And the wounded enemy around her realized it, too.
“Here, witch,” called a man with an arrow in his shoulder.
“Please,” gasped another with a sword buried in his belly.
The air around Erwyn buzzed, not only with the voices that begged for her help, but also with the yellow-brown danger that was an ever-present part of her life. The calm blue light of her magic opposed it now. Through it all a single sound rang clear.
“Heal,” her mother’s voice said. Another peal. The voices of the Wise Witches. “Heal.”
And another. “Heal,” said the voice of the Witch King.
So she eased the death of the man whose entrails were destroyed by the sword in his belly, and mended the wounds of the others most in need of it.
Seeing her work, and perhaps moved by the same spirits that urged her on, the surgeon, the bone-setter, and the herbalist returned to her side to heal the defeated enemy.
By the time they were done the cloud of danger, now a deep yellow-red, was so thick Erwyn was sure it must be visible to everyone around her.
But somehow the cloud, like the healing they had done, went undetected until Thalgor found her standing exhausted among the enemy she had saved.
The rage on his face froze her heart. “Do you care so little for your life with me that you wish to die, witch?”
A different danger, a different fear claimed her. She took a deep breath and fought the anger, the hurt his words brought.
“Are we so well supplied with good men that we can let these die rather than strengthen our numbers?”
“They are a defeated enemy. Why would we let them live? And why would they join with those they would have killed?”
“To have their women and children back.”
“What of those who refuse, of those who have none? Will they not fight us again?”
“As marauders or renegades. We have no need to fear them.”
He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again.
Before he found the words he wanted, Gurdek and Batte arrived and repeated the same accusations, with considerably more vehemence.
“I say again you are a fool, Thalgor,” Batte declared when the inquisition was finished.
“I say this is a matter for the council.”
Batte cast Erwyn a hard look. “The witch did not ask permission from the council before she healed the enemy.”
Erwyn started to respond, but Gurdek quickly intervened.
“No, she did not, but she makes a good argument.”
Batte swirled toward him, hand on his sword. “You and Rygar, the two who should most want revenge on Thalgor for the cousin and father he killed, always follow his lead, even when he follows the witch. What kind of men are you?”
Erwyn’s breath caught in her throat at the insult, but Gurdek moved to stand between her and Batte.
“Men who remember that the man Thalgor killed when still a child was an evil man, even if a great warrior. Men who know how our band has flourished and grown strong with Thalgor as leader. Men who agree with him because he argues well and truly.”
“Men as bewitched as he,” Batte replied. “The marauder’s wife you have taken and that girl Rygar wants feed you poison the witch gives them so you won’t question her word or Thalgor’s. Dara has seen them practice vile rituals with the cursed child in the woods.”
Erwyn’s face flushed with outrage, but Thalgor silenced her with a gesture.
“You are the fool, Batte, if you believe Dara’s wild tales.” Gurdek turned his back and walked away.
“He does not deny it, even if the witch tries to.” Although Batte spoke to Thalgor, he clearly had half an eye on the small crowd of warriors that had gathered as they argued.
“No need to.” Thalgor spoke to the men around them. “Who has given you more reason to trust, the witch who saves your lives and the midwife who saves your women, or Dara?”
The men shuffled their feet and looked away.
“But she is a witch,” called a man at the edge of the crowd.
Thalgor ignored him. “Go to your Dara, Batte. She no doubt waits for you. We will discuss this in council later.”
He directed his men to guard the wounded enemies and gestured for Erwyn to come with him to their tent. Batte was left alone on the battlefield, his face purple with anger.
Erwyn had no choice but to follow Thalgor, too exhausted from healing to sort her anger out from the pain in her heart.
How could anyone, even Batte, believe Dara’s lies? One might have great passion for a liar, perhaps even love them, but she always thought Batte, no matter how besotted, knew what Dara was.
“Nothing to say, witch?” Thalgor asked once they were back in the tent.
She slipped the cloak from aching shoulders. “Gurdek spoke well enough. I’ve never heard him speak at such length before.”
Thalgor chuckled. “A man of few words, but a solid friend.”
“And cousin to the one who fathered Rygar.”
“The man who sired him, more accurately. That one was no more Rygar’s father than he was my mother’s lover.” Hatred rang in Thalgor’s voice. “Batte is too young to know that.”
“The same age as you.”
“But I lived with the brute.”
A current in the air made them both turn toward the door of the tent. Rygar stood there.
“I’ve asked you not to speak so of my father.”
Thalgor held his hands up, palms out.
“I seldom do. I was angry at Batte. Angry that he opposes me. I am sorry.”
“I heard Gurdek had to defend me from his accusations because you did not.”
“He did such an eloquent job I saw no need,” Thalgor replied.
“Now I know you lie.”
Erwyn stepped between them, her heart tight in her chest.
Rygar’s face softened and he smiled. “Gurdek was never eloquent in his life.”
Erwyn felt Thalgor relax behind her. She let out the breath she had been holding with a long sigh.
“Did I frighten you, sister?” Rygar asked.
“There is much danger here. I could not bear it if it came from you.”
“Nor I,” he agreed.
“It is bad enough that it comes from Batte.” Thalgor lowered himself to a bench. “He has been my right hand from the beginning. My first lieutenant, when Gurdek was not yet sure of my ability to lead. My fiercest warrior.” He paused and dropped his head. “My friend since I was a boy. I would trust him with my life, my people. Yet he believes Dara.”
“The woman is evil.” Rygar spoke Erwyn’s thought, but without rancor. “A spurned lover is always dangerous.”
“I was an idiot ever to let her near me, ever to touch her,” Thalgor agreed. “And a bigger one to allow her to think I turned away from her for another.”
“Didn’t you?” Rygar asked with a sideways glance at Erwyn.
“I walked away because she disgusted me. Erwyn only let me see what I already felt.”
“It was the same with me and Tya.” Rygar sat beside him on the bench. “Perhaps it is part of her magic, to unite those who belong together and separate those who do not.”
Erwyn yawned. “Perhaps it is that men are great fools and it only takes someone who sees clearly to help them realize what is already in their hearts.”
“Go to sleep, witch,” Thalgor grumbled amiably. “I will wake you when Batte and Gurdek return for council.”
*
Batte never returned to council. After three days, Thalgor sent for Tynor.
“Batte refuses to come to council anymore,” he reported. “He says you are all bewitched, so his words have no power.”
“Do you agree?” Thalgor asked.
Batte’s second, a broad man like Gurdek but even shorter, craned his eyes up to meet Thalgor’s.
Erwyn held her breath. One defection from council could be ignored–two could not.
“I think you hear his words and min
e,” Tynor finally said.
“Then you will sit in council with us still?” Relief rang in Thalgor’s voice.
“Yes. But I will not lead in battle. I am not the warrior Batte is.”
Thalgor clapped Tynor on the shoulder. “Summon the rest of the council.”
Chapter Fourteen
When the rest of the council arrived, they sat at their usual places at the table. None of them looked at the place where Batte would normally have sat.
Gurdek spoke first. “Those we captured are restless. They fear we still mean to kill their warriors.”
“It is too late to kill them,” Sett pointed out. “The question is whether we ask them to join our band or send them off with their families to be marauders.”
Rygar frowned. “When you say it that way, the question hardly makes sense.”
“So do we invite a whole band to become of us, as we have marauders and raiding parties?” Thalgor asked.
“What about the danger of treachery?” Tynor objected. “These men could kill us all in our sleep, or deceive us into a hopeless battle with another band.”
Sett held his hands up, palms out. “Perhaps it is best if I do not speak.”
“No one here, I think, still blames you for the battle we almost lost,” Rygar responded.
“No one here,” Tynor repeated in a low voice.
“Is our band weaker or stronger because of those we have added?” Rygar asked.
Only part of Erwyn’s mind listened to the discussion as she watched how the yellow-brown cloud of danger grew now thicker, now thinner as the men talked. What Tynor said caused the most change, but other things made a difference, too–whether Thalgor frowned; how much of a common mind Gurdek and Sett seemed to be. Even whether Rygar sighed.
“Stronger,” Gurdek answered and the cloud thinned.
Tynor frowned and the cloud grew thicker again. “There is danger if we do not have enough women for all of the warriors.”
“We have captured these men’s women and children, too,” Rygar reminded him, “and except for the raiding party of boys, none have come to us without women of their own.”
“If we keep their livestock and send them out to be marauders,” Thalgor pointed out, “how long do you think it will be before they come to take back what was theirs by stealth?”
“Even if they join our band, they may do the same from within our camp,” Tynor replied.
Erwyn spread her hands in an effort to grasp the words for a future she could see but not quite name.
“We could let them stay with us, but keep them under guard. Let them fight with our men the next time we are attacked. We could tell them that only when they have proved themselves in battle, as the marauders have, will we accept them as full members of our band.”
“We will learn much from whether and how they accept the plan,” Thalgor added.
A general murmur of approval went around the table. Only Tynor remained quiet. Finally he shrugged.
“Batte will disagree, but I see no problem with that plan. Perhaps I can make him understand it is the best thing we can do if I don’t tell him the idea came from the witch.”
“Her name is Erwyn,” Rygar said quietly.
Tynor looked Erwyn full in the face for the first time. The respect she saw in his eyes made her smile.
“It is a good plan, Erwyn.”
She nodded. “Thank you.”
For the moment, the cloud of danger disappeared.
The air remained clear later when, one by one, the captured men stood before Thalgor. Erwyn saw that all those who wished to join their band had good hearts. All those she would have refused chose to take their weapons and turn renegade, unable even to get along well enough with each other to form a band of marauders. When many of their women chose to stay with Thalgor’s band rather than follow them, those men who chose to leave stalked off with a single weapon each, cursing everyone.
Through it all Batte stood to one side with Tynor and their men, grim but silent.
By the next day, however, rumors flew around the camp that Batte and Dara had argued viciously.
“Sett heard she wanted him to challenge me for leadership of the band, but he refused,” Thalgor told Erwyn that night as they lay together in bed.
“Tya heard she told him she had killed another unborn child.” Erwyn sighed, reminded of the two babies she had so wanted to keep. “Both could be true. She might throw something like that in his face if he defied her on the other.”
Thalgor gave a harrumph of agreement.
She waited for his stillness to turn to passion or to sleep.
After a long silence he said, “Did you give her the herbs?”
Could he still think that of her? “No. It is an herb known to most midwives. There are three in the camp. She could have gone to any of them.”
“Not Gurdek’s woman.”
“No, probably not.”
“Do other women come to you for that herb?”
“Women do not come to me. The midwives send for me when a birthing troubles them.”
“So even our women do not trust you, unless they have to.”
“No.” She could see the cloud of danger rise around them. “No one trusts a witch.”
*
When the council met the next day, Batte was still absent.
“He says we should meet without him, for the same reason as before,” Tynor told them. “Why did you call us here?”
“The attack across the creek showed two flaws in our plans,” Thalgor answered. “Even with many guards, family tents on that side make it vulnerable, and when the battle comes, our water supply is dirtied.”
“The women in my tent and others along the creek have spent every day since the battle making sure the water is pure,” Gurdek explained, “but still bits of bone and flesh appear.”
“The springs are clean,” Sett reported. “Still, we need the stream clear as well so all can have easy access to water without emptying the cisterns too quickly.”
“We must build the wall first along the creek,” Thalgor concluded.
Tynor shook his head. “I don’t disagree, but you know some will see it as more favors for your closest lieutenants.” He hesitated, then went on. “And you know Batte and that woman will fan those flames.”
“Tya and I could talk to the women,” Erwyn suggested. “They will understand about the need for clean water.”
“The women aren’t the problem,” Rygar replied. “They know very well how their lives will be better if the wandering and the raiding end. It is their men who tire of the work and listen to Batte when he calls for a return to battle.”
“Perhaps we can convince the stone-workers, at least.” Thalgor rubbed his temples. “We know it is the best plan. Even Batte must see that.”
“It is only the best plan if we stay here and build a wall,” Tynor pointed out. “That is what Batte believes is foolish.”
“Perhaps I should speak with him face-to-face,” Thalgor suggested. “We are friends, comrades. He will listen to me.”
“He stopped listening to you when he began to listen to Dara,” Sett warned him. “He is no longer your friend and only remains your comrade because he is afraid to challenge you.”
Thalgor had known that. But to hear the words still hurt.
“Has it gone so far?” he asked Tynor. “He accepted it when we allowed the captured warriors into the band.”
“Because we had little choice, once your witch healed their wounded.”
Thalgor felt Erwyn go tense beside him.
“Back to ‘witch’ now, Tynor?” Rygar asked with a smile. “Even Thalgor’s witch?”
Tynor flushed red. “When Batte speaks, his words make sense. When Thalgor speaks, his words make sense. It is hard for me, for many of us, to know who speaks most true.”
Because there was no truth to it, Thalgor knew. Only two visions of how to live; as they always had, in wandering and war, or as legend told them their an
cestors had, in peace and prosperity. He could not give Batte a guarantee his vision was best. He could only offer his dream of something better.
“Is it time to split the band?” Sett asked hesitantly. “Let those go with Batte who want to wander, the rest stay here?”
“We do not have enough warriors for two bands,” Gurdek responded immediately.
“I fear most of those we have would go with Batte,” Rygar added sadly.
“But their women would not follow,” Erwyn said.
Thalgor waved away the idea. “We are not enough yet, and I would not divide the band or families in that way.”
“You could challenge Batte, if he will not challenge you,” Tynor suggested.
When they all turned to stare at him, he shrugged.
“It would be easier to hear only one…voice.”
One leader, Thalgor knew Tynor meant to say. The throbbing in his head grew more intense. He could surely defeat Batte, but at what cost to the band? And to himself? He had not only lost his comrade, he might also lose his position as leader. Still, to kill his friend…
“The wall?” Erwyn prompted quietly.
“We will build the wall first along the creek,” Thalgor declared. “It is necessary to protect our people.”
“Agreed,” the others all said, Tynor last.
After dinner Thalgor drank the tea Erwyn gave him for his headache and fell into a deep, troubled sleep.
He awoke much later from dreams of blood and water that flowed in rivulets down stone walls. But what had wakened him?
Erwyn screamed again and scrambled across him. Her body left a hot, wet trail across his chest.
Groggily he turned toward the tent wall where she slept. In the light of the single torch he saw two slits in the cloth, both stained dark red.
He sat up. Erwyn searched among her potions and herbs with one hand while the other held a clump of her gown against her side, but still blood trickled down her bare thigh.
“You’ve been stabbed.” His tongue was thick from the herbs.
She cast him a look, then sat by his feet, her free hand gingerly testing the wound in her side.
“Sword or knife?”
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