Cornerstone (7 page)

Mairi stepped through the door as he rushed up the steps. “Garith, whatever is the matter?” she asked, concern creasing her forehead.

“
Where's Riya?” he asked without stopping. He weaved past her, knowing the stern woman would not approve of him marching directly into Emariya's chambers. He didn't intend to pause long enough for her to interfere. “Emariya!” he hollered as Mairi grabbed his arm from behind.

“
Garith, now, wait here just a minute and—”

“
There's word of her father—she needs to come now!” he said urgently. It was no use to try to rush past.

“
Oh!” The old serving woman brought her hands to her mouth, letting go of his arm.

The great wooden door of her chamber creaked open, and Emariya stepped into the hall, looking bewildered. “Garith?” The image of sleepy innocence, wiping the late hour from her eyes, she rushed toward him in concern. “Garith, what is it?”

He put his hands gently below her elbows in case she should react with shock. “Riya, there's a traveler at Neela's talking of seeing your father, but he's in a real bad way. Come, we must ride at once if you are of a mind to talk to him,” he explained, watching her expression carefully.

Wordlessly she nodded as her eyes met his. She swayed hard, then took a deep breath, letting him support her. She graced him with a tight, thankful smile. Fear and hope tangled together in her piercing blue eyes.

Mairi disappeared around a corner of the corridor and returned a moment later carrying a heavy wool cloak. Taking it, Garith wrapped it around Emariya's shoulders and guided her out the door, wishing he could protect her from more than just the weather. “I asked Roel to saddle Drea, but we'll need to ride fast.” He looked to her for consent. Again, she nodded. Garith saw her swallow, as if trying to choke back her fears.

Finally, she spoke. “Did the traveler say if…” Her question trailed unfinished, but her meaning was clear.

“
I don't know—all I know is that he was talking of Oren. Norval asked me to get you at once.”

Stepping into the stable yard, they found Roel waiting with Drea and a second mount for Garith. “Milady.” He tipped his head in respect.

“
Thank you, Roel,” she said, sounding more like herself.

Garith took her by the waist and swung her deftly up onto Drea's saddle. She was impossibly light in his hands, reminding him of how delicate she truly was. Once she was settled, he took the reins of his own mount from Roel, grasping the well-oiled leather in one hand and the small lantern that the stable master had thoughtfully offered in the other. He vaulted easily into the saddle, and with a glance at Riya to ensure she was ready, he put his heels to the horse’s side. With a snort, the gelding leapt forward as Garith urged him onto the dirt road.

He spared a quick look at Emariya beside him. Her blonde hair was loose around her shoulders in untamed waves, flowing behind her as they rode. Her face was calm and impassive; she'd tucked her emotions somewhere inside. She gave him a tight, small smile, then hunched down over Drea's withers and whispered something to her mare. Picking up her speed, she raced forward. He couldn't help noting how even in the face of uncertainty, she looked beautiful and poised as she guided Drea expertly toward the village in the moonlight.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The Cost of Knowledge

Emariya's ears pulsed with the beat of her heart as it thudded in time with the pounding of their horses’ hooves on the dirt road. So many times she had traveled this road, hoping against hope for news. Now news had come, but she didn't dare hope that it might be good news.
Just please let me get there in time to talk to him,
she
silently prayed. She was thankful Garith had been the one to come for her. If it were bad news, she'd need him when she fell apart.

And if it were good news, he was exactly who she'd want to share it with.

It would have taken them nearly an hour to walk down to the apothecary’s little shop. Instead, their ride spanned only the longest ten minutes of Emariya's life. As they reached Neela's cottage, she pulled firmly on her reins, bringing Drea to an abrupt halt. The mare was visibly winded. Not wanting to delay, Emariya glanced around for someone to tend to her horse. The late evening had left the village square deserted. Normally she would have just hitched her outside, but after such a frantic ride, the horse needed care.

Garith pulled up beside her. “I'll take care of the horses and then meet you inside, if you'd like.” He gave her a reassuring smile.

Gratefully, she handed him her reins. She lifted the corner of the canvas blocking the doorway of the cottage and stepped inside. It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the dim candlelight. Moans wafted softly from the pallet tucked in the rear corner of the small room. Sitting in a chair beside the rustic bed, Norval looked up as Emariya walked in.

“
Milady.” He stood and nodded as she approached.

Giving the elderly man’s shoulder a squeeze, she forced a polite smile. “How is he?”

“
I don't know, lass, you'd best ask the old gal, but it doesn't look none to good for him, least not as far as I can tell. She'll be out in a moment, I reckon. She's fixing him a tea.” He patted her arm, and the feel of Norval's wrinkled old hand comforted her, despite her worry. She'd known Norval—like most of the tenants at Warren's Rest—for her entire life. When he spoke, his wrinkles added punctuation to what he was saying. Just now she could see he was on edge by the way the skin tugged at the corners of his eyes.

Not seeing any reason to waste time, she inquired hopefully, “What does he know?”

Without waiting for an answer, she crossed the room and knelt down by the pallet on the floor. The pallet was covered with straw that had been tucked under a threadbare gray blanket. The obvious source of the soft moans lay on his side, crumpled on the blanket. Someone had covered him with another blanket, which was slightly thicker than the one on which he lay. His cloak had been tossed at the end of the pallet. Emariya wasn't sure which was filthier: the man's cloak or his haggard face. Even through the layer of dirt and grime, she could see that the man’s features were clenched tightly in pain. His dry, chapped lips parted as he moaned again.

Gently laying her hand on the man’s shoulder, Emariya said quietly, “Sir? My name is Emariya Warren.”

The man showed no sign that he heard her.

She tried again. “My father is Oren Warren—have you news of him, sir?”

At this, she thought she heard him mumble faintly, “Oren,” so quietly that it was barely above a whisper. Emariya leaned down, leaving her ear near his parched lips in order to catch anything else the man might say before deciding to sleep again. Emariya held her breath against the stench of the man. It had likely been months since he had last bathed, but the odor was more than that. It was the smell of death. Curious, she pulled back the blanket covering him. The gaping wound in the man’s chest sent waves of nausea rolling over her, and the floor rushed up at her. She pushed herself up from the floor where she had been kneeling and rose unsteadily to her feet. Reeling, she tried to head for the door.

Two steady hands grabbed her. Gratefully, she let Garith guide her outside. Taking a lungful of the crisp air outside the cottage, she leaned against Garith and closed her eyes. She took another deep, cleansing breath, and then another. She felt ashamed of her reaction, but she had been taken by surprise. She had never seen a wound such as that. She could swear that at least half of his chest was missing. How the man was still alive, she couldn't fathom. Adding to her anguish were the thin lines that crisscrossed his chest beside the wound. Some were the pearly white of flesh that had been scarred. That was bad enough, but laced among the scars were swollen red welts, which were crusted with scabs at their peaks. This man had lived through unknown horrors. “What happened to him?” She turned tearful eyes to Garith.

Neela, coming through the canvas doorway, was the one who answered. “Likely a raider from Sheas.” Neela's skin was a deep brown, and the wrinkles of age added to its resemblance to rich, softly cured leather. Shrewd as a bird, she missed nothing. She was firm and no nonsense, and some even said she simply ordered her patients to recover and they listened out of fear. But Emariya had seen her tend to the sick with a tenderness borne of years spent caring for others. The old woman had no trait more prominent than her compassion.

Still, she was practical. “Emariya, I am not sure if he will wake again on his own. So far, all we have been able to get out of him is your father's name. The two who brought him in said they found him like this on the road. They thought he had been trying to reach Warren's Rest, so they brought him here. The only thing he told them was that he had a message. They couldn't gather what the message was, but…” Neela paused before continuing. She studied Emariya's face carefully as she said, “Honey, according to them, he said your name.”

Emariya wished everyone would quit treating her like they expected her to collapse at any moment.

Garith, still standing beside her spoke up, “You said you don't think he will wake again?”

Neela looked from Emariya to Garith and then back to Emariya. “I said I don't think he will wake on his own, but I think that I may be able to wake him, if our lady wishes.”

Emariya looked toward the cottage, overcome by an unbelievable sadness for the man lying on the small pallet inside. He had likely suffered so much, and it seemed he had been trying desperately to get word to her. She didn't want him to wake to suffering, but she also didn't want his suffering to have been in vain. And part of her selfishly wanted to learn all he might have to offer. “Will he live?”

Neela shook her head. “No, he will pass. He may or may not wake again, but he will not survive. He will likely be gone before the day arrives.”

“
If we wake him, he will feel pain.” It wasn't a question. It was a simple, yet resigned, statement. No one could have a wound of that size and not feel pain.

“
I think we can dull his pain enough for him to talk. Mind you, it will dull more than just his physical senses. He may become even more confused and unable to tell us what he knows. But if we do too much to ease his pain, waking him in the first place may be done in vain.”

“
If he is unable to tell us what he knows, his suffering will also be in vain.” She looked pleadingly at Garith and Neela, begging them to reassure her and tell her she was right. She hated the thought of someone suffering for her. Steeling herself against her guilt, she said, “The Three have mercy on our souls. He must be woken, and he must have his wits about him.” After taking a deep breath, she walked back through the canvas into the cottage.

Following her, the old woman said, “You won't have long, so don't waste time on gentleness. He won't thank you for it, but he'll take his tales to the grave untold if we don't act at once.”

Emariya let out a heavy breath. Neela was right, of course. Bracing herself, Emariya stepped aside to allow Neela to lead the way. They went into the back room of the cottage, where the herbs were kept. A pot hung from the hook over the fire in the hearth. It bubbled softly, announcing it was ready. Careful not to scald her hands, Neela poured some of the contents into a clay mug. The herb woman pointed a bony finger toward a jar on the shelf that contained a ground-up orange mushroom. She asked Emariya to fetch it for her while she retrieved two other jars from the smaller shelf near the hearth. Once the contents of the three jars were combined in her small clay bowl, she ground them into a fine powder. Working quickly, she poured them into the mug full of liquid. The heady aroma tickled at Emariya's throat. “Bring the mint, dear,” Neela said, leading the way back into the room where their patient slept.

“
Garith, prop him up so I can get this down his throat,” Neela ordered, moving to the patients side. Doing as he had been bidden, Garith moved into position to be able to hold the injured man up. “All right, now tilt his head back and keep his jaw open. Emariya, crumble those mint leaves up and rub them just below his nose as I give him this.”

Swallowing involuntarily, the man began to cough and clutched at his throat. His fingers clawed at his neck while he gagged as if he were being strangled. A piercing cry of pain cut through the room as he thrust his eyes open. He looked around wildly, his eyes moving from face to face as his breathing became more ragged and his moans intensified. Locking eyes with Emariya, he seemed to recognize her. He reached one bloodstained hand toward her, his fingers grasping at the air. His mouth opened as his lips worked to try and form words, but no sound came forth. His eyes closed again and he sucked in a desperate gasp of air.

Emariya clutched his hand in hers. Gently she placed her other hand on his shoulder. “Sir? Sir! Do you know me? Do I know you? I'm Emariya Warren, and my father is Oren Warren. Sir, please!” She pleaded to no avail. The man was still, with the exception of his chest heaving up and down with ragged breaths. “What can I do?” she asked Neela desperately. Neela shook her head and looked to the ceiling as if saying that it was in the hands of The Three now. She had done all she could.

Garith lowered the man back to the pallet and put his hand on Emariya's shoulder. “There may be nothing you can do.”