Death of a Darklord (16 page)

Thordin shook his head slowly. “I guess I don’t.” He looked at Elaine. “Is the elven cleric awake yet?”

“No, he still sleeps, but the end of his arm has healed over so we didn’t have to cauterize it.”

Gersalius choked on his tea. When he was done sputtering, he said, “I wouldn’t apply fire to any of the wounds. I think that might stop the flesh from healing further.”

Elaine suddenly felt cold, and it had nothing to do with the winter wind. What if they had performed normal care? Would they have condemned all three men to being wounded forever? Konrad said that burns were some of the most painful of all injuries. The elf’s arm would have been a burned stump instead of the smoothness it was. The arm looked for all the world as if the elf had been born without that arm, a deformity rather than an injury.

“What should we do?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Gersalius said. “Wait until the elf wakes. Let him tend the wounds.”

“What if one of the wounds begins to bleed? What if the men go into shock? Can we treat them with herbs, or would that be harmful?”

“Do what you must to keep them alive,” Gersalius said. “But the bare minimum, I think.”

Thordin nodded. “I agree.”

“All right, I’ll tell Konrad what you advise.” She handed the empty tea mug to Thordin. “Thank you for the advice, and the tea.” She stood, half-stooping, and lifted the tent flap.

Outside, the air was still as glass and cold enough to hurt when she drew a breath. She stood there for a moment, studying the sky. Clouds had moved in, turning the sky to a perfect whiteness. It threatened snow, but that stillness in the air felt more like thunder. She had only once before seen thunder and lightning in the midst of a snowstorm. It was rare, but so much that was happening was unusual, what was one more event? A little thunderstorm in the dead of winter was a minor thing compared to what she had seen this day. Whatever the cause, the air was close and threatening.

Elaine glanced at Blaine, still puttering before the fire. She almost asked him if he felt it, too, but if he didn’t, she would be making him worry for nothing. If the sense was a vision, it would grow. If it wasn’t, it would fade, and only Elaine need worry about it.

She clutched her cloak tight around her and hurried back to Konrad. He was kneeling by the elf, his back to the tent flap. He glanced back, a sound or the cold alerting him to her entrance. He motioned her to him.

She pushed her hood back and knelt beside him. “What’s wrong?” she whispered.

His hand was feeling for the pulse in the elf’s neck. “His heart is not beating like it should.”

“Perhaps it is normal for an elf?”

He shook his head. “Before, it was strong and sure; now it is thready, fluttering under my hand. See for yourself.”

He rubbed her hands together to banish the cold. She never touched the wounded with icy hands if she could help it. She felt the smooth skin of the neck. The pulse hesitated, then gave a few rapid beats, then settled back into a steady rhythm. She held her hand there for a few moments, but the pulse re-mained steady.

“I felt the flutter, but he seems fine now,” she said.

“I don’t like it. His heart was fine until just moments ago.” He tucked a fur tighter under the elf’s chin. “I don’t know what’s wrong. I don’t even know why he won’t wake up. I thought at first he was unconscious from his injury, and from doing such powerful magic, but now I … I’m just not sure.”

“Thordin and Gersalius didn’t seem alarmed that the elf was still sleeping.”

“What did they say to do about the others’ wounds?” he asked.

“As little as possible. When the elf wakes, he can lay hands on their wounds again and again, as many times as needed to heal them.”

“An amazing gift, but only if he wakes to do it.” He had dropped his voice so low that she had to lean into him to hear. His breath was warm against her face.

“Is something wrong with Silvanus?” Fredric asked. The big man had turned on his side, propped on one elbow.

Randwulf was looking backward at them, still lying flat on the bedding. “What’s happening?”

“His heart is beating erratically,” Konrad said, without candy-coating it. He was a good healer, but you didn’t dare ask his
opinion unless you truly wanted it, and wanted the truth, no matter how harsh.

Randwulf sat up, spilling covers to the ground, but Elaine didn’t think he was being flirtatious. He looked too frightened to be teasing.

“Is he dying?” Fredric asked. His voice was low and almost matter-of-fact; only his eyes betrayed him. Grief was already licking round the edges of his gray eyes.

“I don’t know,” Konrad said.

“You’re the healer. How can you not know?” Randwulf asked.

“His body is fine. His arm is even healing itself. I have never seen magic healing, and I believe his problem stems from that.”

“Do either of you know anything of healing?” Elaine asked.

Randwulf shook his head.

Fredric said, “No, but Averil does.”

“I thought she was a magic-user,” Konrad said.

“She is, but she makes healing potions and sells them,” Fredric said.

“Healing potions,” Konrad said. He started to blurt something, closed his lips, then said, “Elaine, go get the girl. Bring her and her potions. Hurry.”

Elaine stood and hurried from the tent. She ran, heavy cloak skimming the snow. Averil was in the tent that Elaine and Blaine shared. She was supposed to be resting.

Elaine flung open the tent flap. Averil sat up, blinking, hand clutching her knife. “What’s wrong?”

“Your father is ill. Bring your potions and come, quickly.”

Averil grabbed her backpack, scrambling for the tent flap. She was wearing only her shift, her dress neatly folded by the
bedding. She didn’t seem to notice, but pushed past Elaine.

Elaine threw her own cloak over Averil’s bare shoulders. The girl began to run; the cloak slipped to the floor, and Elaine left it. She hiked up her skirts and ran with the girl. Elaine noticed the cold, but it didn’t seem important, with Averil’s fear pulsing in the air.

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that Elaine realized the girl wore no shoes. She had run over the snow in her stockinged feet. Her bare shoulders were blue with cold, but her hands were very steady as she searched for her father’s pulse. She undid his shirt and pushed her hand over his heart.

She glanced at Konrad. “His heart beats strongly. His color is good. She said he was ill.” Averil glanced up at Elaine. Her eyes were accusatory.

“Keep your hand over his heart, and you will feel it flutter,” Konrad said.

“Flutter? What do you mean?”

“The pulse is steady most of the time, but every few minutes the heart hesitates. The problem is growing worse, happening more often.”

Averil shook her head. “I feel nothing.”

Randwulf and Fredric were sitting to either side, covers tucked round their bare bodies. “He has never had a problem with his heart before,” Fredric said.

“No,” Averil said, “he hasn’t.” She kept her hand over his heart,
but her liquid gold eyes were growing angry. After only a few hours, Elaine was finding it easier to read her expressions rather than just staring at the strange color of her eyes.

They waited. Elaine found herself willing his heart to falter, which was obscene, but she didn’t want Konrad to seem a fool. Besides, she had felt it herself. It was there.

Averil stiffened. A small gasp escaped her lips. She fell utterly still, even holding her breath. Finally she let it out in a long sigh. “Yes, you are right.”

She slipped her hand off his heart. Her hand lingered to caress his cheek. The movement was so gentle, so intimate, it was painful to see. “I don’t understand this. He was not injured in the heart at all. Why would this be happening?”

“Could it be a strain from raising the dead?” Konrad asked.

Averil shook her head. “No, healers have the ability to heal their own bodies as well as those of others. His heart would mend itself before it got to this point.”

“Yet,” Konrad said, “something is wrong with his heart.”

“I know,” she said, her voice harsh. She looked down at her father, then up at Konrad. “I’m sorry. I have no right to snap at you. This is just so inexplicable. It should not be happening.”

She opened her backpack and began rummaging in it. There was a soft clink of glass, and heavier duller sounds, like pottery. She extracted a small glass bottle. It was familiar, somehow.

Her vision. She had watched Averil force some liquid down Silvanus’s throat in her vision. The girl unstoppered the bottle and raised the elf’s head just a little.

“He’s unconscious and may choke,” Konrad said.

“I’ll stroke his throat and get him to swallow it.”

“He could still choke.”

“I’ve done this before when the need was great.” She looked at Konrad, her liquid eyes full of such sorrow that Elaine had to look away. Konrad did not. Elaine fought the urge to make him look away. Some pain was too private for a stranger’s eyes.

“Lift his head for me, Fredric.”

The paladin moved forward, cradling the elf’s head in his lap. The gold hair mingled with the fur, framing the too-thin face in soft textures. Fredric, who earlier would barely let Elaine look at his bare chest, now was mostly naked to the waist and didn’t seem to care.

Averil forced her father’s mouth open.

“I’ll hold his jaw while you pour,” Konrad said.

Averil looked at him a long moment, then nodded. Konrad’s strong fingers held the elf’s mouth open, and Averil trickled the smallest of doses into it. “Let go now, healer.”

Konrad let the lips fall together gently. Averil firmly stroked the elf’s throat. He convulsively swallowed.

Moments passed. Silvanus’s eyes fluttered open. He blinked up into Fredric’s face. The paladin smiled down at him, big hands cradling his head.

“Good afternoon, old friend,” Fredric said.

Silvanus smiled. He looked around at the gathered faces. When he found Averil sitting beside him, the smile deepened. She took his remaining hand, holding it in both of hers.

Elaine stared open-mouthed. Konrad made herbal potions, but nothing like this. This was as wondrous as the laying on of hands. A sip, and a badly injured man awoke smiling. She knew Konrad couldn’t lay hands, but could he make such potions if he knew the ingredients?

“How do you feel, Father?”

He seemed to think about the question, more than he should have. “I am not sure.”

“What do you mean, Father?” She leaned over him, face and voice demonstrating her concern. She touched one hand to his forehead. “I feel no fever.”

“It is not fever,” he said. He coughed, a great racking sound that doubled him over.

“Raise him up,” she said.

Fredric did, cradling the elf in his strong arms. He held him against his bare, scarred chest until the coughing eased. Silvanus’s voice was a harsh whisper. “Water.”

“Elaine,” Konrad said.

She broke the thin skin of ice on the bucket and dipped the wooden cup into it. She handed the water to Konrad, but Averil took it from her. No one protested.

Silvanus took a sip of water. It set him coughing again, but not so badly. He kept sipping water until he could drink without coughing, then he lay back in his friend’s arms, exhausted.

“Oh, Father, what is wrong?”

“I’m not sure. I have raised the dead before. I feel so strange.”

Averil turned to Konrad. “You are a healer. What is wrong with him?”

Elaine knew the answer; Konrad didn’t. He took a deep breath as if trying to decide what to say. “I believe it is a reaction to his healing of the others.”

“But he has healed me many times,” Fredric said. “He has not been like this before.”

“Yes,” Randwulf said, “he is a cleric. They heal; it is what they do. It would be like my shooting an arrow and having it harm me. It’s ridiculous.”

“Perhaps, Randwulf is closer to the truth than he knows,” Elaine said softly.

Everyone turned and looked at her. Even Silvanus’s strange eyes were upon her face.

“Go on, Elaine,” Konrad said. His expression was neutral. It didn’t seem to bother him that she was usurping his territory. Konrad always wanted to hear what others had to say, if it would save lives.

Elaine licked her lips and took a shaky breath. Suddenly she felt silly. What if she were wrong? She looked round at their expectant faces. Silvanus’s face was very patient, gentle even. What if she were right and did not speak up?

“Gersalius and Thordin say magic healing does not work in Kartakass. Not even laying hands on a wound will work here. But Silvanus has raised the dead. What if he can still heal, but it harms him as it helps others?” Spoken aloud, the idea sounded farfetched, the barest conjecture. She felt heat crawl up her face as they all continued to stare at her.

“That is ridiculous,” Averil said. Her voice held the scorn Elaine expected.