WINDHEALER (11 page)

He buried his forehead in the crook of his upraised arm as he leaned against the window.

No, she wouldn't understand. She had sent him to bring back her men. The gods only knew what she would do once she found out Conar was alive. What would Legion, who loved Elizabeth with all his soul, do? What would the world do with a man thought dead all these years?

"
Saur!"
Appolyon's shrill voice brought up Brelan's head. The fat man was standing in the doorway of his quarters, one finger beckoning.

Controlling the urge to split the man in two, Brelan walked out of his hut and to the Commandant's porch. He gazed at the man with as much respect as he could feign. "How may I serve you, Commandant?"

"Take some men and pry up that scum. The sight of him is getting tedious." The pug nose wrinkled with distaste. "And the stench is unbearable."

Brelan nodded, knowing that if he spoke, the venom would pour out. He turned toward Roget's hut and wasn't surprised to see Sentian watching him.

"Heil! Get du Mer and come here! On the double!"

Roget reached him first. "Can we take him up?"

"Get a crowbar, Heil," Brelan ordered in a gruff voice. Brelan turned, startled by the bulk of the Necroman holding a crowbar. "Du Mer," Brelan continued, "take his right hand. The Necroman can—"

"Shalu," the big man told him, eyeing him with disdain. When Brelan glanced up, the dark man's chin rose. "My nationality is Necromanian. My name is Shalu." Arrogance entered his eyes. "King Shalu!"

Brelan's lips twitched despite his anger at the delay the man was unknowingly causing. "Then take his left hand,
Shalu,"
he said, stressing the name. He looked at Sentian. "And you take the crowbar and lever the spikes out."

Sentian's face turned ugly. "I will not be the one to hurt him! You nailed his hands; you pull out the spikes!"

Brelan was on Sentian in the blink of an eye. Grabbing the slightly smaller man by the front of his tattered shirt, Brelan drew him up to nose level and snarled. "The longer my brother remains on that ground," he whispered, "the longer it will take for him to heal. If I do it, if I show the smallest amount of compassion, Appolyon will use it against him. If I have to pry loose his hands, I might well start to scream. And if that should happen, I'd go after every man in this gods-be-damned place who has ever hurt him. And if I do, what good do you think I'll be to him or anyone else?" He shook Sentian. "Is that what you want?"

"Do you think I believe that?" Sentian hissed.

"I don't give a rat's ass whether you do!"

"Feeling guilty, Lord Saur?"

Brelan shoved him away. "Do it!"

Conar came to as Roget knelt beside him, Shalu kneeling on his other side.

"Hurry up, Heil!" Brelan barked.

"I'm sorry," Sentian whispered as he hunkered down and gently wedged the crowbar's two wide prongs under the thick head of the spike in Conar's left palm.

Conar strained hard not to cry out. He felt the pain all the way down his left side and into his left hip. He couldn't stop the whimper that rushed through him, the gasp of agony as the spike came free. The second spike was no easier than the first, and as it came loose from the wood with a sharp peal of protest, Conar sank into unconsciousness as the pain closed in around him.

"Get him…" Brelan had to try again. "…Get him moved before he wakes up."

With infinite care, Shalu and Roget put their hands under Conar's shoulders and gently lifted him while Sentian untied his ankles. Blood oozed off his Conar's hands, dripped to the ground in front of the men. His hands were swollen, turning purple along the palms. He was soaking wet, his breeches clinging to his body. Through the rain-drenched hair, Brelan saw his brother awaken, try to focus, saw the parched and cracked lips part as Conar gasped.

Brelan saw Conar look at him, then lower his head. That humility, that conditioning, enraged him. He cupped Conar's chin and brought up the sagging head. "Don't you lower your eyes to me!" he hissed, his anger apparent.

A haunted, wounded look filled the blue depths before Conar's gaze shifted nervously, fearfully away. The impact of that action made Brelan clench his hands into fists.

"He needs help, Saur! He's sick!" Shalu spat.

Brelan felt a spasm of pain pass over his own face. "Take him, then."

Roget and Shalu shifted Conar's weight and began to walk with him, but Shalu lost his footing in a deep puddle of rainwater and stumbled, twisting his foot. Conar swung sideways and would have fallen if Brelan had not put out his hands to catch him. As he did, Brelan felt a drop of something wet and thick settle on the back of his right hand. When he looked down, his eyes widened with horror.

"Move out of the way!" Sentian snarled, shoving Brelan aside, taking Shalu's place at Conar's left side.

The Necroman grimaced as he straightened up. His dark gaze swept over Brelan with an insulting flick of disgust. "Blood can be washed off, Lord Saur!" he snapped as he hobbled after Roget and Heil.

Brelan felt himself lost in a private nightmare, unable to look away from the single drop of blood lying on his hand. He could hear a long-dead voice speaking from ages ago, and felt something he had never thought he would, although that voice had warned him of just such a thing. He raised his head and looked across the compound, searching for another he knew would be looking his way. When he found Grice Wynth gazing at him with understanding, he heard Grice's dead mother speaking as though she was standing beside him. He shook his head, denying the illusion, denying the words, the voice, the emotion that swept through him like molten lava.

He started to walk away, but stopped and looked down at the shining droplet of blood. He shuddered, his vision blurred, and he felt a single tear ease down his cheek.

The voice repeated the prophesy: "There will come a day," the Queen of Oceania had told him, "when you will hold his blood more precious than anything else in this world."

She had been right, he thought, another tear falling. The sight of one drop of Conar's blood was hurting him more than anything ever had before.

"You have his precious blood on your hands," a voice seemed to coo to him from far away. "What will you do to atone, Saur?"

With infinite care, he pressed the blood to his mouth, as the tears continued to come.

"Be careful," Grice whispered from across the courtyard. "Be very careful, my friend."

* * *

Being able to communicate with another human being is a powerful and compelling need. Words can soothe what looks and touch often can not. By isolating a man, by depriving him of the ability to reach out to his fellow man for comfort, is to make him an island unto himself. It is to rob him of his humanity and to bring him down to the level of the lowest beast. It can, and will, crush his spirit. It will undermine his belief in his own existence, his own worth.

Through the years, very few words had been spoken to Conar with anything close to compassion and understanding. What times there had been, what fleeting moments of the recognition of his existence, had been few and far between.

Alone in a community of men treated far better than himself, Conar learned to treasure those rare moments of respite from his solitary life. He clung to them to sustain him during the times when he was but a shadow among the living substances of flesh and blood.

Just when he thought he could not face the terror alone anymore, when his day to day existence had been a burden to his soul, he had looked into the eyes of Brelan and felt a dim, wavering light of hope.

Why he should, he couldn't tell. Where that hope had come from, he had no idea, for Brelan had long ago vowed bitter hatred for him.

"Times change," his inner voice soothed. "Men change."

From wherever the source had sprang, Conar recognized it and was bolstered by it. Not even the terrible thing Brelan had been forced to do could extinguish that dim ray of promise for Conar.

He had understood the slap Brelan had given him even if his brother had not. He had seen the wild gleam of horror the moment the blow had come. There had been so much between the two men over the years. So much animosity, so much unwillingness to see into the other's heart, that now, so many years away from the rivalries of childhood, Conar could see what both he and Brelan had been denying so vehemently over the years—their love for one another.

It was there when Brelan first saw him. It was there in the way Brelan's voice cracked. It was there in the actions of that day. Conar had understood in a moment of painful clarity.

And he had understood his own feelings, as well. That love was there in the forgiveness even before the deed had been done, the first blow struck. It had been there in the sorrow he had felt that Brelan had to be the one to hurt him. It had been there in his heart like a seed coming to life after a harsh winter thaw.

And he could feel it growing.

Lying on Xander Hesar's examination table as his hands were bandaged, Conar willed his attention away from the throbbing, burning pain in his hands. He turned from Roget's concerned face and Shalu's blank one to the door where Sentian stood. He saw Heil glance behind him, frown and step hesitantly out of the way of the man entering the hut.

There was a stiffness in Brelan's voice, a cutting edge that denied his compassion. "How long will it be before he can use his hands again?"

The Healer looked up at Roget. "You may leave, du Mer."

"I…" Roget began.

"Do as he says," Brelan ordered. He looked at Sentian. "All of you go back to your huts."

Shalu glanced at the Healer, then nodded. He took Sentian's arm and propelled the arguing young man out of the hut with him. With a glare at Brelan, Du Mer followed.

"He won't be able to use his hands for several weeks, Lord Saur," Xander said. "His fingers were broken before he ran away and they've never healed properly. The Commandant has ordered him locked in his cage until they do."

Brelan's eyes, and temper, flared. "What cage?"

"The one he has spent much of his time inside since being brought to this wretched place." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "You've seen the chicken coops? That's where he was kept."

Brelan took three quick steps to the Healer's side. His face flamed red with fury. "I will not have any prisoner caged like an animal! I have the Tribunal's authority, and the King's authority, to make any necessary adjustments I feel need making! I am Chief Warden. If I see inmates being mistreated, I will handle it!"

"Like you did with Ching-Ching?" Xander asked quietly.

Brelan stared at the man.

"I saw you, Lord Saur. I've been here a long time, but I recognize Gerren McGregor's whelps when I see them." He shrugged. "You look more like your mama than you do Gerren, but you have that unmistakable McGregor stamp on you." He picked up his bandages and ointments and carried them to a cabinet on the wall. "I saw you when you were here last and when you left. It's a funny thing, Lord Saur. When you left, three men disappeared from the colony." He grinned. "You wouldn't have seen where they went, would you?"

"And yet you didn't report it."

The Healer nonchalantly pursed his lips. "I don't report everything I see. Just as I will not report the talk you are about to have with your prisoner."

Brelan blinked.

"I'm an old man. Sometimes I have difficulty with my hearing." He shut the cabinet and walked to the doorway. "But my eyesight is perfect. I can keep watch for you."

"Why would you?"

The Healer stood with his back to Brelan. "Let's say I owe a debt to someone."

"Who?"

"That's unimportant."

"Why should I trust you?"

"It's up to you, but I know why you're here, Lord Saur. Unless I miss my guess, there'll be a few men disappearing from this colony about the time you leave again." He looked at Brelan. "One in particular, I would imagine." He smiled and turned his back again.

Conar had been carefully following the conversation between the two men. He knew they could trust the Healer, for the man had cared for him over the years with as much compassion as he had been allowed. He hoped Brelan could see the truth of the man's honor.

"He needs his rest, Lord Saur." The Healer's voice was growing disdainful. "If you're going to interrogate him, do so before he falls asleep. I gave him a sedative."

Brelan ground his teeth, but then he turned his attention to Conar.

"Don't look away from me!" Brelan hissed, gently lifting Conar's head. "Don't you dare lower you eyes to me!"

Conar's gaze shifted to Brelan's, wavered, then darted away. Not out of shame or conditioning, but because Brelan's was so dear at that moment, he felt like crying. He was all too aware he was trembling. His head jerked as Brelan shook him.

"Listen!" Saur's voice was strong and compelling, hard and unrelenting. "I'll not have you debase yourself to me. We're family!" His voice went low. "I didn't want to do that to you."

"I know, Bre," came the croaking reply.

"Then, don't look at me as though I'm about to have you flogged! I'm here to help, Coni. Legion sent me to get out the others. We had no way of knowing you were here, but I'll take you with us. Understand?"

He looked up with confusion.

"I asked if you understood!" Brelan snapped, aware of the hurt look his question had brought to Conar's pale face.

Conar nodded, now unable to look away even if his life depended on it. He met Brelan's angry stare with sorrow.

"You don't believe me?" Brelan asked.

Conar wanted to answer, but he couldn't trust himself. He looked away.

"It's true! I'm here to take the others home. To take you home!"

Conar's throat felt raw, his body hot and sticky. He sighed, recognizing the onset of another fever. He could feel it spreading, claiming him again. Fleetingly, he wondered if he would ever be free of it.

"Say something!"

"I'll never leave here, Brelan."

Brelan drew in a sharp breath. Just hearing his brother speak with such hopelessness made him want to kill the men who had dared hurt him so badly. Hearing what he had said hurt like a knife thrusting into his gut. "Don't say that! Don't even think it!'