Ascent of the Unwanted (The Chronicle of Unfortunate Heroes Book 1) (13 page)

Ramona now gambled her entire future on the life of one person, one most would not even consider human. She had volunteered to be left with the dying gorak because she sensed an opportunity. Her father also would not have thought she would use another man’s misfortune to better her position but she had been waiting too long for her chance. If she could get this man to recover, perhaps if he became a Cavalier, he would urge his partner to choose her. She was tired of waiting in the matching line like a sow at auction.

It was not her fault no pairs had deemed her an adequate match. She was as good as any of the surgeons chosen before her, better than most. She excelled at all her lessons except for Diplomacy and the Art of Tactful Negotiations, but she had passed. Diplomacy was the art of saying what other people thought they wanted to hear. You could never come out and say what was obvious to everyone. She did not believe in such foolish nonsense. She believed in telling the facts of a situation, regardless of what others thought. Most of the Cavaliers did not even ask her any questions. They saw she was a woman and proceeded down the line asking questions to the inept surgeons after her.

Maybe if she were pretty. She looked down at her bright yellow trainee’s tunic. Sure she was busty, but her ample bosom came with the price of an ample waist and posterior. Her sandy blonde curls fell about her with about as much life as swamp moss and her round eyes and fat cheeks gave her face a boyish appearance.

If she were pretty they would choose her with lecherous looks and desires they dreamed fulfilled. Oh, how much easier the lives must be for such bonnie lasses. But unlike some of the more aesthetic of her gender she also had morals. Even if she were pretty the Cavalier’s motives for choosing her would go unfulfilled. She did not want to be chosen by that means anyway. If being qualified did not get her the job then she would have to be more than qualified, and if that did not get her where she wanted she would find other means.

The gorak had not moved since the field surgeon brought him in from the mending. The flow of blood had mostly abated but one vein did not seem to want to close even after suturing and cauterizing. They had left him to die, slowly bleeding to death in the infirmary. Ramona had waited for the people in the infirmary to leave before she made her move. She had been toying with an idea for some time and this was her opportunity to experiment. He was expected to die anyway, but if her idea worked she would have possibly made an ally in helping to reach her goal.

              She placed water on the fire to boil while she prepared her surgical tools. She inspected each blade and needle quickly ensuring that since their last use no rust or barbs had appeared. Grabbing a mortar and pestle from the table she set about mixing the ingredients necessary to make the compound. She had done it once before on accident. She had grabbed the opulacanth’s root oil instead of the knotted bark tree oil by mistake while learning about analgesics during Herbilogical Medicine. The mixture had hardened quickly when she had added the water forming cement and it affixed her mortar and pestle together for a week before the cement suddenly crumbled to dust. None of the ingredients were toxic individually, she only hoped that together they did not form a poison. Some of the more insidious toxins were made out of items found around a tavern kitchen.

              The water began to boil as she removed the Surgeon’s sutures to clearly see the weeping vein. When the massive leg opened pools of purple black blood flowed out soaking through the canvas cot. The miniscule stitching attempting to hold the vein closed had failed. The vein gaped open, its inner lining fighting to hold onto the light. Ramona reworked the stitching, closing the wound on the vein wall with horse hair. So little of the vein remained intact she wondered if it was worth the effort. Amputation and cauterizing could save his life but it was a remote possibility. The vein was a major one. A lesser man would have succumbed to the loss of blood hours ago. Perhaps it was the gorak in him keeping him alive.

              As soon as she was satisfied with her sewing she added water to her experimental mixture. The boiling water worked easily into the mixture until it had reached the consistency of a thick batter. If she used the amalgam now it would burn the man’s delicate flesh. It could not be helped, and who knew, the heat may be an added bonus in further closing the wound. The mixture was beginning to thicken beyond where it would be manageable. The decision made for her she poured a dollop of the paste into the man’s leg and worked it around trying to seal every hole through which the scarlet fluid oozed. A congealed mess of blood and glue lay in the man’s exposed wound but no blood exited. Ramona sighed. The blood flow could be so hampered the man would lose the leg anyway or her efforts may kill him, but he would not bleed to death. His heart may not be able to take the glue patch, and that also worried her. So many things could go wrong. She sewed the wound shut and looked at her work. There would be nasty scarring. The man should be happy if he lived though, his manliness had been saved. A few inches higher and he would have been qualified to guard the king’s wife.

              The first few days after her experimental surgery exhausted her. Her patient was unconscious so giving the gorak fluids was tedious but she ladled small amounts of broth into his mouth with aggravating constancy. Infection set in and a fever caused him to sweat. This required that the prescribed amount of broth to be doubled. The wounds on his legs turned bright red and soft to the touch with pus oozing out, tingeing the brown blood stains on his cot green. Ramona collected three bowls full of the foul fluid. She finally thought the wounds had healed enough to be lanced and pressed to extract the pus. Her efforts and cleaning paid off. In a week the fever had abated. The following week the white color in the man’s face began to grow more into the pale gray. Ramona’s soul could sing. After so many years of hopelessly watching she finally had a chance.

              “How is he today?” a voice asked behind her.

              It was Erik. Ramona could hardly believe her luck when the gorak was injured, but what had occurred afterward was a blessing only Beshra could bestow. She pushed out the surge of guilt from her selfish thinking and stared at Erik while he entered. The man coming to visit the gorak everyday was gorgeous. He had eyes like a raven. While a little on the thin side, his serious demeanor gave his leanness an edge like a knife.

              She stood adjusting her skirt, then checked Lawt’s sheets and sat down again, only to feel she really should clean the area. She stood again and began to clear away bandages and canisters which had collected during her watchful eye since the last time Erik had visited.

              “He has not stirred since he was brought in but I am confident he will recover,” Ramona said. The man smelled like he had been working and she wrinkled her nose. He should at least have the manners to bathe before coming to visit. She recalled his horse had been injured the same afternoon the gorak had been brought in for care. “How is your horse doing?”

              “Not well,” Erik said “Ghost was already ill before the injury, now it seems the injuries weakened him and the illness is wreaking havoc.”

              Erik looked at Ramona with anguish. Well, the horse was not under her care so there was not much she could do. “You are worrying like a farm hen. Our surgeons are the best for treating the illness of the horses. Ghost is it? I do not think Ghost would think highly of a brother who had given up so easily.” That should put his mind at ease. “I know that not all Cavaliers were raised in the courtly ways but I would ask you before you come visit the next time, if you would be so kind as to bathe. Your odor distracts me from my business.” Maybe that was not the best thing to say. The smell was not all that bad. She did after all grow up on a pig farm.

              “The longer this goes on the further behind in the training I get. And as for the smell, a little hard work never killed anyone.” He stood and left Ramona alone with the slumbering beast man. Not even a goodbye! Well rudeness could be forgiven she supposed. The gorak and his horse both lay in the infirmary.

              Ramona placed her hand in her skirt pocket. She carried the gift her father had given her so long ago and the stone was always there comforting her. Her hand encircled it and gently removed her treasure. She always looked at it when her spirit grew weak. The pearl was large and a cool gray. Tiny brown swirls reminiscent of vapors permanently caressed the sides giving the gem the appearance of a mixture that had not quite been blended to completion. Even these blemishes gave the pearl a unique beauty placing its value above gold but the brown pimple on one side made the stone worthless. She might as well be holding a piece of flint in her hand.

              She had almost sold it once. She was lost and hungry when the peddler had offered to take it off her hands for a hot meal. He had found her on a trail that lay along a mountainside. It was hardly suitable for travel and she had decided to give up. She had leaned pitifully against a tree determined to waste away in the snow. The moment the exchange was about to take place she had remembered her father’s words. “You are meant for greater things.” Those words had given her strength, and every time she gazed upon the pearl she heard those words ring in her head. Over the next hill was a gated wall with a large bell in an archway.

              The gorak suddenly sat up. Ramona could tell with a glance that the man did not show any of the signs associated with rabies. It had been weeks since the man’s injuries, plenty of time for the convulsions and muscle coordination to deteriorate. Quickly, Ramona placed the pearl in her skirt pocket. He was awake! He was cognizant and in full control. She had done it!

              Erik stepped out of the infirmary enraged at the woman. Give up! How would she know what he was up against? The chips stacked against him were so high he could see no hope of success. He had not told anyone the truth. He could feel that Ghost was recovering from his injuries and bouts of fever. Truthfully, Ghost could probably go into his own stable. With the union Erik could feel Ghost’s pains and fevers and tell the surgeons where the problems lay. Erik repeatedly lied to the surgeons. He told about fevers, malaise, and other false symptoms hoping to hide the truth of what was really happening

Since Ghost’s injuries the horse had lost sight in one eye and was slowly losing it in the other. In a month Ghost would be completely blind and Erik would no longer be a Cavalier in training. They would deem Ghost incapable and Erik would be relegated as a school hand until Ghost’s death.

              He knew he could not hide the truth much longer. The fact Ghost could still see with one eye helped. The muscles in Ghost’s blind eye still moved the useless orb in the direction the horse wanted to look because it mirrored whatever his good eye wanted to track. Erik was sure the surgeons thought him overprotective but their patience would eventually wear thin

              Erik had only one choice in keeping his hopes alive. Erik had to train Ghost despite his brother’s handicap. Ghost had to be so proficient at his skills no one could tell he was blind. Erik headed toward the veterinary infirmary to get his horse into his own stable. The training needed to begin in earnest. On his way he bent his head below his armpit and took in a hefty whiff. He did not smell that bad.

Ramona watched Erik and Lawt training as often as she could. She told herself it was to check if her patient had fully recovered but she found herself staring at the tall, lanky man who was Lawt’s partner. He was silly to believe the surgeons did not know about his horse. The fact that the horse was blind was evident but it was agreed Ghost would still be considered a viable mount if he could still pass. She thought it cruel not telling him of the decision, but saw it necessary. The man’s supposed secret spurred him and he trained with the horse into the night most days.

Erik was always serious, always training or sparring or studying. He moved like a willow in a hurricane during his sparring sessions. None of the other classmates could compete with Erik’s outright violence. Skill contained his aggressiveness but there was no question the man had demons he exorcised through his sword.

Ghost remained blind. The horse could now only differentiate brightness from darkness. Erik had been performing so well in his other studies that Ramona had hoped to see him progress toward advancement quickly but Ghost stalled Erik’s progress. The horse could not seem to get distances or directions correct. That was understandable considering the circumstances. Until the horse mastered that Erik would not be allowed to start training the horse on mounted techniques. The rest of Erik’s class had been riding for half a year already.

Where Erik excelled at weapons Lawt seemed to excel with the mounted work. He seemed to, but he also was not being adequately challenged. The combination of Titan’s size and Lawt’s strength made them an intimidating pair. The man had wrestled a rabid bear while unarmed. Each retelling seemed to make the bear larger, with Lawt casually throwing the bear aside. People seemed to forget his being near death and his extended stay in the infirmary. All that mattered was that the man had fought with the bear. The combination of the two brothers united and the exaggerated story made people shy away during mounted sparring and charges. Titan and Lawt would not get the workout they needed until a true Cavalier noticed. It was only a matter of time but the longer it waited the harder it would be to break any habits picked up during these training sessions. Ramona went to look for Rovan.

*****

“What is up with her?” Erik asked Lawt during breakfast.

“Who?” Lawt asked not looking up from the mountain of food on his tray. The man ate as much as three people and in half the time.

“That student surgeon. What’s her name? Ramona!” Erik said.

“What do you mean?” Lawt asked shoving three entire strips of bacon into his mouth and chasing it with three gulps of water, emptying one of the six glasses that lay before him.

“She is always looking at…us.” Erik said. He changed ‘me’ to ‘us,’ realizing that he sounded paranoid.

“I dunno,” Lawt said, syrup dripping from his chin. “I kinda like her. Don’t you?”

“Well of course you like her. She saved your sorry ass!” Erik smiled.

He was amazed this was the same man he had rescued over three years ago. The man he rescued was timid and could barely speak. He would have taken Erik’s words seriously and been chagrined. Lawt was now well versed and educated better than Erik, without a trace of meekness in him. His appearance had even changed. His hair was once wild and matted with dirt, blood, tangles and who knew what else. Now it was clean and trimmed with the length pulled back neatly into a leather strap. His face, once a war zone of dirt, scars, and hair, was now clean with two fine braids of hair representative of his beard on either side of his chin. Lawt even carried himself differently, not with the slouch of one trying to escape notice, but with the confidence and air of a man who demanded respect. Despite these drastic changes you could still tell his parentage was less than pure. The large brow, stunted nose, and massive under bite were obvious signs of his lineage. It looked as if the one snaggletooth on his lower lip had developed into two, one on either side, almost like tusks.

“She helps me sometimes.” Lawt grunted. The rough timber in his voice was still there. The tone and bearing along with the man’s pronounced features made him a walking contradiction. He interrupted what he was saying by finishing up another glass of water. “I had an idea on how to help Ghost. Well that is, Ramona had an idea,” Lawt finished. The man at least had the decency to look sheepish.

“You told her!” He had told Lawt in confidence about Ghost because he knew he would not be able to train him alone. An ally against the trainers was nice to have around on occasion.

“Don’t worry, she’s safe,” Lawt said “I go to her with all kinds of problems. She’s really smart. Besides, they already know about Ghost.”

“They know? You told them, too!” Erik accused. His ire built into a thundercloud.

“Take it easy. Lawt… I mean, I didn’t tell anyone.” Lawt looked down ashamed of the slip up. “These people are trained to take care of sick horses remember! You know better. They knew the possibility the instant they looked at the injuries. The way the horse was acting only confirmed it.” 

“Yeah,” Erik conceded his friend’s point. “I guess I should have known better. Still, if they have always known hope isn’t lost. I can…. Hey, wait a minute! What kinds of problems? Why haven’t you told me you’ve been having problems?” Erik asked, getting angry again. He could not believe that Lawt had tried to slip that passed him and he almost let him.

“That’s not important right now,” Lawt said, looking down at his empty plate trying to find one more morsel to eat. “What’s important is what she thought of for Ghost. We need to measure his pace at each cadence- walk, trot, cantor, and gallop. We also need him to learn to count as high as he can. If we can do that it is just a matter of math. We take the measurement of the cadence and figure out how many times Ghost’s front left hoof will hit the ground before it reaches that distance. Ramona said she would help us.”

Erik barehanded the last pancake on his plate and gave it to Lawt pondering the solution his friend had given him. It was feasible, better than the one he had been using. He had been trying to keep track of when he thought Ghost should be at the distance required, then he would use the link to tell him to stop. It seemed to work. Well, it had worked once. One time in three months was not what Erik thought was a winning strategy.

“Okay,” Erik said, “but in the future you should consult me about things that regard my mount, especially if you are going to be talking about it with her.”

Erik could see real progress for the first time over the next few months. Ghost had learned to count to three early, and even went beyond most going up to five. The horse picked up the counting slowly until he reached six, but even this took months. Six was the highest the horse could comprehend. Erik himself thought of the solution to this problem. Every time Ghost would reach six he would send Erik a signal. Erik would keep track of these and when Ghost had reached the destination he would send a signal back. Technically it was cheating. The horse had to be able to estimate distances on his own. But if nobody knew how Ghost did it they could not say he hadn’t done it alone.

Directions were easier for the horse to comprehend. Implanting the sun into Ghost’s mind was the key. As soon as Ghost was able to maintain that Erik would start Ghost off pointing north. With each quarter turn to the right or left the horse made, Erik would move the sun. After a while Ghost soon learned on his own that each quarter turn he made corresponded with where the placement of the sun would be.

After Ghost had learned the two skills it was simply a matter of combining them. Grasping the idea was easy, actually performing the tasks was another matter. Four months went by before Erik thought Ghost was ready for the qualifying test.

“So, you finally think your precious little Ghosty is capable of testing,” Rovan said with a smile on his face. “It’s about time. The rest of your class has been running full speed charges for the past month. Even if your horse passes today it will be months before you catch up.”

Every time Erik wanted something that had to do with his mount, Rovan had a way of making him feel small. “I believe that Ghost is capable of passing, sir,” Erik said with what he hoped was a respectful tone.

“Very well. As you know the testing is simple. The first part is The Statue. At your command Ghost will maintain his position and remain quiet without flinching…regardless of what I do to him. The second is The Follower. I will give you a list of commands that you will transmit to your mount via the link. Your mount’s performance is graded for alacrity and, for some ceremonial commands, performance. The third and final test is The Messenger. I will send out two men with precise distances in two separate directions. I will tell you where I sent them. You will tell your mount via the link where to go. Your mount will find one man then the other. When a man sees your mount stop for ten counts it means the mount believes it is where it should be. He will blow his horn to signal that he has seen your mount. The mount must then come back here and go in the direction of the second man. Both men have to signal that they have seen the horse stop for ten counts for the horse to pass. Any questions?”

“No, sir.”

“Very well. Let’s begin.”

Erik trotted Ghost out to the testing arena and turned his head to look for Rovan’s instructions. The instant his head turned Erik could feel the familiar teeth working at his hair. Ghost had never gotten to the point of pulling a large clump out but he had come very close. Erik always dealt with the pain. The teeth were hard and not too gentle but the act was so familiar it was almost a comfort. At Rovan’ signal Erik took a deep breath. “Still” he whispered to his horse while reinforcing his meaning with the link.

Horses always had small little movements and twitches of muscle that gave life to their elegant forms. The swishing of a tail, steady chewing, or prodding of the ground helped to make them more than matter even when they were not moving. With that simple word everything froze, not even the contraction of muscles anticipating a move. The only movement coming from the animal was the expansion of the chest and the wind catching the flowing hair on Ghost’s mane and tail.

Rovan walked up to Ghost, the first move was abrupt. Rovan’s fist came around and smashed Ghost squarely in the face. The burst of pain in Erik’s head was intense and inwardly Ghost seethed. The impact seemed to have come from nowhere. Outwardly, the horse’s head took the shock of the blow, when the momentum had been expended the head ceased its movement. Ghost did not even move his head back to face forward. Rovan then tried to push Ghost. The horse was not moving.

A smile flashed across Rovan’s face. The Herdmaster walked to the fence enclosing the arena and picked a small blade of grass. He crept back to the horse having news of the horse’s handicap and was trying to take advantage of it. Rovan let the blade of grass tickle the sensitive flesh lining the Ghost’s ear canal. Annoyance was slowly building in the horse.

Rovan was pulling hair out one strand at a time from Ghost’s beautiful gray tail. When that failed he slapped the horse hard on the flank to cue it to run freely. Still the horse did not move. Erik tried to comfort Ghost through the link but the concept of testing was above his comprehension. All Ghost knew was some person was trying to get him to move and all his training told him not too.

“I must say, you have done an excellent job with this portion of the testing, Erik. I think that was some of the hardest testing I have done for that stage.”

Erik was handed a parchment with a list of commands on it. Ghost loved to show off so teaching him the ceremonial commands had been simple. Quickly Erik went through halt, left cantor, right cantor, then moved Ghost into passage, slowing him all the way down to piaff and finally ending with pirouette. Ghost responded quickly, although the showier aspects were a little sloppy. A little more training in his Passage was needed.

“Fair enough,” Rovan said. “It looks like we are two thirds of the way done. If Ghost passes this next test you are well on your way to being a Roh’Darharim.”

For the first time it seemed as if Rovan was cheering for him to succeed. “While you were distracted giving commands I sent my two scouts out. I didn’t want to give you a hint of where to send your horse before it was time. The first point for your horse is due north and half a league.”

Erik could not believe his luck. North! Erik transmitted the directions to Ghost. Slowly, Ghost worked his way out of the arena. As soon as the horse found the opening he turned north and cantered away. The horsed moved his front hooves slowly moving his head back and forth looking for any obstruction that could hinder forward progress. With the excitement, the first ping coming across the link startled Erik. He needed to keep track of those. Two, three, four he was going to make it. The counts came steadily. Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, all the hard work was going to pay off! The late nights…

“…would suggest you pay more attention to your superiors!” Erik turned his attention back to Rovan. His Herdmaster was red in the face with large beads of sweat glistening on his bald head. “You always have been a flaky one.”

“I’m sorry, sir!” Erik said by rote, Forty-four, forty-five, forty-six. Stop!

“I was complimenting you on the progress you have been making since your miserable hide came here to be trained. Now, I think I have to rethink myself and give…” Rovan stopped as a single note blasted from a horn in the north. “Humph! Well I guess that makes one lucky break. We all know that your precious Ghost couldn’t see danger if it stabbed him in the chest.”