Bard's Oath (43 page)

*   *   *

Dawn was breaking again when something woke Pod. She lay against Fiarin, trying to figure out what the sound had been.

She didn’t have long to wait. An agonized moan broke the silence. Frightened, she scrambled out from the blankets as Fiarin twitched violently; she saw Kaeliss hastily rise on the other side of him.

Pod cursed as tremor after tremor racked the senior Wort Hunter’s body and his limbs jerked this way and that. All the while his moans grew more terrifying. Pod wanted to flee the terrible sounds.

Instead, she forced herself to undo the latest poultice from Fiarin’s leg. Kaeliss, crying softly, looked over her shoulder. As the wrappings fell from Pod’s shaking hands, they both gasped in horror.

While the small puncture wounds had not shown any signs of healing, neither had they looked worse last night when they’d changed the dressing. But now the flesh around the bite marks was blackened and withered; lurid red streaks ran from the twin holes.

But it was the stench that made them fall back retching. “Oh gods,” Kaeliss moaned over and over again. Tears ran down her cheeks.

Oh gods indeed. Pod buried her face in her hands and breathed as shallowly as she could. She wasn’t ready; she hadn’t fully recovered, she knew that deep in her soul.

But she also knew she had to try. Screwing her eyes shut, Pod stretched her shaking hands out over Fiarin’s leg and reached down inside herself, calling up the Healing energy.

At first it wouldn’t answer, though she felt it hiding deep within, felt it trembling like a fawn. She insisted and it uncoiled, filling her with the familiar warmth. Pod opened her eyes enough to see the familiar haze forming around her hands.

Relief flooded her. But then came a shock that flung her back like a rag doll.

Pod picked herself up from the ground. Every bone, every muscle, every joint ached. Tears stung her eyes.

She had failed. Fiarin was dying—and dying in agony. Every rasping breath, every spasm and moan told her so.

Grant us this one grace,
she begged the gods as she dragged herself back to his side.

For one long, terrible moment she thought they would turn a deaf ear to her plea. Then Pod felt her power flow once more, at first tentatively, then with growing strength. She cradled Fiarin’s grey-hued face in her hands and willed the Sleep upon him.

At once the spasms ceased; his breathing came easier as he rested quietly. A little color even came back into his sunken cheeks.

Pod slumped back on her heels, exhausted yet at peace.

Kaeliss crawled to kneel by her. “Did you Heal him?” she asked in awe.

Pod shook her head.

“Then why does— Oh. It’s the Sleep, isn’t it?”

Pod just nodded; she didn’t trust her voice.

“He’s dying, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

Then, so softly that Pod almost couldn’t hear the words, “Thank you for easing his way.”

They sat together, holding hands, keeping vigil through the long, hot morning. All around them the forest came awake: birds calling to each other, insects humming, squirrels rattling the leaves overhead as they jumped from tree to tree. Once a rabbit paused at the edge of their little clearing and sat up to watch them. It fled as Kiga pushed his way through the underbrush and lay down with his head on Pod’s knee. She twined the fingers of her free hand in his thick, coarse fur.

Pod knew the moment Fiarin died. In the space of a heartbeat an undefinable
something
went out of his face. She bowed her head. Beside her Kaeliss broke into soft weeping.

We’ll need to bury him soon in this heat,
Pod thought, even as she realized that they had no shovel, not even a hoe to dig with. They would have to find rocks for a cairn or leave Fiarin to the animals. And that she would not do.

She let Kaeliss grieve for a while longer. Then she stood up. “We must build a cairn,” she told Kaeliss gently. “Then I think we should find another place to camp. But first we need to eat.”

Kaeliss wiped her eyes and nodded. They gulped down a few strips of dried meat and a handful of dried fruit each, washing down the paltry meal with water. They then separated to search for rocks, calling to each other so that they might not wander too far apart and blazing the trees with their knives.

Just as Pod feared they would have to leave Fiarin after all, she heard Kaeliss calling excitedly to her. With Kiga leading the way, she pushed through the underbrush.

“Look! I walked and walked but found nothing useful. I was just about to give up—then I found this!” Kaeliss said with a sweep of her hand.

“This” proved to be a long, jumbled pile of stones perhaps an ell wide that stretched off into the woods in both directions. The stones were the right size, too; not too big for two strong young women, yet heavy enough that with enough of them, nothing would be able to get at Fiarin. Yet something about the pile made Pod uneasy; there was something familiar about it.…

The work was long and hard. Nor did it feel right, stacking rocks on top of Fiarin. Pod kept expecting him to open his eyes and demand angrily just what they thought they were doing. But a final look at the waxen pallor of his face before they drew his cloak over it convinced her. Only the dead had that look, she knew, as if the skin had turned to tallow.

At last they were done. Next they divided the contents of Fiarin’s pack and his blanket roll between them. “I keep expecting someone to yell at me for this,” Pod muttered.

“I know how you feel,” Kaeliss replied. “But he would have wanted it this way. To do otherwise would be a waste.”

They bade Fiarin a final farewell, and then the two young women set off. They chose to go east, for Kaeliss had kept somewhat better track of their journey. She was certain that the morning sun had been behind them when they left the main camp and, later, to their left as they had crossed the esker.

That meant that north was the swampy woods with its deadly snakes. They would not go there. But east might take them back to the Wort Hunters’ encampment—they hoped.

Pod settled her pack on her back, sent a silent prayer up to the gods, and followed Kaeliss, with Kiga close behind.

Kaeliss stopped and looked back just before they lost sight of the cairn altogether. “Farewell, Master Heron,” she said softly.

Pod froze. “Master Heron?” she managed to get out at last.

“Yes. It was what everyone called him—behind his back, of course. Didn’t you ever notice how long his legs were? Just like a heron’s.”

Forty

It was well after midnight
before one of the masters could accompany Conor back to the stable. Luckily Lord Lenslee—or someone less distraught—had remembered to leave word with the guards to expect the Beast Healers. They passed Conor and Master Edlunn through the gates with no trouble.

Conor carried the lantern one of the guards had given them at Master Edlunn’s request. The soft light fell around them in a yellow pool. Somewhere nearby in the warm night he could hear a nightingale singing. Its lovely song just made Conor feel worse.

What did I not see? And
how
did I miss whatever was wrong with Summer Lightning?

“There’s the stable given over to Lord Lenslee’s use,” he said hoarsely.

“So I see,” Master Edlunn said, mild as mild. “Conor, stop flogging yourself. It may well have been something none of us could have foreseen whether apprentice, journeyman, healer, or master. Such things happen sometimes; it’s the will of the gods.”

They had reached the door. Conor held the lantern up. “Mind the sill, it’s high. I know, sir, but—”

He stopped, for in the faint light that now penetrated the stable, he could see a shadow moving in Summer Lightning’s stall.

“Hoy, there—you! What are you doing?” Conor shouted. “Didn’t Stablemaster Tuerin tell you to leave that stall be?”

He thrust the lantern at Master Edlunn and ran into the stable. A young stable hand jumped and looked about like one just waking up.

“Wha—what? Oh, yes, of course he did,” the boy said in confusion. “I’m no—” He looked down at the small hand broom he had been using to clean out Summer Lightning’s manger and staggered backward. The little broom fell with a clatter. “By all the gods,” he said in astonishment. “What was I doing?”

“That’s what I’d like to know,” Conor said grimly. “Now get out of there.”

The boy shook his head in confusion as he came out. “I—I don’t understand,” he said as Conor gripped his shoulder roughly. His eyes filled with fear. “I was asleep and— Where did Osric go? I heard him playing. Or—did I dream that?” He looked around. “I was in bed. How am I here?” he begged.

Conor shook him. “Don’t mock me, boy—you’re in enough trouble as it is. Now what were you doing?”

The boy whimpered. “Beast Healer, please! I don’t know. I was asleep, I tell you!” Tears welled up in his eyes. “Please—you’re hurting me!”

Master Edlunn held up the lantern. “Easy, Conor. Look at him; he does have the look of someone just waking up. What’s your name, lad?”

“Robie,” the boy snuffled. “And I swear I don’t—”

“What’s going on here?”

Conor turned to see Lord Portis’s stablemaster, Tuerin, clad only in his breeches, come down the ladder from the sleeping quarters upstairs.

The stablemaster came to a stop. “And what,” he said with cold anger, “are you doing to my son, Beast Healer?” As he spoke, a few of the grooms appeared, their faces unfriendly. One reached for a hay fork.

“Your son?” Conor said in astonishment, letting go of the boy, who ran to his father’s side. “Then why was he in Lightning’s stall?”

“
In
the stall?” Tuerin asked. He looked at his son. “What were you doing
in
the stall? You were supposed to sleep in the empty stall next to Lightning’s.”

He looked at Conor. “As you asked, Beast Healer, no one’s been allowed into Lightning’s stall; we’ve even posted a stable hand by it to make certain it was left undisturbed. Robie begged to be allowed to watch at night. I thought it would do no harm.”

Conor thought he knew what he meant by “no harm.” No harm to the boy anyway; if it was illness or magery that had killed Summer Lightning, it had already done its work.

Tuerin went on, “Boy, that stall hasn’t even been cleaned out. What were you thinking, sleeping in all that muck?”

“He wasn’t sleeping, stablemaster,” Master Edlunn said quietly. “He was sweeping out the manger.”

“What!” Tuerin turned on his son, a hand lifted to box his ears.

“I was doing
what
?” Robie squeaked, dodging.

Conor stared at him and held up a hand to check Tuerin.
The boy truly doesn’t remember.
Then, aloud, “Do you sleepwalk often, Robie?”

Tuerin’s hand fell and he looked at his son in concern.

“No! Never—at least, I don’t think so.…” Robie bit his lip in confusion.

“Hmm—you did this time, son,” said Master Edlunn soothingly. He smiled at Robie. “Don’t worry, lad; no one’s going to hurt you, I promise.”

Conor recognized the voice Edlunn used on frightened animals. It was sometimes effective on humans as well, particularly children. Robie was perhaps a bit old for it, but it seemed to be working, particularly when Master Edlunn went on in that same soft, soothing tone, “Now then, lad—you said you were dreaming? Can you remember about what?”

Robie visibly relaxed. He looked up at Master Edlunn. “I’m not certain, sir. I remember thinking that I had to clean Lightning’s stall for him before he came back to it. It had to be perfect for him because…” He swiped at his eyes. “Be-because he’d won the Queen’s…”

Here he broke down and buried his face against his father. Tuerin stroked his head.

Master Edlunn cleared his throat. “I think Robie can go back to sleep now—upstairs. Could we have a few more lanterns?”

Tuerin nodded and herded his son up into the loft as the grooms fetched lanterns for the Beast Healers.

*   *   *

They’d gone over the stall from one end to the other. Master Edlunn even scraped up some of Lightning’s droppings into a small wooden box he pulled from his scrip.

“I’ve not seen anything amiss yet, have you? Didn’t think so. I’d like to look at what was in the manger,” he said, straightening up with a grunt. “Anything left?”

“Only a few bits,” Conor replied. “If there was much there when Robie started, it’s trodden into the straw and muck now.”

“Worth looking at now?”

Conor shook his head. “Even with all these lanterns, the light’s not very good here. I’ve another small box—shall we put the bits into that and take them with us?”

“Good idea.”

When it was done, they blew out the lanterns and set off for the Beast Healers’ encampment.

Forty-one

Raven trotted up the trail
that ran alongside the racecourse. A few wisps of morning mist still lay across the path like gossamer ribbons and twined among the trees. Soon, he knew, they’d burn off, but for the moment they made the forest a magical place.

A pity there had been no way to get word to Yarrow about the honor Lord Sevrynel had done him this day; he’d forgotten to ask one of the Dragonlords to mindspeak her. True, he wasn’t a course marshal—he couldn’t hope for that—but to be one of the messengers for the Queen’s Chase was considered a privilege.

He looked up at the sun.
The race must have started by now.
He was sorry he couldn’t see it or the finish, but this part of the course was thick woods. He ticked off the route in his mind: first came a string of open meadows, then some woods, followed by fields with a series of fences to jump, another stretch of forest—this one—with twisting trails and streams and fallen trees to jump, and finally back to the meadow where the race began.

Until then, he would patrol his route, riding between the tall slabs of stone that marked his section, the downhill section of the last field and well into the woods. He pulled Stormwind to a halt as he heard the thunder of hoofbeats coming toward him. Moments later two horses came over the crest of the small hill and down the straightaway that led into the forest. The horses ran neck and neck, their riders jockeying for position as the track narrowed before it entered the woods.