[Lanen Kaelar 03] - Redeeming the Lost (29 page)

“Haven’t you been listening?” asked Lanen, her
voice laden with scorn. I was most impressed at the sheer volume she managed to
achieve. It was—arresting, and that was what was needed, a moment to stop and
reflect.

“Most of you weren’t here. I was. I saw the
demon using Donal’s body,” said Lanen, only the slightest quiver in her voice
showing her remembered revulsion. “When Magister Rikard banished it and Donal
returned for a brief moment—my soul to the Lady, he begged desperately for
death ere the demon could take him over once more.” She raised her head, frowning,
her arms straight down at her sides and her hands curled tight. “I have been at
the mercy of demons. It is a terrible thing—and I was not taken over as Donal
was. For a Healer to be in the same body as something so obscene, so opposed to
everything in the soul of the Lady’s chosen ones, and to know of no end and no
way out… I can well understand that death would be welcome. Even desirable.”

There was a moment of silence. Perhaps she has
touched them, I thought in wonder. She is a truth-speaker, Lanen, and such
truths can be very powerful—but then a strident voice from somewhere in the
crowd called out, “Is the dragon to get clean away with it, then? It killed a
Healer! Donal’s blood yet stains its claws, and it would talk its way out of
paying for murder!”

To my surprise, Salera bespoke me. Quite
clearly, too. Aside even from her words, I could not restrain a surge of pride
in her ability, so newly won and already so well controlled.

“Lord Shikrar, do you focus their attention on
you. The Raksha smell is strong now, where it was not before. I go to find its
source. Distract them!”

Very well. I would distract them.

I rose up on my back legs, spreading my wings
wide, in the Attitude of Defiance. Not appropriate, perhaps, but it most
certainly caught their attention.

“What would you of me?” I cried loudly. Some
raised their hands to their ears. Ha, I thought, let you ignore that. For sheer
volume, we of the Kantri are difficult to surpass. “I and my people are the
life-enemies of the Rakshasa: you may have forgotten that, but it is as true
now as it was thousands of winters past.

Healer Donal confessed his corruption, he
admitted before witnesses that he had sold his soul to Berys the demon-master
and Marik of the House of Gundar.” Quickly, Solera, I can only bluster for so
long no matter what Akhor says. “The Lady Lanen has the right of it, he longed
for—”

Towards the back of the crowd, a man cried out
as Salera wrapped her tail about his waist. “Thiss isss anotherrr,” she hissed,
her voice sliding out of the difficult Gedri speech, her wings rattling with
anger, her deep blue eyes blazing. “Rakshadakh!”

The people round about her scuttled away. Just
as well, perhaps.

“Don’t hurt him, Salera!” cried Varien. Vilkas
and Aral were fighting their way through the crowd, as was Rikard. Rikard
reached them first.

The man, held helpless in the coils of Salera’s
tail, was very young even to my eyes, but he bared his teeth in a snarl at
Rikard. “Will you destroy me as well, then?” he spat. “You and your pet dragons!
Who have you sold your soul to, Rikard?”

“No one, Rathen,” Rikard sighed. “Which is
more than you can say.” Rikard raised his power about him and sent a shaft of
purest blue to surround the man, who cried out. “Rathen of Eli-mar, Rathen of
the South Kingdom, Rathen ta-Seren, speak to me, in the name of the Lady!” said
Rikard. His power blazed. Rathen gave a great shuddering cry and wilted.

“Let him down gently please, Salera,” said
Aral as she and Vilkas arrived. They caught Rathen as Salera loosed him from
her tail, and lowered him carefully to the ground. “Rathen?” called Aral.

There was no response, though the body
twitched. “Come on, man, fight it!” urged Aral.

Rathen moaned, opened his eyes, and sat up. “Mistress
Aral?” he said, frowning. “Rikard? Name of the Lady, where am I?”

“You’re in Verfaren,” said Rikard harshly. “And
I know you have made pact with Berys. Have you not even realised that you have
been worn by a demon?”

Rathen went white. “No,” he whispered. “Mother
Shia, I thought that a nightmare.”

“It is truth. I have called you back but I do
not know how long the creature may be banished.”

“Save me!” cried Rathen, grasping at Rikard’s
robes. “I swear, Rikard, I only ever used the power when I was desperate. I
used it to heal, in the Lady’s name! Surely that is not so terrible?”

No, I thought. The terrible part is that I
know you, Rathen. You only got your warrant last year, as a Healer of the first
rank. A low level, to be sure, the lowest warrant there is, but sufficient for
most ills. I never knew you were so desperate for greater power. “Rathen, was
mention ever made of what you might do should you wish to break the pact?” I
asked.

“No,” he replied miserably. He started to
shake as with an ague and gazed up at me, imploring. “Vil, you’ve studied
demons, I know it. What can I do?” He began to weep. “Vil, how shall I ever
escape?”

“You can begin by renouncing the power you
have received,” I said sternly, and without much real hope. At least it would
be a start.

“I do! I renounce, in the name of Mother Shia,
the power granted me by this pact!” he cried aloud. For a moment he looked a
little better. For a moment.

Then, horribly, he began to shrivel. Before
our eyes he grew weak and starveling, his eyes sunken, as if he had not eaten
in a year. “Vilkas!” he screamed, his suddenly bony hand clutching desperately
at my robes. “Help me!”

I summoned my power and poured it into him.
The drain, and his need, were terrible. It was as if every act of healing he
had performed in the last year, each of which had its own cost in strength of
body and will, were being taken out of him again, all at once. I sustained him
as best I might, but I had never known so arduous a task. I had always been
proud of my inherent power. In my years at Verfaren I had never truly been
taxed by any effort required by my studies.

This was exhausting. No matter how much I
gave, it was not enough. Like pouring water through a sieve.

Ah!

I used my Sight to look deep into Rathen, and
there it was. A wound in his soul, a link, sustaining something. The demon? No,
there it was, fighting to regain the mastery over him, nothing to do with that
wound. No, the link went elsewhere …

Berys.

Without stopping to think I cried out, “Blessed
Mother, Shia, Goddess, sever this bond and deliver your servant!”

The bond was broken. Rathen screamed once and
fell to the ground. The demon also screamed, frustrated to find defiance where
it had expected nothing but ease, and disappeared in a gout of well-aimed Fire
from Shikrar.

With the Sight upon me I saw the flame of
Rathen’s life reduced in that moment to a tiny spark, barely present, flaring
its hopeless defiance against the endless darkness that surrounded it.

Still I let my strength flow into him,
protecting that flame, encouraging it to life again …

I was not expecting Aral’s slap in the face.
My concentration was broken abruptly and I shuddered at the sudden withdrawal
from deep healing. She hit me again, and I realised that she had been shouting
at me for some time. “Stop, Vilkas! Stop it, you’ll kill yourself!”

I glanced down at Rathen. He was terrifyingly
thin, but he breathed yet.

“Good, he’s alive,” I said, and fainted into
Aral’s arms.

“Fetch food and drink for them both,”
commanded Rikard sharply, and I saw several hurry to obey as I lowered my
beloved Vilkas to the ground. It struck me in passing that I had never had him
in my arms before and might never again. I desperately desired to hold him to
me just a little longer—raining kisses on his face occurred to me as well—but I
knew that he would recover best if his head was level with his heart. I
banished my ill-timed longing. Vilkas was pale as death. I started trembling.

No, no, don’t be stupid, he’ll be fine, I
stopped him in time. Just.

“That was well done, young Aral,” said
Magister Rikard as he knelt to help me make Vil comfortable. “He’s always been
a stubborn so-and-so. At least he had the good sense to listen to you.”

“He’s going to be furious with me when he
wakes up,” I said, trying to make my voice light. I’m not at all sure I managed
it.

“Then he is an even greater fool than I
thought,” muttered Rikard, “and I shall be happy to tell him so if you so wish.”

I grinned. “Thank you, Magister, but I’d
rather deal with him on my own.”

Vil, with his usual riming, managed to rouse
just as the food arrived. Rathen we had to restrain from eating too much, lest
he overburden his newly frail body, but Vilkas ate as though he hadn’t seen a
morsel in weeks and was all the better for it.

And as he began to recover from his work, I locked
my heart away again, hidden, safe, unknown. I did not dare listen to its
strident voice. I knew Vilkas too well, knew that he felt nothing of the sort
for me; but I still could not give over my stupid longing, hoping—dreaming—that
perhaps, one day, he might recognise his folly.

Magister Rikard stood, brushed down his robes,
and addressed the crowd. “They will both live, though Healer Rathen will take
some time to recover.” He frowned at those nearest him. “I trust that this has
brought you all to your senses. Blaming the dragons, forsooth! They are
creatures of Order. Our oldest wisdom preserves that at least.”

“But, Magister,” said Tolmas the stonemason,
stepping forward, “what now?” He gestured to take in all the ruin of the
College. “What are we to do? The town has always looked to the Archimage for
guidance.”

“I will meet with any who wish to look to the
future in an hour’s time, Tolmas,” said Rikard firmly. “Until then, let each
help as they may.” He sighed. “There is surely enough for us all to do.”

I have to say, if I had tried to stage that
revelation I couldn’t have pulled it off nearly so well. In the general milling
about I hauled Hygel off to a quiet corner and told him rapidly what I
suspected about all the House of Gundar Healers. “Get the word out fast. I don’t
know how to fight them, so best to tell everyone to keep out of their way.”

“And what are you going to be doing, hey?” he
asked.

I allowed myself the faintest smile. “Ah, now.
Privilege of rank, you see. I’m going with this crowd to get Berys.”

“You cheat. I’ve always said so,” he said
cheerfully. “I live a stone’s throw from that rat bastard for six years and you
get to take him. It’s not fair.”

“Never mind,” I said. ‘There’s every chance we’ll
end up as demon fodder. If that happens, I’m counting on you.”

Hygel snorted. “Ha! With yon bloody great
beastie on your side?” He gestured at Shikrar, who was even then taking to the
air on some errand. “Even Berys can’t stand against that, surely!”

“I truly hope not,” I said. “Spread the word,
my friend. I think you’ll have your hands full here as it is.”

“Go where you will, Shikrar, go even with my
blessing, but go. I am weary beyond measure,” moaned Rinshir. I sighed. The
petulance in his voice was annoying me. “Has the world not changed sufficiently
for you? We all need rest before we undertake another such journey.”

“I do not demand your presence particularly,
Rinshir,” I replied as calmly as I could. “Only a few are needed—the rest may
surely remain and recover their strength.”

Those around him had the good grace to be
embarrassed at Rinshir’s whinging. I saw several looking at my newly healed
wound. No matter, the scales would darken with time.

“I do not ask you to cross the Great Sea
again,” I added loudly, addressing the Kantri. The Dhrenagan listened, but I
would no more ask such a thing of them than ask my grandson Sherok to fly to
the bright fields of the sun. They had so much to encompass—so much time
passed, so much life lost, the world so changed—I would not dream of
challenging them further by asking them to assist the Gedri. “True, there is no
way of knowing how far there
is to
fly, for we have only the Gedri’s knowledge of the distance. We go east,
towards the far mountains.” Still there was silence. “I need only two more to
assist me,” I repeated, “as the Lady Idai has offered to come for the
adventure.”

“Can it not wait, Teacher Shikrar?” asked
Trizhe wearily. I knew him for a good soul, but I could tell that he was
genuinely exhausted. He could barely lift his head off the ground to speak. “Give
us but a fortnight and you will have us all at your service.”

“We leave in a bare hour, Trizhe my friend,” I
said. “But I would not take you even if you offered. You have nothing left to
give beyond your goodwill.”