City of Sorcerers (11 page)

You've got to do something!"

Gabria took a cloth and wiped Coren's skin. Her hands were shaking. "I've read the
Book of Matrah
from cover to cover and I can't find a single healing spell," she cried softly. "I don't know what I can do."

"There's got to be something we can try," Kelene insisted. "Maybe we could wrap him in damp blankets to lower his temperature."

Athlone and Lymira came to kneel by Coren's side, their faces deeply worried.

"Perhaps we could transfer some of our strength to Coren to help his body fight the disease," Athlone offered.

Gabria considered that. Magic-wielders used a combination of mental and physical strength to control the power of magic. They often joined their strength together to maintain difficult spells, but Gabria had never tried giving her energy to a much smaller, weaker person who was unable to control his own power. She didn't know what to expect. She could only hope that the combination of the added strength and lower body temperature would give Coren the help he needed to beat the disease invading his body.

She nodded at last, without lifting her eyes from her son's face. ''It's worth a try."

Kelene and Lymira grabbed two blankets from the pallets and together dashed from the tent to the river. They were back in a few minutes, lugging the wet blankets between them, and they wrapped the cool fabric over and around their little brother.

He moaned once before lapsing into a restless sleep.

Ever so carefully Gabria laid her fingers on Coren's head and trickled some of her own considerable strength through her fingertips into the boy's body. Athlone and Lymira watched and waited, while Kelene kept her hands pressed flat to Coren's arm, her eyes closed as if concentrating on something only she could hear.

The spell seemed to work at first. Coren's breathing slowed and the fiery red in his cheeks faded to a dull flush. Kelene opened her eyes, looked up at Gabria, and smiled. Then her smile slipped. "His heart is beating faster," Kelene whispered.

Gabria, leaning closer, saw it was true. Coren's pulse pounded in his neck; he began to struggle to breathe.

"Mother, stop!" Kelene cried at once. "Stop! He can't take it."

Gabria yanked her fingers away and stared in dismay at her son. His pulse slowed down to normal, but the deadly red flush crept back into his face. When she touched him again, his skin was fiery hot.

"I'm sorry," Kelene said, on the verge of tears. "His body couldn't tolerate the added strength. It was making his heart work too hard."

Lymira looked at her older sister with some surprise. "How did you know that?"

she asked quietly, but Kelene only glanced at her distracted parents and shook her head.

A bitter silence filled the chief’s tent. The family stared at one another in a confusion of anxiety and dismay. No one knew what to say in the face of their disappointment. They understood what had to be done next---no matter how desperately they wanted to avoid it---but no one was ready to make the first move.

Gabria's own mind felt paralyzed. "I won't take him down there," she whispered finally.

"We have to," said Athlone. The hard truth trembled on the edge of his voice.

Gabria shuddered as if shaking off his words. "No!"

"Gabria, there is no choice. We tried, but we can't stop his fever. Now we have to keep the disease from spreading."

"It already has!" she hissed as she grasped Coren's hand in her own.

The chieftain blinked hard and nodded toward their daughters. "Do you want it to go farther?"

Gabria said nothing while she grappled with her fears. She knew Athlone was right, but she also knew that, so far, not one person had recovered from this disease.

Every instinct in her screamed not to abandon her little boy to the council tent.

Her chin lifted. "Then I will take him," she said quietly, "and I will stay with him."

Lymira gasped with dismay. Kelene looked wildly at their father to stop Gabria.

But he only looked from Coren's feverish face to Gabria's set expression.

"It has been two days since you set up the hospital. There are over forty sick people by now and more coming every day. The healers are being overwhelmed," she said, her voice soft and full of resignation. "They need help. If I go, I can give Coren and Tam the attention they need and do what I can to aid the healers."

"You won't be able to come back here right away," Athlone reminded her.

"Mother, you can't go'" Lymira cried. Tears trickled down her fair face, and her eyes were enormous in the dim light.

Gabria touched her cheek. "I'll be all right. Just pray to Amara to watch over Coren." She scooped the boy into her arms and stood up, her features fixed with a grim determination. The chieftain picked off her golden cloak from a loop on the tent pole, draped it over her shoulders, and pushed aside the flap.

Gabria gave her daughters a smile of love and encouragement and, with Athlone at her side, walked out into the darkness. Nara and Eurus left their customary places by the tent to come with them. Silently Athlone and Gabria made their way down the empty paths toward the council grove. The night was muggy and warm, and lightning flickered on the northern horizon. Coren lay still, his eyes closed and his fingers wrapped around the folds of Gabria's rumpled tunic.

At the edge of camp, Athlone stopped to say a few words to the guards. Gabria waited quietly while they talked, treasuring these last few moments alone with her son. She was staring at Coren's face when, without warning, the two Hunnuli neighed a furious challenge.

Gabria's head snapped up. Just beyond, in the dense black shadows of the night, hovered a form. Tall as a man, nebulous as smoke, it glowed with a lurid red light that repulsed her. She curved her body protectively over her son, her mouth twisted in a snarl of rage. "No! Stay away from me," she screamed. "You will not get this child!"

In one motion, Athlone and the guards drew their swords and lunged toward the form. At the same time, the Hunnuli charged forward. But Gabria was faster. Shifting Coren's weight to one arm, she raised her free hand and sent a brilliant blue bolt of magical energy searing past the horses toward the phantom figure. The bolt lit up the grass with its radiance as it streaked toward its target. It struck the form dead-center, only to pass through and explode harmlessly on the ground behind it.

The ghastly form emanated a sound like harsh laughter and vanished, leaving behind a putrid smell of rotten carrion. The men came to a stop by Gabria.

"Gods above!" One of the guards exclaimed. "What was that thing?"

Gabria didn't answer. She had never seen a thing like that before. "Did you recognize that form?" she asked the Hunnuli.

Both horses were very agitated and upset.
No,
snorted Nara.
Hunnuli have never
known anything like that.

It smelled foul,
Eurus added, the disgust heavy in his thought.

Whatever the form was, Gabria knew without a trace of doubt that it was evil.

She had sensed a powerful cognizance in that brief moment of visibility and had felt an almost palpable aura of hate and obsession that sent her senses reeling. She clasped Coren tighter to her chest. The being wanted something, of that she was certain, something that seemed to be connected to this gathering and the clanspeople. There had to be more than just coincidence that the form and the epidemic had appeared at the same time.

She glanced at Athlone as he slid his sword back into its sheepskin scabbard and saw the angry, thoughtful lines on his face. He must have reached a similar conclusion, for he said, 'Tm going to talk to Ordan." He took her arm, and they continued warily across the open space toward the grove of trees by the river. The big tent in the center was lit from within by lamps and torches. They could see vague shadows moving across the canvas walls and the black shape of Tam's Hunnuli where he stood patiently by the tent, as close to his rider as he could be.

Even at that late hour there were people moving about the grove, some bringing in more supplies or more sick, some merely waiting for news of their loved ones. A sad, wrenching undertone of moans, cries of pain, and soft wailing filled the night air.

At the open entrance to the tent, Athlone stopped his wife and, cupping her chin in his hands, he looked down into the deep green jewels of her eyes to the love and courage he always found there. "I will do what I can," he said simply.

She leaned into his hand. "So will I."

He kissed her and Coren, then trudged away before his own courage faltered.

Gabria did not wait to see him go. She was afraid if she did, she would go running after him. Instead she forced herself to walk into the hot, noisy, reeking tent.

Even then she almost fled.

Too much had changed for the worse since the tent had been transformed into a hospital. Forty-seven people of all ages now lay on pallets in several long rows. The clan healers had been working in shifts nonstop, but they were too few to keep up with the endless task of helping so many seriously ill people. The tent was a mess of discarded rags, bandages, dirty blankets, old poultices, and buckets brimming with indescribable contents. The combined heavy smells of blood, vomit, torch smoke, and burning incense struck Gabria's nose in a raw stench. A few of the sick were crying, many were unconscious, and judging from the still, covered forms lying at one end of the tent, some were already dead. Worse, Gabria saw two of the healers, one Jehanan and the other a Wylfling, lying among the sick.

She was looking for a place to put Coren when Gehlyn came hurrying past the pallets. "Lady Gabria, please. Give me your son and leave. I will do what I can for him."

She took a close look at the healer's face and was deeply concerned by what she saw. "You can barely take care of yourself, Gehlyn. Have you had any sleep or food?"

He grimaced. "I'm not hungry."

"You're not well, either!"

"I can still care for the sick," he said forcefully, even though he looked like he could barely stand.

"So can I," Gabria returned mildly. "I am not leaving my son alone here."

"But, Lady. . ."

She shook her head. "Victims are coming faster than the healers can handle. You need help." Before he could argue further, she found an open place in the row near Tam and laid Coren down on a blanket. A gasp of dismay slipped out at the sight of her friend. The poisonous boils had spread over Tam's body, and even as Gabria stood immobile, the woman suddenly retched and vomited blood over her chest and neck.

The white cat meowed piteously.

Gehlyn picked up a scrap of cloth and moved to clean up the blood, but Gabria plucked the rag from his fingers. Kneeling by Tam's side, she swallowed hard to force down her tears and gently wiped away the blood and vomit.

Tam's eyes flickered open once, and a ghostly smile crossed her lips. Then she sighed and slipped again into unconsciousness.

Gabria looked up, stricken. "Have you found anything that will help these people?"

Gehlyn bowed his head, his gray gaze nearly lost in the shadows around his eyes.

"We've tried everything," he groaned. "Every powder, poultice, infusion, herb, or mixture we could find. We interrogated the merchants and searched through their foreign medicines. All in vain. There is nothing in our experiences or our tales that gives us any help. The only thing that has given the sick some slight relief is a plant from the north called angelica. A merchant from Pra Desh had it. He said it was used in his city to ward off the plague. We tried making a strong tea of cottonwood buds and angelica, and it seems to ease the fever for a short while, but we are almost out of our supply."

"Show me where it is," Gabria said tersely.

The healer hesitated while he tried to think of some way to get her to leave, then, with a weary shrug, he decided it was too late. The healers did need help badly, and besides, it was very difficult to win an argument against Lady Gabria. He picked a way through the mess of debris, belongings, and pallets and led Gabria to the fire pit in the center of the tent. A small cauldron was simmering over a low bed of coals tended by a sleepy young apprentice.

Gehlyn picked up a pitifully small handful of dried leaves and small white flowers. "This is all there is."

Without a reply, Gabria took them from his hand and went outside the tent.

Gehlyn followed curiously. He watched while she pulled several handfuls of grass and put them in a pile by the entrance.

When she was satisfied, Gabria came to kneel by the pile. She laid the angelica down beside it and stayed there studying the small white flowers, the thick stalks, and the leaves. The flowers had a faint, honey like fragrance, and the stalk had a sweet, hardy flavor that reminded Gabria of anise.

As soon as she was certain that she knew the plant well enough, she closed her eyes and began to pull in the forces of magic around her. Her words formed a spell that shaped the magic to her bidding; her strength of will put the spell into motion.

She raised her hand over the pile of grass, and before Gehlyn could ask what she was doing, she transformed the grass into a heap of angelica.

"It's not much," she said apologetically as she handed the stalks to the healer, "but I've never tried that spell with an unfamiliar plant. I will make more later if this is effective."

He gazed down at her handiwork and a weary smile warmed his face. "That's why you needed the grass," he remarked.

Gabria touched the stalks in his hand. "Magic-wielders cannot create things out of thin air." She sighed a breath of frustration. "There are a great many things we cannot do."

"Well, thank you for the herbs," he said gratefully. "I don't suppose you can use magic to heal these people."

She bit her lip. "I've thought of nothing else. But I don't know how. We have lost all the old skills."

"Didn't the sorcerers at Moy Tura have healing records?"

At the mention of Moy Tura, something shifted in Gabria's memory. There had been a reference to an old healing guild in a book she had read in the library at the Citadel of Krath. A guild could explain why there were no healing spells in the
Book
of Matrah
and the lack of oral history about healing spells. "How do you know?" she asked.