by Gwynn White
The Bivinians had long forbid healers from crossing their borders. Even when affliction struck their farmers one summer, killing three-thousand men, they had turned away the healers’ help. But Priestess Jewlsa would offer them the secrets of Senya, and the healers’ loyalty, and perhaps they would find a patch of Bivinian wilderness to start anew.
In the morning, fear drove Priestess Jewlsa to summon three Superiors, trained in the use of swords and daggers to accompany her. She summoned two soldiers with bows to escort them, and together they set off south to the border along the notoriously narrow and muddy road that ran through the eerie forest.
As priestess, she rode the only armoured horse; a white stallion that easily bore the weight of the heavy plate.
‘We cannot cross the border,’ stated one of her bearded soldiers named Graveson.
Priestess Jewlsa kept the goal of their mission secret lest she alarm them. ‘I am meeting a friend,’ she said.
The soldier turned away. ‘Is he Bivinian?’
‘I thank you not to ask any more questions,’ Priestess Jewlsa replied nervously. ‘Don’t fear, we’ll return before noon tomorrow. The ale awaits you at Old Bow.’
‘Of course, M’lady,’ said Graveson, his mood lightening. ‘Riding makes a man thirsty.’
Despite his warm address, the priestess sensed the fear rising in her party, but like any good leader, she knew that acknowledging the risks only increased the unease. The overgrown forests were like impenetrable green walls as the path narrowed to such a degree that their horses tracked nose to backside.
‘These forests provide good cover,’ Graveson remarked.
The sun climbed into the sky until it shone overhead. The trees thinned out into a massive ravine. Standing on a mountain to the right hand side was a single figure, his face in shadow. Thick flowing robes billowed out to his side.
Paladins emerged from the tree line. One of them said, ‘The emperor awaits you, priestess.’
Graveson stared at the priestess, horrified. ‘Don’t go, it’s not safe!’
Emperor Phoh’s statuesque staring made Priestess Jewlsa uneasy, but he’d allowed her to cross the border, and now they must talk. She carefully steered her armoured horse down the narrow path into the ravine.
The going was steep, and one misstep from her horse might see her tumble and embarrass herself. Finally, she reached the ravine floor. Unwilling to risk her horse, she dismounted and took a worn path around the side of the rocky hill.
A line of paladin archers stood behind the emperor, watching her as she curtsied. ‘Emperor Phoh,’ she said boldly, projecting her voice above the wind. ‘I’m pleased my message reached you in a timely manner, and that you have honoured me with a meeting.’
‘Speak your case,’ said Emperor Phoh, firmly. His abrupt manner had long distinguished him. As a healer, she didn’t expect much from the meeting. ‘You mentioned there was a plague…I could not help but come in person.’
‘The plague is serious, but the true disaster is in our king’s response to it.’ The priestess was unable to keep the bitterness from her voice. ‘King Cevznik imprisoned the healers. He attacks his own people…madness has taken him.’
Emperor Phoh did not react. ‘His affairs are his own. How many of your kind managed to escape?’
‘I believe more than a thousand healers congregate at Old Bow, but the king will come after us,’ she said.
His face darkened. ‘Why have you abandoned your people in their time of need?’
‘In Senya, there are a few thousand of us, and hundreds of thousands of men. The king decreed we may not turn away any afflicted man. Let us hide amongst your wild lands, and we will repay you any way we can.’
Emperor Phoh smiled widely. ‘I was hoping you would say that.’ He gestured with his hand, to her companions on the other side of the ravine. ‘And those are some of your fellow healers?’
‘Three are,’ she said. ‘The two men are my escorts.’
Emperor Phoh’s face twisted in a strange manner. ‘There are non-healers amongst you? I was not aware you needed protection.’
‘The soldiers are loyal to me.’
The Emperor considered this answer and then seemingly came to some conclusion. ‘Unfortunately,’ he said evenly, ‘I cannot allow plagued men into my lands. Nor any who have had contact with them who are not healers.’
Priestess Jewlsa stared at him, wide eyed. ‘These men are free from affliction, and any who were unwell have been healed. I can personally guarantee that—’
The emperor silenced her with the raise of his hand. To his men he said, ‘Take care of them.’
‘Wait—’
The soldiers behind Emperor Phoh drew their bows and took sight of her companions across the river, then loosed a volley of arrows.
Graveson and the others never stood a chance, cut down by skilled archers.
She stared at the dead soldiers, turning to the emperor. ‘What have you done?’
‘The work of Geshika,’ said Emperor Phoh. ‘Healers are a blight on the moral fabric of men. Their ailments are not plagues of the body, but corruptions of the mind. You bring disorder. You sow contempt for tradition like the evil Noxomis commands you.’ He inclined his head. ‘I am afraid our deal is forfeit. As is your life.’
‘You’ll never kill us all,’ Priestess Jewlsa barked, her teeth clenching. ‘I thought you would help me by providing us a temporary haven in your lands. I would have healed your people and protected you from the Death Plague!’
‘Well, then it seems you thought wrong,’ said Emperor Phoh, chuckling. ‘And we will need no relief from the plague if we close our borders and put to the sword anyone who approaches. A simpler, more direct method of dealing with this problem.’ He smiled through his white beard. ‘But there is one more loose end which remains.’
Behind him, his soldiers lowered their bows until they were pointed directly at her.
‘Geshika protects me like a son, healer. Can your sun god say the same?’
Priestess Jewlsa turned and, legs pumping, ran to the edge of the ravine and leapt down. Arrows whizzed past her, one clipping her shoulder, but she ignored the pain, just as she ignored the pain of tumbling down rocks and dirt. She slammed onto the rough road, feeling her bones break, but she forced herself to her feet and sprinted.
‘Kill her!’ shouted Emperor Phoh. Arrows skipped off the stones around her, but none hit. Then it ended. A spear embedded in her torso, knocking her to the ground beside her horse.
She watched over her shoulder as Emperor Phoh’s men shot another volley at her healer companions—their powers had already begun to restore them. One of them jumped onto the priestess, yanking out the spear.
More arrows came with ropes attached, and once they lodge into her healer companions, the paladins pulled them down into the ravine.
Jewlsa scrambled to her feet, swung up onto her horse and kicked it back into the narrow forest path. Over her shoulder she saw one of the healers’ heads being severed. She turned in the saddle facing north, whipping the reins against the horse’s neck, kicking it into a full gallop.
Arrows whistled all around her. One skipped off the armour of the horse. Two lodged in her back. She reached around and yanked them out, yelping.
Smoke was rising from the village centre as she approached. Another feast, no doubt. They were welcoming her back. She slowed her horse, dismounted, and stumbled up the path. The intoxicating scent of the meat drew her in, made her smile. She could hear the voices of Bivinian paladins carried on the wind.
She stopped. Crouched. No. She couldn’t bring herself to even think it—it must be a mistake. Perhaps they had acquired defectors from Bivinia. Perhaps it was a test.
Moving closer, ducking in and out of houses, she moved to the town centre and saw a pile of bodies without their heads. Healers’ heads. Bivinian soldiers patrolled the streets, tipping oil and setting structures alight.
Jewlsa sank to her knees, barely able to contain herself. To ha
ve come so far…to have seen all this. It had been for nothing.
A paladin spotted her, raising the alarm, but Jewlsa didn’t bother to flee. His blade removed her head. As she rolled across the ground without her body, the light slowly fading from her eyes, she saw the face of young Healer Eless, the prince’s dearest friend, dead.
The darkness came first, then the sounds disappeared and as she sunk into oblivion she welcomed the blackness of nothing.
41
Toxiv
Time to wake, High Priestess,’ said Healer Euka, flinging open the lace curtains in her Lightend Sanctuary quarters. She closed her eyes, feeling the clean sheets against her skin, and the aromas of rose, lavender and sage.
‘You slept for two days,’ said Healer Euka.
‘Perhaps my recovery is slowing as I age.’
‘Or you just enjoy sleeping.’
They’d arrived two nights prior and were swamped by officials seeking her guidance. Healer Euka had taken the brunt of the overwhelming inquiries until the high priestess had bathed and slept.
‘Isn’t it divine to be home?’ Toxiv said, yawning and throwing back the fluffy blankets. Her eyes roamed the various treasures and artefacts filling her bed chamber. Through the windows she eyed the magnificent Ruxdorian mountains now thick with snow as winter approached.
‘You seem happy,’ Healer Euka said, as if the conversation they’d had in the woods hadn’t occurred. Toxiv did not feel happy or joyful, merely contented.
‘Did you sleep?’ asked the high priestess.
‘Never mind that. I have a full schedule for you today.’
‘I imagine so,’ said Toxiv immediately focusing on what came next. ‘Is Priestess Yelloza here?’
Healer Euka laid a fresh robe on the bed. ‘No, but General Pernavaka from Ruxdor, and her army, have come at Priestess Yelloza’s request. Priestess Silica is here, however.’
‘Any other news?’
Healer Euka took a brush to the high priestess’s hair. ‘We received an anonymous letter. Emperor Phoh has slaughtered all the healers and townsfolk of Old Bow.’
Toxiv slapped Healer Euka across the face in rage. ‘You should have told me immediately!’
With her eyes lowered, her apprentice apologised. ‘I will never delay such news again.’
‘Fetch Puffle,’ Toxiv commanded, now irritated. ‘I must send a letter to Lord Morkat. In light of recent events, he cannot—’
‘High Priestess, I received a private letter from Priestess Yelloza, delivered by a Superior from Meligna. The plague has reached their city.’
Toxiv grinned at the news. With the healers at Old Bow now dead, her healers would fetch more coin. This provided her a greater position from which to bargain.
‘I will see General Pernavaka of Ruxdor in one hour. We have much to discuss.’
Healer Euka cast her a devious look. ‘You have something planned.’
‘My dear Healer Euka,’ said Toxiv. ‘I always have something planned, and this time, I care not who will perish in my quest to seek vengeance on the king of Senya. It’s by the king’s hand that the healers of Senya were forced into enemy territory.’
‘Oh please tell me,’ Healer Euka said excitedly. ‘You know you can trust me.’
Toxiv lowered her voice. ‘I will send a raven to Priestess Yelloza this morning and propose a proper alliance with Lord Morkat against the king of Senya. The lord will not yet know about the slaughtered healers, and the king’s madness. When he finds out the king’s army is much diminished, I believe he won’t hesitate to join our armies against the king.’
Toxiv rose from the bed bursting with confidence and courage. Vengefulness filled her with energy. ‘I will make all men pay for this. All men. Women will rule, healers will rule. There will be a new age of leadership.’
Healer Euka kneeled before her. ‘I will serve you, High Priestess. Dethrone these incompetent monarchs and bring new leadership to these lands.’
Toxiv smiled grimly at Healer Euka. ‘No more will healers be the slaves of men.’
42
Hawrald
Hawrald trotted beside the king on the southern road to Old Bow, the same road he’d ridden down two nights prior with Priestess Jewlsa. Though unaccustomed to lying to his king, he felt no guilt in doing so.
He enjoyed leaving the city to be near the woodlands with its animal sounds, earthy smells and fresh greenery. The city felt like a tomb of late, with bodily waste everywhere and the foul stench of rotting corpses.
King Cevznik’s manner grew strange. He slumped over the horse, neck elongated with head jutting forward, staring always at the horizon and mumbling.
‘Cowardly healers,’ the king muttered. ‘Traitors. South they’ve gone. Golden witches. Whores. My kingdom for a plague. A plague for a healer. South.’
It had taken two days to assemble the army, but now that the men marched in a huge column following the winding road that stretched beyond the horizon, they made good time.
A quarter of the army showed early signs of the plague, with some barely able to march. They pressed on in search of the healings they’d find in Old Bow. Hawrald wanted them to be in good health again, but he also wanted the healers to have reached safety among the Bivinians.
It didn’t help that the king marched the army without rest or resupply. On the first night, under the cover of darkness, a hundred men died, and fifty others deserted.
‘My King, the men need to rest.’
The king, a greying man with wild eyes stared down his nose at the soldier. ‘If I do not rest, then neither shall they.’
‘Highness,’ Hawrald said, approaching the king with humbleness and deference—the king enjoyed men to grovel before him. ‘The men are thirsty. We need water.’
‘Then why don’t they drink from their waterskins?’ spat the king. ‘Must I always struggle against the mediocrity of those beneath me?’
‘Aye, but their waterskins are empty,’ said Hawrald. ‘A man needs three waterskins of water a day, a horse needs twenty, and we ain’t resupplied for two full days.’
‘Then,’ said King Cevznik, shoulders raising with impatience, ‘have them refill their water skins at the next creek we pass.’
‘You are gracious, My King, but for the men to fill their waterskins we’d need to stop.’
‘We are not stopping and don’t bring it up again!’ roared the king, his eyes unfocusing, his head bobbing oddly. ‘The plague consumes us, yes, they must get water another way. Why is it down to me to resolve every little problem?’ He snapped the reigns of his horse, driving the poor beast hard. ‘Have the peasants bring out water for them as they pass. Send runners ahead to ensure this happens.’
‘Too many of our men have the plague,’ said Hawrald. ‘The villagers will not approach them.’
The king turned on him. ‘You labour under the impression that I care about the wants of lesser men.’
‘Aye, My King, but the men ain’t got much of a march left in ‘em. The plague saps the strength from their bones. They’ll be too weak to fight when we arrive.’
‘They. Will. Fight,’ the king said, ominously, and Hawrald knew not to push the man any further. He drifted back behind the king a little.
As afternoon fell, forward scouts reported smoke in the distance rising from the town of Old Bow. Hawrald saw it too: thick, black smoke rising high into the air and slowly drifting west, they picked up the pace. Once they arrived, weary, footsore and exhausted, Hawrald found the source of the smoke.
Part of Old Bow had burnt down.
Hawrald swallowed back disappointment. He’d loved coming here during the annual merchant trading month. But the town had fallen, torched; piles of burned corpses crackled and simmered. Priestess Jewlsa had obviously acquired allies on her journey, but equally obviously, they hadn’t stopped their attackers.
Here and there, Hawrald’s eyes picked out the tattered uniforms of defectors who’d joined Priestess Jewlsa, slain like all the rest, and
then—right in the centre of the village—fixated on a huge mound of decapitated women, their heads nowhere to be seen, only their bodies splayed out, burned. Just charred skeletons, piled on top of each other.
And then the wind changed, and the sickly-sweet stench of roasted human washed over him. He wretched, and probably would have emptied his gullet had anything been inside.
‘Sickening, is it not?’ said King Cevznik, his tone bitter. For a moment, Hawrald thought—thought—that the king’s madness might have abated for a time, but then he continued. ‘The depths of the betrayals we now face. Look at this town…look at what has become of these traitors. They obviously went mad, killed each other…slaughtered each other like animals. Unthinking beasts. A commoner removed from his king will fall into savage destitution.’
‘Yes, Sire,’ said Hawrald, exhausted by his inane utterings. Obviously, the people here had not hacked off their own heads and thrown themselves onto their own pyres.
A glimmer of light caught his eye at the tree line to the south. Through the thick belt of trees were white figures, perhaps healers. As he kept staring his hopes became a terrifying realisation. Men. Hundreds of Bivinian paladins waited. Watching.
‘Sire,’ warned Hawrald. ‘We’re not alone.’
The king snapped his head. ‘What?’
‘In the trees,’ Hawrald said not moving.
King Cevznik’s eyes narrowed. ‘Traitors,’ he hissed.
‘It ain’t traitors, sir,’ said Hawrald swallowing, the fingertips of his right hand caressing his hilt. ‘Bivinian paladins.’
The king drew his blade, levelling it at the trees. ‘Bivinian soldiers are not permitted on my lands! Kill the intruders. Hawrald, sound the attack!’
Hawrald hesitated. Their army hadn’t rested and many weren’t properly armoured. Many were beset by plague, they didn’t know the true strength of their opponents, and their enemies now had the defenders’ advantage. ‘But—’
‘Attack!’ roared the king. ‘Do it now!’
