“Don’t be. You are a witch and the magic in our bloodline is strong.” Fear was their enemy just now. “You do not need much magic to do this. Even Thalgor managed it, after a fashion, when I healed Rygar. We will save him. Together.”
The child nodded. Erwyn told her how to slow Thalgor’s breathing to the barest minimum and how to tell if it was too slow. Then Erwyn began the long, delicate process of using her magic to heal the hole in his lung.
Around them the warriors settled into a battle camp. Someone added wood to the fire and brought more food. The smell of it teased her empty belly, but she dared not pause to eat.
At long last, just as the moon set, Erwyn told Felyn to let Thalgor breath normally again. No air sucked against the cobwebs that covered the wound. She lifted them gently away. No bloody foam rose in the hole that still gaped open in his chest.
She placed her hand on the skin above the damaged lung and let it fill fully with air. Thalgor breathed it out on a sigh.
She sank back on her heels and moved her stiff shoulders.
“Thank you, Sister,” she said softly to Felyn.
The child released Thalgor’s head and set it gently on the ground. Then she lay on her side and immediately went to sleep.
Someone, Sett perhaps, carried Felyn to a makeshift bed near the fire. Rygar took her place at Thalgor’s head.
“I can tell you if he starts to wake,” he whispered.
Erwyn nodded. With a yawn she began the relatively ordinary task of treating the broken tissue inside Thalgor’s chest wall, then the muscles of his chest, and finally the tattered skin over the wound. She used magic lotions now, as there was no need to heal completely, merely to cleanse and bind so his body could heal itself.
The pungent smells of her potions mixed with the dying fire brought a grimace to Rygar’s face. She laughed softly, overwhelmed by joy because Thalgor would live. Rygar laughed back with the same jubilant sound.
She bound the wound and took a moment to cleansed and bind the gash on Thalgor’s leg. Then, like the child, she slept where she fell.
*
The light blinded. Thalgor’s chest was on fire.
Were they burning his body as legend said his ancestors, the great kings, were burned? He tried to call for Rygar, but no words came.
The searing pain in his chest told him he still lived. He tried to call out again, but every breath was agony.
Then he remembered he had said what he needed to say.
He had told Erwyn he loved her.
He tried to draw a deeper breath against the pain, but his chest was tightly bound with cloth and cobwebs. Erwyn’s work.
He felt about him for her with his hands, but found only earth still damp from his own blood. And, no doubt, her tears.
He reached higher to touch the legs where his head rested. A man’s legs. Rygar. His brother snored and shifted, asleep where he sat.
One leg ached. Thalgor stretched out the other and found a soft bundle that was surely Erwyn asleep beside him. He smiled, turned his face away from the weak dark-time sun as it rose, and sank back into welcome oblivion.
*
The enemy’s leader had never considered the possibility of defeat, Erwyn was sure. Thalgor’s men held his warriors captive outside the walled camp. The camp where their women and children were guarded only by a few old men and boys nearly of warrior age was several days’ march away.
After much discussion, the council decided there were too many to bring into the band. Instead Sett was chosen to return the captives to their people with as many of his own men and their families as were willing to go with him. The one Erwyn still thought of as the raven had feared to have anyone else capable of becoming leader of his band, so the captives easily agreed to accept Sett as their leader, in alliance with Thalgor.
That alliance, Erwyn could see now, would plant the seed of peace and an end to wandering for all the bands.
Tynor replaced Sett as Thalgor’s lieutenant after Rygar declined to fill that role.
“I’m a poet, not a warrior,” he told Thalgor with a smile.
Erwyn knew his choice would please Tya.
In the midst of all the turmoil, Thalgor healed slowly, drained because he insisted on sitting at council when he should have rested. But she said nothing. It was enough just to have him alive. And to know he loved her.
She began to teach Felyn to use her magic. As the child checked Thalgor’s wound each day, Erwyn taught her to see with both eye and mind that it healed properly all the way through.
“Two witches,” Thalgor sighed one evening when the child had left them alone in the light and warmth of their room and gone to her bed.
“You knew all along she was a witch, didn’t you?”
He nodded. “Why didn’t you?”
She sat beside where he lay on their bed. “My uncle had no witch blood. If she was not a witch…” She shrugged. “I was young when it all happened. It was easier to blame her than to blame my father. I loved him very much.”
“What of Felyn’s curse?” he asked somberly.
“We wait. It will not show itself until she is grown.”
“The curse cannot be removed?”
She shrugged. “I doubt even the Wise Witches can do that.”
They were both silent for a while. Finally Erwyn said, “Rygar takes Tya as his wife tomorrow. We will need a new girl to help with the work of the tent.”
“You have one in mind, of course.”
“Gurdek’s youngest. He coddles her.”
“He would.” Thalgor sighed again.
“What bothers you? Did Felyn disturb your wound?”
“I scarcely know it’s there, her magic works so well. No, I was thinking how to ask…”
Absently he reached over and took her hand in his.
Puzzled, she waited. What could he need to ask of her now? He knew he was not yet well enough to take her to their bed, as much as they both yearned for it.
He cleared his throat. “With two witches, even if one is a girl, it would not be so inconvenient to have you with child.”
She gave him a look. “Not so inconvenient?”
“Let me start again.” He took both her hands in his. “I love you and want you to have my child. Perhaps more than one.” He paused and added with unaccustomed meekness, “If you still wish to have my child.”
A thrill of more joy than she could have imagined filled her heart. Tears stung her eyes.
“I wish nothing more.”
Mindful of his healing wound, she took his face in her hands and kissed him. The kiss of a woman who loves with all her heart and is loved as fully in return.
Somewhere, she knew, the Witch King watched them–and smiled.
The End
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About the Author
Nancy Holland recently began to live her dream as a full-time writer. After being a finalist in the Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart© contest and publishing two short contemporary romances, she is thrilled to return to her first love and write fantasy novels for Tule Publishing.
Despite dark pasts, heart-breaking betrayal, and a future that is always at risk, her
fantasy heroes and heroines accomplish amazing feats of valor and magic to create a better world for everyone. More importantly, her characters refuse to give up on themselves, struggle to improve their lives, and learn to trust each other.
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After years spent studying and writing about words written long ago and far away, she loves to travel with her husband to explore the cities where she can feel the lived experience behind the words.
Visit her website at www.NancyHollandWriter.com.
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