Warsworn (13 page)

"…
Death of water, birth of air
.. ."

The waters flowed over me, driving away every breath and thought. My hair grew heavy, drawn away from my head as the current caught it, fanning it out in the water. My parched lips softened, and I ran my tongue over them, trying to get moisture into my dry throat. Keir used his cupped hand to dribble water into my mouth. I shuddered in relief even as the cold seeped into my very soul.

"Enough."

Gils? Was that Gils? There was a reason that thought was important, a reason that it was wrong to hear his voice. But my concerns were wispy and I couldn't keep them. They were pulled from me even as I was raised from the water. Before I could gather them back, I was dry and under warm furs and a hand was pressing softly on my heart. My eyes refused to open. A cup at my lips, a few swallows and the warm darkness welcomed me back.

I opened my eyes, and stared into the darkness. It seemed familiar somehow, to lay so, in a tent where the only light came from braziers. I was too weak to move, or do much more than simply breathe. It felt good, and it took long moments for me to understand that I was feeling better. Utterly drained of any strength, but I wasn't hot, wasn't sweating. My breath came slowly and I enjoyed the sensation for a while in the quiet warmth of the tent.

A soft sound drew my attention. I thought about that for a moment, then slowly turned my head toward the noise.

Keir was sitting on the floor, leaning on the bed. His one hand braced his head, the other lay close to mine. He was asleep, and snoring, something I hadn't heard him do before. He looked so tired, so haggard. Hair mussed, his chin rough and unshaven. If he slept like that for much longer, he'd have a sore neck. With some effort, I managed to move my hand enough to brush his fingertips with mine.

His head snapped up, eyes wide. He stared at me in the dim light, then joy flooded his face, and he grabbed my hand. "Lara?"

I tried to smile, but it became a yawn instead.

"My heart's fire." Keir's voice was soft, and I blinked at him. "Are you well?"

My curiosity forced me to make an effort to talk. "How… long?"

He stroked my hand, gently. "Three days."

I stared at him, trying to make sense of the images and memories in my mind. It was all so jumbled.

There was a sound of someone stirring, but I couldn't lift my head to look. Marcus moved into my line of sight, with Gils right behind, looking anxious. When he saw that I was conscious, his face split into a toothy grin.

"How?" I whispered.

Keir glanced at the others. "We were losing you. Gils came up with an idea, to place you in the stream to quench the fire within."

"You… were… chanting."

Keir nodded. "A ritual. We wanted you to be prepared if…" Keir's voice cracked and he swallowed hard.

Marcus cleared his throat. "For mercy, Lara. If the stream had not returned you to us, we were prepared to grant you mercy."

I looked into Keir's face, so tired, so full of pain. "Oh, my Keir."

He crawled onto the bed, and pulled me into his arms, which trembled even as they crushed me close. Voices spoke, but it was too much effort to try to understand. I closed my eyes, let my head rest on Keir's chest and concentrated on breathing, content. It was so comfortable to be held, listening to the rapid beat of his heart.

Eventually, Keir eased me back, supporting my head and neck, and a cup of cool water was placed at my lips. I swallowed gratefully. It was replaced by a bowl, and I recognized the scent of the broth that Marcus makes so well. I managed a few sips, to the delight of someone.

Then someone put a dose of fever's foe in my mouth and I crinkled my nose, recognizing the taste as it flooded my throat. I heard Marcus snort. "Don't like the taste of your own, eh?"

Keir chuckled, and I pulled my eyes open again to focus on him. He still looked tired, but the crinkles at the corners of his eyes were back. I took a deep breath, and then made a face. He leaned in, "What is it, Lara?"

I had to take a deep breath to get the words out in a croak. "You stink."

The laugh burst from him, his entire body shaking, and he pulled me in, holding me tight to his chest. "Ah, my Lara." He lowered me down to the bedding, eyes bright with what looked like tears. "I suppose I do, at that."

"She'll sleep now." Marcus growled. "Gils and I will watch over her. You need to care for yourself. I'll have food ready when you're done."

Keir made as if to protest, but I frowned at him. He sat back with a sigh. "Fair enough." He reached over and stroked my cheek with his hand. I closed my eyes at his touch, and fell back into sleep between one breath and the next.

The fever had broken, but the lethargy held me in its grasp. I lay in the tent for the next day, with barely the energy to draw breath.

Gils kept forcing liquids into me, regularly appearing with a cup of sweet, cold water, or a bowl of Marcus's broth. At first I was eager, since I was wrung dry by the fever. But after a while, it was an effort to drink and swallow, more exhaustion than inability. Keir was beside me constantly, bracing my head, encouraging me to drink. I slept more often than not, awakening to a cup or a bowl.

As my exhaustion continued everyone's faces grew grim. They were worried, and had I the strength, I'd have been as well. But with each passing moment, the life seemed to fade from my body, bit by bit after the last bout of fever.

"Out."

I opened my eyes to find Marcus shooing Keir and Is-dra from the tent. Keir made as if to protest, but Marcus cut him off. "She'll feel better for a bath. The young'un is all the help I need, and none of your prying eyes."

"We'll help." Keir frowned.

"No such thing," Marcus insisted. "Go out and do something useful."

"What?"

Marcus threw up his hands. "Chop wood. Carry water. Sharpen your sword. Anything to get you out from underfoot."

Keir made a growling noise, but he and Isdra cleared out of the tent. Marcus and Gils fussed for a bit, with Gils going to fetch a bucket of warm water. I appreciated his efforts to honor my 'shyness', although I wasn't sure there was a point to it anymore. Everyone had seen me in all my glory at some point. But I couldn't even muster the energy to be embarrassed.

Marcus moved to the side of the bed, and pulled back the bedding. "We'll wash your hair, Lara. You will feel better, yes?"

The idea had appeal, but I'd no energy to contribute to the effort. I sighed as Marcus helped me roll closer to the side of the bed. He must have heard me, since he made the same kind of soothing sound that I'd heard Isdra use on the babe. I smiled weakly, even as he beat a gentle rhythm on my back, just as Isdra had done.

I coughed.

Pain gripped my chest, and I went into a spasm of coughing, a horrible deep racking sound. It left me gasping, hanging over the edge of the bed, trying to clear my throat. Marcus was holding me, calling frantically for Keir and Gils. I stared at the mess I'd made, and gasped for air, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

Keir and Gils came running in, demanding an explanation. Marcus sputtered an apology, even as he tried to push me onto my back. But I resisted, sure that I knew what was happening. The fluids were in my chest. Building slowly, instead of sweating out, drowning me. The exhaustion had masked it, but Marcus had…

"Again. Do that again." My voice wasn't more than a rasp, but it cut through the babble about me. Keir had his arms about me, and Marcus was pale as a cloud.

"What did you do?" Keir asked sharply.

"I drummed her. I thought to offer comfort…"

"Again." I struggled in Keir's arms. "Do it again."

"It hurts you," Marcus objected.

"Have to…" I coughed again.

Gils knelt by the bed. "She's purging her body of the bad water, when she coughs. Is that right, Warprize?"

I nodded. "Again."

Marcus flinched back, but Keir adjusted his hold on my body. "I'll do it." His warm hand gently tapped on my back.

It worked, although I almost wished it hadn't. The cough was harsh and rough, and my chest ached. Gils wanted to give me one of my cough remedies, but everything in my supplies would sooth the cough, not encourage it.

We settled into a routine of having someone drum my back every hour. That gave me time to recover enough for the next bout. With every session, I could feel an improvement in my well-being. But it was an agony, and Keir took to bribing me with treats to get me to cooperate.

Not that there were many treats to be had in our little camp. But I took great pleasure in watching him play with the babe, making faces and silly noises. Odd how a Warlord, so fierce in combat, could make a baby coo.

"Letters have come. From Water's Fall."

I looked over at him, standing in the entrance of the tent. He seemed pleased with himself for some reason. Marcus was behind him.

"They threw them to us, Lara, so no contact, as I promised. Gils is trying to read Simus's for us." He moved closer, pulling back my bedding. "But first you must cough."

"I'm so tired, Keir."

"I know. But each time there's less pain, less water. You are doing better." Keir opened his arms and I moved into them. He helped me into position, and I rested my head on his chest for just a moment, enjoying his strength. He paused, and pressed me close to his heart.

"You're still well?" I asked, worried that he'd start to sicken before my eyes.

"We are all well, Lara." Keir's hand rubbed a warm circle on my back. "Marcus, Isdra, the babe, Gils, we are all well. Stop fretting so."

With that, he started to drum my back, and I began to cough. Maybe it was his warmth, or his soft words of encouragement but this time seemed easier than the others, and it was over quickly. Marcus came in to help settle me back into the bed. Keir eased in behind me, to help prop me up, and Marcus fussed over the bedding.

Once I was established, Marcus provided hot kavage. Isdra stepped in, the babe in her arms.

The child was gurgling and kicking, happy and well. That alone put a smile on my face. But I frowned as well. How was it that the child was so healthy?

More to the point, how did she stay healthy? She'd spent hours next to her dead mother, time with us in the village, and had been in this tent with me during that time. Yet here she was, plump and pink, and no trace of fever. In my experience, children were the first to succumb to illness. What was different here?

Keir interrupted my thoughts. "Is he ready?" Keir asked.

Isdra smiled, and stepped aside to sit next to Marcus on a stump. I looked at Keir questioningly, but he simply pointed to the tent entrance.

To my surprise, the flap was pulled roughly aside, and Gils leaped in, striking a pose, his fists on his hips, his legs wide apart, and his chest puffed out. I smiled, recognizing Simus in the stance. But what looked powerful on a tall, muscular man with black skin looked terribly silly on a gangly youngster.

"HEYLA, little healer." Gils boomed out, trying to deepen his voice. "These are the words of Simus the Hawk, and they are written even as I speak them!"

I had to laugh out loud at that, and looked up into Keir's face. While there was no smile, his eyes were crinkled in the corners, and I could see the laughter hidden there. I leaned back, safe in his arms, and watched as Gils struck another pose, gesturing with one hand.

"All is well within the stone tents of Water's Fall. Have no concern for your people. Although your Council talks too much, and have sent you many dry words on paper. Do not read them. I have told all that their senels waste breath and sunlight. Othur turns bright red when I say so, and Warren laughs and laughs."

Gils started to pace, swaggering back and forth in front of the bed. I covered my mouth not wanting to hurt his feelings, but from the side glances he gave me, I knew that he was trying to make me laugh. So I did, loud and clear, as he continued.

"One of the council is worth her words, one Mavis. A fine woman. She fancies me."

Keir snorted.

"Our people have settled here with not too much trouble. The stone walls make us all uneasy.

There have been only a few fights, and no deaths that I know of, although Eln of the Healers has sharp words for me each time I see him.

"Othur rules well. Anna makes good food. She fancies me. Warren is a strong warrior and we have tested our blades against each other. Eln has said that Atira is fine. I was forced to share my kavage with her, as her pleas were pitiful. My own leg heals well.

"I have attended a High Court and am not impressed. We of the Plains can teach your people much about senels and celebrations. The women dress in drab colors and act oddly. They pretend to fear a warrior such as I, but they admire my strength and prowess. They all fancy me."

I laughed so hard, I started to cough, and Gils waited until the spasm passed.

"Send word of your lives to me. Send kavage, for I will grow ugly without it. I have sent words for Joden's song. Read them to him."

Gils came to stand at the end of the bed, his hands on his hips, chest thrust out. 'Tell that Warlord of yours that all is well, and that he could have no better voice than I. Fare well, little healer, Xylara, Daughter of Xy, Warprize and my friend." Gils bowed, and I laughed, looking up into Keir's face again to share the moment. His eyes softened as he returned the look.

Gils approached, his eyes alight. "Warprize, here are the others. I could only read that of Simus. The words in the others are too hard."

"You did very well, Gils." I smiled at him, and he blushed.

"Now." Marcus stood. "Isdra and I have to wash the babe's things before we are overcome with the stink." He fixed his good eye on Keir. "You are getting flabby. Go spar with Gils. Leave her to her letters."

Gils went pale, his eyes wide.

Keir raised an eyebrow at Marcus, then looked at me. "Do you need anything?"

"She's fine." Marcus started to push him out of the tent. "Are we not within calling distance?

Go. Work out your frustrations, yes?"

"Why me?" Gils protested, as they all filed out.