Altered Destinies- Earth Reborn

by Yvonne Hertzberger

  Dunth now writhed in pain and fury, bleeding profusely from both the arm and his back.

  If I am to question him I must slow the bleeding or he will die in minutes. `

  As if Dunth understood, he stopped writhing and lay still, grabbing the severed arm above the cut to slow the bleeding. He said nothing but his eyes begged for mercy.

  Phaera reached behind Kennitt to cut his bonds with her dagger, keeping the sword at the ready. “Tie his feet and knees.” Kennitt hurried to obey. “Now find two guards. This man needs to be questioned. Hurry.”

  “But, Milady, I cannot leave you.”

  Phaera did not look at him but barked a short laugh. “I am safe enough, Kennitt. He will not harm me. Go.”

  As Kennitt ran off she set the sword behind her out of Dunth’s reach, tore a strip from her gown and used it for a tourniquet on the arm. Then she rolled Dunth over with one foot, face down, and applied pressure to the wound in his back. I doubt he will survive. But he must live long enough for questioning.

  Kennitt returned with two soldiers. “Here we are, Milady. And word has been sent to Captain Raskir.”

  “Good work, Kennitt.” She turned to the two soldiers and jerked her head to the other wall. “See that plank there? Bring it. Place the prisoner on it to carry him to the barracks. He must remain face down and I must keep pressure on the wound or he will bleed to death before we can question him.”

  Their efforts were to no avail. Dunth took his last breath moments after they reached the barracks. Raskir hurried to meet them.

  Phaera clenched her fists by her sides as she let out a long curse. “No! Filthy scum. No!” She sank to the ground, her legs no longer able to hold her, the battle rage no longer sustaining her.

  “Mead,” Raskir barked at one of the men before kneeling beside Phaera. “Milady, you are suffering from shock.” He reached for the cup his man handed him. “Drink this. It will revive you.”

  Phaera took the cup and gulped it down in one draft. Then her whole body began to shake. From somewhere, someone wrapped a blanket around her shoulders.

  Raskir still knelt beside her. “You are safe, Milady. You are safe. It is over.”

  As Phaera’s shaking slowed he said, “Let me help you up into the guardhouse. You can collect yourself there.”

  Phaera brushed him off with one raised hand, remaining as she was on the ground. “I failed. I had him and I failed.”

  “No, Milady, no one could have done better. You are unharmed. The enemy is captured and dead. No one could have done more.”

  But I killed a man. I am a healer, and I killed without hesitation.

  When Phaera finally stilled she met Raskir’s gaze. “See that Kennitt is rewarded. He saved me.” When Raskir nodded she added, “I am weary. Please escort me back into the castle.” When a soldier attempted to support her under an arm she shook it off, once more in control of herself. “I can walk.” She took several steps, each one more sure than the last, then addressed Raskir over her shoulder. “Captain, I leave it to you to inform Lady Flor.”

  “It shall be done, Milady. Rest.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  CLOSE ENCOUNTER

  Bain addressed the young man beside him. “Jessin, you will accompany me. Your courage in delivering the coup de grace to our prisoner shows me you are a man of loyalty and courage, just the man I want by my side.”

  The memory of that day still haunted Bain. He knew he ought to have given the mercy cut himself. Daily, he questioned his ability to rule and to lead. He was torn between his early training at the side of his mother, saving lives, and his current duties which might require him to take lives without a thought. He knew the other men would not think twice about killing an enemy in combat. Did his turmoil make him weak?

  Jessin’s eyes widened at the words, followed by a proud squaring of his shoulders. “Thank you, Milord. I am honoured.”

  They spoke little that first day in Exalon. The people who ventured into the streets, mostly men who had no choice but to open their shops, to tend their work, and to find the food for their families, did not meet their eyes. At one cottage a mother hustled a small child who had wandered into the street back inside. No children laughed or played. No women came out to the shops. The silence left an eerie pall over the scene, leaving Bain in no mood to break it. He suspected Jessin felt the same.

  Bain spotted a large, dark stain on a wider, cobbled street, still slightly shiny, unmistakably dried blood. As they passed it he jerked his head toward it to catch Jessin’s attention. Keeping his voice low he said, “They have taken the body away. No doubt we shall see more such.” He stole a sideways glance at Jessin, whose pale face and pained expression confirmed that the young man shared his horror. Like him, Jessin’s hand hovered near his sword, as if expecting to be confronted at any instant.

  Bain kept mostly to the alleys and lesser used pathways. “We are two men together, both armed. That alone may draw attention. We must remain as inconspicuous as possible.” Bain had explained this to all his troops. Now the warning felt almost unnecessary. It seemed everyone here did their best to remain as invisible as possible.

  Yet, nowhere did they see men in the livery of Belthorn, or indeed, Exalon. When they entered a narrow alley where they would not be overheard Bain turned to Jessin. “Either Mathune’s men have gone, which I doubt, or he has ordered them not to wear their uniforms, just as we were informed.”

  “It will make it more difficult to detect them, Milord.”

  “Indeed. Keep your ears open to any conversation you can pick up. And watch the people. If they appear to specifically avoid anyone they will be the ones to watch.”

  “Understood.”

  A scream pierced the air just as the pair reached the end of the alley. Jessin drew his sword and made to rush out but Bain grabbed his arm, holding him back. When Jessin looked at him in surprise Bain held the forefinger of his free hand to his lips, shaking his head. He waived Jessin to stand behind him. He crept to the exit, his back tight against the wall, and peeked out. Two men disappeared at a run into the next alley. On the street a woman knelt over a body, keening with grief.

  Bain turned to Jessin. “I must help this woman if I can. If she is approached by both of us she may run. I need to question her. Only show yourself if I am in clear danger or signal that it is safe to do so.”

  At Jessin’s reluctant nod Bain added, “If something happens to me I need you to remain out of sight so you can bring the news to Captain Reynce.” He peered into the street again. Seeing no one coming to the woman’s aid, or alternately, returning to attack her, he slipped out and came to squat beside her, though the woman seemed not to notice.

  “My good woman, what has happened here? Who has done this?”

  At the sound of Bain’s voice she jerked as though struck and scuttled to the far side of the body she had been cradling. She looked about to run away but at seeing Bain kneel on the other side she hesitated. She crouched, watching Bain wide-eyed, hunched and rigid, ready to flee.

  “I have no wish to harm you. Please, let me help you take this man to a safe place.”

  The woman gave a wild shake of her head and choked out, “He is dead.”

  “Yes, I am sorry. But he needs to be removed from the street. Do you know him? Do you wish that he be taken somewhere where he may be treated with some dignity?”

  Bain watched a little of the tension seep from the woman, though she remained wary.

  “My husband.”

  “I am sorry. Do you wish to take him home?” Bain looked around, noting that the disturbance had not brought anyone outdoors. The street was still bare.

  “You endanger yourself, sir.”

  “No matter. I am trained to protect myself.”

  By now the woman had risen to her feet and stood waiting, as if undecided.

  Bain rose as well. “Wait a moment. I will return to help you take your husband home but I must do one thing first.” Bain slipped back to the
waiting Jessin.

  “I will take this woman’s husband’s body to their dwelling. Follow me but remain unseen if possible. Only come to my aid if I am accosted. When darkness falls I will step outside and light a pipe. That will be the signal that it is safe to approach. I hope this woman has information, perhaps even food and a dry place to lay our heads tonight.”

  “Understood, Milord. Be safe… but, you do not smoke. Do you have a pipe?”

  “No, you will give me yours.” Bain held out a waiting hand. He returned Jessin’s low chuckle of amusement.

  Bain looked out to see the woman about to leave, shoulders sagging, head down. Making sure no one else had arrived he strode out toward her, and called to her, his voice low. “I am back. I will help you now.”

  She turned half-way back, looked over her shoulder and waited.

  Bain knelt by the body and lifted it into his arms as though cradling a child. The man was not tall and surprisingly light. Lack of food, no doubt. As he neared the wife he murmured, “Lead the way. I am right behind you. Anyone who sees us will think I am a friend.”

  The woman hurried ahead in silence until they reached a poor cottage not far away. She entered without looking back, leaving the door open. A young girl rushed toward her then stopped midway and froze. As Bain entered the dwelling she backed away into a dark corner.

  The women indicated a blanket she spread on the floor.

  As Bain bent to lay the body down he heard a choked sob behind him. “Papa?”

  The woman, still silent, drew her daughter into her arms, squeezed her tight, then pressed her back to stand behind her.

  Bain lifted a corner of the blanket and covered the dead man’s face before standing to face the pair.

  “Is this the work of Mathune’s men?” At the stiff nod of affirmation he asked, more gently, “Can you tell me what happened?”

  The woman began to shake and looked about to crumple to the floor. Bain grabbed one of two stools and set it behind her, helping her lower herself onto it. The child fled back into the shadows.

  Bain pulled out his flask from the pouch at his waist, uncorked it and held it to the woman’s lips until she took a swallow.

  Returning it to his pouch he retrieved the only other stool and sat to face the woman. “Why was your husband slain? Why did they choose him?” Then he caught himself. “Forgive me. I forget myself. Please, what is your name?”

  The spirits had calmed the woman a little and she shook less violently. “Mag, sir.”

  Bain could hardly hear her. “Thank you, Mag. I saw two men leaving. I heard nothing before that, and so believe this was a planned attack. Those men knew you and your husband would be there at that time. They wanted you to see.”

  When the woman remained silent and wrung her hands into her apron Bain made an effort to soften his tone. “Madam, I am not from Exalon but I know there is treachery about. I know that Lord Mathune is behind it and have come here to help. But I need information.”

  When Mag lifted her head and met his eyes Bain tried again. “Why was your husband there?”

  Mag began, hesitantly at first, then all in a torrent. “We were told to meet a friend. We were promised oats, a few eggs, and cabbages. They said it would be too much for one person to fetch and I must come, too.” A great sob emerged before Mag was able to continue in a long wail. “But it was all a lie! They attacked from behind. One grabbed me and made me watch.” Her face contorted with the horror. “The other called Girn a traitor. He cut his throat and threw him to the ground. Then they ran.”

  Bain drew out his flask again and offered Mag another swallow. “Mag, I know it is difficult for you to speak of this. Think a moment and try to remember who your Girn has spoken with in the last few days. Who would think him an enemy and wish to see him dead?”

  Mag shook her head in confusion. “Girn is a common man, sir. He fixes things. We are poor and often those he fixes for can only pay in eggs or vegetables. He is not important.”

  By this time the young girl had sidled up to her mother. Mag wrapped an arm around her daughter and drew her face into her shoulder where the child began to sob quietly.

  Realizing that Mag needed some time, and that both needed comfort, Bain stopped questioning. He scanned the hovel for food. Seeing only a small cauldron of thin, cold porridge hanging on the hook in the hearth he reached into the pack he had dropped inside the door and pulled out his rations of dried meat, beans, and journey bread. Under those he discovered a chunk of hard cheese.

  He bent over the cauldron and sniffed. “Mag, this porridge smells good but I have some things to add to it. I will rekindle the fire and stir in this meat. In an hour we’ll have a fine meal with my bread and cheese.” Without waiting for an answer he poked the fire to uncover the banked embers and added three solid sticks of wood from the pile beside the hearth. When they caught flame he swung the cauldron over it. He cut his meat into small pieces and stirred them in with the wooden spoon hanging on a thong on its peg in the wall.

  He took only a surreptitious glance at Mag, pleased to see her eyes less fearful and her posture less rigid. Then he found three wooden bowls and placed them on the table. With his knife he hacked the dry cheese and bread into chewable chunks and divided them beside the bowls.

  That done he turned to Mag. “Madam, where are your cups and spoons? I see your kettle there. Where may I find water? That stew may need more and I have some sage that will make a nice hot tea.”

  The simple, homely gestures seemed to rouse Mag to her duties as hostess. She stood up slowly, disentangling herself from her daughter, and reached for the kettle. “Here, I will fetch water.”

  Bain handed it to her, grateful that he would not need to expose his presence outside.

  By the time they had all eaten, and sat warming their hands on chipped mugs of tea, Mag had revealed that Girn’s last “fixing” had been for a stranger staying at the inn. When the stranger had refused to pay him Girn had protested, and called out for the magistrate. He had returned home angry and empty-handed.

  By now darkness outside had dimmed the hovel so that only enough glow from the fire remained for them to move about without bumping into things. Bain drew out Jessin’s pipe, stuck a small piece of kindling with which to light it into the embers, and nodded to Mag. “I have a friend who travels with me. I told him to remain hidden. He also will not harm you. May I invite him inside?”

  At Mag’s timid nod of assent he opened the door and stepped outside, limned from the back by the remaining glow in the hearth.

  From around the corner Jessin emerged into the deserted street and silently followed Bain back in.

  Mag handed him a bowl of the porridge stew and gestured at him to take a stool at the table.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  PHAERA’S DECISION

  When Phaera’s monthly bleeding began, a few days late, her initial reaction was of profound relief. To her surprise she also felt a fleeting sadness before reason prevailed. I cannot have a child now. I am not ready to die. I need to establish my healing work. What struck her even more was how much less urgent that felt. The fear of childbirth was still terrifying but now she also felt an indefinable sense of missing something. What is wrong with me? Am I going soft? Am I losing my good sense? Stop this nonsense. There will be time for it later - much later. Besides, it is not safe now. This war must end first. Mathune must be destroyed and peace re-established.

  She dismissed the pang of regret and gave it no further thought. Instead she searched the small chest of remedies she always kept with her whenever she travelled. She began to feel anxious when what she sought did not immediately come to hand. That ebbed in a rush of relief when she spotted the tiny, familiar sac under a number of other items. Soon she had the herb steeping on the brazier in her chamber. Bain will not be happy but I must make him understand. I am not ready. I will convince him.

  As the hot, bitter brew warmed her she knew she had made the best decision. There would be many
years to give Bain the heir he needed. She knew the tea was not foolproof. Some women still conceived even when drinking it daily, but it reduced the chances of quickening. It was better than nothing.

  The bigger worry was whether she could obtain more of the herb. Being cloistered in the castle prevented her from hunting for it or even asking Nurias for help. Would she even help me? Or would she see it as treason? It is a well- kept secret among healers. Is it even lawful here as it is in Kinterron? Even there it is seen as suspect.

  Phaera retrieved the sac from where she had placed it on the fireplace mantle and peered inside. Enough for a month, perhaps. I must procure more.

  A knock on the door brought her out of her reflections. “Enter.”

  Mira opened the door, a troubled look on her face. “Lady Flor requests that you meet her in the small dining chamber off her apartment. She says to tell you Captain Raskir is already present.”

  “Thank you Mira.” Phaera put the sac back into the small chest and placed it on the mantle beside the cup. Then she took a small key from the chain at her waist and carefully locked the chest.

  Phaera caught Mira’s puzzled frown as she left the room. She cannot suspect what I am doing. She strode to the meeting wondering, with a pang of concern, what could make it so urgent and private. When she walked through the door held open for her by the guard she stopped short. “Kort!”