Warsworn (18 page)

Isdra was focused on Iften, seen disappearing into his tent. "That one dares much, with Keir unable to silence him."

Gils jutted out his jaw. "I's think he denies the Warprize, yet uses her medicines secretly."

"Yet, is it not true that we need a leader to be healthy, and stay ready to lead?" Joden asked.

"If Keir dies, we will need someone to lead this army."

Yers gave him a searching look. "You side with Iften?"

Joden sighed deeply. "I have no love of Iften. But don't let your bias against him blind you to his actions. Perhaps what he is doing is a wise precaution, given the way things are."

The way things are. From where we stood, I had a clear view of the lake shore. People being immersed in the water in a desperate attempt to bring down their fevers. I watched for a moment, then asked a question I didn't really want an answer to.

"How goes it?" I asked, turning my head to focus on Gils.

Gils shifted his weight nervously, adjusting the strap of Ms satchel, looking everywhere but at me.

"The truth, Gils." I said.

'Tell her." Yers said.

Gils sighed. "The deaths continue. About one dead for every ten sick."

I lifted my eyes in the direction of the village, where black smoke rose into the sky. One for every ten, in an army of thousands.

"But, Warprize, I's thinking that there are fewer new sick in the last few hours." Gils spoke quickly, trying to offer reassurance.

Yers nodded. "I agree. And the warriors are all cooperating to aid the sick. We will fight on, Warprize."

"Joden," I turned to the large man, his broad face grim and unsmiling. "Would you continue Keir's work with the army? Keeping their spirits and minds focused as he did?"

Joden was silent for a moment, staring at the shoreline. He spoke, but would not meet my eyes.

"I would decline, Warprize. My place is to assist with the dead."

"I will take up that task, Warprize." Yers covered an awkward silence with his words. "It should be mine anyway, since I am now Keir's Third."

I nodded, then watched as they both walked off. Not once did Joden look at me.

"I's never thought I'd witness anything like this." Gils's voice brought me back.

"It only happens once in a lifetime." I responded.

"Once in a lifetime will be enough, Warprize." Gils heaved a deep sigh, then adjusted the strap of his satchel. He looked me up and down with concern. "See that you eat and rest, Warprize."

Prest snorted and I laughed out loud at the gangly lad with his red curls, freckles and oh-so-serious face who stood before me, looking offended. It seemed he was trying to sound like Marcus. My apprentice, who learned so much so fast in the short time we'd been together.

He'd grown before my eyes, older suddenly, with an air of confidence that he hadn't had before.

"I will, Gils."

"See that you do." He huffed.

"I promise."

He grinned then, like the boy he was.

"Prest, I want you to help Gils. Be sure to check on Rafe."

Prest frowned at me.

"You'll do more good among the sick. Isdra and Marcus will aid me."

Prest gave one of his shrugs in response. "Very well, Warprize. Call if you need aid."

Marcus and I had our work cut out for us. With Keir, the fever took hold, built and then broke, each time worse than the last. We knew the time was coming when he'd have to be restrained, but we both put off the moment, delaying it as much for our sakes as for his. Isdra said nothing, but I saw that she'd prepared leather straps, setting them out of Keir's sight, but where she could get to them quickly.

The sweat poured off Keir. I gave up changing the linens, and concentrated on wiping down his chest and limbs, trying to keep the fever down as much as I could.

Instead of rose oil, I used my precious vanilla. More for myself than for Keir's comfort. The rose oil brought back too many memories of my father's illness and death. The vanilla offered better comfort, and as rare as it was, I could think of no better use.

"I first saw you in the garden." His voice whispered into my ear.

"What?" I started and looked up into those blue eyes, sane for the first time in days. He stared at me for a moment, then let his eyelids drift down. His hand tried to lift from the bed, and I snatched it up and clung to it. "Keir?"

"The night you helped Simus." His faint voice cracked, but his eyes fluttered back open. I knelt next to the bed, bringing his cold hand to my cheek. He focused on my face with effort. "I was in the castle garden."

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "You were?" I sat on the edge of the bed. "I thought we first met in the marketplace."

One corner of his mouth turned up slightly. As sick as he was, he was proud of himself. "Knew Simus had been hurt. Tried to find him." He turned his hand in mine to rub his fingers on my cheek.

"You took a terrible risk."

"Skies favor the bold." But there was a spark in his eye, the look of a little boy who'd gotten away with something. I couldn't help but smile in response, and reached out to run my fingers through his hair. The thick hair was oily with sweat, and I moved the clinging strands off his damp forehead.

Keir looked up at me, his eyes glittering and bright. "You walked down the path, with that basket and jug. The next thing I know you're bossing everyone around and taking care of Simus." Keir chuckled weakly, leaving him breathless. I placed my fingers on his lips to stop his speech, but he pulled his head away. "I was glad that you had warned the guards as to what you were doing. Else I might have rushed the tent at the sounds of Simus's cries. It sounded like he was being killed."

I smiled at the memory. "It took a lot of men to hold him down." I frowned slightly, thinking back. "I didn't see you."

His face took on such a smug look that I laughed out loud. Marcus walked in, his eye wide at the sight. But Keir was focused on me. "When Joden threatened you, I decided to kill you when you came out."

I blinked. Marcus let out a bark of a laugh as he put a bucket of clean water at my side. Keir ignored us, his eyes focused on something beyond us. "I stalked you as you moved down that path." He moved his hand slightly, and touched my hair. "You stopped on the path by the roses, like some air spirit, standing in the shadows and starlight, looking around. And when you reached up and fixed your hair…" Keir's fingers gently tugged one of my curls. "I wanted you then and there."

My eyes filled as I looked at him. Marcus moved off, giving us some privacy. I leaned down, and brushed his lips with mine.

He smiled weakly, then closed his eyes. "Tired."

"Sleep, my Keir." I placed his hand on his chest, and rinsed my cloth with the fresh water. He nodded slightly, and sighed as I wiped him down.

"Isdra?"

Marcus had left us for the moment, muttering something about making broth. Keir was asleep, curled in the center of the bed. Isdra and I were keeping watch from the corner, scooping fever's foe into smaller jars as busy work. Warriors were still boiling the medicine down, under Gils's watchful eye.

Isdra looked at me with a raised eyebrow, waiting for my question.

I kept my voice low. "What did it mean, earlier? When Gils said that he understood more than Keir knew."

Isdra focused her eyes on the fever's foe, as if it were critical that her work was performed to an exacting standard.

"I knew what you meant, when you said that you would see me safe before going to the snows.

But why did Marcus and Gils say what they said?"

I didn't think she was going to speak, and for a long moment she didn't. But I just out-silenced her, waiting for my answer.

Finally she sighed. "Lara, if Keir dies, the next death will be Marcus's."

I sat for a bit, scooping up the thick fever's foe. "Because of his scars?"

"In the Plains, to be so crippled is to be considered afflicted and useless. An offense to the elements. Normally, such a one would end his or her life." Isdra set the full jar aside and reached for another. We no longer bothered to seal them.

"He's not useless or an offense." I snapped. "That is so stupid, to think that way."

"I would not have agreed with you before this campaign." Isdra responded. "But knowing Marcus, having seen his worth, well…" She shrugged.

"But Gils is whole. Why—"

"Gils proclaimed his desire to learn the healing ways publicly, for all the warleaders to see, rejecting our ways."

Isdra reminded me, giving me a sharp look. "I wasn't sure he understood what he'd done, but apparently he does. A bold stroke, in its own way."

"So he'd suffer, if Keir…" I couldn't bring myself to finish the thought.

Isdra was content to work in silence, but I had to say something. "Isdra. Meara, how is she?"

She stopped. "Well, Warprize." Her voice was steady, but the spoon in her hand smeared fever's foe on the side of the jar. Isdra looked over at Keir, pain in her eyes. "She's more theas than she needs. Worry more for your Warlord." She reached for a rag. "I will finish this.

Get some sleep." Her voice was gruff.

"The last of the dried ehat." Marcus said. "I've hoarded it 'til now. Do not waste it." His voice was stern, but Marcus gently supported Keir in his arms and helped him with the bowl of broth, patiently waiting as Keir took small sips. It took awhile, but Keir managed to drink the whole bowl.

At the end, Keir closed his eyes and licked his lips. "That was a good hunt."

"One of the best." Marcus agreed softly. "More?"

Keir shook his head and shivered. Marcus pulled the bedding up around his shoulders then turned to me. "Warprize? Can I tempt you with a bowl? Can't have the young 'un upset with me, eh?"

Curious, I accepted a bowl, and recognized the taste right away. It was the same broth he'd fed me the night Keir had claimed me in the throne room. "Marcus, what is this?"

"Ehat."

"What is an ehat?" I asked, taking another drink.

Keir chuckled weakly from the bedding. Marcus gave me a small smile. "An animal of the Plains, Warprize. A fierce one whose horns are as large as its meat is sweet. Taller than a mounted man, and dangerous to hunt. Hisself is known for his skill in planning ehat hunts."

Keir, shivering under the blankets, gave us that smug look again, but it faded fairly quickly.

"It's getting worse."

I sat on the bed, and reached to stroke his face. "Keir, you're doing—"

"No." He shook his head. "Each time, it gets harder to stay… I would die if I hurt you."

I went to protest, but Marcus made the decision for me. "I'll get Isdra." He left the tent.

"Lara, I…" Keir swallowed hard, his eyes cloudy, looking lost.

"I'm here, beloved. You are not alone, Keir." I turned so that I faced the entrance, and pulled him close, so that he could put his head in my lap.

With his eyes closed, he nodded. Marcus and Isdra entered, and Isdra pulled the straps from where she had hidden them. With grim expressions, they bent to their task.

Keir was right. The raving started soon after, with Keir screaming and fighting his bonds.

Marcus was asleep, and Isdra was pulling more water when I ran out of clean cloths. Keir was unconscious, the sweat starting to build again, and the scent was so rank… it only took a moment to duck out to my stilltent and return with a handful.

I returned to our sleeping area to find Iften standing over Keir, his dagger in his hand.

I dropped the cloths, too astonished to cry out.

Keir didn't react, still unconscious, bound to the bed, helpless. Iften turned toward me, and laughed, sheathing his dagger. "You think I would advance myself through his death?"

I nodded.

He laughed again, a cruel harsh sound. "Why take that action when the elements will take it for me, eh?"

I took a step forward, my anger overruling my fear. "He is not going to die."

"But you are not sure, are you, little healer?" He mocked me. "You, who claim the power to heal all."

"I never claimed that, Iften." I stepped closer to the bed, sweeping my gaze over Keir, making sure that he hadn't been hurt. But I didn't take my eyes off Iften for long. Oh, where was Isdra?

Iften folded his arms over his chest. "With his last breath, your status changes,
Xyian
. You will be as nothing to us. It will be my charge to return the army to the plains and report his failure.

And in the spring, when the challenges are issued and won, I will return to this valley as Warlord, and—"

"Keir will not die. Leave us." I was of half a mind to scream out, to attract attention. But what would they think of a Warprize cowering before him? I grit my teeth.

Iften opened his arms, as if making a peaceful gesture. "It is you that should leave. Ride out now, return to your people. All will be as it was." His voice was smooth and sure, as if offering the friendliest of advice. "No need to place yourself in jeopardy. No need to face attacks, such as in your own marketplace. No need to face the Elders or the warrior-priests."

His face changed, and I had to stop myself from taking a step back. "Go, Xyian. Prepare your people for the army that will come in the spring, to ravage—"

Something broke the fear inside me. With swift steps, I moved toward him, my fist raised in anger, swearing at the top of my lungs. "I curse you,
bracnect
. May the skies deny you breath!"

Iften's eyes went wide, and his breath caught. His hand went to his sword hilt.

I glared at him, took another step forward and shook my fist in his face. "May the earth sink below your feet."

There was a gasp from outside, I wasn't sure who, but I didn't let it stop me. "May the fire deny you heat, and the very waters of the land dry in your hand."

Iften didn't draw his sword. His face went pale and he stepped back quickly, stumbling out into the meeting room, heading for the main exit. As he retreated through the flap, I followed right behind. "May the very elements reject you and all that you are!"

Marcus and Joden were outside, their eyes wide as plates. Others within hearing distance turned horrified faces toward us. I just kept my eyes on Iften, and took another step to jab my finger into his chest. "May your balls rot like fruit in the sun, and your manhood wither at the root!" I spit in the earth in front of Iften's toe.

Without another word, I stomped back into the tent.

By the time Marcus and Joden stepped into the tent, I was sitting calmly by Keir, wiping his chest down with water that I had added herbs to.

Marcus spoke first, softly. "Warprize? How did you know such a curse?"

"She overheard it?" Joden said.

"How? When? None would say it in her presence without my knowledge. And none have cursed so in this army that I have heard word of."

I responded calmly. "I didn't know it. I made it up. He was standing there, prating about the elements and bragging about what he was going to do and I just got so very angry."

"A strong curse, Warprize." Marcus's voice carried a note of pride.

"I don't care, so long as he stays away from me and Keir."

Joden's tone was dry. "No fear of that, Lara."

"MARCUS!"

I jolted up out of my pallet from a sound sleep.

Keir had broken one strap. With his free arm, he was fighting the very man he was calling for. I stumbled up and over, and placed my hand on Keir's forehead. Marcus was doing his best to secure the loose arm, and he grunted with the effort. I raised my voice, calling out. "We need help!"

"Help him, you maggots! It burns, oh Skies, he burns!" Keir was screaming the words, the muscles of his neck taut with the strain.

"For sure they heard that," Marcus muttered, forcing Keir's arm down onto the bed.

"Keir, it's Lara. It's all right—"

Keir strained at the strap around his other wrist, trying to break it. He cried out again, summoning unseen help. "Bring water! Douse him with water, bring buckets—" Keir relaxed for a moment, moaning as if in sorrow. "His ear, oh his ear."

I glanced at Marcus, and knew where and when Keir was.

Keir's voice dropped to a snarl. "Damn you to the snows forever, Warrior-Priest. He will live, and I will use my last breath to break you, do you hear me?" He threw his head back against the bed. "Heal him now, or I will kill you."

"Is this what happened?" I whispered.

"Don't know, Warprize. I was not aware at the time." Marcus looked grim. "Where are those fools?" He looked toward the tent flap, then back at me. Marcus growled. "Do not dwell on it.

He called me back from the snows. I answered. There is no more to say."

"Fear the day Keir of the Cat is named Warking." Ken-howled.

Prest, Isdra, and to my surprise, Rafe poured into the tent, with Isdra stepping forward to help Marcus. At the word 'Warking', all of them flinched in shock, but only for a moment. Marcus darted to Keir's side, and put his fingers over his mouth. "Warlord, the enemy is near. Be silent."

The others exchanged worried looks. I opened my mouth to question them, but Marcus caught my eye, and shook his head, putting a finger to his lips. So I suppressed my curiosity.

"Rafe, are you well enough to be up and about?" I asked.

"Well enough, Warprize." He gave me a faint smile. "Seems I didn't sicken as much as others did. Didn't even need the aid of the lake waters."

I frowned, considering him. He'd lost weight, and there were smudges under his eyes. He was pushing too hard, I was certain, but for now I had a greater concern.

Keir had fallen silent, still a prisoner of the fever. The others started to rebind Keir, but I stopped them. "Prest, call Gils. It's time."

I followed them down to the shore, the moon providing enough light to see by. Gils, Prest, Marcus and Isdra carried Keir, who struggled in their arms. Marcus had insisted that they bind Keir to take him to the water and he'd been right. They set him down on the shore to give themselves a chance to strip out of their own clothing. Once they picked him back up, I followed them right into the water, catching my breath at the bite of the cold against my skin.

I supported his head, using my hands to pour the water onto his forehead. His bronze skin looked so pale, his hair so dark as the water trickled through it. He didn't open his eyes, but his lips opened slightly, and I trickled water into his mouth, remembering how sweet it had tasted when I'd been in the same position. The others chanted the same ritual of purification that I'd heard in my fever.

I knelt down, and whispered his name into his ear. A slight turn of his head, and I knew I had his attention. "Fight, beloved. Remember that you are my Warlord, Keir of the Cat. You are mine, and I am yours. Fight for us, my heart's fire."

Keir blinked, but gave no other sign.

They dipped him in and out, letting the water and the slight breeze chill his naked form to the point where he was shivering. Only then did we return him to the command tent. Rafe had stayed behind, warming the bed with heated stones under the bedding, keeping the warmth within the covers. He used a dagger to cut Keir's bonds as the others gathered drying cloths.

Once we had him dry, we slipped Keir into the warmth, keeping him upright just long enough to get a bowl of broth into him. He looked so pale, laying there, so still. My heart was in my throat, although his pulse beat strongly under my fingers.

To my surprise, Keir's eyes fluttered open after we settled him down. They were foggy with sleep, and when his fingers moved, I took them into my hand. He felt so cold, so I sat on the bed, and tried to rub some warmth into them.

"You need to get out of these wet things and get some sleep." Marcus moved behind me, and put his hands on my shoulders. "I've sent the others off to rest."

"You need sleep more than I do, Marcus. I'll change, then take the first watch." Marcus sighed, but he didn't argue.

How many sickbeds have I watched over in my time? More than I can count or remember. Yet, this time was different.

Eln taught that a good healer was dispassionate. Objective. I tried to follow his teachings, and with most patients I succeeded.

Not with my father.

Not with Keir.

My father's illness had been a long slow process, and his death had been a release. But this man was a strong warrior, in his prime, and my emotions swayed from despair to hope and back again. I'd done everything I knew to save him, and it lay within the Goddess's hands. All I could do was sit and watch over him, taking in each breath as if it were my own. Hours passed, and Keir still slept, with no sign of the fever's return. The light was faint in the tent, with the braziers burning to provide warmth.

Marcus had curled up on a pallet at the foot of the bed, exhausted. I checked on him as the hours wore on, to make sure that he was sleeping easily, and that no sweat formed on the scarred forehead. I'd everything I needed close at hand, thanks to him, including a pitcher of kav-age as thick as mud. All that was left to do was wait and watch.

Watch and worry.

What would happen if Keir died?

What would happen to my life? The others were pledged to see me home, to the safety of the castle at Water's Fall. In the face of Iften's threats, I knew that Keir's dream of uniting our peoples would die with him.

But, Goddess forgive me, my concern was not for our people. For Keir's death would shatter the very heart in my breast. It would die, or the largest part of it would. As I looked ahead to that future, I knew for an instant Isdra's pain, and the release that she sought.

I flushed, ashamed for what I'd asked of her. The priests of the God, Lord of the Sun, condemn suicide. But my own pain showed me this very truth—that it wouldn't be far from my thoughts if Keir took his last breath.

Yet, as another hour passed, Keir's breaths came steadily, one after another. And I gave thanks to the Goddess for each and every one.

I was trying to remember what Keir had told me, about balancing the elements in the body using touch, the night he'd comforted me after Xymund had burned my books. Keir's skin still felt cool to me, but perhaps it was more my fear than truth. I cradled his right hand in both of mine and started caressing it, tracing each finger slowly, and moving my fingertips over his palm. I tried to remember what Keir had said when he had done this to me. "The breath is made of air, and sits within the right hand." I whispered, continuing my movements until the warmth returned to his hand.

I reached over, to take his left hand, and did the same thing until the flesh was warm and pink.

"The soul is made of fire, and sits within the left hand."

Keir seemed to be breathing easier. I tucked his hands back under the bedding, and then went to the foot of the bed, reaching under to feel his toes. "The flesh is made of earth and sits within the left—"

"No… wrong."

The sound was faint but I looked at Keir to see blue eyes looking back at me.

"Keir?" I scrambled up onto the bed to lean over him, and cup his face in my hand. My hair fell around us. His cheeks were bristly under my fingers, but there was no trace of excess heat.

I smiled at him, calling. "Keir?"

His lips moved, forming a faint smile.

"Keir." I whispered softly, my heart full of joy. The worst had passed. My warlord would survive.

Keir smiled softly, and turned his head just enough to brush his lips over my palm. With a soft sigh, he fell back to sleep.

If there is a universal truth, among both our cultures, it is that men of the sword have no patience with their healing bodies. They always seem to think that the body's humors should balance quickly. But a body heals in its own time, and there is no rushing it.

Keir's chest was big and muscular. It took more force and longer periods of drumming to clear his lungs of the water within. So the warriors were the ones that had to drum for him as he hung over the side of the bed, coughing. I didn't have the strength to be effective, but I was the only one that could bully him into cooperating. At one point in the process, Keir had swivelled around and glared at Gils. "You're enjoying this too much."

"Keir," I admonished, and he turned back around to let Gils continue.

"Me? Enjoy beating on my Warlord and helping him?" Gils asked cheerfully as he thumped on Keir's back. "Not I, Warlord."

Keir coughed, then spat to clear his throat. "Say that to the naked sky?"

"Well, looks like we are done for now." Gils backed off, smiling and moving toward the exit.

"I's chores and patients to see, yes I's have." He bolted out of the tent, grabbing his satchel by the strap.

I snorted back a laugh.

Keir pulled himself up, and gave me his best glare, but I shook my head. "Oh no, my Warlord.

I seem to remember someone insisting that I do this. Fair is fair."

Keir was a horrible patient. Whiny as a babe, cranky as a grandfather—he wanted this and needed that and why couldn't he get up out of that bed? We tried letting him care for Meara, or giving him small tasks, like sharpening blades, but his strength just wasn't up to it. Keir's mind was racing, but his body could not follow.

When Marcus threatened to smother Keir in his sleep, and stomped out of the tent, I knew it was time to resort to desperate measures. I started reading long passages to him from the
Epic of Xyson
.

The Epic had been written about the battles of the second King of Xy, and it was one of the dullest pieces of history that had ever been written. But Keir lay curled under the covers, listening with rapt attention as I droned on and on about military matters, army maneuvers and planning. " 'Upon the dawn, King Xyson mounted his war-horse, Greatheart and…'" I paused, remembering. That was the horse's name. Greatheart.