Immortal (25 page)

Gingerly, I put a hand against Savhoran's back, between his shoulders. His skin was ice cold and I abandoned shyness as I wrapped my arm around his shoulders and pressed against him, sharing my body heat. He looked ready to pass out. Blood trickled from his neck wound down his bare chest.

The broth was steaming now. Madóran held a spoonful up to Savhoran's lips and murmured to him again. The words sounded like water rippling down a stream. I had to learn this language.

With Madóran's coaxing, Savhoran drank several spoonfuls of the broth. He then started shivering, and I looked at Madóran for guidance. He should be getting warmer, not colder.

“He is in shock. Would you bring a blanket from the bed?”

I fetched two and wrapped one around Savhoran's shoulders, the other around his legs. Madóran managed to get him to drink about half the bowl of broth before he went limp. I grabbed him to keep him from falling, and with Madóran's help gently lowered him onto his back, then rearranged the blankets to cover him.

Madóran put a hand on Savhoran's brow and another over the neck wound. He stood that way for several minutes, frowning. At last he looked up.

“He is weak, but to delay might endanger him further. I will treat the wound now.”

I nodded and helped clear the area. Madóran directed me to press a folded cloth against the wound while he prepared his tools. I did so, watching for signs that Savhoran was returning to consciousness. Madóran hadn't given him any of the drug he'd given Caeran, unless he'd slipped it into the broth.

This was going to be bad. No drugs, and the wound was worse.

The smell of hot metal rose in the room. I closed my eyes, calling up the white light again, as much to shield me from distress as to protect my thoughts.

“Sing to him, Lenore.”

“He's unconscious—”

“That does not matter. Take his hand and sing to him. It will help.”

Keeping one hand pressed against the wound, I slid the other under the blanket and took hold of Savhoran's cold fingers. What to sing? Not “Sorry Her Lot”—that was really inappropriate this time.

I fixed on “Ubi caritas et amor,” a Gregorian chant I'd learned in high school chorus that had sent me on a prolonged chant phase. I began to sing it softly, over and over. The words were Christian, which maybe wasn't terribly appropriate either, but the melody was what mattered; melody and vowels. I'd heard that “Ah” was a sacred sound in many cultures—part of the reason for “Amen”—and this chant had plenty of “Ahs.”

Savhoran's fingers clenched on mine and he made a small sound as Madóran began cauterizing the wound. I squeezed back and kept singing, switching chants now and then. Couldn't tell if Savhoran was conscious, and didn't dare open my eyes to check. I kept thinking of white light, sending some of it to him, trying to ignore the smells and sounds of what Madóran was doing.

It seemed to go on forever. I coughed once, and wished for a glass of water, but I went on singing. After going through all my favorite chants, I came back to “Ubi caritas,” and had just finished the second verse when I felt a lightening, as if the sun had risen in the room.

I looked up and saw Madóran gazing down at Savhoran, his hand on the patient's brow. Oh, thank god, it was over.

I sang the “Amen” of the chant, then fell silent. Madóran stood motionless, wreathed in golden light. Savhoran's fingers relaxed in my hand.

For a long time we were still. My hand was going to sleep, but I didn't want to disturb Savhoran by moving it. At last Madóran stepped back, and I withdrew at the same time.

He was frowning, dissatisfied. I adjusted the blankets and waited for instructions. Madóran turned away, going to the counter and collecting his tools. I gathered up all the used cloths and Savhoran's shirt while Madóran filled a tray. I poured water into the glass I'd brought and left it within Savhoran's reach.

He hadn't moved, and his forehead was contorted with pain. I felt helpless, and wished I knew better what to do for him.

Madóran opened the door, and I followed him out, bringing the laundry. He paused to close the door, then stood with his hand on it for a moment. He looked worried.

“What is it?” I whispered.

He looked at me. “I may have been too late.”

It frightened me even though I didn't fully understand what would happen if he was right. I swallowed.

“You did everything you could.”

He nodded. “But that does not make failure easier.”

“Maybe you didn't fail.”

“Time will tell.”

He turned away, heading down the
portal
. I followed him to the laundry room, where I put the cloths and shirt into the washer. Remembering my own laundry, I rinsed my hands in the work sink. Madóran made room for me.

“Did you get a chance to eat?” I asked.

“Yes, earlier.”

“Anything else I can do?”

He glanced up at me. “No. Thank you, Lenore. You have been a great help.”

This was gratifying, though I suspected he could have done without me. I started to pull my things out of the dryer.

“I would not have done as well without you. You have an instinct for healing.”

Blushing, I mumbled a thank-you, and with my arms full of laundry, headed back to my room. I yawned, and wondered what time it was. Dead phone and no clocks in the place that I knew of. It didn't matter, I guessed.

Putting away the clothes took all of three minutes. I was tired, but I didn't want to turn in yet.

The fire had died down to coals, so I scooped them together with the poker and added a couple of pieces of wood, then coaxed a flame out of them by blowing on the coals. I sat there warming my hands until I was sure it wouldn't go out.

There were only three pieces of wood left in the bin. Have to get more tomorrow. The woodpile was outside the house—I'd seen it as I was driving in, a huge wall of cut firewood stacked along the driveway as it continued into the property. I would have to ask for an escort while I fetched wood.

I glanced toward the open door. I wanted to see Caeran, to reassure myself that I hadn't imagined his interest. Silly, I knew, but I was bedazzled and insecure.

He was probably in the front room with the others. I hadn't seen any of them walking around, so I assumed the great debate was back in session. I went out and along the
portal
to the north door into the room, and listened.

Voices. Not as strident as before. I opened the door a crack and peeked through.

Everyone but Savhoran was there. Madóran leaned against the wall beside the door into the entryway. Caeran sat with Tiruli by the fire, holding her hand.

My hackles rose. I told myself he was just comforting her. She did look pretty glum; staring at the floor instead of paying attention to the discussion.

One of the men was talking, his back to me. I looked away from Caeran and started listening to what the speaker was saying.

“We cannot afford to wait. We know how to lure him here; let us do it.”

“It would place her in deadly danger,” said Nathrin. Mirali, beside him, shot him a glance that I couldn't read.

“We can protect her,” said the first guy.

He was one of the ones I hadn't met until recently, and I had completely spaced his name. Annoyed with myself, I looked at each face in the room in turn and tried to remember the name that went with it. Nathrin and Mirali were easy. Tiruli next to Caeran, and the guy sitting on her other side was Lomen. Faranin I remembered because it reminded me of Faramir. The guy with his back to me was Bir—Bir—something.

Caeran was frowning. “It is not our decision. She is not some lesser creature to be used as we will. The choice must be hers.”

“If you asked her, she might be inclined to agree,” said Bir-whatever.

Caeran's eyes narrowed, and I began to have a bad feeling that they were talking about me. Madóran's head came up, and he looked straight at me.

Oops. White light, white light.

“There is another possibility,” Madóran said. He was looking at the speaker now, not me. He ignored me as he went on. “Gehmanin came here seeking me. Let me serve as the lure.”

“No!” cried the others. Mirali looked alarmed and half rose from her chair. Several of them started talking at once, all protesting Madóran's suggestion.

“Your skills are too valuable to be risked,” Nathrin said above the others. “I am sure any of us would place ourselves in danger rather than it be you.”

Madóran smiled wryly. “My skills have not been available to you for centuries. It would hardly be a loss to you.”

“Madóran, no,” said Mirali in a worried voice. “We are so grateful to have found you.”

Caeran spoke up. “Let it be me. He will want to finish our dispute.”

Madóran shook his head. “You have not recovered your strength.”

“I am well enough.”

“Gehmanin is not to be underestimated!” Madóran's eyes flashed as his gaze swept around the gathered ælven. “You must all see that. If he was able to isolate and defeat Savhoran—”

“He was not defeated!” said Faranin. “We intervened—”

“And he may yet die, or worse!”

I heard a note of anguish in Madóran's voice that made my heart ache. He had done all he could for Savhoran, and it might not be enough.

The shock of his shouting had silenced the others. Fear hung heavy in the room; dread of a solitary monster who had once been one of them.

I opened the door and stepped in. All eyes turned to me, and two or three of the ælven scowled. Ignoring that, I looked at Madóran.

“I thought I should ask if there's anything I can do to help.”

“Thank you, Lenore, but this is not your battle. You must stay here in safety.”

The first speaker, Bir-something, turned to me. “Actually, there is a way you can help. We have been discussing how to lure the alben close to the house again, so that we may capture him. You could help us by showing yourself outside.”

My stomach clenched, a reaction I wasn't expecting. Sweat broke out in my palms. The memory of my last trip outside set me trembling.

“I can do that,” I said.

Caeran shook his head, frowning. “Len, no.”

“We will be in wait, of course,” said Bir-something to me, smiling now. “You will not be harmed.”

“She was promised that before!” Caeran stood, dropping Tiruli's hand and striding toward me. “I will not risk failing her again.”

“You could accompany her. That would improve her safety, and perhaps entice Gehmanin to come forward.”

I frowned. “Wait—no—”

“I will not let you go out alone,” Caeran said.

I bristled, but this was not the time for a discussion of my rights. I knew he meant well, and inside I was secretly pleased by his protectiveness.

“Look, how do we even know he'll come back here? Maybe you scared him off.”

“He will return,” Madóran said. I met his gaze, and realized he was thinking of the past.

Quickly dropping that thought, I re-envisioned my shield, then turned to the instigator. Bironan—that was his name.

“What do you plan to do when he shows up?”

He stared back at me, surprised. Apparently they hadn't thought that far.

“If you're outside he'll know, won't he? He'll be able to sense you.”

“We can mask our khi. If we wait along the north side of the house …”

“He will sense you,” Madóran said. “He is older than any of you, unless I am mistaken. Do not underestimate him.”

“And anyway, what if he's watching from the north?” I added.

Bironan frowned. Caeran came up beside me, his arm brushing mine and making my skin tingle.

“He may be outside even now,” he said.

“So there's no way to set up any surprises for him.” I looked from Bironan to Madóran for confirmation. Madóran gave a grim nod. “Then whoever is going to be the cavalry will have to wait at the door, and come out as soon as he shows. When do you want to stage this?”

“By day,” Bironan said. “He will be at a disadvantage.”

“He might not approach in daylight,” Madóran said. “Before dawn or at dusk would be better.”

“Before dawn, then. If he does not come, we try again at dusk.”

Ugh. I hoped he would show up the first time. I wasn't looking forward to this.

Caeran slid his arm around my waist. I could feel the disapproval in the room. I looked at him, and he smiled.

“At dawn, we venture out to your car.”

“Or to the woodpile. I'm almost out of firewood.”

“The woodpile,” Madóran said, suddenly intense. “He will be less likely to suspect an ambush there, and we can come at him from two directions.”