by Cat Bruno
She was already steps from him when she called back, “Do what you must. I need to find Sharron and the King.”
Turning once to make sure that Gregorr followed, Caryss once again felt like the healer that she had been for half of her life.
A gift from the girl, she mused, and wondered why Gregorr had come without complaint. Or without surprise.
*****
There was little left for him to do before his Healer Journey was to begin, and Pietro walked with a light step and a half-smile on his face from Master Black’s cottage to his own. For moons, he had planned the trip, and, with the Master’s aid, he was a quarter-moon away from leaving the Academy. On the morrow, he would meet with the Master Council, who, Black had assured him, would approve his Healer Journey, leaving him free to begin the final step before becoming a Master Healer himself. After a moon year spent traveling and healing, he would return to the Academy, and, after a final meeting with the council, Pietro would no longer be a student.
He could return home.
Rexterra. He could still recall much of his homeland, despite having not seen it in over ten moon years. The Grand Palace, where he had often visited, was unlike any building in all of Cordisia, larger and more ornate than any he would find as he walked throughout the land. When he was young, his father, a cousin of the King, had moved from the palace and into a large complex nearer to the coast, where most of his ships were docked. His brothers too, who each had their own merchant fleet, now lived a day’s ride from the King’s City. Pietro had decided that he would visit the coast before the King’s City, even though it would add days to his journey. The thought of impressing his brothers when they would see him in his healer’s robe was enough to make the decision an easy one.
Arriving back at his rooms, Pietro hurriedly touched his hand to the door, releasing the warding that was there, and rushed inside. As the door swung closed behind him, his skin prickled.
Shivering, despite the midday Tretorian heat, Pietro realized that he was not alone.
“I thought that you had forgotten me,” he shakily said, balling his hands into fists.
A cackling sound, which Pietro imagined was laughter, seeped from the man and caused him to tremor, until he remembered that the man needed him still. It would not serve to harm him.
With a shrug of thin shoulders, the man told him, “On the morrow, you must depart. And so I am here.”
Stumbling over his words, Pietro replied, “I cannot yet leave the Academy. In a quarter-moon’s time, I will be free to go.”
Stepping toward him, the Tribesman explained, “On the morrow, you will head to the King’s City, as quickly as you can. Once there, you will meet with Delwin, who is cousin to you from what I hear. You will remind him that the healer has his father, unrightfully so, and that he is in danger each moment he is with her. The king will die if he is not tended to, or so you will tell his son. Now that you are healer-trained, you will offer your services and your skill to Prince Delwin. You will also convince him that the Northern healer must be killed.”
Pietro’s mouth fell open, but the man continued.
“You will find the girl in the Tribelands, with the High Lord of the Wolf Clan. The Royal Army will no doubt be reluctant to enter the lands, and with just reason. However, when you are within a day’s ride, you will contact me, and I will make sure that most of the Tribesmen are gone, leaving the girl and the few she has with her open to attack.”
“How will I contact you?” he whispered, as if they were not alone.
Reaching into a small pocket on the inside of his jacket, the man said, “With this,” and threw a small token at Pietro, who barely managed to catch it.
Turning the wooden disc coin over in his hand, he saw an image of a crow, long-beaked and sharp-eyed, glaring at him. With another shiver, Pietro quickly turned it over until the unmarked side shone.
“When next we meet, which will be within a moon or two, you will learn more. For now, your plans are simple. Travel to the King’s City and convince Delwin that the girl is a threat to Rexterra and to his father. He has been looking for her for a moon already, and your news will be welcome and rewarded.”
Backing to the door, the man added, “You will not tell your cousin of me, not until you are just outside the Tribelands.”
“What if he does not believe me?” Pietro murmured.
“Did you hear nothing I said, boy? He has been looking for the healer for a moon! When he finds her, he will need a reason to strike.”
“To strike whom?”
“Are you a fool? Have you forgotten so much about your homeland? Who has long been the enemy of Rexterra? The one they cannot tame as they have the others?”
With a hand on his chest and shaking his head, Pietro exclaimed, “Eirrannia?”
In the darkened room, the sharp, pointed teeth of the man glowed white, as if he smiled.
“Just so. The healer woman has played her part nicely. And, now, with her soon to leave the Tribelands, she has given us just the chance we needed. I want the girl, and Rexterra wants the North.”
“What you speak of will be war!”
“Perhaps.”
The man was at the door before Pietro could close his gaping mouth.
“Cast the token into a fire, and I will find you when it is time.”
The door gently closed behind the man, as if the soft, warm Tretorian breeze blew it shut. As if the man had not been there at all.
Looking down at the wooden token in his hand, Pietro closed his fingers around it. Soon, his hand began to burn, and he dropped the disc to the floor.
“Damn you Bronwen,” he spit, reaching for a cotton strip to wrap around the token.
When he had cloaked the coin and placed it into a pouch, Pietro began to sort through his belongings, organizing and packing for a journey that no longer was his own.
*****
He woke to the sound of howling, and when his golden-rimmed eyes were fully open, he scanned his surroundings, reaching for the longsword that lay near his leg. Clouds covered much of the night sky, obscuring both moon and star. The night had been cool, especially so near the north, and a small fire still burned near, casting crackling rays of orange over his darkly-clothed body.
Again, howling moans surrounded him, yet with the sword now clutched tightly in his hand, Willem feared little and looked around with clear eyes. The Tribelands were a short ride from where he had camped, and had it been bellow or caw, he might have worried. Howling meant wolves, and wolves meant Conri.
And where Conri was, Bronwen would be as well, if Nicoline had been truthful.
Into the darkness, he scrambled to his feet and yelled, “Where is he? Send me the High Lord!”
Under the smoky black sky, silence answered his plea. The wolves quieted, but he knew that they had not yet departed, and several pairs of yellow eyes glowed from the distance. Man or wolf, he could not tell, and, in truth, Willem had never seen Conri as anything but man, and did not know if it was lore or truth that a Tribesman could do so.
But he was too near the Tribelands for doubt to come now. His golden-rimmed eyes could see more than most, and when the sky lightened, he noticed.
When none approached, he waited, adding wood to the fire and boiling water to brew tea from leaves he had brought from the Academy. With a steaming cup in hand, Willem sat at the edge of the fire, poking at it with the tip of his sword, still heavy in his strong hand. When next he looked, there were less eyes on him.
When Conri arrived, it was no surprise, and Willem rose to greet him.
“Are you alone?”
The words were sharp, yet spoken just above a whisper.
Shrugging, Willem replied, “Does it look like any others are with me? I have little doubt your sentries have watched me for days, Conri. Surely they have seen no one else.”
The High Lord was just steps from where Willem sat and made no attempt to come closer as he said, “Why are you here?”
“
To correct a mistake I made moons ago. I should never have permitted Bronwen to travel so far on her own.”
“She is not alone. There are four who travel with her, and two who have been with her since she first left the Academy.”
Four, he wondered, but asked, “Is she well?”
“How did you know where to find her?”
“After all that she has done, where else could she find safety?”
With dark eyes, Conri stepped toward Willem and hissed, “I have no time for games! Why are you here?”
Gold met black as Willem returned the High Lord’s stare.
“For Bronwen.”
When Conri laughed, the wolves howled, and Willem felt his eyes get hot and his hands begin to burn. For more moon years than he could count, he had been able to control the fire that burned inside, just as it did in his kin, yet he could not recall a time when it threatened to burn so hot and wild, as it did now.
“Would you really keep me from her, Conri?” Willem asked, without fear.
“Did she send for you?”
“My cousin’s men have no doubt started searching for her, and they know enough to first begin in Eirrannia. I am here to help her and to keep her alive. Let her decide if I stay or not.”
“What do you know of the Rexterran Army? Are they on the move?” the High Lord sharply demanded.
“I know little of their whereabouts, nor have I heard from Crispin.”
Stepping back, Conri called, “The boy could one day sit the throne of Rexterra.”
Shaking his head, Willem countered, “It would be unlikely. While he is Crispin’s first-born son, he has not been recognized as so. His grandfather and uncle would never allow it, and even Crispin himself would never try to make it so.”
Again Conri laughed, quieter this time, as he said, “I had thought you wiser, Willem. When has the path to a throne ever been clear? It matters little right now, however. The boy is an interesting lad, and his powers have impressed me. His kin have long been gone from Cordisia.”
“Do you know of the Elementals?”
After pausing at the query, Willem stated, “When last I saw him he was but a babe, toddling about. But I know his mother had mage-skill, although I did not know it was so strong in him. Bronwen was less a fool than I had thought to find him.”
Conri’s eyes darkened and his brows rose as he explained, “You do not know the history of the Elementals then. They have long been foe to Tribe, although many generations ago, they chose to leave Cordisia.”
With a laugh, Willem chided, “They chose? Or were they forced to leave?”
Smoother still, as if undisturbed by Willem’s laughter, Conri answered, “It was war, and although our kind took many losses, theirs did as well. It would have continued if they had stayed. It benefited all for them to seek a home elsewhere. The boy’s grandfather broke vows in his return.”
“You would not seek to harm the boy, would you Conri? Caryss has granted him safety.”
“Jarek understands the danger his powers bring. With control, he could be less of a risk. She has told me that he will not draw from his power while they are in the Tribelands.”
“And after?” he asked.
When Conri looked to him it was not as man, but as High Lord. His eyes were fierce, darkening by the moment. His face, finely angled and defiant, turned toward Willem with haste and aggression. It was enough to make the Rexterran wish that he had not pushed further.
“There is safety here, and she will not leave.”
He does not know her, Willem thought, but did not say.
“Is it still your wish to come with me?” Conri asked.
With a nod, Willem told him, “There is no place else for me.”
And so Willem would join Bronwen and Aldric once again, moons later. The Academy seemed long past, and Willem feared none of them would see it again.
*****
For nearly half the day, Caryss, Sharron, and Gregorr sat at the bedside of King Herrin and discussed their healing options. The fennidi spoke in a thickly accented, but still Eirrannian, voice, although both women struggled at times to understand what he was saying. Gregorr’s words rolled from his mouth as if his tongue was thick and his lips cracked. Several times the two Northern healers looked at one another over the small man’s silver-haired head, hoping the other had understood his words. What should have taken little time had now occupied much of their day, and still they had no plan to heal the King.
Both had learned much about which plants and herbs the fennidi used, and, with Conall’s help, a plan was made to build a glasshouse for growing and cultivating what they did not have in their stores. Already, several Tribesmen had begun building, and Caryss rose from where she had been sitting to look out the window, watching the men as they quickly worked. At the Academy, they had little use for glasshouses, as the airs rarely cooled. But here in the North, glasshouses were often used, and she wondered if the men had prior experience in the construction, as they seemed to nearly be complete, only needing to add the heavy glass panels.
When Conall entered the room moments later, she called, “Your men will be finished before the sun sets. This must not be the first glasshouse that they have built.”
She had come to enjoy her time with the Tribesman, although she rarely visited the High Lord.
“There are a few that the cooks use, but this one will be for your use only. Caryss, is it possible that you know so little of the Tribe? What use would we have of plants that heal?”
Her smile faded, although his did not, and, even as she realized his jest, she asked, “Do you require no healing, then?”
“Not as you do. We live or we die. There is little to prevent either. Although I have heard of what the mage did for the High Lord.”
As if in explanation, she called, “I did not strike him deeply.”
A raised eyebrow was his only response.
“What of the Elementals?” she asked, looking about for Jarek.
When she did not spot him, Caryss knew that he must be at practice with Otieno, as they often were. The boy was learning quickly, or so she thought after her last observation of his swordplay.
“Elementals are mages, of a sort, but unlike Aldric or his kind. The mage-guild that most know in Cordisia is but a small piece of magic compared to what else has been seen elsewhere. Here, mages learn a bit of all the elements, yet true Elementals are masters at only one, and their skills far surpass what any Cordisian mage would have. Many generations ago,” he explained, “a great war broke out between Tribe and Elemental, for their kind had been created to keep us in check. Or so our tales tell it.”
“I know all of that,” she huffed,” before adding, “Aldric used fire on the Crow.”
Waving a hand at her, he said, “If you would let me finish, you would understand more and interrupt less. Yes, he was able to kill with his fire, but he is no ordinary mage, I would bet. There had to have been a touch of Elemental in him. And the same must be said for the sword that the Islander used. You must know that neither man you travel with is of the light, Caryss.”
“They are both sworn to me and to the girl, and I trust them. Nothing else matters.”
“I do not know how you came to have both vowed to you, but, if you are correct and they can be trusted, you have two men at your side that even my brother would not dismiss. What of the boy?”
Her cheeks flamed hot, and Caryss looked away from Conall, and tried to keep her voice free from quivering as she said, “He’s a child and presents no harm.”
“Has he been mage-trained?” Conall asked.
“Aside from having a king for a father, he is little more than a farmboy.”
While she no longer smiled, Conall beamed, and, even though Caryss still did not look at him, she sensed that as he grinned, he watched her for a reaction. Biting the inside of her lip, she struggled to keep her face free and her mind clear, as if he could know her thoughts.
“A farmboy, perhaps, but he
smells of rain.”
His words resounded loud against the slate floors, and Caryss could do nothing but wait as he continued.
“As fire can kill Crow and earth can kill Bear, sky can kill Wolf. The mage told me that you knew of this before allowing the boy to join you.”
Conall’s words were accusation, she knew, and Caryss struggled to reply. He was not the first to warn him about Jarek. A moon before, she had been forced to explain to Conri why the boy had come. In the end, he had let Jarek stay, although he warned her of the danger that could arise. But given the choice, she would find him again, she knew. And with that knowledge, she faced Conall.
“You and your brother like to remind me of how little I know of the Tribe. And while that might be true, I know enough to know the enemies my daughter will have. The boy will be an ally, a very powerful one. I am not the fool you think I am, Conall.”
“You arm your enemy and teach him skills he did not have moons ago.”
Gregorr and Sharron still stood by the King, while she and Conall had moved nearer to the door. Stepping into the hallway, she pulled the door closed behind her and leaned against it. Conall stood just steps away, having followed her.
“His kin might have once been foe, but Jarek is not. From what I hear, the Wolves have more to worry about than an Elemental boy. When the Crows strike, does it not seem wiser to have the boy on your side than theirs? Think of his power in their hands, Conall. What would that mean for your kin?”
By the way his eyes shifted, Caryss knew that she had convinced him.
“Do you not see what I have done?” she half-cried. “I have brought the fennidi to your side, where once they swore allegiance to none. A boy whose strike could kill you is now vowed to your High Lord’s daughter. Perhaps instead of this interrogation, I should be getting praise.”
His smile lightened his eyes, and Caryss sighed with relief.
“You are wiser than I had guessed, but I still must speak to the boy before Conri returns.”
