Healer (Brotherhood of the Throne Book 2)

by Jane Glatt

Warrick was easily the biggest Aruntian Brenna had seen, standing a full head taller than Kane. His dark hair was cropped short and his brown eyes twinkled. He looked over at her, squinting slightly, before he leaned down to peer more closely.

  “So you’re the one all the fuss is about, are ye?” His voice was deep. “Other than the Seer’s eyes, ye don’t look like much.”

  Brenna lifted her chin and stared at him. “There’s more to me than you can see.”

  A deep laugh rumbled up from him and he shook his head. “Ye got that right, lass, ‘specially with these weak eyes of mine. I’m Warrick Chennel, owner of this fine establishment and a Brother to all. Welcome.”

  To Brenna’s surprise she found herself wrapped in a huge hug. He smelled of wood smoke and ale and fried fish. Brenna took a deep breath and smiled before she stepped back out of his embrace.

  “Very good to meet you Warrick,” she said. “I’m Brenna Lightfingers.” So this was one of the Aruntian Brothers. He seemed pleased to see her, and unlike with some of the Falladian Brotherhood, the fact that she was a woman didn’t seem to bother him. But that made sense in a duchy governed by a woman.

  Warrick gestured to them and they followed him past the bar and into a small private room. Brenna glanced around at the worn table and chairs and the well-swept red stone floor. Suddenly she was overcome with longing for the Wheat Sheaf, or even the Crooked Dog. Those taverns had been as much her home as any room she’d rented. She’d missed feeling at home.

  Kane and Brenna sat down while Warrick bellowed out the door for Kevan. Once the lad had deposited their bags inside the room he scurried out again with instructions to send some ale and stew.

  “Ye’ll want a room, for sure,” Warrick said. “But all my best are already taken, seein’ it’s Spring Festival and all.” Warrick settled his bulk onto a chair. It creaked slightly as he leaned into the table, but held firm and Brenna sighed in relief.

  “Anything you have will be fine,” Kane said. “We’ll pay the full rate.”

  Brenna frowned. They needed to keep as much of their coin as possible. They had no idea how much it would cost to hire a ship to take them far north into Comack.

  “Unless you’re willing to trade,’” she added.

  “With Seeings?” Warrick nodded. “I might find some use for that. We could take some off your room.”

  “I could try but I’ve only started my training,” Brenna said. “I’d rather trade healing, I’m much better at that, and have done my share of it in inns and taverns.”

  Warrick’s head snapped up. “You’re a healer?” He looked at Kane. “Why didn’t ye say so Kane? I could put the duchess herself out of my best room for a healer. You just tell me what ye need and I’ll make sure ye get it, lass.”

  “Brenna,” Kane said. “I thought you wanted to be on our way as soon as possible.”

  “I do, but we’ll be here at least a few days,” Brenna said. “And we should save our coin.” She turned back to Warrick. “Any room for sleeping will be fine.” She looked around the room they were in. “And this room will more than suit me for healing.”

  “We have enough coin,” Kane said. “You don’t need to do this.”

  “I’m a healer,” Brenna said. “It’s not what I do, it’s what I am.” She leaned back in her chair, away from his glare. “Besides, in my experience there’s no such thing as enough coin.”

  Anything else Kane might have said was interrupted when the door opened and Kevan entered, balancing a heavy tray. He was just barely able to lift it onto the table, only spilling a little of the ale.

  Brenna turned to Warrick. “I want my first customer to be your stableman Sneath.”

  “Kevan,” Warrick called. “This here is Mistress Lightfingers. She’s a healer. Go get the big room ready, the one that looks over the courtyard.”

  “The best room? Aye, Master Chennel.” Kevan turned wide blue eyes her way before stepping back to the door.

  “And Kevan, you’re to see to anything she needs tomorrow, anything, got that?”

  Kevan nodded fervently and then he was gone.

  Brenna met Kane’s gaze. For a moment he still looked angry, but then he shook his head and shrugged.

  “You needn’t give us the best room, Warrick,” Brenna said.

  “Humph.” He glared at her. “It be a great honour havin’ a healer stay at the Red Anchor. It’s tradition to give travelin’ healers the best rooms and I’ll not be the talk of Smithin by givin’ you a poor one. ”

  “Oh, so I’m getting the room healers always stay in?”

  “A healer’s never stayed at the Red Anchor in my lifetime,” Warrick said. “When they come into town they tend to stay at finer inns. But I’m hopeful that this is the start of a new tradition.”

  Brenna sat quietly as Warrick poured ale and passed out fragrant stew. She’d always assumed that Aruntun had many healers but if a respectable inn like this one had never hosted one they must be rarer than she’d thought.

  Duke Thorold sat behind the desk, the glow of three lamps lighting his study. Now that the sun had set the spring air had turned chill. Captain Barton and Westley Stobert sat across from him, waiting for him to begin the discussion.

  “Stobert, do you have any more names to give us?” Stobert had proved woefully inept at finding out the names of members of the Brotherhood of the Throne, and Thorold’s patience, never in good supply, had run out.

  “Yes my Lord,” Stobert handed a sheet of paper over to him. “There are more than twenty on this list. My best sources confirm all of these.”

  Thorold scanned the document briefly before dropping it to the table. “Stobert.” Thorold knew that it angered the man when he didn’t use his title so he rarely used it. “I need more than the names of low ranking members. And I need to know where Kane Rowse is - that’s where we’ll find the girl.” He glared across the desk until Stobert drop his gaze. “Have you found a way into Aruntun yet?”

  “No my Lord, I haven’t,” Stobert said. “The Aruntian trading ship my men were to board left port suddenly without informing them. All attempts to cross into Aruntun from Fallad have been unsuccessful due to a magical barrier of some kind.

  “And my Lord Duke,” Stobert continued. “Has not yet given my men permission to test the border between Comack and Aruntun.”

  Thorold narrowed his eyes at the hint of reproach in Stobert’s tone. “I have my own people for that, Stobert. Your usefulness to me is as a Falladian. I urge you not to forget that. Have you had any luck finding Brothers in the north?”

  “Again, no, my Lord, although one of my men heard of youths traveling south to Kingsreach in late winter. There was no single group larger than four, but there were many of these groups. We estimate at least fifty or sixty youths were on the same roads within a short time period. We suspect the Brotherhood has a training facility but we’ve been unable to find out for sure.”

  “Yes.” Thorold fingered his chin. “That makes sense. You must find out where this training camp is. We’ll shut it down and arrest the whole lot of them. We won’t even need to fabricate charges of treason.”

  “I’ll do my best, my Lord,” Stobert said. “But my men haven’t been able to go much farther north than my own lands this winter. Duke Ewart seems to have posted his militia along the borders of my estate.”

  Thorold stared at Stobert before finally saying, “Doing your best is not good enough, Stobert. You must succeed.” If you want to remain useful to me, Thorold finished to himself.

  “Of course, my Lord. I’ll see that we find where they are.”

  Thorold stood up and took two steps away from his chair. Was Duke Ewart aligned against him too? Or could the Brotherhood have set up a facility on Falladian soil without Ewart being aware? It couldn’t happen in Comack without his knowledge but Ewart was new, perhaps he had a number of disloyal nobles – like Stobert - to contend with.

  And Stobert, that weak-minded coward, was becoming an irritant. If he wasn�
�t able to travel in Fallad then his usefulness was limited. His lands, however, were an excellent addition to his own – they had already signed agreements that allowed Thorold’s horses to graze Stobert’s green meadows. There was a small sound behind him and Thorold turned to see Thomas Valden, the High Bishop, step out of the secret panel. Valden edged around Thorold and his desk and took the seat so recently vacated by Stobert.

  “You have a very accommodating home, Duke Thorold,” Valden said. “Very accommodating.”

  Thorold pushed the secret passageway door and it closed with a soft click. He sat down again. “It has its uses, High Bishop. What do you think of our friend?”

  “He’s a blasphemer, I could smell the stink of the old gods on him.” Valden waved a hand dismissively. “I would be happy to convert him to the true faith, if you wish.”

  “No, I think not,” Thorold said. “At least not yet. He may still prove himself useful.” But if Stobert didn’t find the training school he’d let Valden have him.

  “Captain.” He turned to Barton. “I doubt any of the names on the list Stobert supplied will amount to much, but investigate them nonetheless.” Barton nodded and stood to leave. “One more thing Captain. Keep watch on these and any of the other families Stobert has previously identified. See if any of their young men are journeying this spring.”

  “Yes my lord Duke, I’ll see to it right away.” Barton bowed and left the room.

  “Well, High Bishop,” Thorold said. “Captain Barton tells me that you are conducting yourself remarkably well in front of Duchess Avery. I trust you will continue to restrain yourself? It’s very important that she not have any evidence of wrong doing to report to the king.”

  “That witch.” Valden’s face contorted. “She is interfering with the One-God’s work. I have failed to save three souls because of her interference.”

  Yes, Thorold thought, three men died cleanly by execution rather than piece-by-piece during your salvation.

  “I can only hope the One-God understands the obstacles I face while doing His work,” Valden finished.

  The fervent look on the High Bishop’s face made Thorold turn away in disgust. The man let his emotions control him completely, which made him a powerful - but dangerous - tool for Thorold to wield. He hoped he wouldn’t regret his decision to give Valden more power.

  “High Bishop, I want to commend you on your accomplishments in Comack.” Thorold bowed his head in genuine respect - the man truly did have absolute control over his church. “The reports I’ve been receiving reveal that the people have heard and embraced the church’s position enthusiastically.”

  As Duchess Avery had charged, Thorold was allowing the High Bishop to preach against witches and witchcraft in Comack with impunity. Now all followers of the old gods, including members of the Brotherhood and Aruntian traders, were being shunned.

  “So my priests tell me,” Valden beamed. “The people are finally free to live their lives as they see fit, as the One-God sees fit, without the need to tarnish their souls by dealing with blasphemers and witches. It is a glorious time in Comack.”

  “Indeed it is.” Unless you were not a devout follower of the One-God, Thorold thought. His reports also said that church attendance was at the highest levels ever - neighbors needed neighbors to see them at worship in order maintain a living for their families. Yes, the High Bishop was a potentially dangerous weapon, one that Thorold needed to keep tight control of.

  “And soon it will be time to spread the word to all of Soule.” Valden leaned over the desk towards Thorold, eyes blazing. “And then all will sing the praises of the One-God.”

  “Soon, very soon, High Bishop.” Thorold smiled. And while you control the church, I will control the wealth of all of Soule.

  six

  Brenna dabbed the cloth into the paste she’d made of ginger and tea. Holding her breath, she turned to her patient. Sneath, mouth open to expose his blackened and broken teeth, sat still while she dabbed the paste on his gums. The teeth would have to be removed of course, but she must reduce the infection first.

  At first Sneath had refused. She’d only been able to convince him to let her treat him when she’d explained that she couldn’t leave him as he was any more than he could ignore a stone in a horses hoof. After that, he’d stoically sat through what must have been a painful application of the paste. It would reduce the infection and relieve some of his pain.

  “That’s the last of it, Sneath,” she said. Brenna shook her head at the man’s condition. It was no wonder he was nothing more than skin and bones - it had probably been years since he’d eaten anything solid. “I’m going to give you this paste and I want you to put it on first thing in the morning and last thing at night.” She grabbed a small tin off the table, scooped the rest of the paste into it and handed it to him. “Come back to see me in three days. I’ll look at it then and we can see about pulling those teeth. Do you understand?”

  Sneath bobbed his head and dashed to the door. Sighing, Brenna watched him scurry out. For his sake, she hoped she was here in three days. As much as she wanted to leave Smithin and start the search for her grandmother, she didn’t want to leave poor Sneath untreated. She doubted he’d even try to go to another healer and as it was, he was dying. If infection didn’t take him starvation would.

  “Phew. Smells like a mouse as been dead for five days.” Kevan peeked around the door, holding his nose. “All that from Sneath? I never been in a closed room with ‘im - didn’t reckon he’d be quite so ripe.”

  Brenna opened a small bottle of lavender oil and put a few drops on a clean cloth. She handed it to Kevan. “Here, wave this around, it should help with the smell.” He made a face and took the cloth. “And let Sneath be a reminder to you. Never, ever let your teeth go bad like that. Think of the smell he has to live with every day.”

  “Not to mention he can’t eat Cook’s toffee apples.” Kevan agreed solemnly.

  Brenna hid a smile and bent back to her table. She’d been working without a break since breakfast. Besides Sneath she’d treated half the inn staff and a handful of guests. Once the staff talked to outside customers word of a healer would spread - her few spare hours could easily turn into full days. For now she needed to tidy up and find Kane - they were due at Laurel’s for the evening meal.

  Brenna was cleaning her knife when she felt the tingle that told her Kane was close by. She turned as he entered the room, an older man close behind him. Her smile slid off her face when the stranger rushed over to her.

  He grabbed her knife hand.

  “Where did you get this,” he demanded, his hand clenched tight around her wrist.

  As Brenna struggled to break his grip on her she heard the smooth sound of steel sliding out of a scabbard.

  “Release her, Yowan, if you want to keep your hand.” Kane’s voice was tight and hard.

  Brenna felt the grip on her wrist loosen and she stepped back from the man, her knife held in front of her, ready if she needed to use it.

  “Who are you?” she asked. She looked over at Kane. He still had his sword raised, although he relaxed slightly.

  “Blessed Anu,” Kevan said softly. He sidled over to the door.

  “Close the door when you leave Kevan and don’t let anyone in here.” Brenna called to him and he slipped out into the hall. No doubt he had his eye to the keyhole by now. She turned back to her attacker.

  “Again, who are you?” she asked, her voice stronger.

  The older man’s gaze slowly moved from her knife to her face.

  “I’m sorry, Seer. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  His eyes went back to the knife and followed it as she lowered it to her side. Brenna quickly ran a cloth over it and tucked it into her belt.

  Kane sheathed his sword before placing himself between Brenna and the older man.

  “Yowan, what’s got into you, man?” he steered the older man toward a chair where he slumped, his eyes not leaving Brenna’s knife.


  “I’m sorry, Brenna,” Kane said. “If I’d thought you would be at risk I never would have brought him here. This is Yowan Sellars – he’s head of the Brotherhood in Aruntun.”

  “Is he true to the Brotherhood?” she asked quietly.

  “I had thought so,” Kane said. “By all accounts he has single-handedly kept the Aruntian Brotherhood together for the past four decades.” Kane moved up beside her and turned his worried gaze on her. “If we can’t trust him we’ll have a great deal of trouble with the duchess. He used to be a guard for the duchess’ family.”

  “Yowan Sellars.” Brenna moved step until she was standing in front of him. “Are you loyal to the Brotherhood?” He raised haunted yes to her.

  “Yes, always. I am sorry, Seer, but it was such a shock, seeing her knife after all these years.” He raked silvered hair with a hand.

  “This knife? Are you sure you recognize it?” Brenna drew her knife and held it out to him. Kane tensed when she moved closer.

  Yowan took the knife, gently, almost reverently, from her hand. His large hand folded over the grip, overlapping it. He gently traced the leather that wrapped it. “I used to sharpen it when she’d dulled it cracking nuts for her healing. I know this knife.”

  “Who is she, who’s knife was it?” Brenna’s heart beat faster. This man might know her grandmother, and if he knew her, he might know her grandfather.

  “It belonged to my sweet Madelay, Madelay Kerrich.” Yowan continued to stare at the knife he held in his hand.

  Brenna felt numb and Kane sucked in a breath.

  “Yowan.” She knelt down beside him and gently took the knife from him. “This was my mother’s knife. When she died it passed to me. It was given to my mother by her mother.” Brenna gently grasped his chin and tilted it until they were eye to eye. “A healer from Aruntun by the name of Madelay.”

  “By her mother,” Yowan said. “You’re Madelay’s granddaughter? Is she alive?”

  “I’ve had word that she’s alive,” Brenna said. “But I’ve never met her. She was indentured and my mother sold off elsewhere before I was born.” She bit her lip. Could it be? “Yowan, Madelay was pregnant when she was indentured. Do you know who the father was? Was it you?”