The realization took his breath away. He could imagine the rest of his life with her. It was not hard to do so. But with a sinking feeling he understood also that she had no such desire. She was caught up in her own troubles at the moment, always deep in thought and of divided mind. She felt for the Halathrin entrapped by sorcery, and a part of her wanted to fight to free them. But another part was lured by the power in Shurilgar’s staff. And how much of the former was a dissimilitude of the latter, either her own or of the power in the staff?

  He did not know which part of her was the strongest. And there was a darkness in her past, too. She had never openly said as much, but she sought power not just for the sake of it, not just to protect herself, but to take revenge on elugs. Elugs had killed her family and destroyed the life she once knew. And Shurilgar’s staff offered a means to wreak dreadful havoc upon them. She had no time for him, and she might yet fall to the Shadow. If that happened she would be lost to him forever, and he felt suddenly cold to the marrow of his bones. But he must give her the freedom to choose, for without temptation there was no certainty of choice. Only the first made the second real.

  The smoke curled into the starry night, otherworldly and elusive. All his hopes rode on the whims of a fate that he could not see, just as invisible currents of air took the smoke.

  He hoped the king could forgive him, if he was even still alive. But life was one risk after another, one choice piled on top of endless decisions, and if he risked Cardoroth he did so for good reason. Khamdar was right: Kareste had it in her to be great. If she turned to the Light, she could give Alithoras hope. At least, he wished so, just as he hoped that those he respected most in the world would see things the way he saw them. But he was no longer sure if his judgement was sound. Emotion clouded it.

  He looked at Kareste and found that she was looking at him.

  “Are we doing the right thing?” he asked. “Have I the right to jeopardize a whole city?”

  Kareste seemed taken aback by the question. “I don’t know,” she said at length. “Who is to say what’s right or wrong? But I know this much at least – I’m most wary of anyone who does have all the answers.”

  Brand suddenly grinned. “You’re dead right there.”

  The fire popped and cracked. Kareste looked at him, one side of her face lit up by the flames, the other in shadow.

  “Why so philosophical?” she asked.

  “Aren’t I always?” he replied.

  She raised an eyebrow. “Actually, most men claim to be, at least when they’re talking to girls, but few are. You’re one of the few.”

  He gave a little bow from where he sat, but did not answer.

  “So,” she said. “While you’re in this mood, what’s the meaning of life?”

  It was his turn to be taken aback. “You might be better off asking Aranloth that. He’s lived more of it than I have.”

  “True. Maybe I will ask him one day, but just now I’m asking you.”

  He looked into the fire. It was dying down to embers. It would not last, and suddenly it occurred to him that nothing ever did. His time with Kareste would come to an end one day, just as this conversation would. The only difference was the time it took. But time was a strange thing. The past was hazy, the future clouded. The only time that counted was the here and now. It was a somewhat depressing thought, and then he thought that even depression and joy were transient.

  He smiled sadly. “I don’t know the meaning of life. I’m not sure that there is one – unless we choose one for ourselves.”

  “And what have you chosen?”

  “To give rather than to take. To enjoy a cold drink after a hard day’s work. To follow it with a fine meal, preferably cooked with food I’ve grown myself. And to see the flashing smile of a girl I like. Most of all, to be kind. There’s not enough kindness in the world.”

  She looked at him a long time. “Many would call that simplistic.”

  “I’m a simple man.”

  She grinned at him suddenly. “Then you’ve fooled me.”

  “What do you think?” he asked. “What’s the meaning of life?”

  She looked away. “I don’t know, but I’ll think on what you’ve said.”

  10. If only Chance Allowed…

  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.

  11. Magic, not Medicine

  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.

  The 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.

 

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