Redeeming the Lost

by Elizabeth Kerner

  “Damn it,” I muttered. “I can’t do it.”

  “Are you well, Mage Vilkas?” asked Idai. She was concerned for me. I was beginning to feel a little ashamed.

  “Your pardon, Lady, I can do nothing for you by myself,” I admitted. It galled me, but I couldn’t get away from the truth. Damn, blast and damn. “I need Aral.”

  Truespeech is an astounding thing. In moments Gyrentikh was aloft—I think it was he—and a very short while after, he landed by the lake with Aral.

  She walked towards me tentatively, as though she trod barefoot on broken glass. When she came near enough in the failing light, I could see that her eyes were still red and swollen. She must have been weeping again.

  Or still. You are not the only one who has lost something beyond measure this day.

  She could not look at me. Aral, who had soundly berated me any number of times for any number of reasons, whose cheerful abuse had kept me from getting too full of myself for two years, could not raise her eyes to meet my glance.

  “Have you treated yourself for shock yet, woman?” I asked, aiming for the tone of banter we had been used to use. It sounded brittle and angry. Ah, well.

  “Didn’t bloody well do any good,” she replied. I could tell from her breathing that she was holding back tears. She knew I hated seeing women cry.

  I have always enjoyed surprising Aral. I stepped up to her, took her by the shoulders, and kissed her forehead. “Vilkas, don’t,” she began, but I immediately let her go. She stared at me, uncomprehending.

  “Now is not the time, Aral,” I said gently. “We can address other things later. You were right. I was right. We were both very, very wrong. Come on. There is an awful lot of suffering going on that we can stop. I can’t do it without you.”

  She nodded. We both turned to Idai, and Aral drew out the soulgem of Loriakeris. This time, though, she said quietly aloud, “Lady Loriakeris, will it please you to assist us?”

  For answer the soulgem blazed once, briefly, in the darkness. Aral turned to me and grinned. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’,” she said. Holding the soulgem in one hand, calling her Healer’s strength to her, she gingerly placed her other hand in mine. I gathered my Power about me, allowing the stream of that inner fire to fill me, grasped Aral’s hand firmly, and sent the focus through the soulgem.

  We found out later that we made quite a vision, Aral and Loriakeris and I. The evening star, turned blue and come to rest.

  Idai’s physical wounds were healed in minutes. Even I was astonished. It would take time, of course, for the new tissue to strengthen its bonds with the old, but she was healed.

  “Don’t get in any more fights for a few days, will you, Lady?” I said, and was rewarded by a blessedly warm hiss.

  We went to treat Kédra next, but he refused. “There are others who need you more,” he said.

  “Take us to the worst,” I replied. I kept hold of Aral’s hand as we were borne through the air, in token of friendship, of apology. Of trust. We might never be able to rebuild that which had been, that first absolute trust, but there again, perhaps the new friendship would be based rather more strongly on truth.

  We worked through the night. At first we were borne by Kédra or Idai to the worst injured, and we worked by the light of bonfires hastily provided by our escorts. Despite our best efforts another three of the Restored died, and another of the Kantri, but we saved ten who had been on the brink. We ate what we could in between.

  When those in danger of imminent death had been seen to, when we were near dropping with hunger and weariness, Kedra whisked us away to a level field on the northwest shore of Lake Gand. Some blessedly practical soul had built a rough shelter, no more than a lean-to of branches but better than nothing, with a fire before it and a little more substantial food and drink laid out for us—fresh bread and butter, a gorgeous collop of venison stewed in wine, with cheese and dried fruit after. And some blessed soul had thought to send along both chélan and sweet water to wash it down. We fell on it as though we hadn’t eaten in a hundred years.

  Just as we were drinking the last of the chélan, Lanen stepped into the firelight and went down on one knee before us. “How fare you both?” she asked. Her voice was calm, but her eyes were filled with concern.

  “I think we’ll live, Mistress Lanen, thank you,” said Aral. “Bless you for the food.”

  “Have you strength now to continue, or do you require rest?” she asked.

  So that was it. She was afraid we had stopped for the night.

  I rose on weary legs and clapped her on the shoulder. “Fear not, Lady. We have supped and drunk.” I looked to Aral. “Can you go on?”

  She stood slowly, brushing off crumbs, saying, “I could sleep for a week, to tell the truth, but not until we’re finished.” She smiled. “Come then, Lanen, call Idai and take us to the next.”

  To my surprise, Lanen rose and grinned. “We are better organised than that.” She raised her chin and called out, “Now!”

  In the instant the nighttime landscape changed. We beheld a field ringed with bonfires, set alight by the Kantri we had healed, who then wandered around the circle lighting yet more. At last we could see what we were doing, and I wasn’t going to complain about the warmth either. Our next patient lay wearily in the firelight, Jamie beside it.

  “Who has done this?” I asked, all astonishment, as we reached the bright centre of the field.

  Jamie grinned. “It was Rella’s idea. You’re not the only ones who’ve been busy, you know. Lanen has even had the Kantri working away, bringing enough wood and ferrying her back and forth from the castle.”

  “The castle?” said Aral in wonder. Then her expression changed. “Bloody hellsfire! That’s where the food came from!”

  Jamie’s grin grew wider. “Indeed. Seems there’s a woman there who knew Marik as a child and can see the resemblance in his daughter.” He laughed. “Of course, the fact that she arrived in the courtyard in the hands of a bloody great dragon almost certainly helped her case along.”

  We treated one after another, barely stopping save to admit the next to the circle of fire. Lanen stayed with us to translate, for many of the Kantri had no human speech. The Dhrenagan, to my astonishment, spoke more fluently even than had Shikrar, though their speech was terribly archaic—I learned later that in their day, Gedri and Kantri lived together in peace. It struck me that their experience in this might be desperately needed soon.

  Shadowy figures kept the bonfires burning bright, and Will and Maran, Rella and Jamie, kept us supplied with food and drink. Towards the end of the night, when we could no longer stand, they watched over us as we rested for the half of an hour here, a few minutes there.

  I had thought, at the height of my glorious madness, that my power was infinite. Now I began to learn the merely human limits that surrounded it. As dawn grew pale in the east, Aral and I were finally forced to stop. Our joined Healer’s strength was hardly diminished, which was astounding, but we were entirely exhausted. We saw the last of the dragons whose wounds might kill them and finally called a halt. I sank to my knees and was prepared to sleep on the bare ground, but Maran lifted me in her powerful arms as though I were a child and carried me to our lean-to. I had no strength to protest. Goddess, but that woman is impressive!

  There were two piles of heather, covered with blankets, and a feather pillow each. I realised this when I woke, you understand. I was asleep the instant Maran set me down.

  I think Will carried Aral.

  Lanen

  I woke in the late afternoon, groggy and confused. It took me a moment to remember what and where this room was.

  The guest chamber at Castle Gundar.

  My father’s people had taken us in the night before, given us ample food for ourselves and the Healers, and when we returned at dawn they led us each to decent rooms and let us sleep. I don’t recall whether Mistress Kiri really believed that I was Marik’s daughter at that point or not, but she was kindness itse
lf. Given the near presence of the True Dragons of legend, and the fact that Akor spoke to the lady in so courtly a fashion, I suppose her generosity was not surprising.

  We had all danced attendance on the Mages until daybreak. I was still weary beyond belief, but I forced myself out of bed. I wandered down to where I thought the kitchens must be and found a maidservant who pointed me to the bathing chamber, O blessed civilisation! A long deep bath stood there, and two young lasses helped me fill it with steaming water and provided soap and drying cloths. I nearly wept when I lowered myself into clean water for the first time in what felt like years. My hair was shocking and my clothes were worse, and it was only when I had scrubbed off the grime that I realised just how filthy I had been. I went to scrub my clothing in the bathwater, but the little maidservant took away my horrible shirt, tunic, and trews and brought me a long gown. It was a good handspan too short, but there was enough room in the shoulders. The maid assured me that my own garments would be ready for me by morning.

  Clean and warm at last, I followed my nose and found Jamie wandering about not far ahead of me. I hailed him, and he led me confidently towards the Great Hall.

  “How fare you this morning?” I asked, yawning.

  Jamie laughed. Goddess, it was good to see him laugh again. “It lacks but an hour of sunset, my girl. Morning, indeed!” He yawned along with me. “I am well, Lanen. Exhausted, but well. Nothing that another day or so in a real bed won’t cure.” He stopped in the corridor and faced me. “And before we meet the rest of them—how are you?”

  “I am well enough,” I replied solemnly. I didn’t bother to tell him that I had wakened weeping. We were none of us unwounded. “And all three of us will be considerably better once I get some food inside me!”

  The Great Hall boasted a long oaken table and individual chairs rather than benches. The table was well laden with food, though by the look of things it had groaned even louder before. Maran and Rella sat at one end, talking at speed. Jamie joined them, and I could only admire Rella’s restraint. She sat back, for the most part, and let Maran and Jamie catch up on the last twenty-odd years. I caught her eye, and was satisfied with the calm smile and the nod she sent my way. All was well with her, then, too.

  I joined Will, who was sitting alone at the other end. “Good morrow, Willem,” I said cheerfully, once I had devoured a little bread and meat. “I pray you, forgive my lack of manners, but I seem to spend my days perpetually ravenous.”

  He laughed. “Tis usual for a pregnant woman, Mistress Lanen,” he said. “I remember my sister with her first. Her husband told me he was convinced she would bear him three sons at once, for she ate practically without ceasing for a full two months.”

  I grinned in sympathetic horror. “Three at the one time!”

  He smiled again and shook his head. “No, no, it just seemed that way. In the end there was only the one! To be fair, the lad was big even at birth, but within three months my sister was back to being tiny. We still don’t know what she did with all that food.”

  We ate and drank and talked, at peace for that time. Vilkas and Aral arrived, barely able to speak, just after sunset. They had exactly enough strength to nod to us all before they began to feed their ravening hunger. “You must understand, Lanen,” said Aral, between mouthfuls. “In the normal way of things, we would heal a single individual of whatever ailed them, and then spend the next day or so sleeping and eating to restore our strength.” She took a long swallow of good wine and sighed with pleasure. “I have no idea how many we healed yesterday, but, dear Goddess, I could sleep the full moon round.”

  On the heels of her words a young servant lad came rushing in, crying, “Dragons! The dragons are circling, they’ll kill us all! Save us!” He threw himself at my feet. “Please, Mistress, we’ve treated you well, don’t let them take us!”

  I grinned and reassured him that not a single marauding dragon would come for him as we all hurried out into the courtyard. In the failing light of the westering sun the air was sparkling with dragons. Where yesterday even their rejoicing held the edge of darkness as they sang their loved dead onto the Winds, now they wove a sky-dance of sheer delight, to lift the heart and heal the spirit.

  My eyes were drawn instantly to the great silver form that was the centre of the pattern. I opened my heart to him, sending no words, letting him know only the joy that I felt at the sight. In return I heard the great song, too distant for the ears of the body but full and wondrous in the mind. The high, light voices of the Aiala sang a song of sheer joy in life; the darker voices of the Dhrenagan sang of their redemption and of peace made with the Gedri through the healing of the Dragon Mages, Vilkas and Aral (Goddess, just wait until they hear that); and blended through all, the strong voices of the Travellers, the Kantri, twining all into a single glorious music that rang in the heart and echoed down the years. I heard Akor now and again as he struck the lowest notes, the foundation of the music, as though the mountains had grown wings and sang with the Kantri one last time.

  I let the music wash over my weary heart. The sheer beauty of the dance was a blessing. The music, reinforcing the pattern of their flight, spoke of hope for the future of Kantri and Gedri.

  All will be well.

  The sun set. The three Houses of the Kantri glided gracefully through the twilight, coming to ground beyond the lake, and we saw light spring up on Shikrar’s hill as bonfires were lit.

  We all returned to the Great Hall, warm and welcoming, and as fresh chélan was passed around I told everyone of the song of the Kantri. Vilkas sat astounded and utterly delighted that they had mentioned him by name, and Aral grinned. “Amazing,” she said, laughing. “Dragon Mage, eh? There’s a new one. I predict my mother will faint when I tell her. Pass me those parsnips, will you, Maran?”

  When the two of them finished gorging, they rose separately, bowed to us, made their apologies, and disappeared back to their several chambers to sleep once more.

  After they left, I wandered down to the other end of the table and sat beside Maran.

  “Welcome, child,” she said, in great good humour. She looked ten years younger since she had been talking with Rella and Jamie. “I’ve just been finding out the worst of the tales Jamie has to tell on you.”

  “Oh, no!” I cried, in mock dismay. “Oh, Jamie, you didn’t!”

  He looked up and grinned, and my heart near stopped. I had never seen him so happy in all my life. “I did, and then some,” he said smugly.

  “You’ll be wanting to leave again soon, then?” I said jestingly to Maran.

  She laughed. “What, and miss the chance of seeing you lose your temper? I couldn’t.”

  I smiled. “Shia save us, what has he been telling you? I’m a sweet, patient soul, gentle as the day is long. You’d go far to find anyone more softly spoken and even-tempered than I!”

  I don’t think anyone heard those last few words. Jamie, for one, was laughing too hard.

  By the time we had all eaten, most of us were ready for more sleep. Aral never had helped heal my wounds, and they ached. The good folk at the castle had helped me clean and bind them the night before, and I knew no more than time and rest were needed to put them right.

  I bade the company good night and wandered, replete, into the torch-lit courtyard of the castle, with some vague thought of a quiet walk before bed. To my surprise I found Kédra there. “Good even, my friend,” I greeted him.

  “Good even, Lady,” he replied. “How fare you?”

  “I’m well enough, thank you, Kédra,” I said. “We saw you all dancing on the Winds. It was—extraordinary.”

  “And for us,” said Kédra. “The first sky-dance of the Three Branches of the Kantri was a dance to end the life of the Evil One. The second we danced for our own dead. Tonight, without a word being spoken, we all rose up aloft for a dance of life and rejoicing. It is well.”

  “It was a wonder,” I said. “Though that word is a lame horse with much to bear.” I smiled. “However,
I cannot believe that you have come here only to be complimented on your music.” I composed myself and asked, quite calmly, “Where is Akor?” Why is he not here, Kédra, instead of you?

  Kédra bowed, a short bob of his head followed by a little ripple of his long neck. “You have the right of it, Lady. Lord Akhor begged me to await you here, for answer to that very question. He bids me tell you that he is tending to his people.” Kédra sighed. “We are all weary and wounded in body and spirit, Lanen Kaelar,” he said. “Lord Akhor moves among us speaking reassurance, soothing wounded hearts, and letting all see that there is order yet to cling to. He sends his greetings by me, and begs that you will forgive him for not spending time with you this day” Kédra’s voice was quite dry. “Truth to tell, Lanen, he is greatly weary himself, and I believe you would do him a kindness not to bespeak him until the morrow.” To my surprise, Kédra dropped his jaw and hissed his amusement. I welcomed the warmth on my cold ankles. “Indeed, he has by now told the tale of his transformation to each individual soul, I believe, and thereby has accomplished the most important task of all. We now have something to think about.”

  “What, exactly?” I asked, faintly amused. “Whether he’s truly a dragon or no? Whether having given up the Kingship he can now reclaim it?”

  Kédra snorted. “Far simpler than that, Lady. The great question is, who is Eldest?”

  “Idai, surely,” I said, confused. “She was next after—oh!”

  “Yes, you see it,” he said. “Akhor is not in the body he was born to, but neither does he inhabit my father’s remains, although his present form is the size my father’s was. Idai has lived longer, of course—but we none of us are certain what to make of Lord Akhor anymore.”

  I barked a laugh. “Ha! You’re in good company. Goddess knows I haven’t the faintest idea.”

  Kédra hissed. “I think perhaps he does not know either, Lanen. He appears to be—stunned, by his new shape.” He sighed. “At the least, let us be thankful that he is obviously Akhor, the Silver King, and not some dreadful hybrid of himself and my father.”