Banshee’s Honor
Part Seven
by
~Chapter
Thirteen~
Azhani
woke during the night to find that she was being used as a pillow by
one very asleep stardancer. As
she watched wax drip down the side of the day candle resting on a
pedestal across the room, the warrior took a deep breath, and absorbed
the comfort of her friend’s touch. Sighing
heavily, she carefully extricated herself from Kyrian’s death grip,
padded over to the hearth, and then bent to stir the coals.
With
the fire warmly blazing once more, she went upstairs to where Elisira
was tending to Syrah Jessup. The
Y’noran warrior’s illness was progressing rapidly and Azhani knew that
someone would be by the woman’s side, caring for her.
A hoarse cough and feverish chills wracked Syrah’s body. Elisira was awake, preparing a
soothing poultice for her chest.
“Need
anything?” Azhani asked without preamble.
Elisira
looked up and sighed. “About
ten ounces of an herb neither Kyrian nor I have, I’m afraid. Syrah’s cough is deep in the lungs
and she’s started to bring up blood. Kyrian
thinks she might have to Heal her in order for her to recover.”
“Okay. Well, I’m awake for a while so if
you need anything...” the warrior let the offer dangle between them.
“I’ll
call out softly, don’t worry. I
know you’ll hear me,” Elisira said, smiling.
“Oh, wait, there is one thing...”
“Hmm?”
“Could
you bring me my cloak? I’m a
little chilled up here.”
Azhani
nodded, quickly retrieved the fur-lined cloak that she had seen Elisira
wearing and handed it over to the noblewoman.
“Thank
you,” Elisira said while wrapping up in the now dry folds of cloth and
fur.
“Welcome.” Stopping at the woodstove, she
opened the grate and added a few more chunks of wood to the glowing
coals within.
Quietly,
Azhani exited the house and ventured over to the makeshift stables to
see how the horses were holding up in the cold.
The animals were huddled close together, sharing their
warmth. The brazier she and
Kyrian had carefully set up in the center of the shed for Arun had gone
out, so she added more wood and patiently blew on the tiny fragments of
heat still held within the coals until flames blazed up, merrily
snapping and crackling.
Over
the window, she hung up a heavy piece of canvas, hoping to cut some of
the air that snuck through the cracks in the shutters.
The warrior swept out the old, dirty straw and replaced it
with clean and then checked the horses’ feed buckets.
Adding a bit of oats, she took the time to pet or scratch
each of the animals.
Someone
had cared for the equine’s hurts the night before, because there were
bandages on legs and necks, and thick, black stitches closed a nasty
gash on the side of a particularly beautiful butternut yellow mare. They seemed happy to see her, and
Azhani appreciated their quiet affection.
While
she worked, the warrior considered her options.
Foremost on her mind was getting revenge on Arris. Visions of the man’s limply dangling
body as it slid off her sword, entertained her for quite some time. Ylera...
Suddenly,
her longing for her beloved was so strong, it hurt to breathe. Leaning against a wall with her head
down, the warrior let the grief overwhelm her, drawing soft sobs from
her body.
Goddess,
when will this nightmare end?
She
would have to kill Arris. Maybe
then, her dreams would let her sleep. If
she succeeded and if she walked away intact, then she would think about
the future. Traveling, or
maybe she would just retreat into the mountains.
If she failed, then she would be dead, and in the havens,
laughing with her lover once more.
Soft
gray light seeped in through the door, marking false dawn. Azhani finished up with the horses,
put the grill over the brazier, then walked outside.
She paused and took a deep breath of the crisply cold air. The snow had stopped, and the sky
was brilliantly cloudless.
Over
the trees, she could see the sun’s first rays striking the snowy
foliage, sparking rainbows off the icicles hanging from the boughs and
eaves. A brief wind swirled
across the yard, picking up her braids and rustling them together. Glancing up, she spotted lamplight
glowing in the window, reminding her that there was more than her
revenge at stake.
Padreg
and his people needed to get home safely, before she dove headlong into
her plans to avenge Ylera. Then
there were the demons. The
creatures were foul and evil, but they had a predictable life cycle. So why were they wandering the
forest now? No one really
understood where the beasts came from; it was assumed that they were
the result of some terribly uncontrolled experiment left over from the
long ago magical wars that had driven Prince Y’mareth and his brothers
from their lands.
Even
though she no longer wore the title of warleader, Azhani’s first
instinct was to protect the land and its people.
She ached to find an army and lead them into the hills to
hunt down the monsters’ lairs and slaughter them where they slept. For a moment, she gloried in the
thought. It wouldn’t be too
hard to gather a small army of mercenaries and go into the mountains in
the spring. Then, if there
were any left, the beasts would be nothing more than egg sacks –
leathery pouches of foul smelling liquid and slime that would be easily
exterminated.
Her
daydream shifted, becoming a vision of her at the head of that same
army, facing Arris on the battlefield. In
her dreams, she was dressed in the finest armor, set apart from
everyone else like she was the goddess’ own vengeance come to collect
payment from evil doers everywhere. Arris
would quail before her, begging for mercy and it would be easy, oh so
easy, to run him through, laughing all the while.
Could
she do it? Could she walk
away from the oaths that had bound her to the greater good for her
entire life? Restlessly, she
wandered out to the wall that bordered her property and climbed up it,
using its width to practice her balance. With
her eyes shut tight, she began to pace along the slick, snowy surface,
trusting her instincts to keep her steady.
Padreg. He could be escorted to Y’Nor and
then convinced to take his complaint to the High King.
Elisira would obviously go with the plainsman. In just the short time she had seen
the two together, Azhani knew that her old friend and the Y’Noran
monarch were meant for each other. She
could probably even convince Kyrian to go with them, freeing her to
pursue her revenge.
Azhani’s
stomach twisted painfully as she thought of leaving Kyrian to ride down
the road to certain death. Unbalanced,
she wobbled, nearly falling into a huge drift of snow.
Opening her eyes, she stared down at her now steady feet
and sighed.
“I
guess I can’t fight who I am,” she said, lifting her head and gazing up
into the clear, blue sky. Another
road would have to be found, another path to vengeance taken - one
where her honor and her oaths were not compromised and one where Kyrian
could stand beside her.
Decision made, she jumped down and headed for the cabin. I sure hope I can remember those names Ylera taught me.
%%%
Waking
up cold and stiff, Kyrian muzzily searched for her blankets. The faintest traces of warmth in the
linens next to her confirmed that she had not been dreaming and that
she had shared the bed with Azhani the night before.
The stardancer shivered, missing both the warrior’s body
heat and the comfort of another person beside her.
Fuzzily, she recalled Azhani coiled around her, the
warrior’s body a wonderful buffer against the chill.
She
stretched, wincing as sore muscles and joints creaked and popped. Longingly, she looked at the bed,
but the fire was almost out, and daylight was starting to leak through
the curtained windows. Yawning,
she tried to decide what to do first. The
patients upstairs certainly needed to be checked, but she was also
curious about Arun. How was
her companion handling the addition of strange horses?
Besides, his stall probably needed cleaning.
Making
the decision to see Arun first, she was startled by a voice that
floated up from the storeroom.
“You
should check on Padreg’s people, healer. They
need your touch more than that oat monster you call a horse.” Appearing from around the corner,
Azhani bent to remove mud and muck stained boots.
The
mildly amused twinkle in the warrior’s eyes confused Kyrian
momentarily, but then she noticed the mud still staining her friend’s
boots, and sighed.
“Beat
me again, huh?” she mock complained, standing up and heading up the
stairs toward the sickroom. “Poor
Arun’s going to think I don’t love him anymore.”
“I
can’t help it if you’re a lack-about-the-bed, healer,” Azhani retorted
haughtily, flipping her braids over one shoulder and then winking
outrageously at Elisira, who was staring at the warrior like she had
lost her mind.
Kyrian
snorted derisively. “Oh, so
it wasn’t you pinning me down to the mattress like a child with its
favorite rag doll?” she taunted brazenly.
“Hardly. If anyone was doing any pinning, it
was you, short stuff. Now get
up there and amaze us all with your fabulous healing abilities.”
Elisira
looked at Kyrian and said, “Whatever you’ve been feeding her, I want
the recipe.”
Azhani
watched Kyrian vanish up the stairs. “It’s
not the food, though she is a great cook. It’s...
I don’t exactly know what it is, other than that I feel very
comfortable with her. I can
smile with her, and it doesn’t hurt.” She
shrugged and wryly added, “Besides, I’m always in a better mood after
mucking out a stall, you know that.”
Elisira
did know that the warrior enjoyed any time she spent with horses, even
if the time was spent doing menial chores.
“Speaking
of the four legs, how are they?” Elisira asked.
“On
the mend,” Azhani replied, taking a cup of tea and sitting down next to
her old friend. “I think
Padreg must have taken care of them last night, because they’re all
bandaged up this morning. I’m
sure that Kyrian will check them later, and after that, she and Padreg
will probably put their heads together and cook up noxious smelling
tonics. I feel sorry for the
horses. Kyrian’s of the
opinion that medicine should taste bad.”
Elisira
breathed a sharp sigh of relief. Traveling
with the Y’Norans had taught her how much the plainsmen valued their
four-legged friends. They
treated them like family and she was beginning to feel the kinship bond
with the stallion she had been riding.
“Looks
like you’ve been infected with a plainsman’s horse-love, my friend.” Azhani grinned and wrinkled up her
nose, making a silly face.
Elisira
looked away, flushing slightly. “There
is much to admire about those of the plains,” she said, more to herself
than to the warrior.
Azhani’s
smile twisted rakishly. “Especially
one of those plainsmen in particular, eh?”
The
flush deepened, but the noblewoman did not speak.
“Eh,
well, I suppose you could fall for worse – certain of the king’s
sycophants come to mind,” Azhani said, getting up and setting her empty
cup to the side. “I have much
to do. There is food in the
storeroom should you wish to make breakfast.”
With
that, the warrior left the lady behind to stare at her hands as they
twisted in her lap.
Things
were never so complicated before,
Elisira
thought, a little wistfully. Surely,
it was the god’s own damnation to bite my tongue when my father allied
with that brat Arris, but now what am I to do?
I love a man who is, if not an enemy of a king, certainly
not his nursing brother, either. The
fact that he loves me in return and is a king in his own right, does
nothing to erase the fact that I have cut all ties from my blood kin. A frown furrowed Elisira’s brow
and she sighed sadly. I
fear I shall not see the fields and halls of home again. She was working herself up to a
good self-pitying cry when her stomach rumbled greedily.
Shaking
her head and laughing lightly, the lady stood and spoke aloud. “What matter is it if I have a home
and family, when there are issues of hunger to address?
Let us see what Azhani and her healer have determined to
be worthy rations for a winter in this blasted wilderness!”
%%%
Both
Syrah and Thomas were very happy to see her when she reached the top of
the stairs. The two warriors
were awake, though deeply swaddled in their covers.
There was a growing radiance of warmth spreading out from
the woodstove and Kyrian sent a grateful thanks to whoever had thought
to check the stove last. A
large pot of water was bubbling merrily, so the stardancer moved it
away, adding some soaproot and a bit of cooler water to make it
comfortable. Taking a soft
cloth, she moved to Thomas’ side and kneeled down.
“Good
morrow, stardancer,” the young man whispered, his throat still raw from
screaming.
“Good
morning, Thomas. I’d like to
wash off some of that dried blood so that I can see the wound better. Do you mind?”
Kyrian dipped the rag into the soapy water and wrung it
out slowly.
“Not
at all. It would be nice to
be clean,” he said wistfully.
She
smiled at him and pulled back his covers. Removing
the blood-soaked bandage, she slowly began to work off the caked blood
and dirt around the swollen, weeping wounds that covered his chest and
abdomen. She had done a lot
for the injuries the night before, but today, now that there was better
light, she would see about getting them Healed.
The blond warrior grunted a few times when she rubbed too
hard, but otherwise remained quiet while she worked.
“Good
morning, Stardancer Kyrian, would you like some breakfast?” came a
gentle tenor.
Kyrian
looked up to see Devon standing at the top of the steps, a tray of food
floating before him. The
boy’s narrow face was screwed up in concentration and his lips moved
slightly. Steam curled up
from three bowls of cereal, and the scent of honey set her mouth to
watering.
“I’d
love some. Thanks Devon,” she
said, standing up to take the tray.
The
young man looked around the room, noticing that even though the
curtains were pulled back, there were still many shadowed areas. “May I help?” he offered, noticing
the pan of murky water.
“You
could help Syrah eat her breakfast,” Kyrian said, nodding at the woman
who was feebly trying to sit. Devon
was immediately by the scout’s side, helping her to sit up. Taking one of the bowls of cereal,
he carefully began to offer her small spoonfuls, which she gratefully
took.
Kyrian
set the extra two bowls on the edge of the stove to keep warm and
returned to tending Thomas. Curiously,
Devon watched the stardancer, impressed by the calm way that she
soothed the warrior when he would inhale too much and cause the gashes
in his chest to pull. Once
the dried blood had been washed away, Kyrian reached out for the lamp,
holding it above Thomas’ chest and shaking her head sadly.
As
she inspected the puffy, red and purple scratches and bite marks, a
clear, bright light suddenly filled the room.
Startled, she glanced up at Devon, who had pulled out his
book and was reading softly from it. Syrah
watched the boy, a smile of delight on her face.
“Boy’s
got the gift, he does,” she murmured, noticing Kyrian’s stare.
“Yes,
he does,” the stardancer affirmed, setting aside the oil lamp and
getting back to work on Thomas. “Thank
you, Devon,” she added quietly.
“You’re
welcome, my lady,” he said, his young man’s tenor breaking to boyish
soprano. Stretching stiffly,
he turned to Syrah and said, “Your pardon, Syr.
I thought the extra light would assist the stardancer.”
She
waved him off. “No worries
boy, I was almost full anyway. Just
a few more bites and then I’d like to sleep some.”
Obligingly, he spooned up the cereal.
“All
right Thomas, I know this must hurt like hell, so let’s do something
about it,” she whispered, reaching out to lay a cool hand on the young
man’s burning forehead.
He
nodded tensely. As she had
worked, the skin had seemed to come alive, and now it was burning,
spreading sharp crackles of fire from his neck to his hips. “Okay. What
do I have to do?” he whispered through clenched teeth.
“Just
close your eyes and think of someplace peaceful,” the stardancer said. Bowing her head, she began to sing. The soft, gentle notes of a child’s
lullaby filled the room. Thomas’
face went slack as he drifted off to sleep.
Watching
in awe, Devon could only stare as a pale yellow-orange glow limned the
stardancer’s hands. She then
laid those flaming hands on Thomas’ ravaged flesh; her lips shaping the
words to an ancient prayer. As
the goddess’ healing fires caressed the horrible wounds, they pulsed
with dark red light and black, evil smelling smoke puffed away from the
skin, leaving behind healthy pink flesh.
“Wow,”
the boy whispered. His face
was flushed and his eyes sparkled with amazement.
This was what he knew magic was for – to help people, not
hurt them. The book he always
carried was filled with spells. Small
cantrips, such as the mending magic he had used earlier, as well as a
few harder enchantments filled the book’s vellum pages.
However, nothing in the ancient grimoire came close to
miracle of healing he had just witnessed.
Sweat-soaked
ringlets of hair clung limply to the stardancer’s face as she worked. Her cotton tunic was damp and her
breath came in heavy, deep gasps. Unceasingly,
Kyrian used her gift to heal Thomas, until there were only several
bright pink scars decorating the Y’Noran warrior’s chest.
Kyrian
slumped away from the bed, panting and shaking her hands as if they
burned. “Damn, I’m glad
that’s over,” she whispered, reaching for the waterskin that hung from
her belt. Taking a long,
grateful drink, the stardancer collapsed against the wall and stared
out at the stairwell.
After
a few moments, the young warrior woke. Sitting
up without pain, Thomas looked down at his chest, touching the scars in
wonder. He and Syrah
exchanged glances and then he turned to Kyrian.
“My
thanks, chosen. I’ll not
forget this blessing,” he said, his voice beginning to take on a sleepy
afterglow. He yawned,
blinking in surprise.
“You
are welcome, Thomas. Eat then
sleep – Healing is draining
to both stardancer and patient. Rest,
and you will be well.” Kyrian
finally had enough energy to stand and gather the bowl of still-warm
cereal into her hands, cradling the heated ceramic dish as if she could
leach some strength from the contact alone.
She looked over at Syrah and smiled weakly. “I’ll be with you as soon as I’ve
had a bit of this,” she held out the bowl.
Nodding,
Syrah pulled her covers up and said, “Eat, ‘dancer.
You’ll do me no good if you’re reeling from drain-shock.”
Devon
looked at his friend; his face a study of curiosity.
Syrah
shrugged, a rustle of movement that caused her blankets to slide down,
exposing her fever-flushed face. “My
gram’s a ‘dancer.”
Thomas
ate quickly, talking quietly with Syrah and Devon.
When he was through, he set his bowl aside. Soon, soft snores filled his side of
the room.
The
conversation around her faded away as the thick, hearty cereal filled
her up. Kyrian sighed
contentedly, blinking owlishly at the brightness of Devon’s mage light. It was always like this, after a
major Healing. Closing her
eyes, the stardancer listened to the thud of her own heartbeat mix with
the sound of Thomas’ even, sleep tainted breathing.
Slowly, the cereal worked its magic, pushing away her
exhaustion and restoring enough energy for her to stand and move around
to Syrah’s side.
Kneeling
beside the scout, she looked up at Devon and said, “Thanks for the
light, Devon.”
He
blushed and looked at his feet. “You’re
welcome,” he managed to stammer.
The
stardancer laid her hand against Syrah’s cheek, sighing at the amount
of heat radiating from the Y’Noran’s tanned skin.
Cursing
softly, she muttered, “If only that lungwort hadn’t rotted.” The herbs she had been so careful to
gather and store in a safe, dry place had been accidentally knocked off
their shelf, landing in an open barrel of water.
Even hanging the bundles by the fire had not saved them
from the thick, pasty slime that had developed on the dark green leaves. She looked up and saw that Devon was
still in the room. “Dev,
could you see about getting me a cup of tea – add two spoons of honey
to it, please. Also, bring
up,” her stomach rumbled and she rolled her eyes, sighing resignedly. “Bring up another bowl of the
cereal, or some bread and cheese, if that’s gone.”
Scrambling,
the boy hastened to obey her requests. Devon
returned shortly, with Elisira on his heels.
On his tray this time was balanced a loaf of dark bread, a
wedge of bright yellow cheese and a large, steaming mug of tea.
Kyrian
rose and gratefully accepted the food.
“I
came to see if I could help,” Elisira said, looking over at the
sleeping form of Thomas Gould.
Sitting
with the tray balanced on her folded legs, Kyrian smiled and said, “If
you could take Thom’s bandages and put them in the fire, I’d appreciate
it.”
Without
a word, the noblewoman gathered the blood and puss soaked rags and
began tossing them into the belly of the woodstove, watching them as
they burned. A fuggy, cloying
scent filled the air.
Kyrian
ignored the smell and dug in, slicing off a piece of cheese and a chunk
of bread. Beside her, Syrah
dozed, her breath rasping in her chest painfully.
Faintly, Padreg could be heard calling for his page, so
Devon bowed quietly and left.
“You
healed Azhani.” Elisira
stated matter-of-factly. “Thank
you.”
Around
a mouthful of food, Kyrian said, “I’m glad I did.”
Smiling,
the noblewoman shoved another handful of the ruined bandages into the
stove. “I wasn’t sure what I
would find when Azhi said she had a houseguest.
You’re a gift I wasn’t expecting, healer.”
Kyrian
didn’t seem to know how to answer that, though her cheeks pinked
brightly.
“It’s
nice that Azhi found a friend out here. Everything
... was so awful, and I...” Elisira fumbled for words.
“I wasn’t able to be the friend she needed.” A strained tightness around the
lady’s eyes made Kyrian curious, but she didn’t ask.
Elisira canted her head to the side, staring back at the
stardancer while she ate. “It
is a good thing that you and Azhi are outside of Y’dan.”
Frowning,
Kyrian said, “Why is that? I
mean, I understand about Azhani, but why me?”
“There
were... many stories told in Brenton of Arris’ new laws. For some unknown reason, our
‘beloved’ king has a problem with non-humans.
Anyone loyal to the crown would treat you as the lowliest
of filth, good healer. Even
though you wear the robes of the goddess herself.”
The noblewoman’s distaste for the king and his problems
was evident in her tone.
“I take it
that you are not one of those who are loyal to the crown?” Kyrian
asked, raising an eyebrow curiously.
Elisira
sighed and shook her head. “No,
I’m loyal enough to the crown, I suppose. It’s
just that I don’t give a rat’s ass about the man who’s wearing it right
now. King Theodan was a
wonderful man but his son is an uncouth bastard who deserves to be
horse whipped!”
Waking
at just that moment, Thomas let out a bark of laughter and said, “Nay
Lady, tell us how you truly feel!”
Elisira
shrugged. “I don’t like him. He’s slimy and arrogant and no woman
should have to spend more than two heartbeats in his presence!” The lady’s ire exploded into the
room.
“Good
afternoon, Thom. Did you
sleep well? Are you hungry?”
Kyrian asked, to defuse the situation.
“Afternoon,
healer, and yes, I slept well. Yes,
I am hungry. How long did I
sleep?” The warrior sat up
and stretched, smiling brightly when he found he could take a full
breath without much pain.
“Not
too long – maybe a candlemark. I
suspect that you will sleep again after eating.
Don’t try to fight it – sleep and food are what you need
the most right now. Even
though the goddess’ fire has healed your wounds, your body has had a
tremendous shock and it needs time to recover.”
Giving
him half of her bread and cheese, as well as some cool water from a
pitcher near the bed, the stardancer stood and brushed her hands off on
her breeches. She looked down
at Syrah, who was still sleeping fitfully and sighed.
“I’ll be back. I’m
going to check the storeroom again to see if I overlooked a bundle of
lungwort last night.”
“Don’t
bother; I already checked,” Elisira said with an apologetic smile. “It was the first thing I did this
morning.”
“Okay,
well, I guess that leaves one thing. Listen,
I’m going to be worthless afterwards, so, if you could see that my
pillow and blanket are brought up, I’d appreciate it,” Kyrian said,
arranging herself in a comfortable position next to Syrah.
“You
do your robe much honor, Kyrian,” Elisira said as she added a small
chunk of wood to the stove.
Shaking
her head, Kyrian replied, “It’s not for honor.
I must do this – I can’t not heal, not when the goddess
has given me the ability to channel Her fire.”
“She’s
right, healer. You serve
Astariu well,” Thomas said as he nibbled on a piece of cheese. “It’s rare, this far from Y’Syr or
Y’mar.”
Kyrian’s
attention snapped to the warrior. “Oh?”
Thomas
sighed and tipped his head back, closing his eyes in memory. “Afore we left the capitol, we would
hear of things in the city. Padreg,
he did nae hear of such in the castle, I’m sure.
Came from the common folk. We
heard tales of healers in black robes who’d come to the city and
instead of giving their healing to all, they charged large fees for the
privilege of their services.”
Kyrian could
not quite wrap her mind around the idea of any healer using their
skills to aid for something as tawdry as common gold.
The gift of medicine came freely from the gods, and they
expected their practitioners to show no favoritism when it came to
sharing them.
Shaking her
head, Kyrian said, “A darkness is growing in Y’dan.”
“Aye. There’s worse, too.
Those who follow the Twins are leaving the kingdom as fast
as the nonhumans. We passed
two empty shrines on the way north. Not
one single acolyte had been left behind to tend the gardens or clean
the altars. They were just
empty, almost lifeless,” Thomas said sadly.
Kyrian’s
mind flashed back to the beginning of winter and waking up, bouncing
over Arun’s shoulders like a sack of unwanted grain.
“This is a disturbing thing you have told me, but it does
not contradict my own experience.” Briefly,
she outlined how she had met the former Y’dani warleader. Thomas and Elisira nodded as she
spoke.
“’Twas
a wise thing Azhani did, keeping to her vows as a defender, even though
she not be in service to the crown. Astariu
bless her, she’ll gain by that, I’ve no doubt,” Thomas said, putting a
hand over his heart solemnly.
Kyrian
made a face. “Oh, I’m not so
sure she doesn’t regret her decision,” she muttered softly.
“No,
healer, she does not. You
offered her something that Arris had stolen away – her honor.” Elisira’s quiet words echoed in the
stardancer’s heart.
“I...”
A particularly wracking cough from Syrah interrupted her. “I’ve got to take care of her,” the
stardancer said resolutely. “But...
whatever rescuing me did for Azhani, I’m glad she did.
I’m positive I don’t want to know what that man had
planned.”
Elisira
nodded and left Kyrian to quietly work.
%%%
Three
candlemarks later, Thomas staggered downstairs, his ruined breeches
clinging in tatters to his still bruised body.
“Healer’s down,” he said groggily.
“And I need something to wear that doesn’t smell like dead
demon.”
Padreg
leapt up to assist his man to a chair.
“I
bet a bath would feel pretty good too, eh?” the Y’Noran king slapped
the still dazed warrior on the back.
“Aye,
it would,” Thomas agreed sleepily.
Upon
hearing of Kyrian’s condition, Azhani had sprinted up the stairs and
was now carrying the unconscious stardancer down, being careful not to
jostle her. The warrior
carefully tucked her friend into bed, frowning at the dark lines of
weariness that creased Kyrian’s face.
A
hand on her shoulder made her look up. Elisira
was standing behind her, a soft smile on her face.
“Don’t be alarmed. She
warned us that this would happen. Let
her sleep, Azhi. She’ll be
fine.”
Still,
the warrior kept her eyes on Kyrian’s still form.
The stardancer’s face started to relax, and her breath
exhaled slowly. Sleep settled
onto Kyrian, and Azhani breathed a sigh of relief.
Idly,
Azhani reached out and brushed away a lock of the stardancer’s curly
red hair and said, “I need to go to Barton.”
Her eyes were pinned on the fading sunlight that showed
through the open window. No
snow had fallen that day, and it was not likely to for many more, at
least not according to the warrior’s northern weather sense.
“Why?
What’s in Barton?” Elisira asked curiously.
“Supplies. She can’t keep draining herself like
this and if my leg is any indication, Thomas and Syrah won’t be healed
in one session. She needs
that stuff she was so upset about.” Azhani
looked around the room, mentally tallying what foodstuffs they had
against how many mouths there were to feed.
“And unless we want to eat the horses, we’ll need more
food.”
“All
right. I have some jewels you
can trade for the supplies then,” Elisira said quietly.
Azhani
nodded, accepting the noblewoman’s offer. “I’m
going to tell Padreg. If the
weather holds, I can leave in a few days.”
~Chapter
Fourteen~
Kyrian
fell out of bed at midnight. Literally
fell, since she was in the midst of a running dream, where she felt
like the spirit of the man she had killed was chasing her through the
snow covered forest and she had just tripped over Azhani’s dead body
and...whump! She was on the
floor, staring at a dust bunny the size of a child’s fist.
“Bleh,”
the stardancer rolled over onto her back and poked her tongue out
between her lips. Her mouth
felt like the Y’skani desert at high noon on midsummer’s day. Gradually, she sat up, weakly
running her hands through her massively tangled hair.
Yawning so hard her jaw popped noisily, she looked around
the room. Padreg and Elisira
were curled up on Azhani’s bed, though they had separate blankets. On the floor in front of the fire,
Aden and Devon were snoring away, having a contest to see how many logs
they could saw.
Hmm...
where’s Azhi? Swiveling
her head around to look at her own bed, she peered hopefully up into
the covers. Not
there... then... hmm... drink. Thirsty.
Kyrian
stood and shuffled down the three small steps in the storeroom to dip a
cup of very cold water.
“Ah
goddess that’s cold,” she muttered, and dipped another cupful. Thirst assuaged, she wandered back
into the main room, searching for whatever remained of the group’s
dinner. On the hearth, she
found a pot with a scrap of parchment tucked under it.
~For the healer.~ It said, in a rich calligraphic
hand. Lifting the lid, she
smiled at the contents. Someone
had made a shepherd’s pie. Flaky
dough cooked to a nice golden brown covered a delicious smelling stew. “Yum,” the stardancer said softly,
taking her prize, and a cup of the tea steeping in another pot, over to
her bed.
Replete,
she ventured upstairs to check on her patients.
Thomas was sound asleep, as was Syrah, but here was where
she found Azhani. Propped
back in a chair, covered with just a single blanket, the warrior was
dozing lightly. Kyrian walked
over to her friend and gently laid a hand on her shoulder.
Azhani
woke instantly. Shaking her
head, she said, “Trouble?”
“No,
no trouble, Azhani. You just
looked uncomfortable. Why
don’t you go sleep downstairs? My
bed’s empty now.” Checking on
the stove, she stirred the coals some and refreshed her tea from the
pot sitting on top.
“I’m
leaving for Barton in a few days. Will
you make a list of what you need?” Azhani said, standing up and folding
the blanket she had been using over the back of the chair.
“Sure,”
the stardancer replied. Kneeling
between the pallets, she extended both her arms outward over Thomas and
Syrah, the palms hovering just inches over their sleeping forms. “Catch me if I tumble?” she queried,
smiling up at her friend.
“Always,”
Azhani rumbled in reply, coming to stand in front of the stardancer. “Go ahead and make your magic,
healer.”
Nodding,
Kyrian closed her eyes and began to hum softly.
Her entire body was slowly enveloped in a pale pink glow. The aura faded quickly, and true to
her prediction, the stardancer pitched forward, to be gently caught in
Azhani’s strong arms.
The
warrior held her friend up, as she began to shake and shudder. “You can’t keep doing this, Kyrian,”
she whispered, running nervous fingers through the stardancer’s
sweat-dampened hair. “You’re
no good as a healer if you kill yourself.”
“Had...
to,” Kyrian managed to get out between shudders.
“Needed to know... how healed they were.”
Understanding,
but not liking it, Azhani nodded. “And?”
“Thomas
will be fine with a few day’s rest and some willow tea.
Syrah still needs lungwort. Knew
I didn’t get it all.” She
sighed and yawned. “Damn,
just woke up, too.”
“Doesn’t
matter. You’re going back to
bed now. Thom and Syrah will
be fine for the night,” the warrior reassured her, standing up easily. Juggling Kyrian lightly to settle
her against her chest, Azhani headed for the stairs.
“Whoa! Has anyone ever told you that you’re
way too strong?” Kyrian asked between yawns.
“A
few people, yes, but I never listen,” the warrior said, her tone light
but soft.
“Right,
can’t let the masses know that you’re in on the secret,” Kyrian
retorted, breathing in the sweet scent that seemed to cling to Azhani
like honey.
“Of
course not. It ruins the
mystique.” They reached the
bed and Azhani gently lowered Kyrian down, pulling the covers up and
tucking them around the stardancer.
“Stay. You can sleep over here,” Kyrian
murmured, patting the empty side of the bed.
“I promise not to kick.”
Azhani’s
lips twitched into a wry grin. The
bed did look very inviting, and she knew from experience that Kyrian
was a pleasant companion, even in the most honorably platonic sense. Ah gods,
Kyrian... It’s getting very hard to resist you.
If you don’t stop being so nice to me, I’m going to end up
liking you a whole lot.
“’Zhani?”
the stardancer burred sleepily. “Woudja
get me some water ‘fore you come to bed?”
“Sure,”
Azhani brushed her knuckles against Kyrian’s face and stood up. Quietly, she found the stardancer’s
cup and dipped some water. When
she brought it back, Kyrian was fast asleep.
Setting the cup down on the floor, the warrior kicked off
her boots and climbed over the sleeping woman.
“Sleep well, Kyr,” she whispered, and then pulled the
extra blanket up over her shoulder. It
didn’t take long for sleep to claim her.
%%%
After
Kyrian had handed over her carefully prepared list, she went outside to
look over the horses. Padreg,
Aden and Devon were already in the yard; chasing each other and
throwing snowballs like kids. Laughing,
the stardancer entered the shed and greeted the horses.
“Good
morning, my siblings. I am
Kyrian, and I am here to care for you,” she whispered in the elven
tongue, knowing that all of them would understand her.
Arun’s ears twitched at the sound of his mistress’ voice
and he whickered excitedly.
Caring
for him first, Kyrian spoiled him with love and carrots, which were his
favorite treats. Next, she
checked and filled feed buckets and the water trough.
Finally, she approached the worst of the injured horses,
Padreg’s beautiful yellow mare, who tossed her head and shied away from
the red-robed stardancer as she approached her wounded side.
“Be
at ease, fleet-footed sister. I
offer no harm, only aid,”
Kyrian murmured, using the same language. Settling
immediately, the horse’s ears only flicked forward in annoyance when
the stardancer began to peel away the bandages covering a large area of
stitches.
"You
speak the language of the horse-kin as though you were born to it,” came Padreg’s admiring voice.
Kyrian
tilted her head to the side, allowing the curls of her amber-hued hair
to fall away and reveal the slight points to her ears.
“I was,” she murmured as she worked.
“Your
pardon, healer. I did not
expect to see one of elvish descent still living in Y’dan, after what
Arris has done,” the Y’Noran king said, thinking back to the tales they
had heard on their journey north.
“We
are not in Y’dan, precisely,” Kyrian said, moving on from the king’s
mount to an injured stallion.
Padreg
laughed boisterously, clapping his massive hands together animatedly. “You have me there, healer! I guess I must be bold and ask what
you were doing in a land that sought to turn you out?”
Kyrian
tore off a bit of bandage with her teeth and answered, “I was here
before Arris’ idiotic rules of race were introduced.”
“They
are recent, then?” Padreg asked curiously.
“Yes. I had not heard of the rules before
you arrived, my lord,” she said absently, taking a skin filled with a
cleanser out of her haversack and squirting it over the shallow cut in
the horse’s flank.
The
Y’Noran let out a huge sigh of relief. “I
had hoped the blasted rules were a sign of Arris’ unfitness to rule and
not of a cankered mentality in the moral heart of Y’dan. I am reassured that my late esteemed
cousin Theodan was not the cause of these blasphemous changes!” he said
as Kyrian wiped her hands on a clean rag. The
Y’noran monarch combed his fingers through his scruffy beard and sighed. “Of course, this means that I must
now plan my next move with this fact in mind.
What say you, healer; would it be cowardly of me to take
my people and return to my land? Or
shall I turn to Y’mar and the High King? Elisira
talks of bringing Arris’ crimes to the court of Ysradan for judgment,
but I am uncertain.”
Kyrian
frowned, her brow furrowing deeply. “Why
ask me, highness? I am just a
stardancer. I know nothing of
politics or of the machinations of kings. What
does my opinion mean against the counsel of your men?” she asked
quietly, bundling up dirty bandages to be washed.
“A
clan leader listens to the wisdom of great and small alike, allowing no
rank to cloud the truth his heart knows to be right.
Your words weigh as equally in my mind, young healer, as
any battle hardened warrior’s. Speak
your mind; I would hear it,” Padreg replied, leaning against the wall
of the shed and waiting patiently for Kyrian’s answer.
Swallowing
several times, she spent several moments just staring at the bandages
in her hand. No one had ever
asked her opinion in matters so grave before.
Saving lives was one thing; something that the young woman
was intimately familiar with and had no problem dealing with, but
telling a king what she thought he should do about a political
situation – well that just wasn’t something they trained for at the
temples.
She
began to pace, thinking about her answer. What
would she do, in the Y’Noran king’s place? On
the one hand, it was winter, and heading south would mean escaping the
freezing cold of the snow and ice storms that blanketed the northern
wilderness. On the other
hand, south was where King Arris and his armies lay, waiting for any
excuse to put their new laws into swift and lethal action. On another hand, not that she had
three hands, but she supposed she could borrow one of Padreg’s; there
was the very obvious affection between Padreg and the Lady Elisira. The affection ran deep and strong –
feelings that would lead a man to do anything to protect the object of
his emotions, and vice versa. It
would be all too easy for Padreg or Elisira to attempt to sacrifice
themselves for one another.
It
was too complicated for Kyrian to think about clearly.
She shook her head again, attempting to knock away the
conflicting thoughts. “Your
highness –“
Padreg
held up a hand. “Nay healer,
call me Padreg or Paddy, but please, drop the fancy words. I am a plain man – I need no pretty
words to shine me up.”
Kyrian
grinned and said, “All right, Padreg, then, but you must call me
Kyrian.”
“Done! Now, what did you wish to say?”
“I – I’m
having a hard time coming up with an answer that pleases everyone,
risks no one and satisfies the desire to make things right. I don’t think I have an opinion that
means anything to you.”
“I
think you might be shoeing the horse with wooden nails, Kyrian. You have not the look or the actions
of a dunce; therefore, your thoughts matter.
Speak on.”
The
stardancer’s face twisted in a contortion of frustration and she began
to wave her hands around wildly. “I
don’t know, Padreg! I think I
would probably go back down into Y’dan and find out if things are as
bad as they are rumored to be and if they were, I’d go find out if the
High King knows about it. But
then, I’m a meddler; it’s my nature to pry into other people’s business. I’m not responsible for the welfare
of thousands of subjects. If
I was, I might think differently. I
might be more worried about them, than I was about someone else’s
kingdom.”
Kyrian’s
pacing affected the horses, making them toss their heads and sidle
nervously each time the stardancer passed by them.
Padreg wondered if he should get the suddenly volatile
young woman out of the building.
“I
might also wonder about the safety of those with me, especially if I
felt about one of them the way you so obviously do about Elisira – I’m
not sure I could risk the life of my beloved simply to satisfy some
vague notion of chivalry. And
besides, what happens if you go against Arris?
He’s got an army and you’ve got, what, a couple of injured
men?” Kyrian’s voice had risen until it was almost a shout. “Where are you going to get an army
in the middle of nowhere?” she finished, her voice taking on a slyly
satisfied edge, as if she had just proven some important point.
“He
doesn’t need an army. He’s
got me,” came a surprising response as Azhani entered the makeshift
stable.
Kyrian
turned and looked her friend in the eyes. Azhani’s
normally alert gaze had sharpened to sword’s edge keenness and there
was a predatory gleam that sparkled when she added, “I intend to face
Arris anyway. I might as well
do it at the side of a good king. You
are
intending to do something about Arris, aren’t you, your highness?” She turned to Padreg, raising her
eyebrow in challenge.
The
Y’Noran king nodded once. “Aye. ‘Twill do the kingdoms no good to
leave the brat on the throne, poisoning the land against its peoples. It likes me not to think that I
called him ‘cousin’.”
“Good,
then you have one more sword,” Azhani said and then added, “The winter
here is harsh but if I can get to Barton, we’ll be all right.”
“What’s
in Barton?” Padreg wanted to know.
“Supplies
and information,” Azhani replied succinctly.
“I’ve got some sleigh skids for the cart, and Arun’s
proved he can pull it fully loaded already.
Kyrian and Elisira have provided me with shopping lists. If we get the skis on today, I can
leave tomorrow.”
%%%
Azhani
threw herself into getting ready for her trek through the snow to
Barton. Attaching the skids
to the cart was fairly easy, with the help willingly provided by the
able bodied men. Kyrian
busied herself with baking pasties the warrior could easily eat while
traveling, even if they got cold. Elisira
became the stardancer’s assistant, working with both Thomas and Syrah,
helping them to use the privy and get something to eat.
Both of the injured warriors were able to move around, but
Syrah’s cough and inability to handle the cold kept her either in bed
or hunched by the fire. Thomas
did small tasks, like cleaning the upstairs room, but had to sleep
every few candlemarks. Between
him and Kyrian, they ate enough for five.
When
Azhani was ready to go, the small group gathered outside to see her off. Syrah and Thomas leaned on Devon and
Padreg for support as Elisira and Kyrian fussed over her, making
certain she had her food and her warmest clothes.
Weapons were stowed in easily reached places and another
blanket was accepted with amusement.
“To
tuck around your legs as you drive,” Kyrian said as she placed the
folded fabric on the driver’s bench.
“Hurry
back, my friend. I’ve just
found you again and I’d rather not lose you so soon,” Elisira said
softly, stepping forward to hug Azhani briefly.
Azhani
flashed the lady a reckless grin and said, “Don’t worry – I’m like a
bad cold. It takes forever to
get rid of me.”
Kyrian
had stepped away, but now she looked up and said, “I hope no one’s
found a cure for the cold then.”
“Ah
don’t you worry, healer, you’ll not be out of a job so easily,” Azhani
said, winking broadly and then turning to begin her trek.
She
made good time in the snow, even with the strangeness of piloting a
wagon on skis underneath her. Arun
seemed to get right into the swing of it, cantering along at a decent
clip. All the lessons about
living in the northern wilds that her father had painstakingly taught
her, filtered back, echoing across the years in the whooshing sound the
skids made as they flew over the snow.
Because
of the snow, she forced herself to stop before sunset, locating a stand
of trees to pitch her tent. Arun
got the tent; Azhani laid out her bedroll and blankets on the bed of
the cart and then stretched a piece of canvas over the top. A small fire gave her some tea and
the gelding a hot mash and then she climbed into her cocoon, forcing
her body to slow down enough to sleep.
She
woke to the brightly sparkling snow. Climbing
out of her makeshift tent, she went immediately to Arun, who eagerly
stepped out of his tent and shook himself off.
“Morning
boy. Hungry?”
She took a soft towel and rubbed him down then gave him
some food.
Nibbling
on one of Kyrian’s pasties, she did a few stretches and exercises to
get her blood pumping. There
was an almost magical feel to the forest. Ice
crystals shrouded the barren trees, turning ordinary bark and snow into
a web of spun glass. The
morning sun sent rainbows glittering all around the clearing where she
had slept and Azhani inhaled the crisp air and thanked the goddess for
the gift of her life.
“I
know I haven’t exactly been the most reliable of believers, Astariu,
but I’d like to think that when I believe in you, I do it without
reservation. Today, in the
shadow of this morning, I believe. Thank
you,” Azhani said softly and then turned to gather her gear.
::Why?:: An echo filled, music laced
voice erupted all around the warrior.
Azhani’s
sword was in her hand instantly. Her
neck protested loudly as she nearly ripped her own head off her
shoulders, scanning the clearing.
::Why
do you fight belief, my warrior?:: the voice came again. Azhani gaped as sunbeams refracted
off of icicles, forming a glowing pool of water in the center of the
clearing. Flowing, silvery
ripples appeared on the surface, rolling from the edge to the center of
the small pond. Two tentacles suddenly burst out of the water, rising
and twining together, shimmering to form the shape of an armored woman.
Awe
rippled through the warrior as she gazed at the apparition. A sword of multi-colored glass hung
at the goddess’ side, glowing with its own inner light.
Azhani’s
jaw worked but no sound came out. Finally,
she whispered, “Astariu?”
::It
is a name I wear.:: A smile flickered across the
alien, yet beautiful features of the figure.
::You
don’t need that,:: the goddess said, inclining her
head toward the blade of Azhani’s sword. ::I
mean you no ill.::
Every
hair on the warrior’s body was standing at firm attention and there was
an icicle growing in the pit of her stomach.
Something about the spirit was causing every instinct in
her body to catch fire and burn with the white-hot intensity of a
dwarven smithy’s forge. There
was something so utterly right about the goddess that it
reached inside the warrior’s soul and plucked a chord she had thought
long dead.
“What
do you want, then?” Azhani asked through gritted teeth.
::I
wanted to see what it was about you that had the minions of the Dark
scuttling around like crabs after the tide.::
The
goddess set her gaze on Azhani for several heartbeats, causing the
normally calm warrior to fidget uncontrollably.
Astariu nodded curtly and said.
::You’ll
do, I suppose. You’re not
ready, but you’ll do. You may
sleep now.:: The apparition flicked her fingers
negligently and the warrior crumpled to the ground, deeply asleep.