WINDHEALER (12 page)

"They'll never let me leave here alive. They can't."

"Whatever I set out to do, I do! Do you think I'd leave you here?"

"Why not?"

"Because you are my brother! I won't let anything happen to you!"

"There was a time you felt differently."

Brelan's face flamed red. "That was a long time ago. A lot has changed. I've changed."

"And I," Conar said softly.

The pain in that statement tore through Brelan's heart. "Through no fault of your own."

"Look at me," Conar told him. "If I were to go back, don't you think the sight of me would hurt those I left behind?"

Brelan knew who his brother meant. "I see a man who has spent six years in hell and survived. A man who came back from the dead. Those he left behind will care only that he's alive."

"No one need ever know. The man they remember died long ago. It is best he stay dead."

Brelan cupped Conar's cheeks in his hands. "I will take you home whether you want to go or not! And I will see to it you are treated like a human being from now on."

"You shouldn't interfere."

"If you think I'm afraid of that fat slug, you don't know me very well, brother!"

"They'll find a way to hurt you and the others if you help me. I don't want to be the cause—"

"They won't do anything more to you! I swear on Papa's grave!"

Conar's breath caught in his throat.

Brelan could see his sudden pain. "Oh, my god, no one told you?"

Tears crept silently down Conar's cheek as his lips trembled.

"I'm sorry," Brelan whispered, his voice thick with misery. "I thought…"

"When?" Conar asked, his throat closing with grief.

"Right after your…" He stopped, unsure if he should tell Conar about his son, Corbin. "After Wyn left with Holm van de Lar." He saw immediate concern in his brother's eyes and rushed to reassure him. "Wyn's safe. He's with Holm. So are Coron and Dyllon, and their ladies are safe with Aunt Dyreil in Chrystallus."

Conar let out a wavering breath of relief. His throat was so sore, now, his head throbbing with blinding pain. He could see red blotches appearing on his arms. "Is my lady safe?"

Brelan nodded. How much should he tell Conar about Liza? He didn't know where to begin. Conar's words stopped him from even trying.

"I don't want to know anything else," he whispered.

"But—"

"Nothing else," he repeated, feeling the sedative claiming him.

"You can't hide from reality, Conar."

His right eye felt as though someone were stabbing a red-hot poker into it. He brought up the back of his right hand to wipe at it, wincing as the pain in his palm tore through his arm. "I just want to be left alone," he mumbled, his words beginning to slur.

The Healer came to stand beside them. "Let him sleep, now."

"You can't give up, Conar!" Brelan snarled, ignoring the Healer. "You can't just tuck your tail between your legs and slink away every time they come after you!"

"You don't understand," came the weary answer.

"Lord Saur, let your brother rest—"

"Is that what you've been doing all along, Conar. Letting them hurt you because you were too much a coward to fight back?"

Conar hurt all over now and, despite the sedative, he was getting sicker by the minute. He had difficulty focusing on Brelan's angry face. "I just can't do it anymore."

"Do what?"

"Fight them. They've knocked the fight out of me."

Brelan drew up his brother, ignoring the Healer's rush to the doorway to keep watch. "I won't accept that!" Brelan said, cradling Conar against him. "You can fight and you will!"

Conar forced his eyes to Brelan's. "What more do you want? I have nothing left. I can't do this alone anymore."

"You won't have to! You
aren't
alone! I'm here, now!" He dragged Conar into his embrace. "You will never be alone again!"

"Lydon Drake's heading this way!" Xander hissed.

Brelan saw the concern on the Healer's face and lowered Conar to the cot. "If I have them chain you inside my hut, do you think you could stand it?"

Knowing what being chained would do to his fever-wracked body almost made Conar say no. Instead, he shrugged, felt himself beginning to slip into unconsciousness. "I've stood it many times before."

Brelan hesitated. "It'll have to be to the wall. I've seen manacle rings there—"

"The Commandant wants to know how he is," came a voice from the doorway.

Brelan spun around, his mouth set and grim. He eyed Drake with hatred. "Tell the Commandant I'll be along to give him a full report! Don't let me catch you anywhere near this prisoner. Do I make myself clear?"

Lydon glared at the new Chief Warden. "Showing a little family support, Lord Saur?"

"Get the hell out of here, Drake, before I stake
you
out in the courtyard!"

Drake smiled; his face was as evil as Brelan's was angry. "Whatever you say, Lord Saur."

Later, when two of the friendlier guards dragged Conar's unconscious body to Brelan's hut and manacled him to the wall, no one asked the reason.

It had never mattered before.

It didn't matter now.

Six weeks passed. Brelan sat morosely beside his window and stared in frustration at the rain that had come again. He wanted desperately to go to the medical hut, but knew his presence would cause a flurry of curious questions. His nervousness was fast drawing him to the very edge of a screaming fit.

"He'll be all right," Grice said. Brelan turned to the man he had called best friend for almost his entire life.

"I hope you're right."

Grice looked at the boots he was polishing as part of his job as valet to the now Chief Warden, Brelan Saur. "I hope I am, too."

Thinking back to the morning after his talk with Conar, Brelan nearly groaned. He had gone to break his fast after assuring himself Conar was still sleeping, but when he had been intercepted by Xander Hesar who was concerned for his patient's safety, Brelan went back inside with the man.

"I knew it!" the Healer had spat. "He's burning up with fever!"

For almost three weeks, it didn't look as though Conar would survive this latest battle with the Labyrinthian Fever, that viral infection found only in the barren wilderness of the penal colony. Fiery convulsions alternated with bone-shattering chills and white-hot delirium. Conar's words, when he could speak, were a jumble of half-formed phrases and whimpers, and had cut through Brelan like daggers.

"He knew he was ill," Brelan said, looking to Grice for understanding. "He knew when he allowed me to chain him to the damn wall! Why did he let me?"

"He thought he was protecting you."

"From what?"

"Yourself." Grice looked up. "If you'd known how ill he was going to be, you'd have tried to keep him with Xander. What do you think the Commandant would have thought?"

"I don't give a rat's ass—"

"But Conar did. If you expect to see your plans through to the end, you'd best keep in mind who and what you're supposed to be, Lord Saur."

Brelan drew in a harsh breath between his gritted teeth. "I need someone to be close to him, someone I trust."

"Sentian is the ideal choice," Grice grumbled, obviously still disliking the man.

"I can't put him near Conar; he's already shown too much loyalty."

"Me?" Grice offered.

"Why you?"

"He's as much my brother as he is yours."

Brelan nodded. "There was a time—"

"When we were not as we are now," Grice finished. He looked over the compound. "Nor was he what he is now."

Brelan understood all too well what that meant. "What happens to him when we go back,?"

"What do you mean?"

"She's no longer his."

Grice lowered his eyes. "She will always belong to him."

Brelan flinched and wanted to change the subject. "I suppose the Necroman would be the best choice. Two outcasts thrown together shouldn't bother the Commandant that much."

"Shalu really cares for Conar." Grice spat on the toe of the boot he was holding and buffed it with his polishing cloth.

"Well, we need someone who will watch out for him, who'll see he doesn't get caught away from camp with that son-of-a-bitch Drake!"

"Lord Saur?" came a heavily accented voice from outside the door.

Both men jumped, reflexively wondering who might have overheard their conversation. Brelan hurried to the door, relieved to see one of the two men who had accompanied him to the Labyrinth standing on the porch. The older man, a sailor by trade, grinned up at Brelan. "Scared you, did I, boyo?"

Brelan sighed, ignoring the jibe. "What is it?"

"Best be careful like what you be saying." Korbit chuckled.

"I asked what you wanted?" Brelan snarled, stung by the man's warning.

"He's awake and calling for you," the old man said, then turned to spit a brown stream of tobacco over the porch railing. "Healer says he's pretty insistent about who he wants to speak to." The man hitched up his tattered breeches and sniffed. "Reckon you'd best be moseying over there to quiet the lad 'fore someone who ought not to hears him." He dug his hands into the pockets, then ambled off the porch as though he hadn't a care in the world.

Brelan frowned. Holm van de Lar had all the confidence in the world in Korbit, but Brelan found the man slovenly and lazy. He glanced at Grice.

"Go," Grice told him. "But make it look like you're pissed he's still not able to work."

Brelan understood and left.

Xander looked up as Brelan entered the hut. He eyed the guard standing idly in the room, supposedly there to help care for the patient, but in actuality, there to report to the Commandant.

"If you've come to harass this boy, he's still raving out of his mind," Xander said. He put on his most stern face. "He actually thinks you're his friend, Lord Saur."

Brelan didn't glance at the guard. He understood the message.

"What's the little bastard been saying?" Brelan snapped, standing over his brother's cot.

"Thinks you're here to take him home," the guard snorted. "Do you fancy that, Lord Saur?"

Brelan laughed. "As if I ever would, eh?"

"Right as rain, sir!" The guard chuckled, scratching at his filthy crotch.

Brelan looked down at Conar, could see his brother looking at him, could sense the confusion. "Why would I want to take
you
home?" he asked, making his voice as hateful as he could. He winked.

"Brelan?" the ill man asked, his voice hurt, unsure. "I—"

"You know what?" Brelan snapped, turning to look at the guard. "I think the Commandant would be interested in hearing my little talk with him, don't you?"

The guard grinned. "Bet he would!" He sauntered to the door.

Once the man was gone, Xander stood in the entrance as though blocking further visitors. Brelan knelt beside his brother's cot. "Are you where you can understand me, Coni?"

Conar had been lapsing in and out of consciousness all morning. The Healer had said things that made no sense, warning him with words that had little meaning. He had begged to see Brelan, had told the Healer his brother was there to take him home. Now, hearing Brelan's sharp, taunting words to the guard, he wasn't sure anymore. Perhaps he had imagined a talk with Brelan; perhaps he had dreamed it.

"Conar? You can't tell these people about our plans!"

Conar reached out a trembling hand and sighed with relief when Brelan took it in his own. His lips were blistered from the fever, but he managed to say what he had obviously needed to. Pulling his brother close, Conar whispered, "Don't hurt me anymore, Brelan. Please don't be the one to hurt me anymore." The lost little boy voice broke. "Please?"

Brelan drew in his breath. His grip on Conar's hot hand tightened. "By Alel's Grace, Conar McGregor, I won't ever hurt you again!" He brought the dry, callused hand to his lips.

Conar tried to smile, but he couldn't. His voice was a puff of air; Brelan had to lower his ear to Conar's lips in order to hear the words.

"Tell me somebody loves me, Bre." Brelan flinched, almost unmanned by the pleading in Conar's voice. He felt as though he had been sucked into a vacuum where only he and Conar existed. "Please tell me somebody still cares what happens to me."

A ragged sob burst from Brelan's mouth. He gathered Conar in his arms, oblivious to anything else save the need to show this man a modicum of protection. He gently rocked the burning, sweat-drenched body. "I love you, Conar!" he moaned, his voice cracking with pain. He swallowed hard to keep from keening aloud. "By all that is holy, I do love you!"

"Appolyon's on his way," Xander warned.

"Don't listen to what I say to you, Conar," Brelan said. "It'll be a pack of lies."

Hesar stepped back from the door, glanced around to make sure Brelan no longer held Conar in his arms. The ravaged look on Brelan's face might have been construed as primal fury by anyone who had not been privy to the scene, but Hesar knew better. The look was one of intense suffering.

* * *

"I see no reason for this!" Appolyon fumed, flinging aside the paper. "Why do you feel it necessary to tell His Holiness about this?"

Brelan smiled, indifferently splaying his hands. "I was given the task of making sure Tohre's mandates were carried out to the letter. He assured me I would enjoy my stay here despite the King's intention of punishing me for a few, well, ill-chosen words I might have uttered to my brother, uh, my king," Brelan stressed. He folded his arms across his chest. "Of course, I had no idea Conar would be here." He let his mouth twist into what he hoped was a diabolical grin. "I'm sure Tohre was laughing up his sleeve at Legion A'Lex the entire time knowing how I would truly enjoy my stay after finding McGregor prisoner here."

"But why do you think Tohre would want to be told about the sleeping arrangement I ordered?" the fat man sulked. "I did away with the cage when the first edict arrived." The massive jowls wobbled with indignation. "I saw no need to lessen the severity of his punishment then and I certainly don't see the need now!"

Brelan wanted to lunge across the corpulent man's desk and fasten his hands around the jelly-like throat, squeeze until the beady eyes popped out of the marshmallow face. Instead, he lifted one disdainful shoulder. "McGregor must be integrated with his fellow inmates."

"But they'll talk to him."

"Let them."

"Absolutely not!" The man shook a pudgy fist at Brelan. "I want no one to speak to him. I don't want his existence acknowledged in any way."

Brelan's smile faded. He bore his dark brown gaze into Appolyon's. "I must report what I find here. If you insist on continuing as you have, I am sure His Holiness will issue another edict and that will be sent as soon as my report arrives in his hands. Now, what that edict will require may be even less to your liking."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning he could issue a mandate that will see you promoted to another post."

"Are you threatening me?"

"Of course not, sir." Brelan smiled. "I'm merely stating that if you keep disagreeing with the Arch-Prelates wishes concerning his prisoner, and we both know McGregor is just that, then he is likely to appoint someone who will carry out his desires."

Appolyon's fingers drummed the desktop. He couldn't afford to loose this position. He didn't dare return to Serenia, or any of the other Seven Kingdoms where a bounty had been placed on his head long ago by returning prisoners. "Where do you intend to put him?"

Brelan wanted to laugh with relief. "I'll keep him where he is for now. I'll just change his work schedule to coincide with the others."

The Commandant waved a sausage-like hand. "Whatever." His rubbery lips formed a pout.

Walking back to Du Mer's hut, Brelan had a hard time keeping the smile from his face. He saw Grice and Chand watching him; he winked as he brushed past them.

"You men listen up!" he said loudly. "From today on, the Traitor will be working the same schedule as you. Sleeping in here at the same time, leaving to work when you do."

"Working alongside us?" Grice asked as he and his brother came through the door.

"No, and you aren't to talk to him. Is that clear?"

"Perfectly," Roget answered.

Brelan turned to du Mer. "He's just another piece of furniture. Understood?" Brelan pushed Grice aside as he started to leave. "He's nobody."

"Thank you," Chand whispered as Brelan moved past him.

"Get your ass to the showers, Wynth! You smell to high heaven and back!"

* * *

Conar went back to work in the rock field behind the huts the following week at the same time the men in his hut trudged wearily to the mines. He had been given a fair bill of health by Xander that morning and was told to report to the du Mer hut that evening.

"You're going to be allowed to live with the men from now on," Xander explained in as gruff a voice as he could muster. "Some new kind of torment, I suppose."

He understood all too well Brelan's hand in this new living arrangement. He was sick at heart, worried that Brelan had overstepped, but too overjoyed to think too clearly about it. He walked to the rock field with a heart lighter than it had been in years and began his work with more hope than he had ever had.

He was weak, his legs a might unsteady, but he managed to heft the smaller rocks out of the new drainage ditch without too much effort. For the most part, the guards assigned to him looked the other way when he frequently stopped to rest. They had obviously been chosen by Brelan. Also, his hand was healed well enough, but he grimaced when the pain grew too intense.

"That's enough for today," one of the guards snarled.

Conar was astonished. It wasn't anywhere near dark. The others hadn't started coming from the mines. He recognized Brelan's hand in this, too, and would have smiled if he could have. Instead, he nodded, turning to go back to the hut. He had taken only three steps before someone caught his arm and spun him around.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?"

Conar didn't need to look up to know who had spoken. He simply let himself be shaken so hard his teeth rattled.

"I asked you a question!"

"To my hut, sir," he forced himself to reply.

"Not at this time of day, you ain't!"

"Drake!" a guard warned, "if he gets sick again, Saur will nail you to the cross ties."

"But it ain't time!" He shook Conar again. "Get your ass back to that rock pile before I take my strap to your—"

"
Drake!"

Lydon clenched his teeth, but turned to see Brelan Saur. He glared at the approaching man. "It ain't time for him—"

"Get your hand off him!"

Lydon's hand tightened on Conar. "The Commandant don't want him mollycoddled…"

Brelan jabbed a hard hand into Lydon's thick shoulder. "I said to get your hands off my—"

"Your what?" Drake interrupted with a belligerent smirk, fusing his furious gaze with Brelan's raging brown stare.

"My property!" Brelan shot a hard fist into Drake's jaw. The man landed on his backside and sat staring into a face blazing with rage. He flinched as Brelan leaned over and growled. "He's my property, Drake. Don't think for one minute I don't know what you'd like to do to him!" Brelan let his dark gaze shift insultingly to Drake's crotch. "That is, if you could!"