his feet. Alia shook her head.
“I’m okay, girl,” Jonas said. Trimas walked over and put his hand on her shoulder. She looked Daeholf in the eyes.
“Trust me,” Daeholf said.
Alia inclined her head and let Trimas lead her away.
“You in charge then?” Jonas said to Daeholf, a hint of challenge in his voice.
“Let’s pretend I am for the time being,” Daeholf said calmly.
“You’re used to it, aren’t you?”
“Used to be a sergeant.”
“If you say so,” Jonas said.
Daeholf gave him a hard look.
“I think we both know there is a lot the other isn’t telling us,” Jonas said.
Daeholf sat quietly for a minute. “Maybe so. I don’t think we can avoid talking about this though,” he said eventually.
Jonas sighed. “That bad?”
“You shouted ‘it was wrong’, choked and stopped breathing.”
“Oh. Shit. You still been keeping an eye on me then?”
“Didn’t need to. You were loud.”
“Oh.”
“Something is going on here.”
“Just a bad dream.”
“That’s the fourth and worst. And these are more than just bad dreams.”
“Something from the past. This, what we’re doing, has brought it back.”
Daeholf remained silent, watching him. Time passed and still Daeholf said nothing.
“That’s quite an effective interrogation technique you know,” Jonas said eventually.
Daeholf shrugged.
“I did something terrible in my past. Something I’m ashamed of to this day. Someone died and I could have stopped it.”
“People die every day.”
“Of course. Killed many myself and slept soundly afterwards. This one was different and what we’re doing now is bringing it all back.”
“Go on.”
“I thought I was saving someone. But sometimes the ends don’t justify the means.”
“Live long enough and we all pick up those sorts of events.”
“You’re very world weary for someone your age.”
“I’ve had a busy life. What did you do?”
Jonas shook his head. “I need to collect my thoughts.” He held up his hand to forestall any response from Daeholf. “Let me think it through and resolve it in my head first,” he continued.
“Okay,” Daeholf said.
Alia and Trimas returned. Trimas took the wood to the fire and stoked it. Alia came and sat by Jonas but said nothing. Daeholf nodded and moved away to help Trimas with the fire.
“What do you think of them?” Jonas said quietly.
“I trust them,” Alia said.
“Even though they’ve not been honest with us?”
“Even then. I think we know what sort of people they are under their cover stories.”
“Hmm.”
“You’ve never asked me for my opinion on these sorts of things before.”
“You’re a good judge of character.”
“Thanks. But still. What’s going on?”
“I just wanted your opinion.”
“Are you okay?”
“I will be.”
*****
Marlen picked the fruit up, turned it in his hand and concluded it was a lovely, ripe example and would be extremely tasty to try. But he put it back down and took a further look at what was before him: baskets of fruit and vegetables which he had requested and had specially delivered. Some were local staples, some were from further away, all were designed to produce the required diet, and his stomach made a sign of protest that it couldn’t join in, that all this effort was for someone else, someone of a constitution in need of retuning.
There were advantages of being either wealthy or powerful (and both usually went together), and these trickled down to the children. Garrow’s son Miche would probably have died years ago if he’d been born to a farmhand, if only because the boy had been a complete drain on resources and contributed nothing and it was said, in the wilds, the practice of ‘regulating’ offspring still continued. But Miche had been born to an imperial general, and extra care and money had been lavished. In this instance, that use of resources had brought forth a number of healers, but now allowed Marlen to speak to the cooks operating in this camp and produce a dedicated diet for the boy. It wouldn’t cure him alone, but it would alleviate enough of the problems for Marlen to heal the rest without obvious suspicion.
There was, of course, the small problem of persuading the cooks that they had to do what he said. Marlen had been resistant to simply bringing down a military order, and had been on his conversational best to make sure the food was acquired and prepared as he wished. Then it was a matter of keeping an eye on it. But he was satisfied, and he turned and was soon leaving the mess house and walking towards the stone structure Garrow and his family occupied.
He had to hand it to Garrow; after the diet had caused initial improvements, unheard of improvements in this singular case, the General had allowed Marlen to operate, and that was producing more benefits. In fact, Garrow had begun to talk of recovery, which was a little premature, but Marlen knew it would happen.
He was soon past the guards, who saluted in a way the healer still found curious, and knocking on Miche’s door.
“Come in,” said a voice which was stronger than when they’d first met.
Marlen entered, smiled, and asked, “How are we feeling?”
“Better thank you, better.”
“Than yesterday?”
“Yes. It’s like you promised, I feel better every day. Am I normal yet?”
Marlen gave a genuine smile at the boy’s question, and felt a warmth at the hope on his face. “Not yet,” he replied, “but we’re building. You will be, I promise.” Yes, diet, an operation, exercise, and some special care, and the boy would be fine. Perhaps always questioning, but he really would be like his peers. Perhaps even a bit better…
“Are you feeling strong enough for a walk?” Marlen asked, and both knew he meant ‘we’re going for a walk to strengthen you up’, but wanted to appear to give Miche the choice, which the boy felt grateful for. Marlen had soon learned all the other healers had just poked and prodded and issued orders, and it w
as important for the boy to trust Marlen, to vouch for him, so a process of binding had begun.
“Yes, I think so.”
“Good, good. It’s a pleasant day, but there might be rain in the air. We’ll keep to the base.”
He saw the reaction in his young charge, a disappointment. The boy felt comfortable walking the fields, or even just the track down from the camp. He disliked both the eyes of the soldiers or the busy town, and Marlen knew he would have to fix this part of the boy too, if he was to succeed. Poor Miche’s physical suffering had induced his mind to be ill, and Marlen would need to cure both. Not that a small tweak of his brain wouldn’t sort it, but there were other methods.
Soon Miche had slipped into boots, picked up a cloak, and begun to walk in step alongside Marlen.
“You feel the eyes of the soldiers on you,” Marlen said, looking at a face that was gaining in colour.
“Yes…” came the whispered reply.
“You’re ashamed, you think they consider you weak.” Miche looked at Marlen and then took his eyes elsewhere. “You’re young, Miche. When I am finished you will grow, as you should, into someone else. You will catch up, but never think you have to be physically strong to be a powerful person. The mind is our best tool. What have those soldiers done for you? Have they cured you with their weapons and their marches? No. I am curing you, and I used knowledge.” Marlen felt a sly internal smile. The boy wouldn’t realise this talk had another purpose, stressing something rather different than advice. Stressing debt.
“I know,” Miche said.
“Good. Walk with your back straight, feel your muscles hardening up, feel sunlight on your face, know you are better every day as your body corrects itself.”
“Will the diet be with me forever?”
“Yes, that would be wise. But your father will provide it until you are of age and running your own household.” Unless, of course, Garrow managed to rebel against the empire somehow. But what could cause such a thing?
“Will I be able to ride soon?”
“Sorry? Ride? Yes, yes that is something we shall try.”
“Father has always wanted me to ride with him.”
“Probably his background in cavalry. Sorry, I said you will be like anyone else, both to you and your father. You will ride alright, and soon. Perhaps you should leave off the soldier’s training for a few years!” He laughed, and was pleased to see Miche joined him. The boy was warming up nicely.
Dark Healer (An Empire Falls Book 1) Page 29