The Healer's Legacy (8 page)

She made certain her pouch was tied securely at her waist and drew the blanket around her. She leaped forward and leaned back. The dirt slid out from under her feet as she skidded down the rushing debris. She bent her knees as she picked up speed, tilting from side to side to keep herself from toppling over. Small rocks and sand filled her boots. Dust flew, creating a cloud as the valley floor rose to meet her.

She sat back hard to slow her descent as she neared the bottom. When she stopped, dirt and rocks continued to slide down and pile up. A brown dusting of powder settled around her. She coughed and sneezed as she dusted herself off. Trad stood off to her right with Kelmir pacing nearby. Vaith called to her from a low tree branch. Relief washed over her and the aches and scratches from the rockslide faded. They were all here. All safe. She grabbed Trad’s reins and pulled him toward the copse of trees where no arrows could find them.

Once under the cover of birch and hazel, she sat down and pulled off her boots, shaking out the rocks and dirt before putting them back on. Worry began to crowd at her. They’d all made it down the cliff and Toril’s men would be unable to follow for the time being, but now what? Her scrapes and bruises were minor, but Trad could barely walk. If she didn’t properly care for his leg soon, he could be permanently lame.

She limped over to where he stood shivering. His leg was a swollen mass, hot to the touch, and he jerked away from her, eyes wide and nostrils flaring. “Shhhh,” she whispered, limping after him. “Come on, Trad.” Slow and easy, she gathered the reins in her hand. “There, now.” She kept her voice steady, but her hands shook as she guided him deeper into the thicket where Vaith perched.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The settlement spread out before her, large and prosperous. It was certainly bigger than any of the farms or holds she’d seen near her home. Late afternoon sunlight shone across the clearing that surrounded the hold, a typical defense line where the forest had been cleared for hundreds of strides around the high walls that circled the main buildings. Kira paused just inside the tree line to give her tunic one more swipe. She knew it was a wasted attempt, there was no way she could get clean, and there wasn’t any time to spare. But she couldn’t afford to be turned away as a beggar, either. She squared her shoulders, hefted the small pig onto her back, and strode forward across the clearing, feeling vulnerable in the open space. Casting an air of confidence over herself that she didn’t really feel, she headed for the main gate.

Vaith had flitted from branch to branch, scouting the edge of the forest. He’d discovered the hold shortly after they set out from the cliff side. Kira had sent Kelmir out for game. He’d returned with a wild peccary large enough to impress the holder, she hoped, but small enough that she would be able to carry it. She pushed away the thought that she was trading one life for another. Trad was a faithful companion. She would do what was necessary to save him.

Kelmir stood guard over Trad. She wouldn’t have brought the big cat with her at any rate. Most people were frightened of Kelmir, particularly the first time they saw him.

The main gate was open, which wasn’t unusual for a settlement at peace—the gates would probably be shut at sunset—but she hesitated before entering. Where was the gatekeeper or a watch? Her skin prickled. What if it was a trap? Stop it! she commanded herself. Her worries were foolish and gained her nothing. The men on the cliff had no way down and the mountain range extended at least a moon’s ride in either direction without another pass. It would take time for them to get a message back to Toril. He was certain to have other men out hunting for her, but those others still had no way of knowing where she was headed. She hadn’t really known herself. No, this was just a sleepy little hold.

She shifted the weight of the animal on her shoulders and walked into the main yard. A low growl stopped her. A powerful mastiff with a muscular chest stared at her from just inside the gate. She sensed protective anger and fear from him, mixed with curiosity and excitement at the scent of fresh game. Watchdog or hunter? Both? Of course, his reaction could be pure instinct. She tried to touch his mind with hers, but it was a jumble of emotions, and she was unable to calm him. Dogs were often difficult for her to reach. Not true carnivores, they could sometimes be impossible to connect with. She could sense more from them than she could from an herbivore, but usually not enough to communicate. This was the sort of thing that made her ponder the strangeness and the limitations of her gift. Why carnivores, and then only those that hunted? Was there something about her that gave her an affinity with creatures that killed? Was that what had attracted Toril to her? She shuddered. The dog growled again.

Kira slowed her breathing, then mentally reached out once more. The big dog crouched as it prepared to leap. She gripped the legs of the pig, ready to swing the carcass at the dog.

“Whoa, Cadge, back!” Kira heard a deep male voice. The dog stopped growling, but stood its ground as a tall man came around the corner of the nearest building scattering a flock of speckled yard fowl. His black hair was pulled back from his face and his shirt was open, the sleeves rolled up, revealing the dark curling hair of his chest and arms. His skin was tanned, and his shoulders broad. As he drew near, Kira saw his blue eyes narrow.

“What business do you have at Tem Hold?” he asked as he came to stand beside the mastiff.

“I wish to barter for shelter and supplies,” Kira replied. “I have fresh game.” Slowly, she lowered the peccary to the ground, then took a step back.

The man glanced at the dead animal. “And if I said that the wild game in the forest surround is already mine as Land Holder and that I would not bargain for what belongs to me, what would you say to that?”

“Then I would give my apologies to you and ask for your pardon,” Kira replied. She hoped her desperation wasn’t obvious. “I’m a stranger here. I did not know that Holders in this region laid claim to the forests as well as the tilled lands.”

“I claim what is my birthright,” he said in a harsh voice.

“I meant no offense, Lord Holder.” Kira nodded in a gesture of respect.

“In this holding we do not use that title,” he snapped. “You will call me Holder Tem. But do not call me Lord.” His voice changed almost to a whisper.

Kira nodded again. “Holder Tem, I have nothing to bargain with, yet I would still ask for shelter and aid, as a traveler in need. At least, for the chance to mend my mount’s wounds.”

“I see no mount,” he said, suspicion in his voice.

“My horse is in the forest. Lame. I didn’t want to walk him farther without knowing I would be able to tend to his injury.”

Holder Tem set his jaw. His eyes darkened to a deep indigo. “I would not let it be said that Tem Hold refused a traveler in need, especially on the eve of Fall Turn,” he said in a cool voice.

Kira was startled. Was it truly the eve of Fall Turn? She hadn’t realized how many days had passed since her escape.

“You may bring the animal here,” he continued, “though you will have to tend him yourself. My stable master has gone to market, and we have no healer in this hold for man nor beast.” There was sadness in his voice.

“Thank you, Holder Tem,” Kira said. “I believe I can manage. Know that I am in your debt and will seek to repay you in some way.”

“I’ll send for the stable master’s apprentice to help bring in your horse,” the Holder offered.

“It may take some time for me to return with him and I would not want to keep the apprentice from his work. There are, however, a few items that might make the trek here easier, if you would allow it.”

“Harl,” the holder called. “Harl!” he yelled again, and a young boy came running across the courtyard.

“Sir?” he said. He was out of breath and wisps of straw clung in his tawny hair.

“Sleeping again?” the holder asked sternly.

“No, sir. I was cleaning the stalls just as Master Jarret instructed me.”

“Yes, of course,” The holder seemed unconvinced. “See to the needs of our guest. She will need a stall for her horse tonight.” He gave Kira a final sharp look. “And bring her what she needs to tend to the animal.” He turned on his heel and headed back toward the main building. The mastiff growled and the holder called over his shoulder, “Come, Cadge!” The dog sniffed the air in Kira’s direction before padding after the man.

The stable boy led Kira across the yard and into a supply room adjacent to the main stable. She gathered some strips of cloth to bind Trad’s leg and a small bag of oats to use as a lure. The boy, Harl, watched with obvious curiosity. Then she gave Harl instructions to boil a pot of water, add basil, alum, meadow mint and chamomile, and let it steep.

“But where shall I get these things?” he asked her.

“Do you have a cook in this hold?”

“We have a fine cook,” he boasted, puffing out his chest. “Her name is Brilissa.”

“Then go and ask Brilissa,” Kira said, giving the boy an encouraging smile. “Those are common herbs, often used in cooking and preserving. A cook as fine as yours will have them on hand. I’ll return as soon as I can.” She went out through the main gates and hurried back the way she’d come.

The hold was large enough that they would most likely have all she needed to tend to Trad’s leg. Holder Tem claimed to own all the game in the woods, but perhaps she could still barter her skills in exchange for a few days rest. If not to hunt, perhaps to tend the ill. If the hold had no healer, then there would surely be a few folk who could use a poultice or a healing draught.

The stable boy had watched her inquisitively, but without fear. This must be a peaceful land, she thought. And it appeared that the folk of Tem Hold had not heard of her flight from Toril. Perhaps she could rest here, for a few days at least.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Kira sat on a wooden crate. An oil lamp burned low, its small glow struggling to push back the darkness. She leaned forward in the dim light, head heavy with fatigue. Trad’s wound was still inflamed, but the oozing pus had lessened. Harl had done well, preparing the herbal tincture just as she’d requested. Trad had balked at first, skittering sideways when she touched his leg. After a great deal of coaxing he’d finally allowed her to settle his foot into the bucket of drawing fluid. The herbal concoction had done its work, pulling out the pus and purifying the wound.

She wrapped the wound, using clean strips of linen cloth soaked in a fresh mixture of drawing fluid and winding them around Trad’s ankle. As each cloth cooled, she removed it and replaced it with a fresh one. The sour smell of sickness mixed with the aroma of herbs.

Kira sat up, stretching the stiff muscles of her back. She was about to toss another used bandage onto the pile of discarded rags when something in the folds of fabric caught her eye. A long black sliver gleamed darkly against the pinkish yellow stains of bloody drainage.

             
A shard from one of the troll’s claws! She hurled the rag down in disgust. No wonder Trad had been in so much pain. The filthy beast had left a part of itself embedded in Trad’s leg. She grimaced, then realization and relief spread through her. Now that the source of pain and inflammation was gone, the wound would heal.

Harl lay curled in the straw, snoring quietly. The trek back to the hold had taken until well after full dark, but when Kira had arrived at the gate, cajoling the big gray one step at a time, Harl had been waiting. He’d helped her settle Trad into a stall and stayed with her, lending a hand, far into the night. He’d asked Kira intelligent questions about what she was doing. It was obvious he wanted to learn what she knew about animals. Even after she’d seen him yawning wide, his eyelids drooping, and had urged him to go to his bed, the boy had remained. When he could no longer keep his eyes open, he had refused to leave the stall, telling her it was his responsibility to watch over the animals in the stable when the stable master was away.

Kira gave Trad a gentle pat on the chest. He was still feverish, but his shivering had lessened. With the crisis passed, what he needed most was rest. She leaned her head against the wooden slats of the stall. Closing her eyes, she reached out to Kelmir and Vaith to let them know she and Trad were fine. She soon found herself drifting in and out of their thoughts, the sights of the forest mixing with hazy dream images as she fell into a half-waking sleep.

A rustle of straw pulled her back to wakefulness. Harl was awake and sitting up, brushing wisps of straw from his hair. “I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he said. “But if I don’t get to the kitchen soon, there’ll be no hot morning meal for me.”

“It’s all right,” Kira said. “I was only resting my eyes.”

“The horse. Is he all right?” the boy asked, studying Trad.

“It seems he will be,” she said, sitting up. “The fever has nearly broken and I think we’ve removed the cause of the swelling.” She pointed to the cloth on the stable floor. Harl crept forward to peer at it.

“What is it?” he asked, wrinkling his forehead.

“A piece of claw,” Kira said with loathing. “From a rock troll.”

Harl jerked his head up and his eyes grew round. “A rock troll? When? How?”

“We were attacked in the night as we made our way along the river on the other side of the mountain pass. There was a storm and we didn’t see the beast until it was too late.”

“How did you escape?” he asked in awe.

“My companions and I fought the beast and won our lives,” Kira cringed at her slip of the tongue. She hoped the boy hadn’t noticed her use of the plural.

“But—”

“You’d better hurry, or you’ll miss your morning meal,” she leaned back and shut her eyes. He was just a young boy, thirsty for adventure, but Kira was tired and she didn’t want to relive her battle with the troll.

There was silence for a moment, then the rustle of straw followed by the click of a latch as Harl left the stable.

Kira waited until he was gone before getting up. She gave Trad another pat, then stretched the knots from her muscles. Cool morning air had seeped into the stable and she stamped her feet to bring life back into them. She rubbed at her arms to shake off the chill and began cleaning up from the long night’s vigil. She’d just finished dumping the last of the herbal infusion and was returning from the midden heap when Harl returned carrying a steaming mug and a plate of food. Her stomach rumbled at the sight.

“Brilissa sent this for you.”

“That’s very kind of her,” Kira said, her mouth watering. She paused for a moment, wondering if the boy was telling her the truth. She wouldn’t want to deprive him of his breakfast. “Harl, are you sure the cook sent this for me?”

“Oh, yes,” he said, quickly. “She said to ask you to come to the kitchen after you’ve eaten and rested. That is, if you would. She was curious about the herbs you used to mend your horse. When I first asked for them, she thought you were trying to make some kind of soup.” He grinned at her.

Kira took the food from him. The plate was filled with thick slices of dark bread and wide strips of roasted pork. The food’s heady aroma filled her nostrils and Kira wondered if the meat was from the animal she’d brought to the hold the day before. “Thank you, Harl,” she said. “Please, thank Brilissa for me, and tell her I’ll be happy to speak with her.” She sat down on the crate, balancing the plate on her knees. The mug was filled with tea and cream and the rising steam carried the scent of aromatic spices. She wrapped her fingers around the warm mug and blew across the top before taking a sip. Hot creamy liquid filled her mouth, and rolled down her throat. Its warmth spread through her.

As she ate, Harl worked in the stable, turning out the old bedding and replacing it with fresh dry straw, and filling feed bins. The rustle of hay and the rattle of grain brought back her days on her parents’ farm. She hadn’t been much younger than Harl when the raiders had come burning their way across the land. She remembered the smoke and the fear in her mother’s eyes when she took Kira by the hand, running with her into the woods. She’d hidden Kira in the cleft of a hollow tree. The opening had been wide enough for Kira, but her mother had been unable to squeeze through the crevice. Kira clenched her eyes shut and forced away the rest of that painful memory.

She finished eating and stood up, swaying with exhaustion. She set the mug and plate down on the crate and, after swathing Trad’s leg once more, lay down in the straw and sank into a deep sleep.

* * *

Late morning sunlight streamed in through the door, casting a golden haze into the building. Kira sat up, disoriented. The memory of the past day and night came back to her and she jumped to her feet. Trad chewed contentedly on a mouthful of fresh hay. The feed bin inside his stall held a few kernels of grain. Harl had apparently fed Trad with the rest of the animals. Kira checked Trad over once more. Thankfully, the swelling and fever hadn’t returned.

The stable was quiet. She took one of the clean linen cloths, dipped it in a nearby water bucket and washed herself. The empty dishes still sat on the crate where she’d left them. She picked them up and set off in search of the kitchen.

The yard was empty except for a few ducks and geese, pecking at insects and seeds. Most everyone must be out harvesting, Kira thought. She headed around the back of the main hall, where smoke rose from the stone chimneys of a large out-building and the rich smell of simmering stew wafted on the air. She heard the clatter of pans and a woman’s commanding voice.

Kira stuck her head in at the door. Several men and women bustled about, preparing the midday meal. In the midst of all the activity stood a sturdy blond woman, her hair pulled up and pinned on top of her head, several strands breaking free to hang loose about her face. A long apron was tied around her waist and her shoes were dusted with flour. People were kneading dough, stirring pots, and carrying trays piled high with fruit, bread, and cheese.

Kira considered slipping away until the kitchen was less busy, but she spied a large washtub just across from the doorway where she stood. She might as well return the dishes while she was here. She stepped in through the doorway and edged along the wall, staying out of the way. As she placed the mug and the plate on the sideboard next to the tub, the blond woman called out to her. “Hie! What are you doing in my kitchen?”

Kira wheeled and found herself face-to-face with the head cook. “Your pardon, I was just returning your dishes. Brilissa, is it?” She kept her voice polite. The cooking staff had all stopped to watch, and the kitchen was filled with a tense silence, broken only by the hissing of steam that came from several large pots.

“Yes, I’m Brilissa.” The woman raised an eyebrow. “You can’t be the stranger we’ve been hearing all the tales about.” The cook regarded her with a crooked smile. “You’re tall enough, but not the warrior I was expecting.”

“I don’t know what Harl has told you about me,” Kira said. “He did say that you wished to speak with me, but I can certainly return at a more convenient time.”

“In Tem Hold’s kitchen? There’s no such thing.” The cook’s laughter was like the clinking of dishes in a washtub, a surprisingly musical sound that made Kira smile.

“Come along. I’ll fetch us a cup of tea, and we can talk.” Brilissa gestured at her kitchen staff. “All right, now. What are you all doing standing around when there’s a meal to prepare? Alyn, you take charge until I return.” She took Kira by the arm and led her into a small anteroom away from the noisy kitchen. “And mind nothing burns,” she called over her shoulder.

“But I’m taking you away from your duties,” Kira said.

“Of course you are,” Brilissa replied. “Probably the only chance I’ll have today to get away from them, and I mean to take complete advantage.” She busied herself with a mixture of herbs, which she set inside a heavy clay teapot. “Just a moment,” she said and bustled out the door. She returned a moment later with a steaming kettle. She poured a slow stream of hot water into the teapot, then set the kettle aside and fell into a heavy wooden chair.

“Sit, sit,” she said, gesturing to a matching chair on the other side of the table.

Brilissa’s interest in herbal remedies seemed endless. While she plied Kira with a stream of questions, a young girl came into the room, her head tilted forward so that her long brown hair covered her face. She peeked up at Brilissa, brown eyes spying through the shiny wave of hair. The cook smiled at the girl and nodded at a low stool that stood in the corner of the room. The girl crept over to the stool and sat down. She was thin and gangly, her long fingers worrying constantly at the hem of her wrinkled skirt. Kira caught the girl peering at them through her long tresses. But each time Kira looked directly at her, she ducked her head and turned away. Brilissa took no further notice of the girl, so Kira let her be, as well.

Before long, one of the kitchen workers came in and nodded to the cook. Brilissa stood. “I would like to speak more with you, but it’s time to serve the midday meal, and I must make sure that all is in order. I’ll send another plate to the stable with Harl,” she said as she left the room.

“Thank you,” Kira said to the woman’s back. She sat for a moment longer, drinking the last of her tea. When she reached over to clear the cups from the table, the young girl jumped up, grabbed the dishes and, with an unintelligible murmur, swept out of the room.

Kira stared after her, a little startled. What an odd child, she thought.

She returned to the stable and removed the bandage from Trad’s leg. The wound was still raw, but the inflammation was completely gone. Relieved, Kira wrapped a fresh cloth around his leg. She went to the far side of the stall and called to him. He stared at her with his large dark eyes. “Come on, Trad. I need to see how well you can walk,” she said. He took a tentative step in her direction and stopped. His ankle was still sore, and he refused to put any weight on it. He flicked his tail nervously.

“All right, boy. I’ll speak with the holder. Perhaps he will find it in his generosity to extend us another night or two in his hold. But I’ll have to wait until after he’s eaten. In the meantime, maybe I can find some place to get cleaned up a bit before I talk with him.”

Trad snorted at her. “Well, it doesn’t hurt to make a good impression,” she said. “Especially when asking someone for a favor.” She patted him on the withers, then went in search of a place to wash up.

She crossed to the pump in the corner of the yard. The dozen or so spotted hens that had been scratching in the dirt near the pump flapped their wings and clucked their displeasure as she strode past them. The pump still held a prime, and a few short pulls filled a wooden bucket to overflowing. Kira bent forward and poured the cool water over her head, then scrubbed at her hair with her hands. If Brilissa hadn’t run off so fast, Kira might have asked for some mint or lavender to use as a scrub, but just getting off the layers of dust and dirt was a relief. She shook her head and smoothed the water from her hair. It had grown and was no longer cropped short against her head. She wondered if she should re-cut it. It probably needed to be darkened again, too. She gave the pump handle another swift pull, then stuck her arms under the flow and scrubbed them. With her sleeves rolled up she could see all the scrapes and bruises she’d acquired on her journey. At least none of these are from Toril’s hand, she thought, drying herself off.