Orb and arrow, p.20
Orb and Arrow, page 20
“Nor in mine,” he replied, coming down from safety as she scrambled off the rock.
“Well done, my fine archer, well done; the golems were well struck. It’s hard to decide if they have vital spots except for where the rocks are joined,” Elden called as he approached. Nearing, he added, “There may be a time when we need to do something like this. It was good practice for you. Now, let’s see what we can find among the shards.”
Most of the kills, if they could be called that, had disappeared. Watching Elden, she bent over, running her hand over the short scrub and dirt, striking something hard then holding it up into the sun, amazed. He had moved to the second golem.
“Elden?” She turned to him, holding up her hand where a diamond the size of a small egg glimmered and shown in her hand.
“On your first kill? Look at the size of it! Fit for a king’s crown, that.” He came over and took the gem. “Best check the third.” He held the gem up to the light, shaking his head.
“Just these,” she said on her return, holding out her hand. Three small gems glittered there, and he could only stare.
“I have seen many things in the Wild, but these? On your first kills? The first has no flaws!” He examined the smaller gems. “A bad flaw in one, the others are perfect. And on your first kill.” He shook his head again. “Stow them; we should move off.”
She put them in a belt pouch as he began to move. “On her first kill,” she could hear him muttering as he began a smooth trot, and she grinned as she followed.
They pushed hard for the rest of the day, eating rations as they moved. When he finally called a halt, Brillar was exhausted despite the spells she cast. When the Ward was set and the fire lit, Elden put his hand out for the gems, looking at them in the firelight.
“If you will now, please explain?” she asked.
“As I said, there are welling up of mana and magic creatures all over these hills, although diamond golems such as we found are very, very rare. Even without my spells, you would have downed them, but it was faster with spells. They are what draw some into the Wild. We could leave the Wild now—no, let me finish—return to Laurenfell or any other settled place, and want for nothing. Of course, that was true before we set out for the Wild.”
He handed her the gems. “Put the three good gems in the foldbox and the flawed one in a belt pouch. And from now on, wear the wolf claws.”
She tilted her head at him in an unspoken question as she did so.
“Rovers could be camped nearby. They can be bargained with, and the claws we will both wear,” he had taken out a long necklace of claws, “will suggest that we are to be left alone.”
“If we’re not?” She watched him in the firelight.
“Then we shall see. The foldboxes mark us, so they’re best kept stowed in our packs.”
“A moment,” Brillar said and opened the foldbox, removing herbs and powders, then closed it and stowed it.
“These will show me a healer,” she said. “I imagine even Rovers need the occasional healer?”
“They have their own, but who knows their skill? Always good to be prepared.” He settled back. “Rovers have their own customs,” Elden explained. “And they vary widely. The Rovers I met when I was a student with Verian were quiet enough, even friendly. One group of families camped near us for a while, and they were good neighbors, but we’re deeper in the Wild than I ever ventured.”
They spent three quiet days moving through the Wild, although both now wore leather armor even when sleeping. They had found several springs, but one had been surrounded by animal bones, suggesting it was unhealthy or that something nearby was waiting for the unwary. They were in the low hills now, and the mountains in the distance could be seen in more detail. The ground was less dry, the trees a bit taller, suggesting water nearby.
One morning, she woke to a hand on her arm.
“Make ready,” he whispered. “They’re just outside the range of the Ward.” He scooped it up quickly as she prepared her bow.
“And now?”
He could feel her tension. Tension, but not fear. More interesting every day, this apprentice of mine, he mused. “Now, we wait. They’ll be watching, and they must know we’re awake. If we more off, we’re easily surrounded. We stay, keep our backs to the rocks and wait.” Elden settled back down.
They waited. It was nearly noon when he said, “Do you see them? Rise slowly, bow ready, and make sure the claws can be seen.” She did as she was told as more than a dozen men came towards them, well-spaced, their own weapons ready.
One stepped forward. “You are in our territory,” he said, his accent harsh but understandable.
“We meant no intrusion,” said Elden, spreading his arms, holding them low in a gesture meant to project harmlessness. “We merely came to take our chance in the Wild as many have.”
The man gave a gruff laugh and was echoed by those closest to him. “With a lass?”
“The lass,” replied Elden politely, “wears an odd necklace for a woman, don’t you think?”
Another laugh greeted that. “Claws can be given,” the leader started, but stopped as an arrow hissed into the ground at his feet. Another arrow was already nocked and ready.
“And a ‘lass’ can collect what she wears,” came Brillar’s quiet retort. “Or perhaps you would like another demonstration?”
“Calmly, woman,” said Elden sternly, then, to the Rover, “She’s a bit headstrong as you can see.”
“What is one bow against many?” the Rover replied, although he did look at the arrow less than a finger’s breadth from his foot.
“Two dead, before I fall, and you first,” she snapped at him.
“Woman, QUIET,” Elden shouted at her, sensing something she hadn’t. He gestured and smiled ruefully at the Rover. “She has taken some taming.”
At that, the man roared with laughter and there were echoes all around. “Then you have your hands full. I suggest you give her the flat of your sword now and again to season her.”
Brillar’s aim had never left the man’s heart. “So Rovers must ‘season’ their women to keep them?” Her voice was full of scorn.
That brought her a stern look. Then a forced laugh at Elden’s problem. “Are you sure she’s worth the trouble? Perhaps we should take her off your hands.” There was more rough laughter.
“Many thanks for the offer, but I have some time invested in her and would hate to have to begin again.” Elden’s hand came up and pushed her bow down, although it went reluctantly. “Besides, she’s a healer of some skill and useful… at times.” Now there was a warning for her in his voice.
There was more laughter, but one of the men left his place and crossed to whisper in the leader’s ear, gesturing at Brillar.
“My friend reminds me that his son took a bad fall from some rocks. His eldest boy, although not yet of man height. If your ‘healer’ can keep her bow tucked away?”
Brillar held the bow down and relaxed her stance, then nodded.
“Blindfold them,” came the command, and a man started forward.
The bow was up at once, aim steady. “If I am to be trusted with healing, I will see where I walk,” she said firmly.
Elden simply shrugged at the leader, who laughed even more.
“Well said, for a woman, well said,” he replied, but there was a sneer in his voice. “Put down the bow then and follow if you can.” The last words were a challenge. With a gesture, he gathered his men and started off at a run.
Elden groaned and took off, with her trailing.
*** 17 ***
The Rovers ran at a steady pace; if Elden and Brillar hadn’t been hardened, they would have fallen behind. “And that,” puffed Elden, “would never do,” as he muttered spells to renew them as they ran.
It was two hours before they reached an encampment by the only running water they had seen. Elden’s spells meant they arrived only slightly out of breath.
“These travelers are welcome among us,” the leader called out as the camp stirred. Children came out to stare or hold their mother’s legs and peek at them while dogs barked at them from tethers. Men stood as they passed, most dressed in short leggings of animal hide and sandals. Some were bare-chested; others wore sleeveless shirts of cloth or leather. All carried belt knives, but other weapons were evident—swords, long and short, spears and the occasional ax. The leader gestured to the camp as several armed men stepped forward.
“They take no harm here. Obis,” he called, and the man came up, “take them to your son.”
Obis appeared to be in his thirties, strongly built, with dark eyes and a steady gaze. His arms and chest were heavily tattooed. He led them up a slight hill next to the stream. The camp was in a gently sloping valley. Rovers were camped on both sides of the stream, which was no wider than two paces across but seemed to have a steady flow. The tents nearest the water seemed better than those behind them. All were a good size, however, broad and deep, made of varied materials. Doors and some walls were made of blankets, thick and thin, some whole and some patched. Skins covered the tops of the tents, which were pitched with long branches of a wood Brillar hadn’t seen before. Most had flaps at the side facing the stream. There were small fires in front of some of the tents. Glancing around, she could see that cooking seemed to be done at a large, communal fire where an oversized kettle was hung alongside a spit of roasting meat. Women tended the fire and the kettle, and she could see a second fire some distance from the first.
The Rovers seemed a clean people. Brillar had expected a rank odor when she saw the size of the camp, but these people evidently moved away from the tents when they needed to relieve themselves. The clothing she saw around her was dusty but not ragged. In all, she counted more than forty tents around the stream and one farther away. Behind her, there was some activity. When she glanced back, she could see men putting up a small tent set away from the others. A look at Elden, and he said, “A guest tent, I imagine. Away from the others but close enough that they can keep an eye on us.”
Obis led them to a large tent, pulled back the flap, and secured it. A woman in her late twenties stood up as they entered, a second knelt by a boy of perhaps eleven who lay motionless on his bedding.
“She’s a healer,” Obis told them as Brillar moved to the boy’s side, thrusting her bow at Elden.
“Our healer,” he said, gesturing to the woman who had stood, “much good she has done him.” He pushed the woman out of the tent. “And my wife,” he gestured to the kneeling woman who looked at Brillar with anxious eyes.
“More light,” Brillar told them, “and clean water.” To the woman, but quietly, “What herbs do you have?” Seeing them, she shook her head and removed her pack.
“I said light; remove the top of the tent if you have to.” Obis and Elden scrambled to the task.
Brillar ran her hands over the boy. His body was hot with fever, his breathing harsh, but he was still as she probed. “Ribs, internal injury, his head, how long has it been?”
“Two days.” There were tears in his mother’s voice.
“Two cups of hot water for herbs. Now!” she snapped when no one moved. She looked at Elden and shook her head.
“It can’t be helped. I have to open it.” He clenched his jaw but nodded.
Brillar dumped her pack quickly and pulled out the foldbox. A crowd that included the leader had gathered, but she opened the box, pulling out her orb and more herbs. She could hear muttering and astonishment from the small crowd. Cups of hot water were set down near her as she closed the box. She crushed the herbs and moved the orb over them, then set the cups aside.
To his credit, Obis pushed everyone away. “Move back, be still, let the healing be done.” A few words from the leader were more helpful. “Everybody, MOVE,” he bellowed. They moved.
In the light, Brillar now moved the orb over the boy’s chest, muttering spells. Up and down the boy’s body, went her hand and the orb, searching for damaged bones and organs. She dipped her fingers in one of the cups of herbs and painted them over his chest and upper belly, still speaking spells. The boy moved slightly and made a small noise in his throat. Still, she moved the orb, holding it over one place, then another. The boy moved his head, and she turned him on his side so he could vomit weakly.
“Hold him like that,” she told his mother, “there’ll be more.”
Now she painted the boy’s back with the heated herbs and moved the orb. The boy vomited, again and again; those left nearby moved away at the stench until only the boy’s mother remained. Feeling her need, Elden moved away from the crowd and muttered under his breath, renewing her.
Setting the orb down, Brillar took more herbs, rubbed them between her hands then moistened them in with herbal water from a cup.
“Now his head.” She smeared the herbs on the bruise at the back of the boy’s head, murmuring spells. The deep bruise, swollen and purple, oozed out rank, clotted blood. Brillar took up the orb and spoke spells over his head.
The boy’s eyes fluttered, and his mother’s hand went to his cheek. “I fell,” he said, “tell Da… sorry.” His eyes closed in sleep, not in pain. Beside him, his mother looked at Brillar, who nodded. His mother’s face crumpled into tears.
Obis was instantly in the tent, his knife in his hand, ready to kill if his son was dead, but he only heard, “He lives, he lives,” in choking sobs from his wife.
“We’ll need cleaning here and at once,” were Brillar’s directions. “Water and sweet herbs to clear the air, clean cloths, something for his head.”
Someone thrust a rolled blanket into her hands and she placed the boy’s head on it gently. “He is to have nothing but herbal teas and broths until I say he is ready.” There were nods from husband and wife. Obis looked dumbfounded, stricken. “All others are to be kept away, no excitement for him.” More nods. “Your name?” she asked the mother gently.
“Obiswife,” was the reply.
“Obiswife? Do you have another name?” she asked quietly. Wife looked at husband, and he nodded.
“Norrel,” was the soft answer.
“Well then, Norrel, you should rest now. A few hours,” she said kindly, “I’ll need to watch him.”
As they spoke, the woman who had stood when she first entered the tent had come in and cleaned what she could. A girl also joined them, carrying a boiling pot of sweet herbs. Setting it down, she fanned it with a large feather, sweeping the scent through the area.
The first woman looked astonished and sputtered the question, “Then he will live?”
Brillar smiled at her. “He will. Another day, and he would have been beyond anyone’s skill.” The woman looked at her sharply, but Brillar kept a steady smile. “You did very well to keep him alive for two days.”
The woman flustered at that but said nothing. “Will you keep watch with me while Norrel sleeps?” The woman looked surprised but nodded. The breach that could have occurred between the two women was prevented in the next few hours. The woman, who insisted her name was “Widowanlis,” kept nodding.
“I have heard that there are great schools for healers,” she said, “away from the Wild, but none born here leave the Wild.”
Brillar kept assuring her that she had done well. “Perhaps you can show me the herbs you use here, and we can see what to make of them.” That was readily agreed to.
Exhausted, Norrel slept for six hours and woke with a start. “My son,” were her first words.
“Better and resting,” was the reply.
It was full dark when Brillar took herself away, going out to a fire where food was being prepared and eaten.
Without knowing, or, for that matter, caring, she went right to the principle fire where people were slicing meat from a roast and cut a piece of meat from the spitted animal, creating a stir. Glancing around, she located Elden and went to sit with him, noticing as she did, that the circle contained only men.
Too late to worry about that, she thought and took a bite of the meat.
“Since when does a woman sit with us?” shouted one of the group, standing as he spoke.
“Since she healed my son,” said Obis, also standing, staring the first man down. “Norrel and I,” there was another stir, “Norrel and I are forever in her debt. Who would speak otherwise?” He glared at the assembled men.
“I lead here,” came a third voice, “and let no one forget it.” The man they had identified as the leader of the Rovers stood. “Unless there is a challenge.” His tone was severe. The other men took their seats.
“These people are outsiders, unused to our ways. The woman has done us a service. Obis’ son will live. For tonight, she sits with us. Tomorrow, is for the dawn.” He sat back down.
Brillar began to shift. Elden steadied her, his hand on her arm was enough, and stood slowly, first looking at the headman for permission.
“My woman meant no offense, for we are strangers here. If there are more who need healing, that also is for the dawn. For now, I ask permission for us to withdraw and rest.”
“Well said. You have our leave,” was the reply.
Elden dragged Brillar up by the elbow to some muted laughter and led her off to an area a short distance from the tents. He had retrieved her pack and spread blankets under a hastily made tent erected for them by the Rovers.
She had barely passed from the firelight, Elden still holding her elbow, when she wrenched it away from him, muttering. He could only wait for the inevitable, which came as they reached their tent, some distance from the fire.
“‘My woman’ you say? ‘My woman’? And, my lord, will you now beat me with the flat of your sword? ‘My woman’ indeed. To be treated this way? Denied a place at the fire? ‘My woman’?” She was in high dudgeon, but she kept her voice controlled.
“If my lady Brillar would remember where we are and who those people are out there, and continue to keep her voice down, I think all will be well. I hadn’t expected you out so soon, or I would have warned you. The local wives did, however, make some provision for you here.” He pulled a cloth off a basket, showing her fruits, tender roasted meat, flatbread with honey, and a flask of wine.
