Marcus watched his friend for a long moment and then nodded with decision. “I think I'll go with you, if you don't mind.”
Thom frowned. “But what of Basura and Cinnabar and the future of Elam?” Then, as it occurred to him that he'd just spoken of the possibility of rebellion, he blanched and looked at Kitchell. “I mean to imply nothing by what I say, sir.”
Kitchell waved a hand dismissively and glanced to his left, where his retinue remained out of earshot. “I know about the rumblings of dissatisfaction, young man. The time has come, I think, for a change in the fortunes of us all.” He nodded down toward the gap leading through the hills. “And that man, if he survives, is the man, I think, to follow as we work to change them.”
Marcus nodded emphatically at this and looked back at Thom. “I'm not going to stay in the east as you are anyway, Thom. I want to discover how Lord Aram fares, and then return, if I can, to Basura, to consult with Amund.”
“Alright,” Thom agreed. “Then let's see if we can scrounge a couple of weeks’ worth of food, get to Woody's to collect Kay, and go east.”
Marcus turned to Kitchell. “It would probably be wiser if you did not admit to seeing me, Governor,” he said, and as he did, he looked toward the Governor's companions.
Kitchell shook his head. “They won't talk. Besides, I intend to send an emissary to Councilor Heglund in Basura, anyway. How will I hide that?”
Marcus frowned at him. “Rahm will view such an action on your part with a jaundiced eye, I suspect.”
Kitchell nodded. “My emissary will carry papers of commerce, and that will ostensibly be his mission. If the High Prince suspects more, we will deal with his questions if and when they arise.” He flinched and looked up at the darkening sky as a bolt of white-hot power crashed into the prairie north of the battlefield. “We should perhaps get off this ridge.” The governor turned away and then stopped and looked back. “I would like to be brought word of Lord Aram's condition, if possible.”
“I will keep you informed somehow,” Marcus promised, and then he and Thom turned and hurried down the slope toward the camps to seek shelter from the coming storm and beg provisions for their journey.
28 .
Several times during the long eight-day trip eastward, the jouncing of the wagon brought Aram back to consciousness on a wave of pain. Each time, the sky above was a different color, bright blue with full daylight, pink or red with morning or evening, or black with night. Each time, he found the anxious face of a surgeon bending over him.
“How is Thaniel?” He would gasp out every time, but then, as hours and days passed and delirium set in, he would often awaken abruptly and try to rise to his feet, insisting in harsh tones that, “We have to press our advantage. Where are my captains?”
Sometimes, he remained awake long enough to hear the careful reply to either of these questions, “I'm sorry, my lord, but I don't know,” but more often the pain-filled darkness would reach up with uncaring hands and pull him back down, robbing him of learning anything of those two things, one of which filled him with frustration – and the other with dread.
Eventually, the banging of the wagon seemed to grow less, and he awoke less often, and then there were only periods of awareness, but not wakefulness. The darkness that surrounded him seemed to take on a less unpleasant aspect. Whenever he attempted to open his eyes, even for a moment, the sky was always the same light color, a sort of pale tan or ocher.
Someone spoke to him, he thought, each time he tried to lift his lids upon the world, but he was unable to know who it was or to render a reply. And then, for a long time, he slept. There were no dreams to disrupt this new period of restfulness, and other than the pervasive and persistent pain which gradually lessened, nothing troubled him, not even that particularly nagging thought which had given him such desperate moments at some earlier time. The world and its myriad troubles abandoned him and went away to a great distance and stayed there for a long time.
When again he thought to open his eyes, there was a face bending over him. But it was not that of a surgeon.
It was a face that was dear to him.
Ka'en.
“Are you awake, my love?”
He tried to respond, but there was no breath in him.
“Ssshh,” she whispered. “Don't try to speak.”
Abruptly, the nagging thought that had abandoned him during his long sleep came back with such force that he drew in a breath and enunciated the harsh question. “Thaniel?”
His vision was not clear but it seemed to him that her eyes dimmed with tears.
“He lives, Aram, but is terribly injured. Florm and Ashal attend him with Bertrain.”
“Does he.....does he speak?”
“No.”
That one word, delivered by her whom he knew to be incapable of guile, sent him reeling back into the darkness. And there he stayed for some time longer.
When next he awoke, the room was dark except for the distant flickering of a candle, but even so he could see more clearly. He seemed to be alone. He tried to rise but found himself nearly wrapped in bandages and the effort caused him to gasp with pain. A cool hand touched his brow and another gently forced him back.
“Please, my love, stay still, you've been badly hurt.”
“Ka'en?”
“I'm here.” Her lovely face, pale, drawn, and tired, appeared over him.
He studied her delicate features for a moment, noting the dark circles beneath her eyes and the lines of tiredness about her small mouth.
“Are you alright?” He asked.
She nodded. “Just weary. Lie still, please, and rest.”
“How is Thaniel?”
“He lives. With the help of Mallet and a few others, Bertrain has succeeded in moving him about and dressing his wounds. The bleeding has stopped and he lies more quietly now.”
“Does he speak?”
Wordlessly, she shook her head.
Despair descended upon Aram like a black shadow out of the gloom. “It's my fault.”
For the first time since their marriage, she spoke to him sharply. “Why must everything always be your fault? You nearly died yourself. In fact, for a while.....” She looked away and brushed a tired hand over her eyes.
“I'm sorry.”
In response to this, she lowered her head upon his chest and he felt her tremble. Unable to think of anything to say to comfort her, he remained quiet, but managed to lift his hand and stroke her hair. After a while, she ceased crying and spoke without raising her head.
“Could you eat something?” She asked.
“No, but I am thirsty.”
She brought him a cup of cold water and lifted his head so that he could drink. It was then that he realized that his head was bandaged, swathed all around.
“I must look a mess,” he said.
“You look wonderful to me.”
“Where's Findaen?”
She arched her delicate eyebrows. “Asleep, I imagine. Why?'
He frowned. “Is it late?”
“The middle of the night.”
His frown deepened. “Then why are you awake?”
“I wasn't. I was asleep until I felt you move.”
“Is this our room?”
“Yes.”
“Am I in the middle of the bed?”
“No,” she answered, “you're on the side where you always sleep.”
“Where have you been sleeping?”
“Beside you – when I'm able to sleep.”
He gingerly rotated his right shoulder. There was some soreness but no sharp pain. “Lie down,” he told Ka'en. “Put your head on my shoulder and get some rest. I'll be fine.”
Before complying, she put one cool hand on the side of his bandaged head. “Is that a promise?”
“Yes.”
She lay down and after but a moment, he heard her slow, gentle breathing and knew that she slept. Sometime later, he slept as well.
In the morning, he ate a bit o
f meal in a cup of milk. After convincing Ka'en to go find Findaen, he tried to sit up, but found it a difficult prospect. Eventually, despite the pain which seemed to radiate from every part of his body, he managed to brace himself against the head board of the bed and sit reasonably upright.
Findaen, when he entered, appeared uninjured except for a bandage on his upper right arm and an angry red line that angled down his left cheek. The young man was smiling broadly. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you alive and awake, my lord.”
“No happier than I am to see you, Fin.” He felt his tenuous grin slide away and his expression grow grim. “Any news on Thaniel?”
Findaen's smile faded, but only a little. “He's sitting up now – or lying up – you know, with his hooves under him. He won't eat or speak, but his eyes are open sometimes.” His smile failed then. “Bertrain has hardly left him, except to look in on you, and he admits to knowing very little about a horse's inner workings. But he thinks Thaniel will live now, though he has no idea when he might get up and walk. Lord Florm probably can guess at that better than any of us.”
“Is Florm with Thaniel then?”
“Yes, and the Lady Ashal as well.”
“How many did we lose?”
Findaen's open face darkened. “My lord?”
“How many died?” Aram asked. “How many were injured?”
Findaen glanced sidelong at Ka'en, sitting next to Aram in a chair. After meeting her eyes for a moment and finding no aid, he looked back at Aram. “Are you sure you want to hear this now?”
“Yes, now.”
Findaen sighed. “One hundred and fifty-seven were killed on the field or died of their wounds afterward; Two hundred and thirty-six were wounded so badly that many of them won't fight – or, in some cases, even walk – again; and three or four hundred more were treated for wounds of varying severity, and most of those stayed with the army.”
“Where is the army?”
Findaen lifted his chin and indicated the western wall of the room. “Encamped on the plains by the fortress.”
Aram frowned. “How long have I –?”
“Nearly two weeks, my lord. The army crossed the river three days ago.”
Aram sighed deeply. “So with those that were killed and severely wounded, we've lost almost four hundred men. That's bad enough, but not as bad as I feared.”
“Muray is one of the badly wounded,” Findaen said.
Aram looked at him sharply. “How badly is he hurt?”
Findaen shook his head. “I don't know the particulars, but I do know that Raulin wants to send him home to Eaorl and Dunna as soon as he's able to travel.”
“Will he live?”
“I think so; he went into the action that surrounded you, my lord. They found him under one of those big lashers with his sword run up into the beast's guts. We think he actually slew the thing, but of course it did its share of damage before it died.”
“How does the army feel about all this – generally, I mean. Do you know?”
Findaen smiled broadly. “Now that's a strange thing,” he declared. “I've never seen so many proud and happy men. They're sad about the loss of friends and family members, of course, but they know that they won. The enemy went away, leaving them in control of the field, and now they're feeling like proper soldiers.”
Aram gazed up at him in amazement. “This is the general mood?”
“Oh, yes. I don't suppose any of us, other than you, of course, are veterans, but a lot of men out there feel like they are, now.”
Aram was surprised and pleased. “Well, that's a good thing. Did we lose any wolves?”
“Yes, my lord, three dead, and eight wounded. Don't worry; Durlrang and Leorg are not among them. That big gray one – Barcur? – he lost most of a front leg, but he claims that he will fight again.”
“Horses?”
Findaen shook his head. “A few scratches, but except for Thaniel, nothing serious.”
“Where's Durlrang?”
“Outside.”
“And the enemy?”
“Gone north,” Findaen replied. “Nikolus and Jared followed them until they entered a slave village a few miles north of the battlefield. Kipwing watches them now. They still go north.” His features assumed a subtle look of pride. “We killed that big lasher commander, you know – well, Boman’s men and the horses did it, actually.”
Aram stared at him for a long moment. “Do all the men know that this was done?”
“Oh, yes,” Findaen replied and grinned broadly. “It is a favorite topic and a matter of some great pride for the Duridians.”
Aram gazed down at the bed-cover as he digested this welcome news and wondered at its possible future import. Then he looked up and met Findaen's eyes. “Let me know about Thaniel.”
“I will, my lord.”
“And send Durlrang in, will you?”
Findaen nodded and turned to go but then swung back. “I almost forgot; the wagons came from Lamont yesterday.”
Aram frowned. “Wagons?”
“Yes, my lord, two of them – heavily guarded and filled with silver coinage.”
Aram stared without comprehension for a moment and then nodded. “I had forgotten. Well, that's good, isn't it? Where is the coinage now?”
“In the treasury. You should see it – there's quite a pile.”
Aram shrugged. “We'll let your father manage it.”
“As you will, my lord,” Findaen answered with a grin and left, leaving the door ajar for Durlrang.
Cautiously, as if the polished wood floor rendered his footing unstable, the old wolf crossed the room and came up to the bed.
“Hello, my old friend,” Aram said gladly.
“It's good to see you up, master. Mistress Ka'en has been most worried.”
Aram looked the old wolf over. “Are you well – were you injured?” He asked.
“No, master. I tried to reach you, and wounded many of the beasts in the legs, but all were focused on you, so no harm came to me.” Durlrang hesitated. “I'm sorry that I could not aid you more, master. I will not allow it again.”
Aram smiled. “You always aid me more than you think, my friend. I'm sorry for the wolves that died.”
“Their lives were expended in a just cause, my lord. In this world my people can ask for no better fate under the moon.”
“Have you seen Thaniel?”
The old wolf sat back on his haunches. “I did not like to interfere, but I have looked in to the place where they keep him. I cannot hear his thoughts, if he speaks, but he seems to improve. He lost much blood.”
They talked for a while longer and then Durlrang went out, sorry to leave Aram's side but glad to escape the sky-less dwellings of men.
Over the next week, Aram improved to the point where he stood and took a few stumbling steps about the room. Ka'en rested now, and watched him with a glad light in her eye. One mid-day as she sat beside him on the bed, he looked down and noticed that her belly was slightly distended.
He frowned into her eyes as he laid one hand upon her stomach. “Are you ill?”
She laughed. “I'm going to have a child, remember? I'll get bigger than this, you know.”
“Does it hurt?”
Her laugh rang out, lilting and happy. “No.”
Three days more and Aram could stand it no longer. Though Findaen had faithfully reported on Thaniel's condition which, alarmingly, seemed to change very little for the better, Aram finally had to go see to his friend for himself. With Findaen supporting him, he went carefully down and out of Lancer's house. At the street, an oxcart picked him up and drove him the rest of the way to Arthrus' shop, where quarters had been set up for the wounded horse.
Thaniel was lying upon his hooves with his massive bulk resting against the wall at the back of a straw-covered stall. His eyes were closed and his breathing sounded hoarse and labored. To Arm's discerning eye, the horse looked terribly thin. In places along Thaniel’s broad side the
bones protruded as if they meant to break through the skin and hair. Bertrain the surgeon was there, changing bandages on the horse's upper legs. Florm and Ashal stood nearby and lowered their heads to Aram as he came in. He inclined his head in reply and then turned immediately toward the surgeon.
“Has he eaten?”
Bertrain shook his head. “Nothing, my lord, though I have gotten him to drink water with some pain-dulling medicine that Raulin gave me. It seems to help. I know he sounds bad but his breathing is actually stronger than it has been.”
“And he won't speak?”
“No, my lord, not as yet.”
Aram turned to Florm. “Nor to you, or his mother?”
Florm met his gaze with troubled eyes. “No, Lord Aram; I have not heard my son's voice since he returned from the west.”
“Lord Aram – you are well?”
Aram started as the familiar deep voice, though quiet and thin with pain, entered his mind. On the instant, he dropped to his knees by Thaniel's head. The large dark eyes were open, but dulled with pain and suffering.
“Thaniel, my brother! How do you fare?”
` “Weary, my lord, but very glad to see you. I am sorry that I failed you.”
“Failed me? No, Thaniel, it was my fault. It was the enemy's plan to isolate you and me and kill us, and I didn't see it until too late.”
“I do not know what you could have done otherwise, my lord,” the horse whispered. “We could not allow the lashers to pierce the army and get behind it.”
“No,” Aram agreed. “But I should have stayed in the center and maintained our lines.”
“They would have broken through in any event,” the horse insisted. As you say, it was their plan to get at us.” At that, Thaniel's voice became so low as to become indistinct.
Aram reached out and placed his hand on the horse's neck. “Let us talk another time, my brother. Will you eat something today?”
“Perhaps tomorrow, my lord.”
Aram grimaced at the weakness of the horse's delivery. “Alright, then. I will return tomorrow. You will be stronger then.”
Thaniel closed his eyes and went silent. With Findaen and Ka'en's aid, Aram got to his feet. He looked at Bertrain, who met his gaze with a surprising smile.
Kelven's Riddle Book Four Page 20
