Legacy: Book #3, the Fire Chronicles

by Susi Wright

  At last, muted through the sleet and fog, came the returning scout's call. “The farm is over the next rise in the road!”

  A balm to frozen ears, the announcement had been a long time coming; many feet then trod a little lighter on the ground, spirits lifted by the knowledge that shelter and food, however meagre, lay not far ahead.

  Met at the crest of the hill by one of the warriors who had been left to guard the grain stores, the company was escorted down a gently sloping road to the homestead, a small agricultural settlement set in a patchwork of green paddocks. The main residence, in the centre of a cluster of other buildings, had a thatched roof and a large stone chimney which issued a thin plume of welcoming smoke.

  Luminor and Ra came down to land in one of the open fields.

  Humbled and grateful, Luminor dismounted. Thank you, my brother!

  This had been a one-time gift. He would not ride Ra again.

  Leaving the dragon to an overdue hunt, Luminor hurried to join Jimbu and Stolis in the work which was already under way on the ground, dividing people into groups as quickly as possible to allocate shelter.

  Stolis was herding a bunch of people in one direction. He gave a hasty but respectful gesture, somewhere between a salute and a wave, as he hurried past Luminor. Jimbu called a greeting, but waited until Luminor was beside him to speak, his voice pitched low. “I fear some of the weak will not last the night, my lord, if we cannot get them warm!” He strode on in the direction of the house, ushering before him a group of walking injured and a few bearers with stretchers.

  Luminor joined him, eyeing the patients with more than a little concern. “Even should they see morning, if they are not brought to reasonable health – and quickly – they will never make it through the mountains!” He was overly tired. “I will do my best, brother Jimbu, but I fear, the way things are, that will not be enough. We need Espira now. Her return is somewhat overdue!” He searched his mind for insight of it.

  Patience was the only answer.

  He followed Jimbu and the wounded Morvians into the farmhouse, ready to do what he could.

  When he laid his hands on the first patient, he felt a little more hopeful, as the warmth from the hearth seeped into his wet clothing. There was some power in him, but it was a far cry from his former ability. Disappointed, he turned to Jimbu, who had just finished applying salve to someone's leg. “I believe Espira's group encountered trouble . . . not too much, I hope! Do you see their arrival before morning?”

  Jimbu dropped his eyes. “I am sorry, my lord, I do not.” He looked up with an earnest expression. “But, you know me – my visions are often poor – so that does not mean ill news!”

  Luminor's smile was kind. “Of course, you are right, my friend. Let us finish up here, so we can both sit and ponder upon their arrival. Perhaps while we wait, there will be a morsel of food to revive us. I spy a cookpot in the hearth!”

  “I would like to see that, my lord!” remarked Jimbu, with a wide grin.

  It had been a challenge finding a place for everyone. Commander Stolis and his captains had been nigh run off their feet after a long and taxing day, but they had not stopped until every single body was out of the rain.

  Apart from the main farm dwelling, which was of modest size, the cellar and a few outbuildings provided some shelter. Women and children, including La-poo and the other orphans, had been among the first to be given somewhere to get out of the weather; they were placed in one or the other of the available buildings, while the soldiers busied themselves erecting tents across the surrounding farmland.

  It was most fortunate that there was a large barn, previously used to house florks and other livestock, which accommodated at least a hundred people, standing shoulder to shoulder. The crowd consisted mainly of weak or elderly adults, women and children. They huddled close around six braziers which had been lit earlier by the farm guards, when the company scout had delivered advance news of their coming.

  The two hearths in the farmhouse offered similar warmth to thirty-five patients and their carers including Luminor and Jimbu; other refugees joined a small group already inhabiting the cellar by entering through the hatch in the outer farmyard. Around the homestead, several smaller outbuildings, emptied of farm tools and compost sacks, quickly filled with people. Even two fowl-coops and an overturned cart were put to good use by some resourceful individuals.

  Finally, after setting up camp and caring for the animals, the shivering soldiers and warriors had a chance to get warm, taking turns to squeeze into the main barn and warm their hands by the braziers.

  Above each fireplace, hung a huge pot containing hot broth. On the floor beside each fire were a few tin cups. The farm residents, it seemed, had been busy; not by chance, an entire silo had been filled with panna loaves. They had ground grain and baked for days, building a store of barley-bannocks ready for just such an occasion. With aprons and baskets full, they hurried to and fro from silo to shelter in the freezing rain, handing armfuls of loaves to helpers, while soldiers distributed more cups and bowls from the company equipment.

  These stalwart hosts laboured for another hour, until every man, woman and child had a crust to eat and a small portion of thin yam soup.

  For the Morvians and the army alike, food in their bellies and basic shelter were luxuries compared to the ordeal of the preceding weeks. The soldiers hunkered down in tents. In the barn and outbuildings, the majority of refugees, all suffering aching legs and blistered feet, had somehow jostled down to seated positions, propped up by each other.

  For many, it was the first time in a long, long time that they had felt, in any way safe, and as the constant patter of sleety rain on thatch or canvas roof gradually eased during the evening, they dared to hope the future would be brighter still.

  Chapter 45 : ESPIRA

  A small fire crackled in the grate.

  Ji lay on a simple low pallet, his face white as a ghost. He groaned weakly as his fevered eyes struggled to focus on Espira's face. “Will it always be like this?” She placed her hand gently on his arm but he shook it off, unreasonably irritated.

  She smiled patiently. “Ji, you need my help, but you must allow it. Pride can kill, you know!”

  Ji shook his head; he seemed delirious. Espira sighed and turned to share an anxious look with Xandor.

  From the opposite side of the room, Shuul huffed in disgust. “He is mad with fever – that is clear – though he was half-crazy, before!” His teeth shone in the shadows where he sat. It was the same admiring grin he always gave Espira. “You are powerful, Princess . . . can you not do it anyway?”

  Espira pinned Shuul with a stare. “Firstly, Shuul, I have told you before – I am not a princess! Secondly, our gifts do not work that way. We work with Nature, not in its place. Healing only works properly if the patient is receptive, at least compliant . . . or drugged, or unconscious!”

  Shuul rose to his feet and sauntered over, his wily eyes challenging her reproachful gaze. “What of these mind-games I have seen?” He dared her to read his mind, caring not what she could see. Pushing past Xandor, he installed himself at the bedside and sat, regarding Ji dispassionately.

  Espira shut her mind to Shuul's thoughts. She would not play his game, shrugging it off with a shake of her head. “I do not have time to explain a lifetime of study, Shuul!” She gave him her back to check Ji's fever. It wasn't severe, but she still sensed his resistance. His pride was a wall.

  She glanced down at the arm-wound, a short gash, which now only seeped fluid. A simple application of the Prian in her satchel would easily aid its healing. The leg was much worse! Her eyes flicked to the blood-soaked wad of cloth pressed tight and bound to Ji's thigh. The folded linen had staunched the flow for now, but this was a serious wound; it would bleed again if she did not intervene and Ji had lost too much blood already.

  Ji gasped as a wave of pain engulfed him; Espira threw a desperate look at Xandor. “Do we have any lubio?”

  Xandor shook hi
s head apologetically.

  Ji clenched his jaw, speaking through his teeth as he struggled up onto his elbows. The physical pain was only half of it. He exuded frustration. “I wanted to protect you! Not always and forever, the other way round!”

  “I understand . . .” Espira smiled ruefully, “Everyone wants to protect everyone else, it seems!” She felt a surge of sadness that her power could dishearten Ji in this way. It magnified the deep regret which would ever abide in her soul, that despite all her intention and talents, she had failed Ardientor. She would not fail Ji!

  Raising her eyes, she caught a sudden change in Shuul's attitude. He met her doubtful gaze with a strange half-smile. She sighed. Suddenly, Shuul lunged forward to punch Ji hard in the face. Xandor reacted instantly, grabbing the man to restrain him. “What are you doing, Shuul?” When his captive relaxed after the one blow, he stepped back, glaring at the Cymbian in shock. “I thought your gave your oath to protect him!”

  Shuul merely shrugged, gestured to Ji's immobile form and smiled smugly. “Now, he is unconscious!”

  Espira noted Shuul's swagger; she did not like allowing his help in the matter. It smacked a little too much of old rivalry for her liking. However, neither had she wanted to add insult to injury by even attempting to do the deed herself. Anyway, she secretly doubted her small fist could knock a full grown man out cold, however hard she tried. As it was, it would be easier to explain away later, when she faced Ji's questions. She had been given the chance to intervene; damn his pride!

  Concentrating on her task, she chose to ignore the mask of studious fascination on Shuul's face as he sat down to watch.

  After a while, she rose to her feet. “I can only do so much, especially alone. Nature does the rest. The wound won't bleed any more, but it needs to be stitched!”

  At that, the two men left the room to search for a common needle and thread.

  After a few minutes, Xandor came out of the back room with a savage-looking poultry trussing needle in one hand and a ball of trussing twine in the other. He held the point aloft, examining it with trepidation. “It is sharp, but crude. I can say no better of the twine. It will not be a pretty job and it will hurt like hell – I suggest we get it done before he wakes!” Leaning down to the hearth, he waved the needle back and forth through the flames, then joined Espira at the bedside. He smiled tightly. “I have done this before . . . but I had better tools!”

  Shuul appeared at the scullery doorway. He seemed most pleased with his discovery. “Look what I found, hidden behind an empty food closet – scavengers must have missed it!” With a flourish, he held up a flask. “Morvian barley spirit . . . my favoured drink!” He took a long swallow before handing it to Espira; a doubtful frown on her face, she received the the flask, sniffed the contents, winced and coughed.

  Nodding her acceptance, she carefully unbound the bandage and proceeded to pour a liberal amount of the liquid into the wound.

  Ji didn't stir, so Xandor moved straight in to stitch; his work showed the efficiency of experience as he pulled the edges together in the neatest way possible. The job was almost finished when he muttered a curse of dissatisfaction. “Zabuks balls! It's a clumsy effort – Ji's leg will bear an ugly scar!” His brows were knit in concentration until the last stitch; then he laughed. “But, it is common knowledge that women like such things, so perhaps I have done more for him than help save his life!”

  Shuul chortled. “I can personally vouch that is very much so for Cymbian women!” With a rakish grin, he pulled the edges of his tunic apart to reveal several old scars, criss-crossing his muscular chest. “I have many others, in interesting places . . .” His roguish eyes turned on Espira, “Would you care to see?”

  Espira was determined not to let Shuul rattle her. She looked away, pressing her lips together to attend to her patient; she spoke to Xandor. “It's going to hurt like a demon when he comes to!” Checking Ji's forehead once more, she said, “The problem isn't really a fever. I can calm him before he stirs and perhaps he will sleep. We cannot move him tonight, so we should also try to get some rest.”

  She rose to her feet and considered the half-full flask, weighing its contents, before handing it back to Shuul with a warning look. “Do not drink it all, we may need some when he wakes! I am going to wash my face.”

  On her return, Espira noted that Xandor was not in the room and Shuul's eyes were slightly glazed; there had only been time for a few mouthfuls. “This barley spirit must be strong . . . I think you have had enough!” She snatched the bottle from his hand, corked it and placed it snugly in her lap. “I think it better if I sleep with this!” She sat on the floor with her arms wrapped around her knees, focussing on calm while she waited for Ji to regain consciousness.

  Xandor came back after dealing with the wounded samblar. “I removed the barb. She will be fine with a Prian poultice and a rest. The others are settled. The stable roof is full of holes but it will do. The animals seem happy to munch on hay. It is old but clean, and it will fill their bellies. The arrows are in a spare stall, hidden under straw.” He shook the rain from his hair and clothing at the doorway, before moving to sit on a low wooden stool and warm his hands by the fire. “I shall rest briefly, and take the watch until dawn.”

  To pass the time, the men chatted companionably, with Shuul only slightly inebriated. Espira sat silent, listening to their exchange while she considered a timely departure to catch up with the others. Ji could rest for a few hours but tomorrow they were going to have to get him on a samblar, tie him if necessary. The men's voices became a murmur as Espira focussed on soothing her patient, until she was satisfied the effect of her influence, which was much more subtle than lubio, would last some hours.

  Finished with that, Espira's attention came back to her companions. Xandor was speaking. “Tell me, brother, what happened to others of your tribe?”

  Espira had been curious about the same thing. “Your men are few in number. It seems you have lost much!”

  For once Shuul was not smiling. “Yes. . . we are few! In these last ten moon-rises, I have seen so many killed by Zorgs – my clansmen, our wives and families, and so many Morvians! Cymbians are wanderers, always moving, raiding. Tribes work separately. When we do cross paths, we exchange news. The last I heard – from a cousin who is now also dead – there was one small clan fleeing north. I guess others went west . . . who knows how many of us are left!” There was hint of despair in his eyes. “I do not believe these lands will ever be free of invaders. It is only a matter of time before more Zorgs come – or perhaps beasts even more horrible!” For a moment, he tried to imagine something worse than a Zorg; then with a slight shake of his head at the difficulty, he leaned forward to pose a question to Xandor. “You come from Baram? What is it like there?”

  “I was not born there,” said Xandor. “Gaians were also nomadic. After the Great Wars, our kind suffered persecution wherever we tried to settle. Gaian clans were forced to live in hiding for many years, dispersed across many different lands, a lost people – a dying race because most of our women are barren. Things are different now. We have hope and security and a home in Baram. It is a fair and just society. Gaians and humans often intermarry and there are children, amazing beings of unimaginable potential who will carry our magic into the future!” Xandor looked at Espira and smiled.

  “How did you come to follow this Lord Luminor?” pressed Shuul.

  Xandor was pensive. “I was just a child when my parents searched out Lord Luminor's protection. I grew up in Baram and my family enjoyed a new safe life, as have many others since. At sixteen summers, I pledged service to Lord Luminor and to the Alliance which he established.” His voice rang with loyalty and pride. “I have risked my life many times for this great cause . . . still, I would die for it!”

  “I have great interest in your world and this . . . Alliance, of which you speak.” Shuul's gaze was intense. “I shall have no regret, leaving this bloody forsaken land far behind!”

&nb
sp; “Aye, brother, there are certainly places better than this, even if our Lady has rid it of giants!” agreed Xandor, with a proud smile for his protege.

  The solemn expression on Shuul's face dissolved into his notorious grin, as he turned a wolfish gaze on Espira. “Besides I already know – I like your women!”

  Shuul, will you ever change? Espira saw a flash of chagrin in his eyes before he looked away.

  The exchange was cut short, when Ji stirred. Espira was on her feet in an instant, one hand on the flask, laying the other soothingly on his chest. Sleep now, Ji. Know that I love you . . . let that be enough!

  Mumbling her name over and over, he appeared to settle after a few minutes without the help of the liquor and was soon snoring softly.

  Espira relaxed for the first time in many hours and flopped down in the chair at the bedside, noticing the men had already fallen asleep on the floor by the fire. She sighed tiredly and glanced at the flask. With a mental shrug, seeing there was little harm and a certain amount of medicinal benefit, she took a small swig of the fiery barley liquor, almost regretting it as her eyes watered and it burned a path down to her belly.

  It has merit, Shuul! It did seem to dull her anxieties . . . just a bit.

  Deep, exhausted slumber was Espira's foe this night. In her dreams, she encountered demons and forces of evil beyond imagination. They circled like a thousand vultures, some with discernible form, others with no shape at all.

  Even though she rode Ra, there was nothing safe about it, as malevolence pressed in on them both, oppressive, suffocating. Goaded by this power, she was forced to relive the horror of battle; below them marched a Zorg horde, ten times the size she remembered. The sound of their gnashing teeth was surreal, far too loud, as they crunched the bones of countless captives while they marched onward in an endless advance.