Defiant Swords (Durlindrath #2) (7 page)

The seconds slipped by. Each one seemed to Gilhain as an
hour, but at length Taingern paused in his search for a pulse. The Durlin held
two fingers steadily against Aranloth’s throat.

“Well?” the king asked.

“There’s a heartbeat,” Taingern replied. “It’s weak, but
it’s there.”

Relief washed through Gilhain, but he shut it down. Whatever
ailed Aranloth was so serious as to bring him near
to
death. And he might still die without proper help. This was
no time for emotion, but
one
for
action.

He
stood and
strode to the nearest soldier. “Quickly!” he said. “Go and fetch the healer
Arell. Make sure it’s her – not any other will do.”

The soldier saluted and ran off.

The king moved back to Aranloth. The Durlin had appropriated
a stretcher – there were many being brought up to the wall now to
take the dead or injured back into the city. They had laid Aranloth upon it.

“Good,” the king said. “But we’ll wait here. I’ve sent for
Arell, and she’ll know where to find us. I won’t trust him to the other
healers.”

He did not wait for a reply. Quickly, he signaled another
soldier over.

“Go to the stone mason’s guild. They have their headquarters
near the palace. Do you know the building?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Tell whoever’s there that I want their three best experts
to meet me here. And I want them as soon as possible. We must make repairs to
the wall. Run!”

The soldier did not salute but sprinted away.

Gilhain turned to yet another soldier. “You,” he said. “Get
me a lòhren.”

The soldier glanced at where Aranloth lay on the stretcher.

“Right away, sir.”

It was not long before Arell came. She moved without seeming
hast, yet her eyes took everything in at a glance and in a moment she
knelt
beside the
lòhren
and
examined
him.

She took the
lòhren
’
s
pulse
at
the
wrist as had Taingern, only she seemed to take three at
slightly
different locations. She
then
took the throat pulse in the
same place as had Taingern, but she surprised
Gilhain
when she removed one of Aranloth’s boots and took a pulse at
his foot.

She did not give any indication of her thoughts, and Gilhain
did not interrupt her. For a moment she pressed her palm over the lòhren’s
chest, though what she was doing was hard to guess. Then she placed her fingers
on his earlobe and gave a sharp squeeze. Aranloth seemed to shrink away from
the
pain
, but he raised no hand to try to brush away
the cause. If this worried her she gave no sign, unless it was a slight frown
that had not been there before.

She checked his eyes next, tilting his head back and forth
to let in more or less light.

During the course of her examination another lòhren arrived.
This was a seemingly young man, though it was hard to tell with lòhrens. He
wore the same white robes as them all, but his hair was shoulder length and
blond. What his nationality was Gilhain could not guess, but he was calm, even
after seeing his master lying unconscious on a stretcher.

Arell finished her examination and stood. She spoke to the
king, but her gaze strayed to the lòhren.

“
He
’s near to death,” she said.
“Very near, though I can find no injuries. He may have had a stroke, but the
signs in his pulses don’t indicate that. My king, I don’t know what ails him.”

Gilhain thought about that. Healers never admitted that they
did not know what was wrong. It was, he thought, her way of saying that not
only did she not know what was wrong, but that
she
knew of
no
treatment
to
keep
him
alive
. That was something that must
be faced, and given the state of the siege, she knew he
must
prepare for it.

She looked at the young lòhren. “I don’t know of any medical
cause for his collapse, but perhaps it has more to do with magic?”

The lòhren gave a slight nod. “If it helps, I can tell you
this much.
Likely
, he expended too much power and exhausted
himself. To use lòhrengai takes a great mental effort – it’s hard
like physical work. And just as a man can work too hard and collapse, so it is
with lòhrengai. He has taxed his mind beyond its endurance. Worse, he does not
have his staff, which grounds his mind to this world. Now,
it
may roam other worlds, or other realms beside the physical.
It is caught out of time, neither here, nor really anywhere else, though I
cannot be sure of the latter.”

“And how do lòhrens treat this?”

The young man shook his head. “There’s no treatment. We’re
taught never to let it happen in the first place, unless we’re prepared to die.
I’ve never seen this before, but I’ve heard of it. He might live, or he might
die. There’s
nothing
to
be
done
.” He paused, showing the first
sign of nerves. “I wish there were…”

Arell thought for some moments before she addressed Gilhain
again.

“I may be able to keep him alive for a while, at least his
body. That may give his spirit, if you believe in such things, time to return.”

The young lòhren shook his head. “Without his spirit, the
body will wither and die swiftly. At least, so our lore of such things says.
Aranloth
would
know
more…”

There was a pause. The king eventually forced himself to ask
the question that he did not wish to ask.

“
So
nothing
can
be done to save him?”

Arell did not speak. Nor the young lòhren. They had no
answers. In truth, Gilhain knew, not all questions had an answer. It was a
bitter truth of life.

He dismissed the lòhren, who walked slowly back toward his white-robed
comrades. There was no one left but him and Arell.

“Take him to the palace,” Gilhain said. “In you I trust, for
once you brought me back from the dead. But I’ll tell you the truth now. I
don’t expect any miracles from you – I know you’ll do everything you
can. If he dies, it won’t be through a lack of your trying. But know this: if
he
does
die, Cardoroth is unprotected. The elùgroths will be too strong
for us.”

Arell looked him straight in the eye. “Can we not hold
against the enemy?”

Gilhain returned her gaze. “You told me the truth about
Aranloth before. Now, I’ll tell you the truth about our situation. We cannot
hold for long against either the elùgroths or the horde. The rumors that you
have heard are true. We sent Brand on a quest. It’s the
one
true
hope
for Cardoroth. If he fails, we will fall, sooner or later.  But know this, the
elùgroth lied. Brand is not dead; at least we don’t think so. And hope for
Cardoroth lives so long as he does.”

Surprisingly, Arell laughed. “I never
believed
Brand
was
dead. Many in the city do, but
not
me. I
know
him. He’s hard to kill. If anyone can find a way to succeed
in whatever task you set him, it’s him.”

She called for some soldiers and got them to lift up
Aranloth’s stretcher. Quickly she gave them instructions on where to go, and
she followed after them, a thoughtful
but
determined expression on her face.

Aurellin came to
the
king’s side.
“Will he live?” she asked, straight to the point as she usually was.

Gilhain
bowed
his
head. He made no attempt to hide his feelings from her.

“No,” he answered. “Arell will do what she can, but she
cannot do the impossible. Neither she nor the young lòhren offered any hope.
Aranloth gave too deeply of his power to save us, and he will
now
pay the price, as he must have known he would.”

Aurellin put her arm around him. “Aranloth seldom got the
respect he deserved. Always he put his life at risk for others. And if the
legends are true, he’s been doing that for many lives of men. I’ve
often
wondered what drives him, for
surely something
in
his
past
must
do
so.”

Her
gaze followed the departing
healer, and then she shook her head. “But it’s too early to speak yet of death.
Once, Arell saved your own life, and there was then less hope than there is now
for the lòhren.”

“That’s true. But she had Brand with her then. Now, she’s
alone.”

“Perhaps,” Aurellin said. “But then again, it was not Brand
who effected your cure. She did that herself, and Brand merely saved her from
the same assassin
that
tried to
kill you.”

He smiled sadly. “Ever the optimist, aren’t you?”

“There’s no other way to live. Though I suppose some try.”

“Well, if you still have hope, then so do I.”

She took his hand. “Hope is good, but it can be cheated too.
From the moment Brand and Arell met, I thought they were meant for each other.
But nothing
ever
came
of it
.”

Gilhain grinned for just a moment. “Maybe not. But then
again he reached out to her and had her teach the Durlin basic healing skills.
They’ve spent much time together, though most of it was hidden away in the
Durlin chapterhouse.”

“That, I didn’t know. Well, perhaps there’s hope for them
after all.”

“Brand has wandering
feet
though,”
he said. “There’s something in him that wants to explore, to go where he’s
never been before. I’m not sure if
he’ll
ever
settle
down.”

She pursed her lips. “Maybe. But I don’t believe it for a
second. He wants to see the land as you said, but he wants more to settle down
with a girl. He’d put aside his sword, his fame, all his training and
ambition;
he’d
put
aside
everything to start a farm – and a family, if
only chance allowed…”

Gilhain scratched his chin. “You mean if I set him free of
my service.”

“That too.”

“And what of the Duthenor? Do you think, now that he’s grown
into a man, that he’ll leave the usurper to continue ruling his
people
unchallenged?”

Her eyes
narrowed
. “No. You’re right
there.” She paused. “But I see better why nothing has happened yet between him
and Arell. I was sure it would, but if so, he would not leave her here while he
went home. Nor would he lead her into danger. That explains much, very much
indeed. But freeing the Duthenor from tyranny is one thing; ruling them himself
is another. He might attempt the first, and if successful, forgo the second. In
fact, I think he would. He has no wish to rule others.”

“A very interesting observation,” Gilhain said thoughtfully.
“One that I’ve also made myself.”

Aurellin looked at him sharply. Likely enough, she knew
exactly what he was thinking. She usually did.

Arell had time to think as she followed the
stretcher-bearers toward the palace. In the distance, the elug war drums began
to rumble to slow life once more. She was sick of them. She was sick of many
things, but she endured. And endurance had always served her well.

Her beginnings were humble. Her prospects had been poor. And
she was too strong willed, too ambitious, to merely use her looks to attract a
husband of wealth. Not that she disdained the girls she grew up with who used
wiles to attract a partner of influence. The idea had occurred to her too, but
something else drove her. She had a thirst for knowledge, and marriage and
children would not satisfy her. Not completely, anyway.

That thirst for knowledge took a special form – a
desire to understand the human body, to cure illness, to slow aging, to make
people’s lives better. It was a worthy goal. But a goal, at least in Cardoroth,
reserved as the special
province
of
men.

She learned and studied under bearded old healers, never
more than a
servant
to
them, never having
any
real
hope of
being more than
their
pretty
flunky. But she kept her mouth shut and her eyes
open – and learned – and endured. Until
one
day
Brand exposed her master as a
fraud and propelled her into the light. For she had learned her lessons well
through long years of servitude, and he had given her the chance to save the
king’s life.

It was a kingly gift, for Brand had earned enemies that day.
The bearded
old
man knew other
bearded
old
men, and they
talked and plotted and schemed against him. But he was Brand, and he smiled at
them when he saw them, but he did not turn his back on them.

Now, she wore the white smock of a healer herself, the only
female in Cardoroth to do so. Though many still called her a witch behind her
back, even those who begged her to heal them when they were
sick
,
she had prosperity and fame. But not respect. Then again, the king respected
her, and the queen, and the Durlin. And there was always Brand. There was
always
him. The esteem of a few
like
that
was worth more than the
veneration of the masses.

She
followed
the
stretcher-bearers
to
the palace and the chambers of healing situated within its east wing. These
rooms were shared
by
several
healers, those old men she despised so much, but medications and equipment were
close to
hand
.

T
he
rooms
could be noisy, for the king paid the healers to see
not just to palace staff but every morning and every evening they opened the
doors to the poor. And the poor were many, and often in need of treatment.

Barok was there, though he was not busy. He paid her little
attention though, until he saw who was on the stretcher. His eyes widened at
that, and she could see his mind working and knew where it would take him.

She went into a room. It was empty, containing little more
than a bed. What she wished most for was a door though, but there were none
anywhere in the chambers of healing. Had there been one, she would have closed
and barred it.

Barok followed her inside, as she knew he would. He was in
charge of these rooms, and the only healer left because all others now served
in rooms close to the Cardurleth. He was going to try to take over, for to heal
Aranloth would win him praise, and praise meant fame and money.

“Gently,” she instructed the soldiers as they began to
transfer the lòhren from the stretcher to the bed.

“You’ve done well to bring him here,” Barok said.

She raised an eyebrow and shot him a flinty look with the
other eye. It was no easy thing to do, and it usually had the desired effect.
But Barok had seen an opportunity and he would not be so easily put off.

He ignored her and made ready to commence an examination.

“Out!” Arell said with intense force, but still quietly. “I
didn’t bring him here so that you could squint at him and pretend you had an
idea of what was going on. Out!”

Barok turned. He gave her his own look. It was one of
superiority. His pale hands, nearly as white as the smock he wore, were clasped
in front of him. He peered down at her, eyes cold as they studied her from
above his long beard. It was a look that she had seen him use on troublesome
patients, but it had no effect on her.

“Out!” she repeated.

“Don’t you think someone of Aranloth’s stature deserves
treatment from one of Cardoroth’s finest healers?” He looked at her, leaving no
doubt in his expression that he did not consider her worthy of the task.

Arell had had enough. “The king placed him in my care, and
I’ll do what can be done.” She spoke quietly, her voice filled with icy
determination, and it carried an edge of threat. “Speak with the king – if
you dare interrupt him while the city teeters on the edge of destruction. If he
places Aranloth in your care, so be it. But while we argue, the lòhren’s life
slips away. Now stand aside, for I’ll not tolerate any further delay. Don’t
interrupt me again except at the king’s word.”

She made to move past him, but Barok blocked
her
path.

“I’m in charge here. I’ll treat the lòhren. I don’t know
what the king said, but there are ways of making such pronouncements
officially, and I’ve seen no paperwork nor heard from any messenger.
You
can go and get leave from the king to treat the lòhren. Until then, I’ll do
what needs doing.”

Arell wanted to slap him, but that would not be enough. He
was too thick headed for that to work, and time was running out. Instead, she
made one swift move and drew a knife from her boot.

The blade gleamed wickedly between them, and she would use
it if she had to. If Aranloth died, the city would fall.

Barok looked at her in astonishment, but what
he
was
going
to
say, she would never know.

Taingern strode past her and before Barok even realized what
was happening the Durlin
had
grabbed
him in a headlock and manhandled him out the door. When they were in the
corridor, he threw him to the floor.

“Fool!” he said. “That’s your message from the king. “And if
you step inside this room again, I’ll kill you. Cardoroth needs the lòhren, but
it doesn’t need
you
.”

The Durlin drew his sword to emphasize the point.

Barok scrambled to his feet. This was more than he expected,
more even than Arell expected; but it proved the point that Cardoroth was on
the edge.

The healer fled, and his dignity went with him, but Arell
was already moving to Aranloth as the sound of
Barok’
s retreat
pounded away into the distance. Faintly, she heard him yell when he
reached
somewhere
he
considered
safe:
this is beyond
her – the lòhren will die, or worse, she’ll kill him with ineptitude.

 She spared Taingern a brief look of thanks as she sheathed
her knife.

“Pay him no
heed
,”
the
Durlin
said. “Not for nothing are
you the king’s own healer. Not for nothing did Brand recruit you to train the
Durlin. And not for nothing does Brand speak highly of you.”

She gave a little bow. “May I prove your confidence in me.”

  Once more she examined the lòhren. He was no better, and
she knew with the certainty of
natural
instinct and
honed
skill
combined that no art of medicine could bring him back. They needed magic for
that, but it seemed not even the lòhrens themselves could achieve such a thing.
If it was possible, perhaps only the greatest lòhren of them all knew how, but
he
lay
silent and dying on the
bed before her.

She sat and thought. There were medicines that might make
his heart beat faster, for it was slow now, so slow as to be pumping blood at
half the rate that it should. No wonder that his pulse was hard to take. But
those medicines were no cure. They
would
buy some time, but time for what?

Taingern sat near her. He did not speak, did not ask
questions that would interrupt her flow of thought. She appreciated that. He
was a thoughtful and kind man, notwithstanding his earlier violence.

But the more she thought the deeper she sunk in a pool of
despair. It swallowed her up, drowned her in hopelessness. It was not enough to
prolong Aranloth’s life for a day or two. It was not
enough
!

She stood and looked out the window. The city stretched out
before her. Her city, and it would fall. Of that, there was no doubt.

Brand was out there
beyond
it
, somewhere in the vast land of
Alithoras. He gave her hope. They must endure; they must survive the enemy for
as long as they could to give him the time to do what he must do. And only
Aranloth had the power to stem the dark tide of sorcery the elùgroths would
throw against them. The other lòhrens would fight, and they would die. Against
the might of the enemy they would not stand long without their leader.

She must
think
. Medicine was of no avail. Perhaps
magic would help, but there was no magic in the city except for the lòhrens,
and they had admitted they knew of no way to bring Aranloth’s spirit back to
his body. But if magic had freed it from the
bonds
of
the
flesh, then magic could summon it
back. That was only logical. But if not the
magic
of
the
lòhrens
,
then whose?

There were witches in Cardoroth. But they had no real magic,
at least so she believed. Their talent lay more in foresight and prophecy. It
was too far to go to Lòrenta for more
help
; Aranloth
would be dead before such a journey even began, not to mention that an army
barred the way, and the lòhrens left in Lòrenta probably knew no more than the
ones here.

Barok’s words haunted her. This was beyond her skill. Aranloth
would
die. It made her feel no better that he would die no matter who
cared for him. The other healers would fuss and meddle. They would draw blood
and prescribe herbs and potions. None of it would work.

She had done what could be done. It was a simple thing. She
had positioned him on pillows so that he half sat in the bed. That allowed him
to breathe a little better. Soon, she
might
give him a
medicine that would make his heart beat faster. But that put strain on it also,
and it came with risks. There was nothing else to be done, and she must face
defeat.

She looked through the glass window. They were on a lower
floor of the palace, but they still had a good view. There were many houses out
there. All along the streets were homes where she had healed people. They were
everywhere, all the way to the Tower of Halathgar and beyond.

Her mind wandered, and then it focused on the tower. It was
distant, but it stood tall and strange. It was a great landmark in the city,
the tower of the Witch Queen. The tower of Carnhaina, who had once ruled in
Cardoroth.
She
had power. Power beyond an ordinary lòhren. Power enough
to rival Aranloth himself. And there were stories of what
the
queen had done with that power.
Arell
had read of them
in medical textbooks.

That gave her pause for thought. Carnhaina was a battle
queen, not a healer. And yet there was a story of some healing that she had
done.
A
distinct
image
of the
book’s
cover
came to Arell, and fragments of the story with it.

She bit her lip and looked at Taingern. There was another
story, a story that Brand himself had told her of Carnhaina, though she was
long dead and become dust.

“The Forgotten Queen,” she whispered. “Carnhaina.”

That was all she said, but Taingern’s face paled. She read
fear in his expression, or perhaps awe, and it was confirmation that Brand’s
story was true; not that she doubted him, but it was a wild story, a story to
frighten even brave men. It was also a story that just now gave her hope. And
even if it was a wild hope, desperate and no doubt dangerous, it was still
hope
.

“Let no one into the room!” she said.

She raced away. The corridors were empty, though there were
patients in some of the rooms. She saw no sign of Barok, and it was just as
well for him. The knife was still in her boot, and she would use it if he got
in her way.

She sped up a flight of
stairs
,
taking them two at a time, and then spun around a corner and flung open a door.

Inside was the library of the healers. She knew each book,
though there were hundreds. She had read them
all
, studied
them, committed their knowledge to
her
memory. Much was false, proven wrong by her own experiments, but much
was true and valuable.

She headed straight for the book she sought. It was old. Its
cover was black, faded to gray. Gold script covered it, and the sign of
Halathgar was there as well, the constellation that the Forgotten Queen had
taken for her seal.

Arell raced back. She had an idea, but the book would give
her the confirmation that she needed. But even if her memory was correct, the
look on Taingern’s face when she mentioned Carnhaina gave her pause for
thought. And, given the story Brand had told her, well it might.