Allegiance (16 page)

“He is alive but has been pierced by several arrows,” Steldor said softly, obviously unsure of how I would cope with the information. “He has lost an immense amount of blood and is very weak. The doctor is determining whether any attempt should be made to remove the arrows.”

I blanched, then tried to move around him.

“You don't want to see this,” he said, catching my arm. “Just sit here. London won't be aware of you anyway—he's unconscious from pain and shock.”

I obeyed, trying to keep my emotions in check. If I had the chance to talk to London, I had to be strong for him, just as he had always been strong for me. Steldor returned to the other men and rejoined their conversation, which had become more hushed since I'd arrived. I waited, along with everyone else, for Bhadran's assessment, London lying immobile and so silent that the entire situation struck me as some elaborate farce. Almost in confirmation of my thoughts, I heard London's voice, weak and strained, but unmistakable nonetheless.

“Isn't anyone going to take these damnable arrows out of me?”

I sprang from my seat, wanting to see him, only to be confronted with Steldor's raised hand. Destari had moved at the same moment to London's side, and I grudgingly sat once more, albeit on the edge of the chair, certain it was a good sign that he was awake.

“Lie still,” Destari advised his friend. “The doctor will decide what should be done.”

Cannan also stepped closer to the bed, but for a different purpose.

“What is the news from Cokyri?” he asked.

“Always a man of few words,” London replied, speaking slowly and with great effort. “Afraid I might die, I suppose. Better get the information from me right away.”

He gave a soft laugh, which turned into a cough, and I noticed with a tightening stomach that a strange gurgling sound dominated his breathing. After a moment, his gasping ceased, and he forced himself to continue.

“The Cokyrians are mustering their troops, preparing for a full-scale assault. Their numbers are far greater than ours…and they have Narian. He will lead the attack.”

“No!” I cried, jumping to my feet and rushing forward, London's words too horrific to be true. Steldor caught me as I neared the bed, pulling me against his chest, but not quickly enough to prevent me from seeing the wounds.

London was on his back, his face pallid, sweaty and grimy. His shirt had been cut down the center but not fully stripped away, displaying, amidst dried blood and filth, the broken shafts of three arrows, one in his shoulder, one in his chest and one protruding from his stomach, all like oddly angled pegs. Around the shafts, the visible skin was swollen, bruised and clinging like strange spiderwebs to the wood.

My breath caught in my throat, and I clutched at Steldor, nauseated by London's injuries. My husband wrapped his arms more tightly about me, and I buried my head in his shoulder, not wanting to see more.

“I am only stating what I observed,” London added, and I knew his words were meant for me.

Cannan returned to the matter at hand, disregarding my reaction. “How long until they are fit to march on us?”

I peered out, careful to set eyes only on London's face, to watch him try to adjust his position, to hear his sharp cry before he stilled. He paled, near to passing out again but, after a moment of labored breathing, answered the question.

“They were preparing to move troops when I left,” he said, his voice even more strained. “I had a bit of trouble making a clean departure. We have little more than a week before they'll be on the other side of the Recorah.”

Silence fell as the military men absorbed this. After a few moments, Cannan motioned to the doctor to step away with him, but London halted them both.

“Just let him say what he thinks. I have the right to know how badly I am hurt.”

Bhadran looked almost pleadingly at Cannan, clearly not wanting to deliver the bad news directly to the dying man.

“London's right,” the captain said gruffly. “What have you concluded?”

With a sigh and a quick rub of the back of his neck, the wizened doctor gave his report.

“One arrow shattered his left shoulder blade, and he has lost use of the arm. The second arrow pierced his lung, hence his labored breathing. The third is embedded in his abdomen, causing much internal bleeding. The only reason he is alive is because all three miraculously missed vital organs. By all indications he should have bled to death regardless, but the wounds have closed around the shafts, damming the blood flow. But infection is building within, as evidenced by the swelling and redness, and by his fever.”

Glancing at London with deep sympathy, Bhadran concluded his assessment.

“The arrowheads cannot be pulled. The only way to remove them would be to cut them out, which would not only reopen the wounds but cause further damage and excruciating pain. This would be pointless, for he would bleed to death in the process. The best advice I can give is to make him as comfortable as possible until he succumbs to the infection, internal bleeding or tetanus.”

Again there was a hush, then London smiled crookedly. “Apparently he agrees with you, Cannan. He thinks I'm going to die.”

I struggled to pull air into my lungs, and only then did I realize that tears were running down my cheeks. I clenched my jaw, feeling pathetic and weak, knowing there was nothing I could do to help. London gazed at me with hazy indigo eyes that relayed a struggle to preserve focus.

“I want these arrows out now,” he ordered, with surprising resolve.

The doctor stared in disbelief at him, then turned to the other men in the room.

“Try to talk sense into him. I will give him something for the pain and to help him rest, but I am not a cruel man. That is all I am willing to do.”

Bhadran placed a vial on the bedside table, bowed to Steldor and me, then took his leave. Steldor guided me back to the chair by the hearth, shoring me up, for my legs refused to work properly. I sat, trying to breathe slowly to dispel my dizziness, and I was grateful that he stayed beside me, his hand upon my arm.

London was going to die. Those hideous wounds that had been inflicted by the Cokyrians, the wounds I fervently wished I had not seen, would cause his death. A deep sense of abandonment filled me. Soon, my two constant lifelong companions would have vanished from my life, first Miranna, then London. In addition, the man I loved had long since left and would now fight for his ruthless master. I wanted to scream, to strike out at fate, for everything about my world was amiss.

“Destari,” London said, calling his friend forward. “Destari, if the doctor won't take them out, then you must.”

The large Elite Guard recoiled at the idea, taking a back
ward step. “The pain would be intolerable, London. I'm sorry, I can't be the cause of—”

“The pain will ease after they are out, and, despite the doctor's opinion, I intend to recover,” London growled. “I can't… I'm going to pass out again soon, so I won't feel much anyway. I need you to do this for me.”

Destari hesitated, facing a horrible dilemma—cause his friend inestimable agony, or ignore his request, perhaps the last he would ever make.

“There's no point in waiting,” London said. “If I'm going to die, let me die trying to survive.”

Going tense, Destari yielded. “So be it.” He then addressed Cannan. “Sir, I'll need lots of alcohol and cloths to stem the bleeding. I will also need a couple of people to hold him down—I'll have to dig out the arrowheads. If he makes it through that, I'll need bandages and clean bed linens.”

“Galen and I will assist you,” Steldor volunteered, and though Galen looked at him with raised eyebrows, the Sergeant at Arms did not object. With a glance at his father, Steldor added, “And Alera should be taken from the room.”

“I'll see to everything,” the captain replied.

I had already gotten to my feet by the time Cannan came toward me, and I walked ahead of him into the corridor. I stopped so he could pass by me and send Casimir for the needed supplies. Unwilling to leave, I sank to the floor, leaning against the wall just outside the room. I would not be able to sleep if I returned to my quarters, and should things go poorly for London, I wanted to be near him when death came. Cannan cast me a sympathetic glance before descending the staircase, taking Casimir with him to collect the requested supplies.

Casimir returned, along with a servant girl, and between them they carried the items Destari had requested. Only the
King's bodyguard went into the room, however, making a second trip to deliver everything that was needed. The servant girl exited, leaving me alone in the corridor with Casimir and my bodyguards, all of whom kept their distance to give me privacy.

I heard London groan and assumed Destari was disinfecting the wounds before beginning, then oppressive silence fell. A moment later I would have gladly given anything to have the silence back as a half-muffled scream shredded the stillness. I hugged my knees to my chest, biting my lip until I was sure it would bleed, and resisted the urge to bury my head in my arms so I could hear no more. There was another agonized cry, then another, until the sounds made my own sobbing inaudible. I longed for the torment to stop, but when at last the cries diminished, I was seized with dread, wondering whether Destari had discontinued this butchery, or London had finally given in to it.

An hour passed, the guards and the shadows in the dimly lit hallway my sole companions. I shivered, for only the heat rising from the rooms below warmed this part of the third floor, and I had not thought to bring a cloak. I almost welcomed the chill, however, as it helped to subdue my queasiness.

Eventually the door opened, and Galen emerged, followed by Steldor, both with blood spattered across their hands, arms and shirts. The sergeant stumbled across the corridor to buttress himself on the opposite wall, leaving a red smear where his hand touched, then doubled over to retch on the wood floor.

I rose to my feet as Galen dabbed at his mouth, face tinged green. Steldor stepped forward and put a hand on his friend's shoulder, then looked at me regretfully.

“Alera, you should not have stayed. There was no need for you to hear that.”

“How is he?”

Just then Destari came into the corridor, not spattered like the other two but covered in blood, so much so that I gagged and had to close my eyes to avoid copying Galen. By the time my stomach had calmed, Destari had pulled off his shirt and was wiping the blood from his forearms and hands. His complexion was ashen, his posture tense, and he appeared to have forgotten I was there, though he probably was dealing with too many images from the past hour and a half to care about my sensibilities.

“Destari, how is he?” I asked, readdressing my question to the man who was probably best able to answer.

The Elite Guard gazed questioningly at Steldor and Galen, neither of whom spoke, and in frustration I made to shove my way past them and into London's room.

“Alera, no,” Steldor said, catching me around the waist and pulling me back. “He's still alive, but…”

“It's a mess in there,” Destari told me, looking as if he had been to hell and back. “At least let us clean things up.”

At my nod, Destari and Galen reentered the room, but Steldor was disinclined to leave me in the hallway, once more alone other than for the bodyguards that I barely knew.

“Why don't you find a maid to clean up after Galen?” he suggested, wanting to give me a task. “Waiting is the only thing to be done now.”

He kissed me on the cheek, then followed after the other two men. I went down the spiral stairway to summon a maid, noticing as I did so that the sun was rising. I returned to the corridor outside London's room, pacing while the maid scrubbed the floor, wishing there were some other way
I could be of assistance. After what felt like hours, Steldor opened the door and motioned me inside.

London lay unconscious on the bed, chest almost indiscernibly rising and falling. His shirt had been fully removed, and his torso was wrapped tightly in white bandaging, his skin almost matching its hue. The bedding had been changed, and the flames of the fire in the hearth were consuming the remnants of the old sheets.

I went to him, Destari drawing a chair next to the bed for me, and then placed my palm upon his forehead. The heat radiating from him surprised me, for I had expected from the pallor of his skin that he would be cold to the touch. The doctor had been right when he had said London was fevered. I brushed his silver bangs away from his eyes, knowing that, wherever he was in his mind, he was not at this moment aware of his tattered body or of the fact that when he awoke, if he awoke, he might never be the same.

I STAYED AT LONDON'S SIDE ALL DAY, DEPARTING but briefly to get some books from the library. Steldor and Galen had removed themselves to attend to their duties, although my husband had considerately arranged for meals to be sent to London's room for me. Destari kept me company throughout the many hours, occasionally stoking the fire. Few words passed between us as we waited for our friend to show some sign of life other than his shallow breathing. I eventually rested my head on the edge of the mattress, falling asleep with one hand upon London's arm, praying that he would stir.

I awoke early the following morning, slowly becoming aware that someone had positioned me more comfortably in the chair and covered me with a blanket. I was disoriented until a slight moan from London brought everything into sharp focus. His eyes were still closed, but his brow was furrowed, and I checked for fever, pleased that he was much cooler to the touch than he had been the day before.

Destari was at my side as I called London's name, trying to bring him to consciousness. Before long, his lids laboriously lifted, and his bleary eyes found me. He smiled faintly
at my worried expression, but even this small gesture seemed to be a great exertion for him.

“How do you feel?” I asked, prompted by the hope I'd experienced when I'd discovered that his fever had diminished.

Without thought, London tried to shrug, then cried out, his face contorting into a grimace of pain.

“London…” I said helplessly, pushing back his hair, wanting to make the pain go away.

“Just relax,” Destari advised. “You don't have to go anywhere today.”

Nodding almost imperceptibly, London gazed once more at me, and a spark of his sardonic wit returned despite his condition.

“Alera, you should go and rest. You look terrible.”

I let out a laugh, grateful for some way to break the crushing, somber intensity in the room.

“
I
look terrible,” I repeated, shaking my head, noticing that I had dried blood on my clothing from where I had brushed against Steldor. “That hurts, coming from you.”

He gave a quiet chuckle, but it was interrupted by a second spasm of pain. He caught my anxious expression and attempted to reassure me.

“I'm going to be all right, Alera.” His eyes flicked to his fellow Elite Guard as he added, “Destari is a surprisingly good surgeon.” He seemed to lose focus for a moment, then forced himself to finish. “You should go and come back tomorrow. I will most likely sleep this day away.”

His eyes closed, but I stayed in place, not wanting to leave him alone. Cannan entered a short time later to check on his wounded deputy captain, and he stepped aside with Destari to exchange a few words before addressing me.

“I will talk to Bhadran, Alera, and arrange for one of his
healers to monitor London. Then you should leave and take care of yourself. If he develops any problems, I will make sure you are notified.”

I nodded my thanks, and Cannan departed, but I remained at London's bedside until the promised healer arrived to care for him. Destari left with me, having been reassigned as my bodyguard, and we returned to my quarters. He took up position in the parlor, and I changed into a nightgown to crawl, exhausted, into bed. I did not stir until late afternoon, when I freshened up and went to the family dining room.

I had not shared a meal with my mother and father since Miranna's abduction, for I had not wanted to see my sister's empty chair. My parents came into the room a few minutes after I did, my father's hair grayer than it had been before this ordeal had begun, his face haggard; in contrast, my mother's heartache made her even more dignified.

After the servants had brought in platters of food, a hush fell upon us. None of us seemed to have the energy for simple, pleasant conversation. As we began to eat, we let the chink of our tableware against our plates fill the deathly silent room, the dull, repetitive noise gradually settling into me, and I knew I would hear it long after this meal had ended.

When dinner closed, my father announced that he would retire, moving more slowly than usual from the room to make his way to the third floor.

“It's good to have you join us, darling,” my mother said, preparing to follow her husband. She gave me a small smile, then added, “I hear London is improving.”

“Yes, he is, and as he grows stronger, so does hope for Miranna's rescue.”

I wanted, in some small way, to ease her anguish and sadness, but instead she eased mine.

“I have not lost hope, only time that could have been spent with her. I'm so glad that you are back among us—I do not want to lose time with you, as well.”

She gave me a light embrace, then left me to my thoughts. I returned to my quarters, my spirits having improved with rest and with the knowledge that London was on the road to good health. Kitten greeted me happily, and I passed the evening curled up with my fluffy pet and a good book in one of the leather armchairs near the hearth.

 

By the next day, London was markedly improved, his voice more robust and his breathing easier. He still needed much sleep, however, so I planned to keep my visit short. While Destari and I talked with him, Bhadran arrived to assess his patient's condition. Probably thinking he would find a corpse, the mystified physician was compelled to admit that the soldier was on the mend, the infection apparently having bled out with the removal of the arrowheads. When the doctor departed a few minutes later, Destari and I did likewise, leaving London once more in the hands of the healer Bhadran had assigned.

By the next afternoon, London was propped up against the pillows with a piece of parchment and bits of charcoal laid across the quilt that covered his lap. The healer was no longer in the room, an indication that Bhadran had visited him earlier in the day and was confident his patient was doing well. Destari took up position in the corridor, wanting to give me some time alone with my former bodyguard.

“How are you feeling?” I asked as I took a seat at his bedside, curiosity high about what he was doing. When I'd been a little girl, he had often sketched pictures for me, mostly of animals, but I had not laid eyes on a drawing of his since then.

“You need to invent a new question,” he said, a welcome tease in his voice. “You ask that every time you come through the door.”

“It seems a natural question, considering the circumstances. But if your mood is any indication, you're feeling much better.”

“I am, but unfortunately, as my health increases, so does my boredom. I'm afraid I have never learned how to be idle.” Unable to resist a slight jab at his captain, he finished, “Of course, Cannan and the doctor are being utterly unreasonable, insisting that I stay in bed.”

“You seem to be keeping yourself entertained.” I indicated the pieces of parchment atop the spread, ignoring his comment about Bhadran and the captain. “Have you drawn much?”

“A few things. The only fortunate part of all of this is that it's my left arm that's injured.”

“May I see them?”

“If you wish,” he answered, sounding tired.

I reached for the stack and began to sort through the parchments. As a six-year-old, I had not been able to appreciate the talent behind the drawings made to amuse me, and now gazed in amazement at what I saw. Although they were only sketches, the landscapes and buildings were depicted with startling detail and realism. I more closely examined one of a wide, sprawling city depicted from high above.

“Is this Hytanica?” I asked, thinking the inquiry unnecessary, but his answer was perplexing.

“It's Cokyri.”

I nodded, not knowing how to respond, supposing that all the time he had spent in the mountains of late had put the land of the enemy in his mind.

“Most of the pictures are of Cokyri,” he said, laying his head back on the pillows.

After examining all of the sketches, I returned the pieces of parchment to their place, a remark about his obvious gift on my lips, when another sheet, isolated from the others on the bedside table, caught my eye.

“What's this?” I asked, reaching for it just as London gave a small exclamation. Once it was in my possession, whatever protest he had intended to utter died, but I could feel his eyes boring into me.

The picture was of a beautiful young woman, perhaps in her early twenties, whose features were oddly familiar.

“London, this is lovely. Who is she?”

“Just someone I used to know.” His response was deliberately casual, as well as deliberately unrevealing.

I considered him for a moment, and a conversation with Destari from over a year ago surfaced in my memory. Destari had told me that London had been betrothed to a woman of noble birth before being imprisoned in Cokyri. He had been presumed dead, and her parents had forced her to marry another man. The woman in the portrait, of whose identity I was almost certain, had to be his former betrothed. Of what other woman would he sketch such a stunning likeness?

London fractured my thoughts with a short laugh. “What? You're not the only woman in my life, Alera.”

“I know,” I said, mildly defensive. “It's just, from the way this is drawn, it seems a fair guess that you were in love with her.”

There was a beat of silence, and I flushed at my boldness. Just when I was about to apologize, he gave a half smile and a shake of his head.

“It's only a sketch.”

“Of course,” I agreed, but there was still one more way that I might be able to affirm my suspicions. “May I keep it?”

At his leery glance, I felt the need to clarify.

“You never draw for me anymore, and this is quite beautiful.”

“If you really want it,” he said with a casual shrug that was not quite convincing.

We talked for a while longer, then I invited Destari to join us, knowing he would also want to check on London. As the time for the evening meal approached, I bid London farewell with a wish that he enjoy the rest of his day.

“The most enjoyable part of my day has just ended,” he replied.

 

I again ate with my parents, but this time with an ulterior motive. I knew that my mother would be able to answer my questions regarding London, the questions that besieged me out of a combination of curiosity and a desire for distraction. I entered the dining room and took my seat, placing the sketch in my lap. My parents stood at the conclusion of our meal, but my mother graciously obliged when I requested that she stay.

“I'd like to ask you something, Mother.”

Her blue eyes, so reminiscent of Miranna's, were inviting but not bright as she nodded and retook her seat. I placed London's drawing on the tabletop in front of her, and she took it into her hands.

“Do you know this woman?” I asked, as though I had no notion of my own.

She examined the parchment, her eyebrows drawn close together in concentration.

“I believe this is Lady Tanda when she was young,” she murmured, confirming my suspicion. Lady Tanda and my
mother were close friends, so if anyone were capable of making such a judgment, it was the woman sitting before me.

“Where did you get this?” she asked, passing the drawing across the table to me, and I gave her a truthful answer.

“London sketched it and allowed me to take it.”

“London drew this?” she repeated, but there was more than bewilderment in her voice. There was disbelief.

I nodded, silently imploring her to tell me more, but she seemed to decide that it was not her place to speak further.

“He has a good memory,” she said simply, as if the flawless likeness of Tanda in her youth were the only thing that had astonished her.

“But why would he draw Lady Tanda?”

My mother glanced toward the door, managing simultaneously to reveal her discomfort and make my question seem superfluous.

“It's always been difficult to know what goes on in London's mind,” she said, but I had my answer.

 

When I visited London the next morning, I found him in the company of Cannan and Bhadran. Destari went to join the two men, while I hung back to let them finish their conversation.

“It's just a tingle right now,” London was explaining. “But I think I'll be able to move my fingers soon.”

“That's impossible!” the physician exclaimed. “Your shoulder blade was shattered—the injury should affect you for the rest of your life!”

“I seem to be managing fairly well,” London observed, his customary sarcasm coming back along with his health.

“Fairly,” the doctor said with a hoot of laughter. “Indeed. You should be dead—several times over, in fact.”

There was momentary silence while everyone recalled
the two previous instances of London's uncanny ability to cheat death. First, when he had escaped seventeen years ago from Cokyri and survived the horrible illness from which he had suffered; and second, when he had been pierced by a poisoned dart just last Christmas. Not to mention the fact that after spending close to a week in the foothills with three arrows plunged deep into his body, he had still been alive for Destari and Galen to find.

“I've been fortunate,” London said. With a shake of his head and a small nod to me, Bhadran stepped into the corridor. As I approached London, a puzzled expression settled upon him.

“Where is Miranna? Or is my condition so ghastly you are preventing her from seeing me?”

London's question stole my breath. Cannan and Destari shared a glance, and it occurred to me they had hoped to keep Miranna's plight from him until his recovery was assured. I couldn't meet London's gaze, not certain that I should be the one to respond and doubtful that I could maintain my composure if I tried. He felt the change in atmosphere in the room and repeated his question, to no one in particular.

“Miranna, where is she? Is she ill?”

I looked everywhere but at my former bodyguard, praying that someone else would speak. It was the captain who finally stepped forward to break the news.