Don also learned that the river valley immediately surrounding the House of Healing was not firmly controlled by any faction. The Prophet’s men roamed through the area at will and sometimes robbed travelers. But even they left the Gray Pilgrims alone. Since the Pilgrims did not return to lands where they were robbed, they were usually quite safe.
The walls of the citadel and the outer curtain walls that surrounded the House of Healing and all its outbuildings dated back to the earliest days following the collapse of the Empire. The hot springs, even in elder times, had been used for cures and a medical center had been built there in antiquity.
At a very early date, survivors had banded together and built the walls. This was probably the first walled settlement west of the mountains and perhaps the first such built post-Empire. Healers from many lands had fled here, each sharing skills that had elsewhere been lost. Here thousands of books still survived from elder times, spared the flames and greedy hands of petty lords. Medical instruments had been lovingly preserved, and new ones carefully made.
Finally, and most important, the skills of making drugs were kept alive by the House of Healing. In clean rooms, special craftsmen made compounds of great value from chemicals, molds, herbs and parts of animals. The same Pilgrims that dispensed the drugs in many lands also acted as traders to obtain certain raw materials from which more drugs could be made.
Over the next four days, Don was often visited by Deborah and Katherine, whom he discovered was his nurse. Some of the silver from the warrior’s purses had gone to pay for his treatment, he learned. As he recovered, he was allowed to walk the halls of the great house, which well lived up to its name. Here he saw men recovering from abdominal surgery, even surgery within the chest and the brain. All such operations were considered to be impossible elsewhere.
Don had a long talk with one of the chief healers, the one who had treated him. He had first eased Don’s mind about the pain that Deborah had suffered. It was caused by stress in the small muscles between the ribs and was not serious. He also learned that while the House of Healing was the best center of its kind known, the books preserved here made it clear that they could not match the ancients. So much had been lost! But some was being laboriously recreated, and more was being done every year.
The understanding of the uniqueness of this place grew upon Don as his strength returned. He quickly saw that their medicine and drugs could be of great military value. Whichever faction could control healing could have a great advantage. So far, the walls and the threat of destroying all the medicine had kept the Prophet and others from assaulting the walls. However, there was no assurance that they may not be attacked in the future, or that the Gray Pilgrims might not be detained and held for ransom. Even now, there were indications that the red cross may not be respected as much as before.
Don had been resting within the walls for nearly a week when he had opportunity to talk to the Chief Surgeon, Kerik. They were seated on a balcony adjacent to Kerik’s apartment, overlooking the walls of the citadel. Further down, the village within the curtain walls could be clearly seen. Beyond, the broad valley showed the first chill of winter. Some tall poplars within the citadel were stark and leafless.
Kerik said, “Donald, you have spent some days with us. I want you to know that while this house is neutral, we consider the eastern peoples to be our friends while the Prophet and his followers are hostile to us and what we stand for.”
“I am glad to hear that,” returned Don, somewhat uncertainly. It was not clear what Kerik was driving at.
“We know that the Prophet could crush our defenses easily,” Kerik continued. “But we have told him, most emphatically, that we would destroy our books and equipment before we would work as slaves for anyone.”
“Does he believe you?”
“We think his actions show that he takes the threat seriously. We know that many from the western lands who come for treatment are really spies. Everything we do is quickly known by the Prophet and his advisors.”
“How strong are your defenses?” asked Don. “But forgive me, I should not have asked.”
“Donald, I would hesitate to tell you, as you say, even though I trust you. But I’m sure the Prophet already knows all the details. The town of Glenwood, which lays along the river near here, would help defend us, I am sure. You can just see some of the buildings.” Kerik pointed to the south, where some buildings were visible on the far side of several fields.
“We could not defend the curtain wall. Even with Glenwood’s help, we would do well to raise 400 defenders. We could defend this citadel, however. The problem would be in finding room here for the aged and infirm and the women and children. We do have a spring within these walls, but food would not last long. We could not possibly hold out for more than a few months. A determined attack could probably succeed in a week.”
“But, Donald,” he stopped and gave Don a close look. His thin face was intent and his eyes piercing. “You are much more soldier than I. Go talk to Harold, the master of our walls. Or, you could talk to Malcolm, my chief military advisor and commander of our levy. He will show you our armory, and that will tell you much. So far, we have used the arts of the diplomat more than arms. Other than brigands, our walls have never been attacked. You may be interested to know that we have a healer in the court of the Prophet who cares for his household.” Kerik chuckled. “The Prophet has fifty wives and many children, I’m told. So our healer has a large task.”
“But our healer acts also as my ambassador and keeps us very well informed. We know that the Prophet has a loose net of Raiders all around us. When he wishes to punish us, he closes the net and harasses travelers. When this happens, we send fewer Pilgrims to his lands. Sometimes he may send gold and silver to buy medicine or ship us raw materials in return for drugs. When he is generous, we give more aid to the West. He hates us because we also aid the East, because he does not control us and because we are Christians.”
“What?” blurted Don. “Is he not Christian, too? That is one thing that always confused me and is one reason the Christians have to be so careful in the East. People confuse them with the Prophet’s folk. Not that I have anything against Christians …”
“That we can discuss later,” answered Kerik. “We do not regard him as a Christian. Quite the contrary! Oh! Now I see someone who wants to see you—very much, I think.” Kerik smiled and leaned back in his chair.
Don turned and saw Deborah glide out of the open door and onto the balcony. “Donald,” she said, with a little wave. “You look almost your old self.”
She had a bright smile, and her brisk stride and her close-cropped hair almost gave her a boyish, pixie look. Her clothes were the traditional ones of the valley folk. Over a spotless white blouse, with high collar and long sleeves, she wore a short green vest, with colorful embroidery. Her skirt matched the vest, extending to just below the knee, revealing green stockings on slender ankles and small brown slippers. She raised her arms and spun around as gracefully as a dancer. “You like my new clothes?” she asked with a sideways glance. Her eyes glowed.
“Very pretty,” answered Don, standing up with a smile. “You look as if you have lived here always.”
“I wish I had. The land here is so peaceful and rich,” she took him by the hand. They said goodbye to Kerik, and she led the way through the Surgeon’s apartment and out into the walkway. “Let me show you my room. It is large enough for two,” she added with a playful smile.
Don followed her along a corridor, down a wide flight of steps then out into a foyer into a flagstone courtyard. The air was pleasant, and steam rose from several natural hot pools. A slight sulfur smell came from the lower courtyard, where natural vents gave hot water. The smell was not unpleasant from where they stood.
Crossing the courtyard and skirting a flower bed that surrounded a large, gnarled cottonwood, they ente
red another, smaller building. As before, stairs led up to a wide, airy corridor. She led him through one of the doors into a large, well-lighted room with a high ceiling. It also had a balcony that overlooked the courtyard through which they had just walked. They could just see over the wall. Don could make out the line of trees that marked the edge of Glenwood, down by the river.
The room had an alcove with a fireplace and a small kitchen. Another alcove, partially hidden by a movable screen, had a smaller fireplace, a wardrobe and a large bed. A stout wooden table with a half-dozen chairs occupied the center of the main room. Low couches lined the walls with bright-colored cushions. One corner had a large desk and a cupboard with pigeon holes for storage of scrolls. The windows had glass and were flanked with cheery curtains.
“Do you like it?” she asked, her smile gone, face anxious.
“Yes! It’s beautiful, like you,” he returned, smiling.
Her smile returned to her shining lips, and her eyes glistened as if with a tear. “Thank you, Donald,” she whispered. They stood close, hand in hand. Then Don saw that she was quietly crying.
He clasped her close, like a child, and patted her shoulder, anxiously. “What’s wrong? What is it?” he asked.
“Oh, Donald, I’m so happy. It’s just like I imagined it would be. I wanted you to like it.”
She leaned close to him, and her upturned face and parted lips spoke a silent invitation. They kissed for a moment. Then Donald gently drew back.
“Deborah, dear,” he began, clumsily. He should not have let this get out of hand. It was obvious that she had been planning for the two of them. And he was all she had, now. She had no family, no friends, and was living in a strange land. She had saved him as much as he had rescued her. There was a bond between them that could never be broken. They had a bond forged by shared danger, self-sacrifice, and friendship. But he loved Rachel. He felt only deep affection for Deborah. Or was it only Rachel’s image that he loved?
“Deborah, let us sit in this beautiful room and talk,” Don began, leading her to a couch below an open window. “You know that my sweetheart was taken by the Raiders, perhaps the same ones that you saw. You know that I am searching for her.”
“So I had heard,” returned Deborah, coolly, withdrawing a little. “But I saw that it did not keep you from the dread lady’s bed chamber.”
Don’s face felt warm, and he looked at the floor. He had acted poorly, and he must be careful not to hurt another person. “Deborah, you saved me from that woman,” he said. “But you must not think that I was unfaithful to Rachel! And I credit you for saving my life, a debt that I can never repay. But now I see clearly, I think. And it is clear to me that I am well enough to go on. I must complete my search for Rachel. It is my duty.”
“Oh, Don,” she said, intently, laying her hand on his arm and gazing deep into his eyes. “Do you really want to throw your life away? That is what you would be doing. Don’t let guilt drive you to a kind of suicide!”
“My dear,” replied Don. “You are very special to me. But I must go on. If I can save her or find that she is dead, either way, I will try to return here. I would like the two of you to meet.”
“Donald,” she sighed, looking suddenly tired. “In some ways you are still very young, I think. And all at once I feel a hundred years old. If you must go, you must. When you learn her fate or find her, please do return here. I had a silly dream, but now I see that it was only that. I will not try to hold you back. But hear me! At least regain your strength, re-equip yourself, and learn all you can of the country ahead and of the Raiders before you go. I will help, if you wish.”
“What do you have in mind?” asked Don, feeling guilty. He almost wished that she was not so kind and understanding. It would have made it all easier, somehow.
“We still have some money. Give me a description of her and the Raiders and the time they would have come through this area, if they did come this way. I have an old friend that now lives in Glenwood. Perhaps he can be of help. Someone may have seen her.”
“Good idea—” began Don.
“Please,” she interrupted, laying a finger on his lips. “Eat well, exercise, practice with your weapons, make sure your horses are fit. You will need a room of your own, and I will arrange for that. Our dead enemy’s gold is paying the rent!”
“I am sorry,” said Don.
“What for?” she responded, cool as the north wind. “I had a foolish idea.”
He nodded, kissed her fingers, and slipped out, closing the door behind him. Even the closed door did not hide the sound of her sobs.
Don left slowly, feeling a deep pain behind his breastbone. He would feel like a traitor no matter what he did! How did I ever get into this mess? Maybe this chase was a kind of suicide. But he had to know. If Rachel was dead, he could never return to Stonegate. Going back to Goldstone would be nearly as bad. If she was dead, perhaps he could make a life here. It would be pleasant to work in a place where people were healed instead of killed. He loved Rachel and knew that he had a duty to go on, but if that were true, why did he feel like he had betrayed a friend?
†
Abel sat on the edge of the battlement, his short ash-blonde hair rippling in the breeze. He and Don had talked the afternoon away. Both had much to learn from the other. Don’s tour of the armory had indeed told an eloquent tale. Armor was almost nonexistent! A few scale-covered leather jerkins hung on pegs, several mail byrnies of great antiquity could be found, and a few score steel helms were neatly hung on a wall. There were three or four hundred wooden shields, leather cracking from age. He noted perhaps thirty well-used battle axes, and (last and best) about 200 new war spears. The last were well sharpened, oiled with seasoned, ironbound shafts. He looked in the corners and found a few old swords in a rack nailed to a side wall.
“The Chief Surgeon said that Malcolm was his chief military advisor,” said Don. “But when I asked for him, everyone directed me to you.”
Abel understood the hint. “I sometimes act as Malcolm’s assistant. I do have other duties, but that is another matter,” he said, quietly.
Don asked about the armory. “Your weapons would not equip many men. How are the walls to be defended in case of attack?”
“The armory would be in much worse condition if our friends at Ariel had not given us the new spears,” remarked Abel with a small smile. “We helped them with an epidemic, and this is their gift to us. But I regret that I have to go now. We must talk later!”
“Thank you for your courtesy,” returned Don. “It is time for me to exercise my horses. I will probably ride over to Glenwood again. Where is Ariel?”
“About twenty miles farther south. Enjoy your ride.” Abel departed, and Don made his way to the stables.
He had gone on several short rides around the House of Healing. Glenwood had turned out to be a small town, but it still was a bustling trade center. It actually did have a low wall around it to give some protection against bandits, and the people looked well-fed. The Prophet’s men mixed here with traders from the east. The mountain folk from near and far came here to trade, as well. The House of Healing had maintained an uneasy truce with all folk, and that truce seemed to extend to this town as well.
Deborah would not ride with him, but she was willing to meet. They had spent one entire evening together talking and planning. Her silver coins had unloosed some tongues.
“Donald,” she said. “I do not wish to raise your hopes. But a trader told me a tale that might interest you. I—I just hope that you do not go and do something foolish!”
“What is it, dear friend?” asked Don. She seemed ill at ease and would not look at him directly.
“I must tell you, but I pray that the Lord … I pray that I have done His will,” she began, her voice trailing off. She looked at him and found a quick smile. “Donald! He says that a gr
oup of the Raiders have a fort perhaps twenty-five miles down the river from here, on the other side of a tiny village called New Castle. They are not true soldiers, but are uncouth men who have some ties to the Prophet. They have raided the East many times with the Prophet’s full knowledge. There are said to be several other camps of these Raiders, farther to the west and north.”
“Does he think they may have been the ones who captured … her whom I seek?” asked Don, eagerly.
She looked at him, eyes full of hurt. “He did not know, but he did know two things. The local Raider chief is named Balek Brown. He was wounded in the leg last fall and walks with a limp. He has a bushy black beard and is a large man. He captured some women from the East in one of his recent raids.”
“Is that all the trader knows? What did the women look like? What does he know of the fort?”
“He did not see the women, but he thought they were captured a month or two ago. He said that the most attractive of them would be kept safe and sent west as wives for the Prophet and his ministers or generals. Those not so chosen would remain in the camp as slaves.”
She stopped suddenly as if she had forgotten something. “Oh! Donald. He did say that there is a man who might know more. He lives in this area. Usually he is in Ariel, though. He could not remember his name, but he dresses in brown and has one arm. And that is all I know.”
Don hugged her close and whispered thanks in her ear. She gave him a sisterly kiss on the cheek. “You are a treasure. I would have gone off blindly and would probably be miles from here looking aimlessly on a cold trail.”
“No thanks are needed. But I think you should go now. But don’t go near that camp of Raiders without talking to me again. Promise?”
Don nodded and left, a bit sadly. He saw that she was under a great strain, and he could not really help her. But this was the first news that he could really seize on. Perhaps now there was a chance. Abel would know of a one-armed man. He must ask him.
The Stonegate Sword Page 20
