The Coastal Kingdoms of Olvion: Book Two of The Chronicles of Olvion (10 page)

Dinner was a much less busy affair that the previous evening’s had been.  That was owing to the fact that the younger people were fed at a long table out behind the main residence while the older diners were served inside.  The table was an impressive affair with lacquered wood and having matching chairs.  Besides Taggart there was Kree, his wife, six other family members, and two off-duty warriors.  One of them was Geraar.  Dinner was some kind of antelope that had been basted with honey and a fruit that reminded Taggart of oranges.  It was almost too delicious for him to bear.  The meal also included roasted tubers, fresh vegetables glazed with honey and individual rolls of warm brown bread slathered with goat’s milk butter.  By the time he pushed himself away from the table he could barely move.

“Now you know why old warriors grow fat so soon after retiring,” Kree said with a laugh after seeing his obvious discomfort.  “Our wives overfeed us so we’ll not wander too far away from the kitchen.”

The women drifted off to do what women do, leaving the men to talk.  They all followed Kree into what he referred to as a ‘great room’.  It was a high-ceilinged affair with lacquered wooden walls, huge beams spanning the length of the room and numerous comfortable chairs arranged in a circle.  There were many weapons displayed on the wall and in open cabinets.  It was obvious that they were not there simply for decoration. 

Taggart had always appreciated the fact that the concept of lighting a plant leaf on fire and inhaling it into one’s lungs had never seemed to develop on Olvion.  If it had, this would be just the sort of situation that would invite such an action.  Instead they did what most Olvionis do after a big meal with company present.  They passed around the spirit skins and jugs and talked.  Taggart was to receive yet another treat that evening when he discovered that generous quantities of sween were available.

There were seven of them now, Taggart, Kree, the two warriors and three of Kree’s male family members.  They discussed the war, the return of Tag-Gar, the question of whether or not he was The Legend and the latest news from the walled city.  Geraar told him that replacements for himself and one other warrior had just arrived at the ranch two days earlier.  Those warriors had told everyone that King Ruguer had begun an exploration of some of the farther areas that abutted the boundaries of the kingdom.  He was not expected to return for the remainder of the season.  For Taggart that translated into approximately two months.  He was disappointed, but after all that had happened to him in his life it was a small problem.

Geraar said he and the other warrior whose assignment at the ranch had expired would be honored if Taggart would allow them to come along on the last leg of their journey to the city.  Taggart gratefully accepted, especially when he was told that they would be riding instead of walking.  He then related the story of the attack on the road and included the actions of young Toria.

“Just this afternoon, you say?” Kree asked.

Taggart nodded.

Kree looked at the warriors.  “That would probably be the remainder of the group that killed that old mare in the south paddock.”  He looked back at Taggart.  “They were in the middle of their meal when our protectors here found them.  There were eight of them then.  Three were killed, two of them by young Geraar here.  The rest got away when they saw the other warriors coming.  Only one of our boys was wounded and that was little more than a scratch.  I’m happy to hear that we need not worry about them returning.”

Taggart looked at Geraar and tried again to recall where the two had met.  The young warrior saw his expression and laughed.

“You don’t remember me do you?” he asked.

“I do remember you,” Taggart said, “I know we’ve met, but I cannot place the circumstances for the life of me.”

The warrior took a long pull on the skin of sween, and leaned back in his chair.  “Do you recall in the final battle of the Great War, our lines were collapsing and you had to fight your way forward and help a bunch of young and untested warriors close up the gaps and push the Greys back?”  He sat there and smiled waiting for Taggart to put it together.

The realization hit him like a thunderclap.  He jumped to his feet.  “It was you,” he said pointing.  The big man turned to look at the others gathered around.  “Like he said, there was a break in our lines.  The Greys were coming through and we were in danger of being divided.  I pushed my way up there and saw this young powerhouse of a lad plugging the hole almost totally by himself.  He had jumped into the breach, and was killing every Grey that dared come near him.  He kept our line from collapsing until I could get up there with a group that had been held in reserve.”  Taggart wrapped the youngster in a bear hug, and pulled him into a back-bruising embrace.  He released him and said “I always wondered what happened to you.  You saved my life more than once that day.  I told myself that I would find you and share a drink with you if we both survived.”

“Well, my friend, you have found me, and we have shared that drink.  To be clear, though, my recollection is that you also saved my life a number of times that day.” 

They both momentarily grew quiet as individual memories of that day ran through their minds.  The mood of the room changed as everyone present recognized the signs of two warriors reliving the horrors of battle and the euphoria of having survived.

The somber atmosphere evaporated as Toria entered the room with a grin on her face and a baby swinebeast held gently in her hands.  “Hey, Tag,” she said with absolutely no hint of being embarrassed by her intrusion, “Look at this, have you ever seen anything so cute in your life?”

Taggart and the others immediately warmed to the spirit and gregariousness of the girl.  She held the piglet up, and kissed its muzzle several times.  She then seemed to notice that others were watching her.  She let her eyes drift over everyone in the room.  When they reached Geraar they stopped and became just a bit wider.  Taggart noticed that Geraar seemed to have lost his place in their conversation at the sight of Toria.

Taggart smiled and pointed to the young warrior.  “Toria I know that you’ve met everyone else in your travel through here before, but I don’t believe you’ve met my good and noble friend Geraar.  Geraar, this is my other good friend and comrade in arms, Toria.”

There was another slight pause as the two youngsters nodded silently to each other.  The older men in the room immediately recognized what was happening between the two young adults.  The silence lasted a bit longer until something occurred to Geraar.  His head swiveled back to Taggart.

“Wait.  You said comrade in arms?” he asked.

‘Indeed.  This is the young lady who helped me engage a party of five Greys on the road.  Which brings a fact to mind; you two have something in common.”

They both turned to regard Taggart with inquisitive and slightly self-conscious expressions.  “Both of you have saved my life!”

That revelation triggered a spirited discussion between the two that grew in intensity and continued as they moved, almost without conscious thought, from the center of the room to one of the corners and then, inevitably, down the hall and away from the ears of the older people.

“Well,” Kree said with a smile, “It would seem that their conversation has presented a need for them to examine their exploits in private.” 

Later that night Kree and one of his brothers was showing Taggart the methods used to protect the small colts and fillies from predators at night.  As they walked into one of the stall barns there was a rush of motion.  Taggart was not especially surprised to see Geraar and Toria looking back at them with wide eyes and innocent expressions.  Both had been standing in the open so it appeared that they had interrupted little more than a private conversation and innocent flirtations.

Fighting hard to not lose his composure and break out laughing, Taggart simply nodded to the pair of youngsters and continued walking with his new friends.  They were a good distance away before the men allowed themselves a laugh.

***

They were on the road the next morning, Taggart, Toria, Geraar and the other relieved warrior, an older man who had been named Uunis.  The day passed without incident.  Just as night was falling the quartet topped the bluffs that led down into the lower valley.  Ahead of him lay the destination he’d been craving for over half of an earth year, the huge and beautiful walled city of Olvion.

JO-DAL

Dwan was still standing on the high defensive wall within the castle and stronghold of Aspell.  Around her many of the estimated two thousand people of the redoubt came and went, all wanting to see the war fleet that had gathered in the harbor.  She was still looking out to sea, but she wasn’t seeing the ships anymore.  In her mind, she saw Tag-Gar standing proud and strong as he took up his weapons and prepared to go out among the enemy and do battle.  The concerned but courageous expression that she’d grown so fond of was on his face.  Her heart ached with her need for him.  There would always be a part of her that would remain empty as long as he was gone.  That was the true misery; that she might wait her entire life for his return only to know on her deathbed that it had been in vain.  Alas, there was no other road open to her.  She knew she would love only him for as long as she drew breath.

Also in her daydream was little Tinker, perched upon his shoulder in the manner that she so loved to ride.  In her imagination Tinker was sending her feelings of calmness and tranquility with her remarkable ability to project emotions when needed.  Where had their little friend gone?  Dwan prayed that she had made it back to her mountain home.  Though she loved the little animal and her presence blunted the hurt in her soul, she was gladdened when she woke up to find her gone.  She had planted in Dwan’s mind a kernel of understanding while she slept and dreamed.  By concentrating on the bulb of emotions and images, she had been able to make it bloom and reveal Tinker’s intentions to return to her mother and littermates.

She called up images of the noble King Zander, so tall and proud.  She saw him high up in the War Room at the zenith of the castle proper, gazing out of the large bank of windows upon the battlefield below.  His had been a gallant and glorious death, but a death nonetheless.

She was then unable to stop her mind from going to the battlefield on that last bloody day.  There had been so much death.  The dust of the valley just beyond the bridges spanning the defense troughs still showed reddish brown, the results of hundreds of thousands of people having their bodies desecrated and violated by savagery.  The stench was still rising from the bloody sands for a full season before Dwan left to find a place that would not call her attention back to her loss every day.  She now knew that such a place could be found only in the sweet stillness of death.  She did not long for death, but she no longer feared it.

A voice was saying something.  She strained to pull her thoughts back away from the places they had gone.

“I say again, are you the Healer Dwan.”

She looked away from the harbor, and her eyes focused on a young warrior.  He wore the uniform and colors of the Aspell military.  He was as tall as she was and she was very tall among her people.  He was darkly handsome especially if one paid attention to the eyes.  They were the eyes of a man bearing a great weight.  She’d seen eyes like those before.  Pinned to his collar was a small silver sword.  That meant something, but she had to gather her mind around herself more before she was able to think clearly again.  The sword?  Yes, the insignia of the Sword of the King.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted.  “I…I was lost in thought.  Yes, I am the Healer Dwan.”

The man executed a slight nod, the military version of a gesture of respect to a civilian.  “Good Healer I am Jo-Dal, Sword of the King.  Would you be available to offer your skills to the King?”

She was surprised and a little afraid.  This was no time for their king to be sick.  “King Tyner is ill?  Of course I will treat him.”

The warrior made a gesture for her to walk with him along the defensive wall and to a hall of the castle that was open only to the military.  The young warrior on duty snapped to attention and raised his fist to his heart, the warrior salute.  Jo-Dal returned the salute without slowing.  They walked for several minutes through passageways and up ornate staircases.  He was silent for most of the way, so she was surprised when he spoke.

“King Tyner is not really ill.  His problem is the same as it has been for the last five summers.  His eyes are deteriorating.  We are hoping you might be able to help him.”

“That would depend on the ailment that is causing his problem, but my instruments and medicines are all in my apartment.”

“They have been retrieved,” he answered.  She thought he showed a slight embarrassment at having taken the action without her consent.  He needn’t have worried.

They arrived at the fifth level of the castle and turned down a wide hallway with muraled ceilings and polished floors.  There were guards posted every ten feet in the hallway.  They all saluted their young military commander.  They came at last to a set of double doors that were protected by four sentries.  They saw Jo-Dal and stepped aside.  He opened the door without knocking and stood back so that she could enter before him.

Dwan entered the royal reception chamber which was sort of like a living room that the king used for informal meetings.  It wasn’t a part of the royal apartments despite the name.  King Tyner was sitting at a desk made of dark carved wood.  As she entered, he was holding a sheet of parchment inches from his face.  A young male aide sat across from him on a stool.  The king noticed her and Jo-Dal and stood.

“So this is the renowned Healer Dwan.  Thank you for coming Good Healer.”  He rose from his desk and came over to join them.  The aide did not move.  Tyner steered her to a purple divan, and he sat across from her in a plush chair with a footstool.  Jo-dal took a smaller wooden chair.  Dwan was able to get a quick look around the room.  The floors were nicely polished, and the walls were painted a soft white.  There were many books stacked in a shelf that ran from floor to ceiling, and a cabinet with a glass front that held dozens of rolled parchments tied with ribbon.  On the walls were hung a beautiful tapestry with a scene of a warrior slaying an ursu and a large painting of a beautiful woman.  Dwan thought the room had a handsome and comfortable quality to it.

The king put his feet up on the stool and smiled at her even though he had to squint to see her.  He was a short man, over sixty summers in age and had a slight pudginess to him.  His hair was greying and thinning, but for his age, he wasn’t a bad-looking man.  There were many stories in this kingdom regarding his love for his deceased wife, Merida.  It was assumed by most of his subjects that his pain at losing her was the reason he’d never taken another queen. 

“Before we begin with your examination, let me convey my sympathies,” he said.  “We have heard of the disappearance of The Legend and, of course, your loss which was the result.  You may know that my sweet Merida passed almost eight summers ago.  The loss of someone that is loved deeply is not an easy thing to adapt to.”

Dwan nodded her head.  She was afraid to say anything because she knew she would cry, but the king’s heartfelt words were appreciated.

“Now then,” he continued.  “My eyes have been failing for some time now.  My healers have done what they could to slow the loss of vision, but I think they’ve run out of ideas.  I won’t ask miracles of you, but it occurred to Jo-Dal that a healer from another kingdom might know a trick or two that the locals here don’t.”

Dwan had gotten herself back under control.  She looked around the room for her bags of equipment.  Jo-Dal saw her searching and hopped up.

“I had your things put over here,” he said.  He crossed the room to a small alcove set back into the wall.  He bent down and retrieved her two larger bags and carried them to where she sat.  The young aide retrieved her smaller day bag from the same alcove and brought it over as well.

Dwan stood and opened one of the large cases and withdrew several medical devices.  She told the king to remain seated while she used lenses and mirrors to reflect light into his eyes while observing how they reacted.  She put those implements away and pulled out a few more.  She measured his pupils, had him follow her finger with his eyes and finished up by having him attempt to read several lines of different sized letters on a sheet of parchment from different distances.  Finally she sat back on the divan.

Both Jo-Dal and the king looked at her expectantly.

“I almost don’t know how to say this,” she began.  “I’m sure it’s no surprise to you that almost everyone’s eyesight fails to varying degrees as they age, but age almost never causes total blindness.  Have your healers tested you for starch tolerance?”

The king nodded that they had.  “They have restricted my diet and given me various foul-tasting potions that I have to swallow before and after every meal.  They don’t appear to be doing me much good.”

“Well, I assure that they are.  You definitely have starch intolerance and you need those potions.  I will check them against what I use before I leave to see if I have anything better.  Anyone who has your affliction will lose a portion of his sight
if
he overindulges constantly and allows his weight to increase.  Your weight and appearance leads me to believe that such is not the case with you. 

“However, I think I see something in your eyes that I haven’t seen in a long time.  Forgive me for asking this, but do you have a chronic affliction that causes you constant pain?”

The king nodded.  “I do.  I injured my back in a fall from a horse six summers past.  If I do not take gaalan weed on a daily basis I can scarcely rise out of bed.”

She pursed her lips as she thought.  Then she got up and dragged the other large bag over near her chair, gesturing that she needed no assistance when all three men in the room rose to help her.  She opened the clasp and rummaged around the interior until she found a round wooden box.  It was fastened shut with a simple string.  She held it in her lap.

“Your use of gaalan weed has gone on for five summers or more?” she asked.

The king nodded.

She took in a breath and held it before expelling it slowly.  She really didn’t want to tell him this.  “Have your healers informed you that constant use of gaalan weed, and by that I mean when it continues for a period longer than two summers, will result in a complete loss of vision?”

The monarch looked at Jo-Dal with brows raised, then back at Dwan.  “They have told me that my starch intolerance is the sole cause for my eye problems.”  He appeared somewhat stricken for a moment.  He looked at Jo-Dal again then over to his aide.  “Are you saying…?”  He stopped, unable to finish his thought.

Dwan nodded.  “Let me venture a guess here, Your Majesty.  You have one set of healers treating your back and another working on your eyes and starch intolerance.  You have also been experiencing diminished hearing, and you are less able to enjoy the taste of your food.”

The king nodded.  He had a sad expression on his face.  “Actually it is worse than that, and I fear it is my fault.  I have three different healers.  One treats my starch intolerance, another my back pain, and a third my eyesight.  I was warned about the long term use of gaalan weed years ago.  My healers are all good at their profession.  I told them all that I quit using the weed several summers past, but I so feared the pain that I have had gaalan weed brought to me on a daily basis each morning by my valet.  He brings it in from the apothecary.  I chew it before I rise so that I can bear to face the day.  In all probability, my healers have discounted that possibility as the reason for my loss of sight.  Oh Sweet Stars above what have I done to myself.”

He looked truly distraught, so much so that Jo-Dal appeared ready to rise, and console him.  Dwan held up a hand to stop him.  She gave him a smile.  Then she turned back to Tyner.

“Your Majesty…please look at me.”

He dropped his hands from his face, and forced himself to look at her.

She held up the round box that she’d taken from her bag.  “Your Majesty, your prospects are not as bleak as you fear.  In this box is a powder that is made from a fungus that grows in the forest north of Olvion.  We purchase it from the locals out there who find it, dry it and grind it into a powder.  It has pain killing properties that equal the gaalan weed.  In fact, when used to treat back pain it appears to be even more effective.

“We found out about the powder from travelers passing through our city.  It is called Jairn.  We had need of something like it for the long term treatment of pain for our wounded.  It will manage your pain and does not have the adverse effects of the weed.”  She handed him the box.  “There is enough here to last you a season.  We can have more delivered to you in the next transfer of goods from Olvion.”

The king accepted the box gratefully.  “This is much appreciated, Healer.  I assume there is nothing you can do about the damage that I have so foolishly caused to my sight?”

“You assume wrongly.  Substitute the jairn for the gaalan weed starting now.  I will leave instructions as to the dosage and you must not increase the amount.  I am happy to tell you, Your Majesty, that I believe that your eyesight will begin to return much more rapidly than the rate at which you have been losing it.  You will not recover fully, but I suspect we will see a considerable improvement in your condition.”

After a bit more discussion, Jo-Dal accompanied Dwan from the reception chamber.  They were in a part of the castle in which civilians were not allowed unless accompanied by a military escort.  Security was especially important now that the castle was under siege.

“I have to tell you, I am more than a little angry with the Royal Healers.  All of this time and the impact on the king’s vision…unnecessary.”