Redemption: A Malvers War Story

by Tora Moon

  The final rite concluded, the priestesses and the fighting-pack walked back to the keep. Histrun stood alone for a long time, staring at the small box that held all that was left of his beloved Zehala. He couldn’t stop the tears. By now he shouldn’t have any left. He finally lifted his head to see the sky brightening with the sunrise. It stained the few clouds a pale rose and gold, and a light breeze caressed his cheek. He put his hand on his cheek and closed his eyes, pretending it was Zehala’s touch.

  But it wasn’t. He had to go on living without her. He wiped away the wetness on his cheeks, straightened his shoulders, and marched back to the keep.

  The first order of business when he returned was to determine what, if anything, could be done about Mendehan’s followers infected with the strange black splotches. He’d rather see if they could be healed than just cull them as rogues.

  The same healer who had saved Naila met him outside the cell doors. She tucked a stray strand of dark brown hair behind her ear as she pushed away from the wall opposite the cell. She held out her hand in greeting. “Thank you, Histrun for freeing our people, especially the children.”

  Histrun gripped her wrist. “I only did my duty …”

  “Flothera,” she supplied.

  “How is Naila faring?”

  “She’s healing. I’m keeping her unconscious for now. Her throat is badly damaged, and I don’t want her talking until it heals more. I’ve done all I can, but I’m afraid she may never talk well. She’s lucky to be alive.”

  “Have you treated any of the men for that strange skin illness?”

  Flothera shook her head. “No. Mendehan wouldn’t let me near him or any of his men. He threatened me with incarceration if I came near them. I couldn’t help my people while locked away, so I obeyed. I wish now I had insisted on treating him. Perhaps the past few lunadars could have been avoided.”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  Tedehan and several of his bigger men arrived, each one carrying thick cudgels to help control the prisoners. Eidelstrun, Chestrun, Lorstriel, and Kehali followed a moment later. Although Tedehan had shown himself to be trustworthy, Histrun preferred to have his own people at his back. The two Reds carried their helbraughts to further deter the prisoners from any rash moves. Histrun nodded to the young man guarding the door, who pulled out a key and unlocked it.

  Inside the cell, the most pugnacious men had been shackled to the wall with thick chains. Histrun grimaced at the sight, wondering what Mendehan had used such things for in the past. Tedehan’s men filed into the cell, hefting their heavy cudgels threateningly at the unchained men. Eidelstrun and Chestrun took positions on either side of the door. The two Reds waited in the hall, alert to danger. Finally, satisfied no one would harm the healer, Histrun gestured for Flothera to enter.

  She examined the men with the smallest markings first, working her way around the room to the last man, Jaedehan, who had the largest, her brow furrowing into a deeper frown, and her eyes growing bleak. Once finished, she motioned for Histrun to follow her from the room.

  “I don’t know what it is or how to heal it,” Flothera said, wringing her hands. “It reminds me of gangrene, with the tissues rotting away, but there isn’t any infection I can discern. It’s like they are rotting from the inside out. Priestess Wylara needs to see this. Perhaps it is a soul sickness that she can heal.”

  The young guard ran to fetch the priestess. While they awaited her arrival, Histrun re-entered the cell and studied the infected men. Almost to a man they sneered at him, and Jaedehan pulled against his chains and spat at Histrun. After a short interview with them, their responses confirmed his suspicions that they were men who enjoyed hurting others and believed the world owed them for some imagined slight. If this was a soul sickness, it had found fertile soil in their selfish, brutal hearts.

  “Histrun,” Kehali called softly, “the priestess is here.”

  He abruptly cutoff his questions and hurried from the cell.

  “Flothera has filled me in,” Wylara said. Her pale skin was dull, and dark circles smudged her eyes.

  Histrun felt a flutter of guilt. As the head priestess, she had stayed at the funeral pyres the entire night, guiding the souls of the departed across the veil. She deserved her rest, and here he was asking her to push herself further.

  “Don’t fret so, Histrun.” Wylara laid a soft hand on his arm. “This is my calling and my duty.”

  Embarrassment warmed Histrun’s ears. She had sensed his thoughts. “Sorry, my lady. What do you need?”

  “Just a moment of quiet.”

  Wylara went to the first man and placed her hands on his head. He tried to jerk away, but thin cords of white light shot from her hands and wrapped around his head, holding it in place. After a couple of milcrons, the light receded, and the man slumped on the ground. The black spot oozed from his skin like pus. It pooled on the stone floor, then turned and flowed toward the closest man, as if it were seeking a new host.

  “Burn it!” Wylara ordered.

  Lorstriel leaped inside, her helbraught flaring, and shot flames at the inky mess. A noxious stink filled the room as it burned, making everyone cough and gag.

  Fanning away the smoke, Histrun peered at the floor. “Is it gone?”

  Wylara nodded.

  “What was that?”

  “Some type of malignant magic.” Wylara’s voice shook and her hands trembled. “It acted like some sort of parasite, attaching itself to its host’s soul and eating away at it. It’s highly contagious.”

  “Why isn’t everyone affected by it, then?”

  “It seems to need hosts that are predisposed toward wickedness and ill-intentions. It feeds on these feelings, exacerbating them until all that is left of the soul and person’s personality is a craving for more evil-doing.” Wylara blew out a breath, and uncharacteristic of priestesses, swore. “Had I insisted on treating Mendehan when he first came down with this infection, I could have stopped this.”

  “What-ifs and hindsight don’t solve problems,” Histrun said, awkwardly patting Wylara’s back. “We can only move forward with the information we have available now. Can you treat the others?”

  Wylara glanced around the room, her gaze lingering on the chained men with the largest splotches. “If the infection isn’t too far advanced, I can. But those who are too far gone, we can’t do anything to help.” She turned to the chained men, taking a step toward them, compassion showing in her eyes. “I’m sorry, there’s nothing I can do to help you.”

  “Bitch!” Jaedehan spat out, lunging at her, his hands grasping for her throat. “Plague bearers! We’ll purge you and all your kind from this world. It will be as if you never existed.” Spittle flew from his lips as he continued to rant.

  Tedehan leaped forward and clubbed the man. He dropped like a stone, finally silent.

  “Whatever humanity was left in him is gone,” Wylara said sadly, her eyes wide and her face pale. She turned her back on him and strode to the door. “Bring the others to the temple where my priestesses can work on cleansing them of their illness.” She pointed to the shackled men. “Keep those men chained until you or the next Clan Alpha puts them down so they can’t harm anyone else. No one else enters this room without a White Priestess to ward them.”

  “It will be done,” Histrun promised.

  Tedehan’s men were already prodding the lesser infected men to their feet and out the door. Histrun sent a mental command to Alixstrun to clear a path from the building housing the prison to the temple. If the illness was as contagious as Wylara implied, he didn’t want any new cases.

  Histrun accompanied Wylara back to the temple, and made arrangements for some of his men to stay in the temple to ensure she and the other priestesses would be safe while they treated the infected men. The untreatable men could wait until one of the Dehanlair alphas arrived. It wasn’t Histrun’s responsibility to put the men down.

  By the time he left the temple, it was late afternoon. His feet dragged,
and his stomach growled. He needed food and rest. He hurried away from the temple to the keep-house, avoiding eye-contact and ignoring anyone who called his name. He couldn’t face going back to the room he had shared with Zehala. He found an empty room, and fell into the bed. Behind his closed eyes, he again relived the last excruciating moments when the janack squeezed the life from Zehala, and he stood there unable to reach her, unable to help her. If only he’d been faster, stronger, younger, she’d still be alive. Finally, exhaustion carried him into oblivion.

  * * *

  The next few days were busy for Histrun as he brought order and justice back to Dehanlair Keep. His busy schedule kept him from thinking about his loss and succumbing to the grief that threatened to overwhelm him. The nights were the worst, when he faced an empty bed. He raided Mendehan’s supply of whiskey, drinking himself into a stupor every night so he could get to sleep.

  The Dehanlair fighters insisted on going back to work, even though they were weak and underfed from their time locked away. The first day after the disastrous monster battle, Lorstriel, Kehali, and Norvela taught them the Zehis fighting method. The next day, the fighting-packs left the keep for the first time in lunadars. In a testament to their determination to overcome Mendehan’s laxness, they cleaned out two nests in the area without any deaths. By the third day, the herders and farmers could return to the fields without fear of being attacked by marauding monsters.

  Histrun refused to lead any monster battles, claiming he had too much work to do inside the keep. In the moments he was truthful with himself, he acknowledged he was reluctant to jeopardize anyone else’s life from his inability to move fast enough.

  The morning of the fourth day after losing Zehala, Histrun sat in his borrowed office, dealing with a fight between Argodehan, a former Black Guard member, and Salordehan for the second time. A breathless messenger burst into the room.

  “Sir!” the messenger said, saluting, then leaning over to catch his breath. “A platoon of fighters is racing across the territory. They are led by Keep Alpha Rodehan. They should arrive at the Clan Keep by early afternoon.”

  Histrun let out a whoop of relief. “Blessed Warrior, thank you!” He could finally hand off this mess to someone else and take his beloved’s ashes home.

  When the messenger left, the two men in trouble tried to sidle out with him. “Where do you think you’re going?” Histrun growled, stopping them in their tracks. He glared at the two men. “I’m not finished with you yet. Since you two can’t seem to let go of past misdeeds, perhaps if you work together to rebuild this keep, you’ll learn to like each other again. The fence in the south multa pasture needs to be mended. I’m assigning you to fix it. Just the two of you—no one else.”

  The men groaned and glared at each other.

  “That’s not fair!” Salordehan howled, pointing at the former Black Guard. “He’s the one who followed Mendehan and made us slaves.”

  “I only did what I had to do to survive!” Argodehan sputtered. “Mendehan told me if I didn’t become a guard, he’d rape every woman in my pack. What else was I supposed to do? I couldn’t allow that to happen.”

  “Enough!” Histrun roared. “I don’t care. You two have been at each other’s throats, disturbing the peace we’re trying to reestablish. You’re both in the wrong. Go fix the fence. And while you’re at it, fix whatever is going on between you two. That field is far enough from everyone that if you continue to bicker and fight, you won’t bother anyone or pull them into your feud. Now go!”

  The two men tromped out, grumbling. Histrun sat back in his chair, put his hands over his stomach, and glared at the door. The new alphas couldn’t arrive quick enough to suit him. These weren’t his people. He didn’t know their history or their personalities. He was bumbling in the dark, trying to solve their problems.

  He leaned forward and pulled the top report from the stack on the desk, scowling at the bad news from the kitchens. The fresh food was gone and the grain stores were low. They would have to petition foodstuff from the other Dehanlair Territories to survive. Report after report continued in the same vein: supplies of ore were low, wood for fires needed to be gathered, hay and grain for the livestock was nearly gone and very little was growing in the pastures. By the time he finished reading the last report, two octars later, he was ready to kill Mendehan all over again for his mismanagement. Salloreen was no better for allowing it to happen. The poor state of the keep spoke of more than a few lunadars of poor management; this had been happening for two years or more. This clan needed a new set of alphas, not just a new male alpha. How had this happened?

  A knock on the door broke into his musing.

  “Sir,” the same messenger said, coming into the office. “Rodehan’s platoon is approaching the gates, and Wendehan’s party has been spotted. He’ll arrive within the octar.”

  “Good, thank you,” Histrun said, standing up and straightening his tunic. Soon he could turn over the keep’s management to someone else, and go home. He followed the messenger through the keep-house and out onto the porch. Norvela and Tedehan joined him, along with Lorstriel and Eidelstrun. Histrun searched for Zehala before remembering she wouldn’t be joining them. He touched his bond-mate torque. He missed her advice and wisdom. Naila was still recuperating, and confined to the infirmary.

  The Dehanrolos keep alphas, Rodehan and Freynara, pulled their horses to a stop in front of the porch. They were covered in road dust and grime, and their faces were haggard with fatigue. They had ridden hard to reach the Clan Keep so quickly.

  Rodehan searched those assembled on the porch. “Where is he? Where’s the caitiff Mendehan!”

  “He’s dead.” Histrun stepped to the railing. “I had to put the rogue down. Wendehan is on his way, so there will be a fair challenge for Clan Alpha.”

  “And Salloreen?” Freynara asked. “Is she also dead? I don’t see her.”

  Norvela stepped forward, her tiny braids clinking together. “She’s been removed from office as incompetent. We will also need a female Clan Alpha. If I hadn’t seen the situation with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed how far Mendehan had fallen, and how awful the people of this keep had been treated. Histrun is right. Mendehan was a rogue and a sick madman and needed to be put down. When Wendehan arrives, we’ll tell you both the story. For now, welcome. Come in and rest.”

  Freynara wearily slid off her horse, then frowned as she studied the group on the porch. “Where is Zehala?”

  Histrun’s heart stuttered at her name. He swallowed. “She’s … she’s …” He couldn’t get any more words out.

  Norvela came to his rescue. “Zehala was killed by a janack. That too is part of the sad story we have to share with you.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, Histrun.” Freynara hurried up the stairs and wrapped her arms around him.

  He just stood there, arms at his sides, not knowing how to react. People hugged Zehala, not him. A moment later, she released him.

  An octar and a half later, the group returned to the keep-house porch to welcome Wendehan and his platoon. His co-alpha, Marlora, also accompanied him. Once Wendehan and Marlora had cleaned up from their journey, all of the alphas, including Norvela and Tedehan, gathered in a small parlor in the keep-house. The two alphas were filled in on all the happenings in Dehanlair Keep.

  “So it’s important for the new leadership to go into effect immediately,” Histrun said when they were up-to-date. “This keep, and this clan, haven’t had good alphas for quite some time. The Alpha Competitions aren’t until next summer, someone has to act as the interim Clan Alphas.” He held up a hand. “And that person isn’t me. My home is in Strunlair Province.”

  Wendehan and Rodehan looked at each other for a long time. Finally, Rodehan broke the silence. “This is a completely new situation. How do you want to do this, Wendehan? Either one of us would be better for our clan than what we’ve recently had. I’m prepared to take on the responsibility. I know my keep will be in fine hands with Norvel
a and Tedehan taking over as the alphas.” He looked over at them and smiled. “This situation has proved they are quite capable leaders.”

  Norvela blushed with the praise, and Tedehan straightened his shoulders.

  “The messenger warned me this is why I was called here,” Wendehan said. “I too am ready. I left my seconds in charge of Dehanreen Keep, knowing there was a possibility I wouldn’t be returning.” He turned to Histrun. “You have been a Clan Alpha for many years and have gone through several challenges. Could you devise a set of challenges for us to complete, and the winner will determine the new alphas? Something that would simulate the Alpha Competitions close enough that we and our people know the best candidate available at the time has been chosen.”

  “Could you, Histrun?” Rodehan’s his eyes lit up. “That would make the choice fair for us and our people.”

  Histrun leaned back in his chair, studying the two alpha pairs. Their willingness to test themselves was a good sign they would be good leaders, thinking more about the needs of their people than their own desires. He had hoped they would suggest it, and had already thought of several tests, and the tasks would also solve some of the keep’s immediate concerns. He sent a mental command to Maheli to bring him the papers off his desk.

  He inclined his head. “Yes, I can do that. I think testing problem-solving, management skills, leadership in battle, and adaptability will suffice. Rodehan and Freynara, you recently learned the Zehis fighting method. Have you led any monster battles using this method?”

  Freynara shook her head. “No. Like most Keep Alphas, we’ve stayed in the keep, letting our fighting-packs go out.”

  “Good, then it will be a fair test. The two Dehanreen alphas will be taught the new method as well. Then we will go to the nearest nest site and test your ability to use this method in actual conditions. You will have to adapt your fighting styles to this new method.” Maheli’s soft knock on the door interrupted him, and he called her in, taking the papers from her. When she departed, he handed one to each alpha pair.