The Healer's Legacy (20 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

The man, Jolon, swayed on his knees. The arrow in his chest moved up and down with his breathing.

The rest of the men were dead. When they’d set out from the hold, Kira had known that their desperate plan would likely end in killing. She shook her head. These men were cruel, willing to harm a child for personal gain. They deserved to die. But Lemm’s vacant face hovered before her. She had never killed anyone before.

Milos untied Tratine. The boy’s wrists were red and chafed and his pale hands shook from the cold. Milos rubbed his fingers to warm them.

Kira walked over to where Jolon knelt in the snow. She peered at the man’s wound. The arrow had hit high, away from his organs. It looked painful, but there was little blood.

Milos dropped the piece of rope he was holding. “You’re hurt.”

Dark crimson stained her sleeve as blood ran from her wound and dripped from her fingers. Dark red dots that froze in the pale snow. She flexed her arm. “The cut is long, but not deep.”

Gripping her sleeve, she tore it the rest of the way from the shirt. She wrapped the fabric over her shoulder and around her arm, holding it tight to stop the bleeding. Milos helped her tie the linen in place.

She faced Jolon. “I know you. You’re one of Toril’s men. Why are you here?”

The warrior looked up. His young eyes pleaded with her. “Forgive me,” he panted. “I had hoped to find some way to warn you.”

Kira frowned. She had seen Jolon push Milos aside and take the arrow intended for the holder, but perhaps he had merely chosen to change sides when the fight turned against the bounty hunter and his men. “Why should I believe you?”

He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Don’t. I would not. But you should know that the warlord and his army, what remains of it, is no more than a fortnight off.”

“What do you mean, what remains of it?” Kira repeated.

“Many have deserted. There were those who already questioned his actions. But his obsession with you has driven them and others away.” Jolon panted with the exertion of talking. Blood oozed from where shaft of the arrow rose out of his shoulder. “Only those most loyal, or most cruel, remain with him. But though they are few, they are hardened men and remain a formidable force.”

Kira sneered at him. “I don’t believe you. Toril would never let his army fall apart like that.”

Jolon grunted. “There have been . . . attempts to  . . . dissuade the deserters,” he said. “But still they find the means to leave. And he no longer sends men out after them. For the past fortnight, his thoughts have been turned toward you. He blames you for his every trouble. ”

“Why are you telling us this?” Milos asked.

The young man winced as he turned toward the holder. “Because, from that first day, I have been tormented by what he did to her.” Jolon’s face contorted in pain and he sat back on his heels with a groan.

Milos gave Kira a sharp look. “What does he mean?”

Kira was silent. She couldn’t tell him about Toril. Not now. Not because she was ashamed, but because she couldn’t let him stop her from turning herself over to Toril. She had let Milos Tem talk her into the risky rescue plan to save Tratine, but unlike Lagos and his men, the warlord’s men were not a small band of opportunists. They were battle-hardened warriors. There was only one way left to save Tem Hold and its people. “It is nothing.”

Milos looked from Jolon to Kira. His eyes narrowed. He looked as if he would speak, but he said nothing.

She turned away. “If what he says is true, there is still time for me to stop Toril. If I go to him now, he will have no reason to attack Tem Hold.”

Jolon tried to rise. His face twisted in pain, and his eyes filled with tears. “No! You can’t go back. No one should be treated that way. Above all, not you. Please. I know you can’t know what is in my heart. I wanted to tell you. That’s why I volunteered to escort you.” He shuddered.

Kira gave Jolon a compassionate look. Was he saying that he cared for her? Could it be true? Or was it an attempt to play on her emotions? She could find no words for the young man. Too many times she had been told one thing and shown another by a man she thought she could trust.

She directed her attention to Milos. Only one thing could save Tem Hold and its people. “I must go to Toril. There is no other way.”

Milos gently placed a hand on her uninjured arm. “Yes, there is.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Milvari held the blade of the knife in the fire as Kira had directed her. She had never before seen anyone shot by an arrow. There was so much blood. She glanced back at the wounded man, amazed that he still lived.

Jolon sat on the bed. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and pain wracked his young face. Master Jarret stood on one side of him, Uncle Milos on the other. Blood from the wound trickled down the young man’s bare chest.

Kira looked into Jolon’s brown eyes and raised the cup to his lips once more. “It will be painful, even with this,” she told him as he swallowed the last of the pain-numbing draught Milvari had prepared.

Jolon’s eyes held fear, but he nodded in understanding.

“Lie down,” Kira instructed him.

The men helped him lean back, gripping his arms to hold him steady.

“Bite down on this.” Kira put a leather-wrapped stick in the young man’s mouth. “Milvari, bring me the knife.”

The knife made a hissing sound as the hunter doused the blade in a bowl of cool clear water. Milvari winced, but forced herself to watch. With a steady hand, Kira cut into the bloody flesh at the edge of the arrow’s shaft. Jolon groaned though the leather, jerking back against the bed, but other men held him tight. It took all their combined strength, but they kept his upper body still.

Kira used two small wedges of wine soaked wood to hold the wound open. Jolon’s eyes squeezed shut and he moaned as bit by bit she drew the arrow out. She held the arrow up and examined the tip. “It’s intact,” she said, handing the bloody quarrel to Milvari. “If it had not been, we would have had to search the wound for the pieces.”

Milvari shuddered and realized there were tears in her eyes. Her uncle glanced at her, concern on his face. She wiped her eyes and inspected the arrow. How strange that such a small bit of iron could cause such pain and damage. She had wanted to help, had demanded to be allowed to stay. She was learning more than she had anticipated.

Kira removed the wedges from the open wound, then poured a small amount of wine directly into it. Jolon yelped and lay still.

Master Jarrett put his hand near the young man’s face. “He’s unconscious.”

“It is for the best,” Kira said, wiping away the blood and wine. “Milvari, bring me the needle and silk thread.”

Milvari watched closely as the hunter sewed the wound shut with quick, deft movements. “Your arm is bleeding again,” she said as Kira tied off the final stitch. “Won’t you let me tend to it?”

“No, Milvari,” the hunter told her in a tired voice. “I can see to it, if you will bandage Jolon’s wound. Put the poultice you prepared between two layers of linen, then wrap it in place. Master Jarrett, will you help?”

“Yes, yes. Of course, I will. Are you sure you’ll be all right?”

“I will be fine.” She picked up some linen bandages, the bottle of wine, and a pot of herbs. “I will be in the room at the end of the hall if you need me.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

The room was dark except for the red glow of embers on the hearth and the faint light from stars that twinkled in the night sky outside the window. Kira set the wine and bandages down onto the table and lit a taper. A yellow flame fluttered from the wick as she placed the candle in its holder.

A metal pot hung from a hook on one side of the fireplace. She stirred the embers and tossed on a small piece of wood. The urn on the bedside table was almost empty, but there was enough water for her purpose. She poured the water into the pot and added a handful of herbs, then sank into a chair. She poured a small amount of the wine into a cup and drank it down while she waited for the water to boil.

She pulled her arms out of her vest and tossed it onto the table. It was too bad about the damage. The leather was thick and supple. She let out a small laugh. Why was she so worried about a garment? 

Steam rose from the kettle and she inhaled the aroma of healing herbs. The familiar scent calmed her. The escape had been difficult, but Tratine was safe, Kelmir was well and her wound was minimal. It remained to be seen if Jolon would heal as well, and whether or not what he had told them of himself and of Toril’s army was true.

She dipped out some of the herbal brew and dropped a piece of clean linen into it. Her hand shook with weariness as she untied the end of the linen shirtsleeve and began to unwrap her wound.

There was a gentle knock at the door. Could they need her so soon? Perhaps there was some complication with Jolon. She paused at her task. “Yes?” she called.

The door opened and Milos stepped inside. “I thought you could use some help,” he said as he crossed the room. “And I brought you this.” He held up a clean shirt.

Kira nodded toward the shirt. “That’s very kind. I’m afraid I have been a bit rough with my new clothes.” She gave him a wry smile. “How is Jolon?”

“Milvari is caring for him. I seemed to be in her way.”

“She learns quickly.” Kira continued to remove the linen from her shoulder. She winced as the last of the cloth peeled stiffly away and a small trickle of blood ran down her arm.

“She is much like her father. He seemed to know things almost before he was shown.” Milos draped the clean shirt over the back of a chair. “Let me help you.”

There was concern in his eyes.

“I can tend a minor wound,” he said, gently moving her hand away from her arm to examine the cut. He drew the candle closer and Kira heard his sharp intake of breath.

She jerked her head around to see. The cut extended from her upper arm, across her shoulder and ended at the back of her neck. The bounty hunter had tried for her throat. If Troka hadn’t called him, if his life force had not already faded when she’d leaned over him, Kira would now be dead.

“It’s really not so bad,” she said. “It still bleeds because it hasn’t been properly cleaned and bound.” She removed the cloth from the bowl and squeezed most of the liquid from it before handing it to him.

She tensed, trying not to jerk away from him as he dabbed at the wound with the cloth. He stopped. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“It needs to be done,” she said. “It will help if you wring some of the liquid onto the wound before wiping it. I have added something to help diminish the pain.”

He was gentle, but the wine stung like nettles inside her shoulder. It was difficult not to pull away from his ministrations, but she held still. He dropped the bloody rag on the table and Kira handed him a freshly soaked cloth. At last the numbing herb began to work. The pain faded into a faint tingle, spreading from the wound into the surrounding tissue. She closed her eyes and relaxed.

“Kira.” Milos spoke her name quietly as he continued to wipe at the blood on her arm and shoulder.

“Yes?”

“Will you tell me now?

She opened her eyes. “Tell you what?”

“About your past. About him. What he did—to you.” There was cold anger in his voice.

“There is little worth telling, little more worth hearing.” Kira sighed. She had put this man and everything he had, everyone he cared for, in danger. He deserved to know the truth. “He was a man whose strength and power made him attractive to a young girl who wanted to feel safe in an uncertain and dangerous world. It was an illusion. The danger he swore to fight against is the danger he became. And the safety that he offered came at a brutal price.”

“Did you love him?”

The question caused her to recoil. Milos’ fingers slipped and the linen dug into her wound. She gasped and he jerked the cloth away from her back. “I am sorry,” he said.

“No. I am the one who is sorry. Part of me knows that Toril would have come here, either soon or late. He would not pass by such a rich region once he was aware of it. But it is because of me that he is coming now, and this hold and its people will become a target for his ire. I need to leave and soon.”

Milos put down the cloth and reached for another length of linen. “Most of the bleeding has stopped, but I know the cut must be wrapped. You will have to slip the shirt off this shoulder.”

Kira reached across with her right hand and untied the lacing. Her left shoulder burned and a trickle of blood ran down her arm as she slipped the shirt down. “It has opened again, hasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

She handed him her knife. “It will be better to cut the fabric.”

He took the blade in his hand. It glinted in the firelight as he slid it up under the gusset of her shirt. Cold steel grazed her shoulder as he sliced up through the collar, careful not to knick her with the sharp edge of the blade.

Kira held the front of the shirt to her chest. His eyes fell on the skin beneath her throat still dark and discolored from the basilisk’s poison. “You’re still burned.”

“It is not as bad as it looks,” she said. “The salve Milvari made has helped. The marks will fade with time.”

Milos wiped away the blood that had run down her back.

“You will need to make a poultice from the herbs in the bowl,” Kira told him.

“Placed between sheets of linen,” he finished.

“It seems that you also learn quickly.” She gave him a weak smile.

He placed the prepared bandages against her skin and she held them in place as he bandaged her arm and shoulder. Afterward, he helped her to slip her right arm out of the remaining sleeve and pull the fresh shirt over her head.

He turned his attention to cleaning up the bloodied rags as she finished dressing. The garment was too large for her and billowed out when she dropped the last of the old torn fabric and cautiously put her arms into the sleeves.

“Thank you for helping to rescue Tratine,” he said.

Kira pulled the front lacings of the shirt tight and tied them. Tratine’s rescue had been foolhardy and they were lucky to be alive. “It would have been safer to turn me over to them. I should not have let you talk me into such a risky plan.”

“They might have killed him anyway,” he said. “Without your help and that of your companions we might all have been lost. I told you before that I never wished to be a holder, but it is my responsibility to protect those in my charge. I count you among them.”

“I should have kept moving.” Kira stared into the fire. “I should not have tarried here.”

Milos tossed the last of the herb mixture onto the fire. It sizzled and steamed, filling the room with an aromatic scent. “I am glad you had to stop for aid. And I am glad you chose Tem Hold.”

Kira ran her fingers through her hair. “I am both glad and saddened that I came to Tem Hold.”

Milos took her hand between both of his. “You have given much to the hold. To Milvari. To me. And we will need your help to prepare for the Warlord’s coming.”

“You are right. I know enough of his tactics to be of aid to you. I will stay long enough to help you prepare. But then it will be best if I leave.” With reluctance, Kira pulled her hand away. “Better for everyone.”

“No,” his voice was gruff. “It will be better for me if you stay.”

Kira studied his face, unsure of what she read there. Did he feel as she did? Did his breath tremble inside his chest as hers did? Like a moth fluttering near a lantern?

He touched her cheek, tracing the curve of her chin with his fingers. Lightning raced along her skin.

“When you first came to Tem Hold, I felt afresh the anger and guilt of my brother’s death. I was jealous of your freedom, frustrated that you could go where you willed, ride and hunt when I could not. But there were other emotions, as well.”

What was he saying? Kira gazed at him. His eyes shone bright, the way they had when they’d supped in the woods and he’d told her of his views and his wishes for his people. Was this who he truly was? A man of passion, hiding beneath the grim visage of the stern and reliable holder?

“Like you, I no longer wish to be shackled.” He searched her face, as if he would find some deep secret hidden there.

His hand fell away from her face and a crushing need rose in her at the loss of his touch. She shuddered. This feeling. It was too akin to what she’d felt when she realized Toril would leave her once his wounds were healed. She closed her eyes, struggled away from the memory. Would she be misled again? Was this yet another mistake?

“But you have taken action, where I have remained my own jailer,” Milos said.

Kira opened her eyes. There was sadness in his face and a longing to match her own. No, Milos was different. He did not lust after power as Toril had. As Toril still did.

“We have both been imprisoned because of the choices we made. Choices made for the wrong reasons.” She took his hand, closed her eyes, and brushed the back of his fingers against her cheek. “But no more.”

“Yes,” he said. “No more.” He leaned forward and kissed her gently, his warm lips pressing against hers.

The tingle rose in her scalp, flashed along her skin, and washed inside her, like the coursing of hot wine through her blood. Kira pulled back unsteadily, searching his face. His eyes were filled with a soft light. A desire unlike anything she’d ever felt before spread through her, making her limbs tremble. Not the excitement of lust, but something quiet that filled her with warmth. A feeling of homecoming.

He held his ground and extended his hands, offering her the intimacy of his embrace.