The Guardian (36 page)

“Or Nestor,” Kerid said.

“No.” Mother Hel shook her blond head. “He’ll keep the Vachyn at his side.”

“Then we contain all three,” Kerid said, “and Danant goes kingless.”

“And face all three,” said Mother Hel, “when it comes to the real war.”

“The
real
war?” Kerid stared at her.

“We can block all Danant’s trade,” she said. “Indeed, there’s little enough even now, but we’ve not enough men to fight a land war—and it’s on land that Chaldor shall be won.”

“We can starve them out,” Kerid said. “We can raid Danant’s coast as Talan raided Chaldor’s. We can …”

A beringed hand silenced him. “Give generations of Talan’s folk reason to hate Hel’s Town and Chaldor, both? No; I’d not see that. I’d see this war won as swiftly as possible and the river return to normal.”

“But as you say—we’ve not the men to fight a land war. Nor can we delay.” Kerid pointed to the men readying the boats. “They’ll not wait. The gods know, they want to fight now.”

“And so we go to war,” Mother Hel surveyed the fleet with eyes older than her youthful face. “And pray the gods are on our side.”

“B
ut I
saved
you!” Ellyn supported Gailard on one side, Shara on the other. His blood spilled over them both as they carried him, his feet stumbling, toward the keep. “Those things were killing you!”

“And their destruction shall alert Nestor to your presence.” Shara’s tone was sharp, as much with concern for Gailard as anger at Ellyn’s presumption. “Do you forget all your lessons? Have I not spoken with you of the aetheric links between hunters and their creator?”

“But they were killing him!” Ellyn’s voice rose plaintive. “And they’d have killed you. I saw it! You were defeated, and had I not …”

Shara found it hard to answer, for Ellyn’s protest was true. Even so she felt a terrible fear that the young woman had lit a beacon that must surely bring Nestor hurrying to the valley, likely with half Talan’s army at his back.

“Even so, you disobeyed me.”

Their feet rang loud on the timbers of the drawbridge, muffling Ellyn’s disgruntled response.

“I am queen of Chaldor.”

It was the answer of a sulky child and Shara gave it short shrift. “Not save we defeat Talan. Without that, you are nothing.”

Agitated shadows danced in the light ahead, milling beneath the portcullis, in the yard beyond. The birds sang again, but their morning music seemed muted. A horse snickered as if inquiring after Gailard’s health.

“Listen, child, let us get Gailard to his bed and tend him. Then we’ll talk.”

Likely, she thought, it was time to quit the valley—no longer safe—and go out into the world to do what they had agreed they’d do. She had taught Ellyn all she could—save, perhaps, patience—and surely the girl was come into her full strength. That demonstration of power was proof of that. Shara sighed, thinking that first they must nurse Gailard back to health, hoping there was enough time before the inevitable reaction.

E
llyn grunted irritably and staggered on. Gailard was heavy, and his blood was damp on her shirt. He left stained footfalls behind him, more streaks than steps, for he could barely keep to his feet, and she wondered how the two of them might carry him up flights of long stairs.
Gailard
, she thought,
don’t die. You cannot die, because I need you.
She wondered who spoke then: the would-be queen or a woman in love?

Behind them the drawbridge rumbled upright and the portcullis fell in a great clatter of metal. They entered the castle and manhandled the near-unconscious warrior across the hall, commenced the arduous task of hauling Gailard to his chamber.

It was not easy, but they succeeded, and at last Gailard
was stretched on his bed. The sheets grew dark, and Ellyn stared aghast.

“Quick now.” Shara’s voice was brusque. “We must get these clothes off him and staunch the wounds.”

Ellyn bent to the task, and in a while Gailard lay naked. She blushed even as she winced. She had seen him undressed before, but then she had felt only fear and horror at what Eryk and Rytha did to him. Now she saw a man she believed she desired stretched nude and badly hurt beneath her eyes. Blood seeped from a deep cut on his right side, above the hip; a gash ran from his left shoulder to his belly, lesser cuts on his arms and legs. One half of his face was blackened by a massive bruise, his hair matted from the blood that oozed from his temple. He was sore hurt, and Ellyn stared helplessly at Shara.

The sorceress ripped a sheet and tossed the pieces to Ellyn. “Bathe the wounds. I must fetch herbs.”

“You’ll not heal him with magic?”

“Not save I must.”

“You did before,” Ellyn shouted at the older woman’s back. “Why not now?”

Shara offered no answer until she returned, carrying a basket laden with jars and vials and carefully wrapped bundles of aromatic herbs. By then, Ellyn had found a bowl of steaming water and cleaned the wounds, attended by caring but helpless shadows.

“I brought him back to life once, and that’s enough for any man. Besides, such magic takes its toll, and I may well need all my strength in the days to come.” She spilled water into cups as she spoke, mixing busily, filling the room with strange, pungent aromas.

“I don’t understand,” Ellyn said. “Surely we’re safe now?”

“Surely your presence is known,” Shara responded as she smeared Gailard’s cuts with her preparations, “and now this keep is no longer safe.”

“But it would take Talan’s army months to reach us.”

Ellyn watched aghast as the sorceress produced a needle and set to stitching the worst wounds. Shara offered no immediate response, bending to her task, then beckoned Ellyn closer. Ellyn thought Gailard resembled some raggedly sewn doll, and then a corpse dressed in its cerements as they lifted him and wound bandages about his body.

“And also give him time to seal Chaldor’s borders against your return.” Shara did not look up from her work. “Perhaps arrange some alliance with Eryk, that he deliver you to Talan.”

“I didn’t think,” Ellyn said.

“No,” Shara agreed. “And thinking’s the first thing both a sorcerer and a queen need do. Act without thinking first and you fall into trouble.”

Ellyn said, “I’m sorry. I only …”

“Saw Gailard in mortal danger,” Shara finished for her, her tone softening. “I know, and perhaps I’d have done the same thing. But even so, you’ve alerted Nestor to our presence sooner than I’d like.” She fastened the last knot and stood back. “I’d have spent longer tutoring you—you’ve much talent, but little discipline; and discipline’s a thing you need if you’re to wield your magic wisely.”

“Yes.” Ellyn was crestfallen. “Forgive me.”

Shara nodded and gestured at the unconscious man. “Tending him shall help. One of us must stay with him until he’s recovered.”

“He’ll not die then?”

“Not yet.” Shara shook her head. “He’s too strong; but still, he’s sore hurt and it shall take a while before he can sit a horse. Best pray he’s able before it’s too late, and Nestor and Talan seal us in.”

Ellyn swallowed, knuckling tears of shame and regret from her eyes. “Where shall we go?”

“Back,” Shara said, “across the Barrens to the Highlands.”

“But Eryk and his fat wife are there.”

“And so are the Dur.” Shara washed her bloodied hands. “And has Eryk not found them and destroyed them, they’ll meet us. Remember your mother’s talent?”

“For the seeing?” Ellyn frowned, confused. “I’ve her blood, but I’ve not that ability. Had I, then surely I’d have seen those creatures coming.”

“Your talent’s different,” Shara said. “Indeed, I wonder if your forebears did not own the Vachyn magic. Perhaps some bloodline that was lost until you came along—but your grandmother and the other wisewomen have the foretelling. So …” She shrugged and found a cloth to wipe Gailard’s brow. “We must wait until we’re able to travel and then go back. And hope we can find the Dur—and the Dur be still alive and on your side.”

Ellyn nodded, forlorn now. Then started back as Shara turned to face her with a stern expression and demanding eyes.

“But meanwhile, you do not use your magic save I give you leave. No matter what, eh? We must travel incognito until we find some allies and look to building you an army, and once we quit this valley we shall be open to Nestor’s finding. So I’d have your word.”

“You have it,” Ellyn promised, and looked to Gailard.

He lay still, barely breathing, sweat on his face, his bandages already staining. She thought it must take him a long time to recover, perhaps longer than the gods allowed them, and she knew she had done wrong. But how could she have stood by and watched him die?

Save perhaps now she must, and she did not think she could bear that a second time.

“I’ll take the first watch,” Shara declared. “You get some sleep.”

Ellyn nodded and dutifully quit the room. Shara lingered by the bed, studying Gailard’s unconscious form. He was sore hurt, and she hoped he’d heal in time—she felt a terrible certainty that Ellyn had advanced this deadly game too swiftly. That use of such powerful magic had surely
alerted Nestor, and ere long something would be sent, be it magic or an army—so they must go out and look to find El-lyn friends in her struggle to regain the throne.

Sooner than I’d have chosen
, she thought. Then looked at Gailard’s face and wondered if that was the real reason. Or would she only hold this man safe here for herself? She smiled at her own musings. Perhaps outside the valley she’d know.

I
t was a strange sensation, akin to drunkeness or the effects of that Serian tobacco I’d once smoked. I drifted, unsure what was real and what the fantasies produced by my wounding. I did not think I was dead because at times I hurt too much, as if my body was turned on a spit, flames licking over my flesh. I think I cried out then, or at least moaned, and gentle hands would stroke me and set cool cloths against my face or drip some liquid that tasted too bitter to be only water between my lips. Voices I thought I recognized spoke to me, soothingly, and sometimes I’d see Shara or Ellyn bent over me, but when I tried to speak I could only mumble and they’d shake their heads and answer and I’d drift off again into darkness or dreams.

Sometimes I’d open my eyes (or thought I did) and see the castle’s shadowfolk fleshed out, no longer flickering phantoms, but solid folk, men and women in strange clothes watching me, stooping close, concern in all their eyes. Sometimes they’d touch me, as if to calm me or reassure me, but I could not feel their fingers, and I thought they seemed afraid. I surely was; I knew I was sore hurt and gripped by fever. I’d taken wounds enough along the road of my life, and seen enough men die, to know that I’d taken bad cuts and lost much blood. Now, in those brief moments of
coherency, I knew I was fevered—and more men died of that than of the original blow. I no longer knew if the gods watched me or cared for my fate, but I prayed to them, for I did not want to leave Shara and Ellyn alone to face whatever should come next.

But I also wondered why Shara did not use her magic to revive me. I supposed she had a reason, but I could not fathom it and I became gripped by a terrible dread: that I had failed, and Talan’s Vachyn would send more monsters against the women, or an army, and take Ellyn for his bride, and all be lost. I raved then, and struggled to rise, only to be pushed back—the gods knew, I was weak as a newborn babe—by one of the women.

Then one day I woke to the light on my face, and the sound of birdsong outside my window. I opened my eyes and saw Ellyn slumped in a chair beside my bed. Even in sleep her face was haggard, and when I sat up she woke with a start, eyes springing open in alarm. I saw that they were underlined with dark and weary crescents of puffy flesh.

“Gailard!”

She rose stiffly, like a soldier waking to yet another day’s battle, flexing her shoulders even as she reached for a cloth, water, coming toward the bed to bathe my forehead. I lifted an arm I saw was swathed in bandages. “No need.” I looked down at my chest, which was wrapped like some Nabanese mummy.

Ellyn hesitated, the moistened cloth dripping water onto my bandages. Then she flung it aside and put her arms around me, which hurt until she drew back. I could not tell whether she laughed or cried, perhaps both, but she kissed my cheek and said, “Your fever’s broken.”

I nodded, which set my head to hurting somewhat, and said, “Yes, I think so.” My mouth felt dry and sandy.

“Oh, Gailard! I was so afraid.”

She stared at me, her hands touching my face, my hair. I saw that hers was grown out. She looked no longer boyish, but a young woman fast approaching her true beauty.

“How long have I been like this?”

She said, “Weeks. I was so afraid. I feared you’d …”

I took her hands. In her excitement, she was none too gentle, and I still hurt. “It takes more than that to kill me,” I said. “What happened. No—wait. Is there ale?”

She nodded and filled a mug. I noticed that she sprinkled some herbal concoction into the cup. It gave the ale a certain bitterness, but still I drank it thirstily. It made my teeth ache, but I asked for a second mug.

“Ach, that’s better. What happened? The last I remember is …” I touched my head and found it turbaned.

Ellyn explained.

“Then you saved my life,” I said.

“And set us all in jeopardy,” she replied. “Shara was angry with me.”

“She’s … ?” I hesitated.

“Alive.” A cloud crossed Ellyn’s weary eyes at my question. “I’ll bring her.”

She flung out of the chamber and I rested back against the pillows, tugging the sheets down that I might examine my wounds. I saw the bandages—around my chest and ribs, my arms, one decorating a leg. Otherwise, I was naked, which was how Shara saw me when she came hurrying in. I pulled up the sheets.

Shara looked weary as Ellyn, and as happy to see me, but where Ellyn was all fussing fondness, she was businesslike. She checked my bandages and ordered me to lie down.

“Are you hungry?” I nodded and she made a gesture at the shadow-filled air, then turned to Ellyn. “Help me, eh? I’d check those cuts.”