“Maybe our people do not catch this illness?” Wesren asked, sounding wishful.
“The medicines of the Warprize work on our people. I fear that the illness will as well.” Keir sighed. “I can’t risk that. I will not risk taking this to the Plains. Can you imagine it among the children and the theas?”
Iften snorted, waving his hand over the group. “We are all hale and well, Warlord. There is no trace of this ‘plague’ among us.”
“But we’ve traded with farmers along the way, and there was contact while we were encamped outside the city walls. The Warprize has said that there is a waiting period to insure that the illness is gone.”
There was a stir toward the back, and Tsor rose. He was a big man, with long thick black hair. “Warprize, I would ask for your token.”
I looked at him in surprise, startled that he’d feel that he needed a token in his hand. Gils nudged me, and slipped a small jar of fever’s foe into my hand. I held it up, and Tsor stepped forward to take it. “I hold your token, Warprize. I give voice to one truth.”
“I will speak to your truth.” I said, curious to hear him.
“Warprize, I have seen the healing that you have done, and I have heard the words of the Warlord. I would not offend, but I am troubled. We of the Plains have a strong tradition of passing down our knowledge by the words of our theas and our Singers. But your people, they rely on words that are on ‘paper’ and in ‘books’.” He used the Xyian words slowly, as he played with the small jar in his hands. “You keep your wisdom in these things. And you do not have a ‘book’ here to tell you of the past.” He cleared his throat, and shifted his weight, clearly uncomfortable. “Perhaps your memory is wrong?”
There were soft gasps around the gathering, and even Keir sucked in a slow breath. Marcus was glaring at the man as if he’d insulted me, and maybe to their way of thinking he had. Gils sat up straight, indignant. I put a hand on his shoulder, afraid that he would do something rash.
“Tsor, it’s true that my people put their learning into ‘books’ in order to save it. But the lessons learned from them are well learned, especially on the subject of ‘plague’.” I let my gaze travel over the group. “My teacher was Eln of Water’s Fall, and he insisted that we learn and know the—” I had to pause, they have no word for ‘symptom’. “The signs to look for and how to treat them.”
Tsor, still holding the jar, opened his mouth but I wasn’t done. “I can’t say that my memory is as good as yours. But my knowledge and my skill are from years of learning and doing. You understand?” I looked at him closely as he nodded. “Have I answered your truth?”
“You have, Warprize.” He handed the jar back to me, and sat back down.
“So.” Keir spoke. “We will aid the village. Wesren, this will be an extended camp. See to it.”
Wesren was nodding, but Yers stood, his face thoughtful. “I’d ask the Warprize what to expect from the weather at this time of year.”
I thought for a moment. “The Goddess’s Lace won’t be for a few weeks, Yers.” I could tell that he didn’t understand. “The first hard frost. We say that the Goddess is weaving the lace for her wedding. The snows start a few weeks after that.”
It was clear that my explanation had confused him further. “So it will continue to get colder as the days shorten?” When I nodded, he grunted and sat down.
Sal spoke up. “Warlord, if we are to be here for any length of time, I must need supplement the supplies. How long will the time be, before we can safely move on?”
Keir turned to look at me. “Warprize?”
I licked my lips, and my eyes fell to my lap. “Forty days.”
All I could hear was the beating of my heart in my ears. I looked over, to see that Keir’s face had turned to stone. My breath caught in my throat, and a sick pit opened in my stomach.
Iften’s smug look was an open grin. “You would delay forty days?”
Marcus frowned when Keir failed to respond, his gaze shifting from my face to Keir’s. I froze, terrified that I’d gone too far. I’d lured him into this trap, but what choice did I have? The people of the village needed my help. But I’d seen his anger before. Would he support me, or—
“For the safety of our people.” His voice a rasp, Keir turned his head to look at Sal, letting me see the small muscles in his jaw clenching. “Forty days. Plan accordingly.”
Coward that I am, I avoided Keir and kept Gils at my side after the senel. Marcus had gathered all of the pack horses, and Gils and I split the supplies evenly between us. I talked to him as we worked, going through the various plagues and their treatments. I’d already prepared the letters for Othur and Eln and the messengers had left for Water’s Fall at a gallop, with strict instructions to throw the letters to the guards at the gate. I was fairly certain that within a few days, a week at the most, Gils would have help.
Gils listened earnestly, his gaze locked on my face, absorbing my words. He nodded fiercely, and repeated things back to me, constantly reassuring me that he would be watchful and that he would remember what I said.
As we worked, I was aware of a brooding presence close by. Keir had not spoken to me, but I felt his gaze scorch the back of my neck.
Keir had gathered Marcus, Joden, Epor, Isdra, Rafe and Prest near him, and they were talking quietly. I didn’t know what they were discussing, but there were occasional glances in my direction. I continued with my work, conscious of the tension in my shoulders and neck and that my feet were starting to throb.
It was only when Gils and I had finished that Keir stood, and stalked over to me. The others followed, their faces grim.
“I am ready to go.” I had one of the horses. Gils had kept the others. Keir’s eyes pierced me, but I kept my gaze steady. I’d come too far to break down now.
“You will not go alone.” Keir gestured, and Epor and Isdra stepped forward. “They will accompany you.”
“Keir, it’s too dangerous. They—”
“No.” He cut me off, leaving no room for argument. “We have seen no sick or dying. It could still be an ambush. You will have warriors by your side, or you will not go.”
“We have chosen this, Warprize.” Isdra’s voice was reassuring.
“To face an invisible enemy? What songs they will sing of us, eh?” Epor smiled. “Joden is already humming under his breath.”
Joden shrugged and everyone except Keir chuckled uneasily. Keir’s face was still a stone, marred only by the tiny pulsing muscle in his jaw.
“There is one more thing.” I paused, not sure how to phrase this request.
“Whatever it is, I am sure you will have your way, even if you have to lie to make it so.” Keir spat.
There was a pause, and the others started to step back, as if anticipating the bells. But Keir raised his hand. “No.”
Everyone stopped. Gils flushed a bright red, and was staring at his feet. My face was hot, but I didn’t drop my eyes.
“Speak.”
“We need to arrange signals. To let you know what kind of plague it is. To communicate what is happening. Because as soon as we know the kind of plague, we will need to send someone to Water’s Fall to shout the news to them. Those warbling cries, maybe?”
Joden smiled. “They are used in battle, or in the hunt, Warprize. They are not meant for talk. But let us see what we can do.”
Thankfully, with their memories, it didn’t take long to assign new meaning to the calls. I thought up as many contingencies as I could, then cleared my throat. “We need one more. For if all three of us sicken and all the villagers are dead. We must set fire to the village and kill ourselves, to prevent the spread of the disease.”
Keir’s face was stark. The others were grim. Joden spoke softly. “I thought mercy was not your way, Lara.”
“It is not, Joden. But I will not allow this illness to spread. To your people or to mine.” I looked at Epor and Isdra. “Do you understand what you are risking?”
“We do.” They spok
e together.
“And do you swear to—”
Keir broke in. “You are not yet confirmed, Warprize. Do not exceed your authority.”
I glared at him. “But I am a Master Healer. They have to promise—”
“They will do what must needs be done.” Keir’s look was chilling.
I dropped my eyes and tugged at the horse’s reins. “We need to go. We are losing the light.”
We rode in silence to the point where we could see the village gates clearly. There was no change, no sign that our presence had been noted or ignored.
We all dismounted, except for Keir. Isdra took the reins of the pack horse we’d loaded with supplies. I turned to my apprentice and smiled at him. “Gils—”
Gils launched himself at me, and squeezed me tight. I heard a faint whisper in my ear. “I’s make you proud, Lara. I’s swear it.” He stepped back and gave me a smile, red hair gleaming in the sun. “Skies watch over you, Warprize.”
Marcus stood there, looking unhappy and worried. “And now is when you stuff the cloths up your nose, yes?”
I nodded, too choked up to speak, and hugged him. “Take care of Keir.”
“Always. But who will care for you?” He asked gruffly as I stepped back.
Keir was on his horse, as cold and remote as the mountains that surrounded us. He didn’t look at me as he spoke. “Skies be with you.”
I took a deep breath, and waited. Keir didn’t look down.
Resigned, I turned away. I accepted the bowl that Gils held out, and Isdra and Epor and I stuffed the cloths in our nose and mouths. “Hope they leave this part out of the song.” Epor grumbled as we moved off. I was thankful for the sharp ginger in my mouth, coming up through my nose as I breathed. It explained the tears in my eyes.
There was a noise behind us. I turned, only to see Gils take a few steps to catch my horse, who had started to follow us down the road. The horse protested a bit, but settled under Gils’s hand. Keir didn’t move at all, and I turned back toward the village. Isdra and Epor were right behind.
We were almost to the gates when I couldn’t take it anymore.
I stopped and looked back.
Isdra and Epor gave me a knowing look, but kept walking.
Keir was off his horse, and Marcus was next to him, his hand on Keir’s shoulder. Gils was leading my horse back to the other horses. As I watched, Keir raised his hand.
I smiled, and raised my hand as well. Then I raised the other, and slowly brought them close to intertwine my fingers to form a fist. I hoped Keir remembered when he had done that in the command tent, when he announced his intent to weave our people together. I hoped he understood.
He seemed to, since he raised his hand a bit higher in acknowledgment. At this distance it was hard to tell, but he looked stricken to me somehow. As if I’d taken all his hopes with me.
Which I had.
Tears in my eyes, I lowered my hands and turned away to follow the others. I didn’t look back this time. I didn’t trust myself not to run back and throw myself in his arms.
And I didn’t trust him not to tie me to a tree.
5
Long before my time, King Xy had insisted that a main road be built from Water’s Fall through the length of the entire kingdom to the border with the Plains. One of his great grandsons, either Xytell, or maybe Xykreth, had built watch forts along the road once the Firelanders had started raiding up into the valley.
Each watch fort had been heavily fortified, with stone walls and high battlements, modeled on the walls of Water’s Fall. Each with a deep well and storage warehouses for food. They’d been designed to allow a contingent of warriors to be self-sufficient in times of battle. But they had all fallen victim to the one enemy they could not hold against: Time.
Walls collapsed, and the locals carried off the stone to build huts and low walls to keep in their sheep and pigs. Only a very few remained intact, and most of them were closer to the border than to Water’s Fall. While I’d read of them, I’d never seen one, since I’d never ventured more than a few hours from the city.
As we approached, I could see that this was one of the last remaining forts. Strong stone walls rose around the village proper, and the gates were logs, bound in metal. I could see the plague sign on the wood. The blood was dried. Epor watched our backs as Isdra stepped forward and pounded on the gates.
There was no response. We stood for a moment, hearing only the faint sounds of the army behind us, and the wind in the trees. I resisted the urge to look back again, to see if Keir was still watching.
Isdra pounded again. She stood with her hands on her hips, her head cocked, listening intently. “Nothing. I’m going in.”
Epor grunted, and stepped forward to boost Isdra up and over the gate. Her boots scrabbled against the wood as she pulled herself over. Epor gestured me back, getting his weapon ready and facing the door. But there was only the sound of bars being pulled back, and then the one side swinging open slowly. We slipped through, and took stock of the situation.
The middle of the square was quiet, with no sign of any people. In the center was a large stone well with windlass, and spare buckets so that any could help themselves to the water. The square was surrounded by buildings, all wooden and built snug next to its neighbor to fit within the stone walls. Of course, not all of the walls remained, some sections had been replaced with wooden palisades. But what should have been a village preparing for the evening meal was silent. It was quiet except for some house swallows that were squabbling over something nearby.
Epor and Isdra were both on alert, weapons out and held high. Epor had his club, and Isdra had her shield and sword. They kept me up against the gate, ready to get me out at the first sign of trouble. But the silence continued, and no one appeared in the square.
“The scout said someone shot at him from the walls.” Epor spoke softly. Isdra nodded, and I looked up. There were small battlements on both sides of the gate that were higher than the gate itself, with two wooden ladders leading up. “I’ll go.” Epor said.
I nodded. “I can check the—”
“No.” Isdra interrupted me firmly. “You’ll stay right here.”
It was no more than a few steps to the ladder. Epor secured his club, and pulled a dagger before climbing up. He moved fast, choosing the one to our right first, and was standing up at the top in but a moment. He knelt, disappearing from our view, then his head popped up again. “There’s a man up here with a bow, but I can’t rouse him.”
I took a step toward the ladder, but Isdra interfered. “No, Warprize. He’ll bring him down to us.”
I bit my lip in frustration, but Epor already had the man heaved up and on his shoulder. We watched as he carried him down and brought him to lay on the ground at my feet. I knelt and eased my parcels and basket down next to me. The man was older, his skin tan and weathered. I placed a hand on his forehead to find it cold and clammy. “He’s sick.”
Epor and Isdra had maintained their watch, focused out, observing the buildings for any movement. “So, it’s illness?” Isdra asked, without looking at me.
“One ill man doesn’t make it so.” Epor growled. “Let’s wait a bit before we decide, eh? Let’s check further.”
“That house, the one with the shutters. It’s close and it looks like it might be a—” I paused for the right word. “A warleader’s home.”
Epor snorted at my use of the word, but he got the idea. “Come.”
“But this man—”
“Leave him.” Epor’s tone was hard, and I understood that he wasn’t giving me an option. They moved carefully, keeping me between them as we headed to the structure. Isdra rapped on the door with her pommel, even as Epor guarded our backs. When there was no response, she kicked the door in.
“Isdra . . .” I scolded.
“Sorry.” She shrugged, then stepped through the wide-open door as I peered over her shoulder. It was a sitting room, with a hearth, and chairs. There were stairs up, and a ba
ck door into what appeared to be a kitchen. There was no outcry, no response as she strode across the room and through the opposite door. I took a step, but Epor stopped me with a gesture.
Isdra reappeared immediately, with a grim look. “There’s a dead woman on the floor. No wounds.” She moved to the stairs, and disappeared. I could hear her footsteps on the floor above. She was back down in a moment. “A boy, dead in a bed.”
Epor grunted. “Illness, as you said, Warprize.” He was fussing with the cloth in his nose, trying to get it to stay in place.
“I wish I’d been wrong.”
He nodded his agreement, and stepped out of the building, back into the square. He put his head back and warbled a long cry. That was the signal to let Keir know that it was indeed plague that we faced. As the cry ended, we heard a response from over the wall.
Epor turned back to me. “They understand. Joden asks what kind of illness.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know yet.”
Epor warbled again, as Isdra joined me in the doorway. “Do you wish to look at the dead?” she asked.
“In the morning. I’m more worried about the living.” We hurried back across the square. Epor heaved the man into a sitting position as we gathered our parcels. “I need to get him in a bed and tend him.” I looked up at the sky. “You two need to start checking the buildings before we lose the light.”
Epor frowned. “Where?”
“There’s a shrine to the Goddess over in that corner, Epor.” I stood, and gathered up my parcels. “I can use it as a healing house. I’ll be fine there.”
“I don’t like leaving you alone. I will go and—”
Isdra snorted out a laugh. “Takes longer to argue her out of it than it will to search.”
Epor shook his head, but he pulled the man up and back over his shoulder. “As you say, Warprize.”
Thankfully the shrine was empty and quiet. It was a large space, with movable benches, used as a place of worship and a meeting area. In the back was a small sleeping room, with a hearth. No priest in residence from the looks of things. I had Epor deposit the sick man on the bed, and placed my packages on the side table within easy reach. Quickly, I stripped him of his clothing, then paused. There was a strong odor that not even the ginger could disguise. I pulled the cloth from my nose and was met with a foul, rank smell, coming from the body of my patient. Confused, I replaced the plugs and continued with my work. That was not a symptom of any plague that I knew of. What could this be? The Sweat? The Swellings?