Death of a Darklord

THIRTEEN

Gersalius's tent was smaller than the rest, with strange curlicues of carved wood mounted above the entrance. Elaine hadn't really inspected the wizard's tent closely. Now she looked at the wooden carvings. They were attached to the tent itself, not tied on. It was almost as if the wood grew straight out of the hide. She could make nothing of the carvings themselves. They were of no animal or image she was familiar with, just designs of wood and paint.

Elaine called, "Gersalius, it's me, Elaine. I need to speak with you."

The wind gusted, making the tent strain and pull at the tiny tent stakes. The wood carvings swayed in the wind as if they were antlers on some live beast.

"Gersalius?" Elaine called. She waited in the cold, huddled against the wind. "Gersalius, please, if you're in there, answer me."

When there was still no answer, she turned and walked back to the fire. Elaine was cooking the camp dinner-sausages in a skillet over the flames. They actually smelled good. Of course, even Blaine couldn't do a lot of damage reheating sausages. It was almost foolproof.

There was a smaller saucepan sitting to one side. Blaine stirred it with a wooden spoon. An odor rose from the saucepan and caught the back of her throat with a bitter taste. Before she could say a word, Biaine poured the foul sauce over the lovely sausages. He put a lid over the skillet and set it to one side. He'd probably say he was letting it simmer. Biaine was the worst cook in the world, but he had pretensions of being a gourmet. His 'improvements, experiments with herbs, were legendary.

He smiled up at her, pleased with himself. "I'm trying a new sauce tonight. Want a whiff?"

"I already smelled it," she said, a brave smile in place. Biaine was not only the worst cook in the world, he was oblivious to the deficiency. No matter how much Thordin and the others complained, Biaine never quite believed them. He went on his cheerful way, crumbling dried herbs, chopping roots, and trying to poison them all.

"Have you seen Gersalius?"

"I think he's in Thordin's tent." He turned back to an earthenware bowl on the ground by his knee. A cloth was tied over it. He cut the string, lifting the cloth to reveal a grayish mass. "I made stuffing before we left. All I have to do is heat it."

"Did Mala help you make it?" she asked hopefully.

He grinned. "Of course not. You know I like to do all my own cooking."

"Of course," she said. She left him to ruin their dinner and went in search of Thordin's tent. He shared it with Konrad, so it was big enough to accommodate a visitor.

The wind died down as suddenly as it had sprung up. In the fresh silence, Elaine heard the murmur of the men's voices, a soft, rumbling sound that was somehow comforting. Elaine had spent a great deal of her life listening to that strong, bluff, blunt sound.

She bent over, calling, "Gersalius, are you in there?"

The tent flap swung open. Thordin's face and arm popped out. "Elaine, come join us. I think if we all squeeze there may be room."

It occurred to her for the first time that Thordin had seen clerics work their healing magic. He might know something valuable, too. She crawled into the tent, tugging her heavy cloak through the small opening.

Gersalius was sitting on a pile of bedding, smiling. He had a mug in his hands. "Elaine, what brings you in search of me?"

Thordin offered her a mug.

"Surely that is yours," she said.

"Yes, but I can get another." With a smile, he handed her the mug.

"Thank you." The mug was wonderfully hot to her hands. Steam rose from the cup like sweet-smelling ghosts. The tea was a strong spearmint faintly touched with sugar. Breathing in the steam was almost as refreshing as drinking the tea itself.

"How goes it with the wounded?" Thordin asked.

"That is why I have come," Elaine said.

Thordin poured a third mug of tea from a small earthware pot, then set it back on its warmer. He took a pinch of sugar from a small pouch at his belt, added the sugar to the tea, then stirred it with a small silver spoon.

"With a few comforts, any place can be home," Gersalius said.

"My sentiments, exactly," Thordin said.

"Why were you seeking me, Elaine?" the wizard asked.

"Konrad and I have never seen magical healing before. We aren't sure what to do."

"A cleric heals by laying on of hands. The wound just closes up and is healed," Gersalius said.

"Completely healed?" She made it a question.

"Yes," he said.

She shook her head. "But these injuries aren't completely healed."

Gersalius sat forward sharply, spilling hot tea on his robes. He gave a small yip, pulling the cloth away from his body. He set the mug on the ground. "Tell me exactly what you mean, Elaine. This could be very important."

She looked from one man to the other. Thordin appeared as worried as the wizard. "Are the wounds suppose to heal completely?" she asked.

"Yes," Gersalius said.

"Not always," Thordin said.

The wizard stared at the warrior. "A spell either works or it does not."

"I was a fighter long before I came to Kartakass," Thordin said. "A cleric can heal a wound, but when I had many wounds, not all of them healed. They were better, but some still bled a little, others were only partially healed. Kilsendra, the cleric that came over with me, said each healing has only so much power to it. It heals what it can, then stops. It might take several attempts to heal completely."

Gersalius frowned. "It is true I did not adventure much. I owned a little magic shop where others bought supplies, but with my magic, a spell either works or does not. If the spell components are insufficient, the spell simply does not work at all."

Thordin shook his head. "Healing is not like that, or so Kilsendra told me."

The wizard frowned. "Most unobservant of me, if you are right."

Elaine sipped her tea and turned to Thordin. He seemed to know more of healing than the wizard. "If a wound did not heal completely, what did you do to tend it?"

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Did you cleanse it? Bandage it?"

"I think so." He looked puzzled. "Why couldn't you treat them as any other wound?"

"Normal wounds don't just sit there full of blood. Konrad's afraid if we cleanse the wounds we'll start them bleeding, and the blood might not stop."

"Why wouldn't it stop bleeding?" Thordin asked.

Gersalius answered, "I understand his concern. What if what keeps the blood from flowing is some sort of magic field. Would touching it destroy it? If the spell that kept the blood from flowing was destroyed, would normal methods be able to stop the blood, at all?"

"Yes, that is what we fear."

Thordin frowned. "I don't remember anything like that ever happening."

"Are you sure?" Elaine asked.

"I am sure I never knew of anything like that happening, but whether it ever happened …" He shrugged. "I am not a healer."

"How did your friend, the cleric, handle partially healed injuries?" Gersalius asked. He was once again reclining on the furs, tea in hand. The spilled tea was a small wet spot on his robe.

"Kilsendra laid hands on me a second or third time. Sometimes she had to wait a day to regain her strength, but she healed us herself."

"And the wounds?" Elaine asked.

His eyes grew distant, as if he were seeing things long ago and faraway. "We did nothing to them. We waited until Kilsendra could heal us."

"So you don't really know what would happen if more mundane methods were used on magically healed wounds," Gersalius said.

Thordin shook his head slowly. "I guess I don't." He looked at Elaine. "Is the elven cleric awake yet?"

"No, he still sleeps, but the end of his arm has healed over so we didn't have to cauterize it."

Gersalius choked on his tea. When he was done sputtering, he said, "I wouldn't apply fire to any of the wounds. I think that might stop the flesh from healing further."

Elaine suddenly felt cold, and it had nothing to do with the winter wind. What if they had performed normal care? Would they have condemned all three men to being wounded forever? Konrad said that burns were some of the most painful of all injuries. The elf's arm would have been a burned stump instead of the smoothness it was. The arm looked for all the world as if the elf had been born without that arm, a deformity rather than an injury.

"What should we do?" she asked.

"Nothing," Gersalius said. "Wait until the elf wakes. Let him tend the wounds."

"What if one of the wounds begins to bleed? What if the men go into shock? Can we treat them with herbs, or would that be harmful?"

"Do what you must to keep them alive," Gersalius said. "But the bare minimum, I think."

Thordin nodded. "I agree."

"All right, I'll tell Konrad what you advise." She handed the empty tea mug to Thordin. "Thank you for the advice, and the tea." She stood, half-stooping, and lifted the tent flap.

Outside, the air was still as glass and cold enough to hurt when she drew a breath. She stood there for a moment, studying the sky. Clouds had moved in, turning the sky to a perfect whiteness. It threatened snow, but that stillness in the air felt more like thunder. She had only once before seen thunder and lightning in the midst of a snowstorm. It was rare, but so much that was happening was unusual, what was one more event? A little thunderstorm in the dead of winter was a minor thing compared to what she had seen this day. Whatever the cause, the air was close and threatening.

Elaine glanced at Blaine, still puttering before the fire. She almost asked him if he felt it, too, but if he didn't, she would be making him worry for nothing. If the sense was a vision, it would grow. If it wasn't, it would fade, and only Elaine need worry about it.

'She clutched her cloak tight around her and hurried back to Konrad. He was kneeling by the elf, his back to the tent flap. He glanced back, a sound or the cold alerting him to her entrance. He motioned her to him.

She pushed her hood back and knelt beside him. "What's wrong?" she whispered.

His hand was feeling for the pulse in the elf's neck. "His heart is not beating like it should."

"Perhaps it is normal for an elf?"

He shook his head. "Before, it was strong and sure; now it is thready, fluttering under my hand. See for yourself."

He rubbed her hands together to banish the cold. She never touched the wounded with icy hands if she could help it. She felt the smooth skin of the neck. The pulse hesitated, then gave a few rapid beats, then settled back into a steady rhythm. She held her hand there for a few moments, but the pulse remained steady.

"I felt the flutter, but he seems fine now," she said.

"I don't like it. His heart was fine until just moments ago." He tucked a fur tighter under the elf's chin. "I don't know what's wrong. I don't even know why he won't wake up. I thought at first he was unconscious from his injury, and from doing such powerful magic, but now I… I'm just not sure."

"Thordin and Gersalius didn't seem alarmed that the elf was still sleeping."

"What did they say to do about the others' wounds?" he asked.

"As little as possible. When the elf wakes, he can lay hands on their wounds again and again, as many times as needed to heal them."

"An amazing gift, but only if he wakes to do it." He had dropped his voice so low that she had to lean into him to hear. His breath was warm against her face.

"Is something wrong with Silvanus?" Fredric asked. The big man had turned on his side, propped on one elbow.

Randwulf was looking backward at them, still lying flat on the bedding. "What's happening?"

"His heart is beating erratically," Konrad said, without candy-coating it. He was a good.healer, but you didn't dare ask his opinion unless you truly wanted it, and wanted the truth, no matter how harsh.

Randwulf sat up, spilling covers to the ground, but Elaine didn't think he was being flirtatious. He looked too frightened to be teasing.

"Is he dying?" Fredric asked. His voice was low and almost matter-of-fact; only his eyes betrayed him. Grief was already licking round the edges of his gray eyes.

"I don't know," Konrad said.

"You're the healer. How can you not know?" Randwulf asked.

"His body is fine. His arm is even healing itself. I have never seen magic healing, and I believe his problem stems from that."

"Do either of you know anything of healing?" Elaine asked.

Randwulf shook his head.

Fredric said, "No, but Averil does."

"I thought she was a magic-user," Konrad said.

"She is, but she makes healing potions and sells them," Fredric said.

"Healing potions," Konrad said. He started to blurt something, closed his lips, then said, "Elaine, go get the girl. Bring her and her potions. Hurry."

Elaine stood and hurried from the tent. She ran, heavy cloak skimming the snow. Averil was in the tent that Elaine and Elaine shared. She was supposed to be resting.

Elaine flung open the tent flap. Averil sat up, blinking, hand clutching her knife. "What's wrong?"

"Your father is ill. Bring your potions and come, quickly."

Averil grabbed her backpack, scrambling for the tent flap. She was wearing only her shift, her dress neatly folded by the bedding. She didn't seem to notice, but pushed past Elaine.

Elaine threw her own cloak over Averil's bare shoulders. The girl began to run; the cloak slipped to the floor, and Elaine left it. She hiked up her skirts and ran with the girl. Elaine noticed the cold, but it didn't seem important, with Averil's fear pulsing in the air.