A Healer's Lesson

A Story by JTHartke

A short story prequel to my epic fantasy series. I know. Everybody has one. But I hope mine is fun for you to hang out in for a while.

A Healer's Lesson
by
J. T. Hartke

398 A.R. (After Return)

   Shaela Maycrest skidded to a halt, her leather soles sliding on the smooth granite floors of the Citadel. Her royal blue cloak, trimmed with the yellow fringe of a Talented healer, fluttered around her as she changed direction and ran down the side hall, her boots now slapping against the stone.
   She whispered a prayer to the Balance that Captain Orios was still in his office. Something was wrong within the castle. She could feel it. Her teachers at the Doctor's College in the royal capital of Daynon had told her that her inborn Talent, the natural ability to heal wounds and cure disease through will alone, had other possible side effects. Not only did it allow her to mend bone and sinew in moments, but, in some rare cases of extremely Talented individuals, it could also let her feel the emotions of those around her.
   And right now, emotions in the Citadel were raw and red hot.
   The heavy wooden door of Orios' office was banded with black iron and several inches thick.    She gave it a push, and the door opened onto darkness.
   Shaela called inside timidly.
   “Migel? Captain? Are you in here?”
   A muffled gurgle met her in reply as she swung the oak door wide, letting the light from the hall sconces pour into the small room. Behind the desk, wrapped in his blue and yellow cloak now splattered with crimson, lay Captain Orios, his life pouring out from his neck onto the floor.
   “No!” Shaela screamed, dashing forward to lay her hands on the captain. She stuffed his stained cloak into the wound. She reached for her Talent, entering the light trance she had learned so easily her first day at the College.

    “Close your eyes,” said the old healer, “and let your mind go, Miss Maycrest. This power does not come from your mind. Instead it comes from your own life force, your own psahn, as the elves call it. Look within before you look without.”
   It had been one of those days when summer reached back one more time to give a breath of warmth before winter took sway from autumn. A few leaves blew from the smaller trees, but the huge oaks were still tinted green. The students in Lord Doctor Daistrom's class had begged for lecture to be given out on the Quad, the green swath of grass crisscrossed by gravel pathways between the ancient brick buildings. The old man prided himself on leniency, when his students were doing well, and the twenty-two of them in Introduction to Talent were all quite good, Shaela probably the best.
   Daistrom cut his finger with a knife, just a small cut, welling a little bead of bright blood on his knuckle.
   “Now visualize my finger in your mind's eye,” he said. “When you see the cut reach out to it, feel it, and heal it.”
   The warmth of the sun playing on her face had tingled in her stomach. She saw the cut on the Lord Doctor's finger. She could feel it, almost sense the slight sting of pain. She reached for it.

   This was nothing like that first day, here in the dark office, her captain and lover bleeding out onto cold, remorseless stone. She felt her heart sinking as she reached out with her will, finding Migel Orios' life force faded and cold. Shaela thrust herself into the man, reaching for the sinews and skin, the vessels and nerves ripped apart by sharp steel only minutes before. She forced them to grow, giving her own life force to him, as his was near gone. The wound began to close, the tendons in his neck flailing back together, the walls of his carotid arteries slowly reaching back to their detached selves. The skin began to grow back together, leaving a puckered pink scar where the gash had once opened, red and yawning.
   Orios' eyes fluttered for a moment, his lips barely moving. A rush of joy crept into her heart as his honey brown eyes met hers.
   But the smile in his eyes never made it to his lips, as his body slumped down. His stare fixed on her, but it glazed over.
   “No!” she screamed again, but the universe would not hear her. Captain Migel Orios was dead. He had only been her superior for three months before they had allowed the passions override their sense of duty, and the three months since had been glorious. But now that glory was washed away by the sick sadness that surged through her heart and gut.
   She was not sure how long she sat there, the silent wail not yet reaching her lips, but it could only have been moments before she heard the sound of several other boots running down the hall. The heavy door to the office swung wider, the light of a carried torch following it.
   A rough faced older man entered. Sergeant Varris Ohr was a Bluecloak from the Deepwood, and his expression was as grim as Shaela had ever seen.
   “Lieutenant Maycrest. Damn glad to find you. Is Captain Or--” The light finally showed the tears in Shaela's eyes as the sergeant stopped cold, noticing the body on the floor underneath her. The sergeant knew death when he saw it.   He reached down, his touch surprisingly gentle as he lifted Shaela to her feet.
   “Come on, Lieutenant,” he said softly. “Nothing more you can do for him. We have to go, now.”
   Shaela was still sightly in a daze. “Where are we going?”
   “The postern,” he whispered. “We have to get out of the Citadel.”
   Those words shook her back to life. Just because she was a healer did not mean she was not a soldier too.
   “Why are we fleeing?” she asked, her brow narrowing. “What is going on, Sergeant?”
   Several other men in blue cloaks stood in the hall, their swords in one hand, torches in the other. Sergeant Ohr gave a couple of quick nods and short, precise words, and they all took off at a quick trot, headed downward, deeper into the bowels of the Citadel.
   The sergeant's voice was grim, and he did not look at her. All he said was, “Prince Gelrud is dead, at the hands of Duke Rackus.”
   “What?” Shaela was beyond startled. The reality did not register with her. It was like being in a dream world. How could the Prince's castellan have turned on his liege? Did that explain the madness she felt coursing through the Citadel, and now beginning to reach out into the city beyond?
   The sergeant spoke quietly as they continued down a dark spiral, somewhere near the northern wall. “Probably dozens of Bluecloaks, every damned one of them bound by loyalty oath to the Prince, have been tearing off their blue only to put on the duke's green. Rackus, the bloody traitor, must have been planning this all along. I'll bet a gold mark he's been moving Bluecloaks out to the western frontier while bringing his men in the whole time.”
   The spiral stair ended at a iron banded oak door, twice as solid as the one to Migel's office had been. Two of the men went over to it, lifting the heavy bar and setting it to the side softly so as to maintain silence in the deep stone chamber.
   “I told General Bifer as well as Captain Orios that I didn't know all of these new men,” the sergeant said quietly, “but they wouldn't listen. Now they are both in the same place. Many of the new men had started out their soldiering wearing green as it was. No surprise they've put it back on now.”
   Sergeant Ohr led Shaela and the dozen soldiers through, pausing only a moment to close the bar behind him.
   “Come on now, lads, quickly” he said with a wave of his torch. “Just a mile to the Wall.”
   The black dankness of the tunnel matched Shaela's mood. The sorrow of her dead lover was a fresh wound, one that would likely hurt worse before it felt better. She stumbled on with the soldiers, the torches bobbing both in front and behind her, the only mark of their passage.
   Finally she could not keep it inside her any longer. “But why, Sergeant?”
   Shaela was no courtly woman, and her upbringing in Harlong had been remote, far removed from the politics of the Kingdom of Gannon. While at the Doctor's College in the capital she had been too engrossed in her studies to follow the game of power. And though she had joined the Royal Bluecloaks, she had done so for adventure, not for advancement. Her six months in Gavanor had been far too short to learn local politics. Besides, what business had a healer in the realm of lords?
   “I do not know, Lieutenant.” The sergeant paused for a moment, his expression unreadable in the gloomy torchlight. “Truth be told, sir, Gelrud has never been loved by the people or the nobles of the Western Realm.”
   “They say he's never been to kind to his women,” called out a voice not far ahead. Corporal Durtz, Shaela thought.
   “Stow that, you scab,” the sergeant barked. “You gonna put on green now? In that case let's have it out right now.”
   “Aye, Sarge.”
   The corporal sped up his trot, but not before Shaela caught the furrowing of the man's brow.
   Suddenly Shaela stopped. “Oh, dear Balance. What about the children?”
   Sergeant Ohr tugged at her arm, pulling her forward with the rest of the squad. “We can't be certain, Lieutenant. But there is nothing we can do. There are thousands of green tunics loyal to the duke swarming the Citadel above us. We must make it out alive, so that we can get messages back east to the king.”
   Shaela fought his pull for a moment. Her primary cares as a healer in the Citadel had been Prince Gelrud's children. Each of the four had their own personality, but the youngest, Gelrond, had none of his father's darkness and all of his mother's sweetness.
   She said a silent prayer of mourning to the Balance as the sergeant ordered all but the lead torch doused, the pitch blackness of the tunnel hiding her fresh tears.

   The rain splattered in big fat drops on the cowl of Shaela's cloak. It had been falling for days, and their makeshift camp was sodden. For almost two weeks they had fled through the countryside, dashing on stolen horseback from grove of trees to abandoned barn. Several times emerald cloaked soldiers, many of which she recognized, several of which she had once healed, found them, and a short bitter fight would ensue. Luckily for her companions, she was along, for though her skills in battle were few, she had been able to keep all but two of the fleeing Bluecloaks alive and well. But now, her strength was beginning to fail.
   The life force from which she drew her Talent was not an infinite well. Shaela used her Talent every day, sometimes on multiple soldiers, and twice she drew men back from their death wounds. However her rest had been furtive and good food was hard to come by, leaving her weak. Sergeant Ohr began treating her like a sick daughter, and often she caught his worried stare when he thought she was not looking.
   The steady sound of rainfall was broken suddenly by the muffled, sloppy clatter of horse hooves on mud. The soldiers tensed a moment before the rider in blue appeared around a scrubline.
   “Sarge, they are coming again. Only about two hundred yards. They've regrouped, and the full company is on the move.”
   “Damn.” Sergeant Ohr's stare immediately returned to Shaela. He knew his men could make it, but he was worried about his healer. The minor point that she was technically the highest ranking officer barely crossed her mind. Both she and the men knew who was in charge.
   “I can make it, Sergeant,” Shaela said, forcing steel into her voice.
   “I hope so, Lieutenant. There's no way we can stand against the whole company. We're going to have to make a run for it.” He turned to the scout, still mounted. “South?”
   “No,” the soldier replied, his blue cloak and road smudge not quite hiding the youthfulness of his features. “Even more of the duke's men. Rackus apparently wants to make sure his rear is clear before he looks east to the king.”
   The sergeant threw his leg over the mare he had stolen from a pasture just outside of Gavanor. The beast wore no saddle, but Ohr knew his way about a horse.
   “Then west again,” the sergeant said. “If we can make it through to the Free Cities we may find refuge. There should also be some Bluecloak engineers near the town of Dadrick. Baron Whitehall builds a new castle there. We should be able to link up with them.” He jerked the reins around. “Come on, everyone ahorse. We've a hard ride ahead of us.”
   Shaela had no more than settled into the saddle, her gelding having been taken from a rural inn's stable where plenty of tack had been stored, than the first arrows began to fall around them. One struck Sergeant Ohr in his shoulder, the old soldier hissing in pain.
   “Go!” he screamed at her. “I'll make it. You won't sitting here.” He slapped her horse with a leather gauntleted hand from his good arm, and the beast leaped forward.
   Shaela gave him rein, clutching tightly with her knees. The gelding did not disappoint, and soon the clatter of battle was far behind her. Then the trees broke, and she was on the open prairie, her yellow fringed cloak flying out wildly behind her. Several other blue cloaked riders hunched close over their horses not far away, the manes of their steeds fluttering in their headlong rush.
   For miles they galloped, bunching closer together. She did not see Sergeant Ohr among the half dozen near her, but she had seen other racing figures in the distance. She was not willing to give up on the old warhorse.
   At the top of a wide ridge, she pulled up, quickly surveying the landscape behind her.
   “Lieutenant!” It was Corporal Durtz. She had not realized he was one of those near her. Twice she had had healed him on their slow retreat west. “We must keep going as long as the horses have strength.”
    “I am in command, Corporal,” she said icily. She had been through the exact same training any officer did, only she had just finished it six months ago.
   Her heart sank as she looked east, all thoughts of Durtz's attitude lost as she beheld the mass of at least a hundred green cloaked riders not a mile behind. Two blue highlighted shapes dashed across the landscape just ahead of them. One favored his left shoulder. They were hard pressed, and both horses appeared to be flagging. The steel tipped green mass was certain to overtake them.
   “We go to their aid!” she cried, whipping her dagger out from its sheath.
   Durtz looked at her a moment, the incredulity written plain on his face. A moment he sat there, unmoving. Then he pulled out his sword.
   “You heard the Lieutenant, men! Form line!” He swung the sword to his right, the remaining soldiers lining up alongside him, weapons bared, teeth clenched, and determination on their faces.
   Suddenly, a white beam of light arced out from the higher ridge behind her, smashing into the onrushing line of ducal cavalry. The light incinerated man and beast where it struck, leaving charred, ashy masses, lit by the glow of their slumped former armor. Flames drove the horses mad, and the cavalry turned , dozens falling over their blackened comrades. More light flashed out, this time in smaller, more directed bursts, burning the individual horsemen who were somehow able to drive their beasts forward. Soon the entire company was in a rout.
   Shaela looked behind her, tracing the source of the still flashing beam of death, now slowing as the enemy ran. A long banner fluttered in the light breeze, rampant silver dragon upon the same royal blue she wore, tattered on her shoulders. Near a dozen riders gathered beneath it, each with the brown fringe of the royal engineers upon their cloak. All except for one, whose cloak was fringed in red, the mark of the royal battle mages.

   The hill gave a commanding view of the surrounding prairie. The modest old inn at its top, surrounded by a few old oak trees, rock formations, and a little pond, seemed out of place overlooking the nearby frontier village of Dadrick. Over a mile away, on the far side of the small community, rose a much smaller hill where Shaela could see the new walls of Whitehall Keep. The baron was not present, nor were his men. They had joined the duke in his rebellion, though they were only about two dozen in number. The Bluecloak engineers assisting in the construction of the castle had since fortified the hill and inn, along with a battlemage interested in their work.
   The silence was broken only by the creak of the little sign near the door as it swung in the wind, painted with a bright gryphon resting in a nest.
   “Strange that an inn would hold higher ground than the baronial castle,” she mused out loud, her mind on so many things that new thoughts were being routed straight to her mouth.
   “The Sleeping Gryphon has been here longer than the baron,” said an unfamiliar voice behind her.
   She quickly turned, her mind focusing immediately. The man standing before her was older than her by several years, with russet brown hair and a finely trimmed beard. His wide shoulders had the look of a warrior, but his hands were not worn by sword and shield. Neither were they not the soft hands of a city noble, but the hands of a working man who still took care of them.
   “Who are you?” she asked, her nose catching a faint, herbal scent coming from him, even though he was several steps away.
   “Baylor Griffin. My father is the proprietor of this inn you have commandeered.”
   His voice was rough, but kind, and the smile on his lips also touched his hazel eyes.
   “I thank you and your father for your loyalty to the king,” she said formally. “He will come west soon, and he will put Rackus Garlan back in his place.”
   The man nodded. “Of course my father will be loyal to the king. The Sleeping Gryphon was founded as a Bluecloak waystop, on the route to the Free Cities, long before Whitehall Keep or the River Road came through.” He paused for a moment as his gaze followed hers towards the unfinished castle in the distance. “My father and I, do not always see eye to eye on politics, but I cannot support what the Emerald Duke has done. Prince Gelrud was a tyrant and philanderer, yes, but King Aerus is not. The king could have been petitioned by the duke or the barons. The prince and his family should not have been slaughtered.”
   Tears welled in her eyes as she turned away from him. She had known the children were not likely to survive but the confirmation was heartbreaking. Baylor Griffin stood there a moment in impotent silence, before turning away and walking slowly back to the inn.
   In her heart Shaela swore she would plunge a knife in the Emerald Duke's neck if ever they met.

   The arrows rained down in waves that shaded the sun. Shaela had hidden behind the secondary barricade the dozen royal engineers had hastily thrown together.   Sergeant Ohr, freshly healed by her Talent, led them and the eight other soldiers from the detachment in a coordinated defense, with Magus Straegen using his power to the best. He had not used the bright beam of light, claiming that it was very draining and mostly for startle effect. Fire, lightning, and erupting earth had been his main tools, smashing the emerald and steel enemy wherever they massed to charge. Several hundred of them gathered below the hill on which the inn sat, and they made constant charges up towards the Bluecloaks' swiftly tiring defense.
   “They're gonna breach that barricade! Everyone in reserve to the south side!” The sergeant's voice was breaking. The assault had been continuous for almost twelve hours. Everyone had begun to flag, especially Magus Straegen, who had been throwing up shields against arrows all night and into the day.
   Before Shaela could move in the direction of the sergeant's gestures, a thunderous boom exploded directly over the battlemage's head. It threw him to the ground, crushing his entire torso in a shower of red.
   “They have a mage!” yelled Corporal Durtz. “We're done for! Run!”
   Arrows began to rain down in earnest, the protective shields gone with the mage that projected them. Many of the bolts were burning, and magical fire began to fall. The entire inn, as well as the stable and outbuildings, now burned in earnest, well beyond the small band's control.
   “Get to the horses!” called out the sergeant, waving everyone towards the conflagration that was once the stable. The horses were saddled outside and ready for a bolt, but they had begun to rear in fear at the flames.
   An arrow took the sergeant in the right shoulder, the opposite of the one Shaela had healed two days ago.
   “Sergeant!” she screamed.
   “Go!” he returned, waving her towards the horses.
   Shaela ran through the fiery storm, her vision focused on the saddled horses, dancing and pulling at their traces. Her vision blanked for a moment from a sudden flash. The horses disappeared in a blast of flame, wood, and entrails. All of them were gone. The fireball that consumed them was near their size when it crashed among them.
   Shaela was thrown back, her rump bruising when it crashed into the earth. She lay there a moment, dazed. It could not have been long, for the battle continued around her, the green clad soldiers now rushing the compound as the fire from above abated. But those events were lost in a haze as she swooned from the concussion that had destroyed her hope of escape. She would accept it.

   Shaela woke with to a splash. The water was cold, and it woke her with a need to urinate. It was enveloping, her, soaking her yellow, blue, and blackened cloak. She struggled, fearing death wrapping its arms around her like drowning.
   “Stop fighting me. I have a place we can hide. You'll have to hold your breath.”
   It was the innkeeper's son, Baylor. Blood dripped from under his hair, and he held her, cradled in his arms.
   “What are you doing?” she yelled at him, no longer fighting, but certainly concerned. They were wading into a quiet pool along the top ridge of the hill, behind the inn.
   “There's a grotto under the pond. My brothers and I found it when we were kids. That escarpment is virtually hollow. Deep breath, now, and hold on to me.”
   She did it. She had no choice. She closed her eyes on the fiery hellscape that was the hilltop, sinking into the warm summer water of a spring fed swimming hole. It enveloped her, cool and inviting. Baylor held her with one arm, kicking with his legs. For a moment, her lungs begged for oxygen, her recent shaking leaving her unable to fill them sufficiently.   Just as she thought she might burst, they splashed into air, her mouth opening wide to gasp in pitch blackness.
   “Don't worry,” he said, gulping his own breath. “There's a ledge of stone. And we hid a lamp and some supplies in a niche. It's been years, but it should all still be there.”
   The ledge was not too short, maybe a yard, and it was several inches above the water. She clambered out and huddled for a moment there, catching her breath.
   Shaela pulled off her cloak, tossing it aside; her sodden boots and socks soon followed.
   “Let me see your head,” she said, her attention never leaving him as he heaved his long body up on the ledge. His breathing was raspy and his movements shaky. He must have been hurt worse than he led on.
   She reached into him with her Talent, her hands grasping for his temples in the darkness. His lifeforce was strong, stronger than many of the men she had healed, but his head was cracked, and two ribs were broken. She felt weak herself, but she had enough strength to drag his bones into alignment, the sinews and calcified cell structures knitting back together at her will. The experience was thrilling. His lifeforce was strong and supple. It rang with a solid tone, and the harmony matched hers, something rare.
   Baylor drew in a clean breath, deep and full. His movements strengthened, and he put his hands on hers.
   “I'm good, now,” he said softly. “Thank you.”
   “I'll be the judge of that,” she replied, forcing him into a reclined position. He was fine enough, but she always made sure her patients knew who the doctor was.
   Baylor allowed her to push him. “We should be safe here,” he said. “The burning inn hid us. The water should stop the-”
   Shaela placed her hands over his lips, his beard far softer than she expected.
   “We should probably be silent as well,” she whispered.

   His promise of a lamp was good enough, but the jerky and dried berries hidden there were long since gone. Luckily the boys had safely stowed a flint and steel, and the oilskin wrapped tinderbox was still dry. They got the lamp going, but it did not give that much warmth. The air inside the stone grotto was cooler than the water, and their bodies soon began to shiver.
   “Take your clothes off.”
   The man's smile was unmissable, despite darkness in the flickering oil flame and the direness of the outside world.
   She frowned instinctively, but he was not that bad looking. In far better circumstances, he might have made a good lover. But those thoughts were far from her mind, and they both were weak enough it probably would not have worked anyway.
   “Our clothes are going to suck the warmth out of our bodies,” she said, knitting her brow only lightly. “You'll get sick. If we have contact I can use our mutual life force to help us keep warm.”
   She could not miss his eyes as she removed her blue tunic, the silver star of a lieutenant catching the small lamplight.
   “Alright, you've had your look. Enjoy it, because I don't want to catch you staring again.” She paused. “Yet.”
   He chuckled good-naturedly as he put his arm around her, huddling their skin next to each other.
   They sat there for what must have been hours. Their clothes eventually began to dry, laid out on the shelf. He sat down next to her again from topping off the lamp. Luckily, the boys had hidden a full jug of oil.
   His voice was comforting in the shadows. “This used to be a shrine to the Water Aspect in the Elder Days, they say. My family has been here since the Return, and I--”
   “So, have you ever brought a girl here before?” she interrupted.
   He barked a short laugh. “My brothers probably did, but I tended to spend my youth hunting in the woods to the north. I still tend to spend most of my time up there. I sure wish I had been hunting when all of you showed up.” He adjusted closer to her. “Well, maybe not entirely.”
   She could not help her own smile, but she quickly stifled that as she became all too aware of his closeness.
   “Is it dark out yet?” she asked, stretching to give herself an excuse to adjust a little further from him.
   “Probably close. It was past noon when we hid in here, and it has been several hours. I will slip under the water in a while, when we can be certain it is night. Do you think the duke's men will stay?”
   “Who knows what those traitorous b******s might do?” she replied, a quiver of revulsion running down her spine at what they just might do if they found her.
   The hours were long, and after he had refilled the lamp and it burned down a little further, Baylor finally ducked under, his body slipping into the inky water.
   The moments while he was gone seemed longer than the half day they had waited on the lip. Twice she considered going under herself, but she was not familiar with the cave, and she was unsure she could find the exit.
   Just as she was considering it the third time, the water broke with a softer splash than when they had first entered. Baylor filled his lungs, the water running down his bare chest from his beard and locks.
   “No way” he said, as he shook his head, the water flinging in dark crystal droplets. “They are camped in the ruins, dozens if not hundreds. They seem to be near the well, so they don't appear to be paying any attention to the pond. Everything is destroyed.” She could not be sure in the flickering lamp light, but some of that water on his face might have been tears. “I could not see if there were any prisoners. It must be close to midnight.”
   Her voice sounded timid in the darkness. “Rackus' men are not known for taking prisoners.”
   Baylor sighed. “Then my father probably died the way he always dreamed, fighting for king and country.” He paused. “Tis well enough. He lived a good, full life, and he has three grandchildren. That is what matters more than length.”

   The rest of the night was cold. Even though it was high summer outside, the air inside the stone was cool. Luckily the water was warmed from the outdoors, though once they got back out from their dips, the cool air made it twice as bad. Finally they huddled together around the last pint of oil Baylor had been able to wring from the jug. Shaela used her Talent to help keep them from shivering.
   A spluttering sound woke Shaela from furtive dreams, her leg scrambling on the edge of the lip of stone, unsure of where she was awakening. Baylor held her tight and shushed her to calm.
   “The lamp is dying,” he said quietly. “I don't think I can do anything.”
   She was cold, but not too bad. Her body was getting sore from lack of movement.
   “Any idea how long we've been here?” she asked.
   He let loose his grip on her. “It has to be daytime. I couldn't guess for certain. Time crawls in spurts in this cave.”
   With a last futile spark, the lamp guttered out, leaving them in the darkness, splotches of random color playing games on their retinas.
   A moment passed, and Baylor spoke. “I'm going out. They weren't near the pond last night.”
   She heard his body slip into the water, and then the quiet plop as he went under. The moments were long, but they did not seem so long as last night.
   Baylor's return splash was fairly exuberant. “They are gone. Come with me, quickly.”
   The trip under was far easier than when she had passed within. She held her boots in one hand and felt her way under the stone lip of the grotto, back out into the open pool. The sunlight was painfully bright, but its warmth gladdened her heart.
   “Come on,” he said. “There's the old carriage house down at the north edge of the hill. They might not have destroyed it completely.”
   Blackened ribs of charred wood rose from sooty stone foundations where the inn and its several outbuildings once stood. Smoke still rose from a few smoldering piles.
   “Baylor,” she said as she pulled at his hand, “I'm sorry. About your home, I mean. I'm a soldier, but I've not seen much war. It is a terrible thing.”
   The man nodded, never stopping in leading her towards their goal.
   “I often imagined burning it to the ground myself,” he said plainly. “I hated the place and had no interest in it. That is why I spent most of my time hunting. I would bring my game back, and father or Bavlin would buy it from me.”
   “Is Bavlin your brother?” she asked, still holding his hand as he led her down the hill.
   “Was. Bavlin died a few years back, not long after mother.” He thumbed over his shoulder at her. “Birom is one of you Bluecloaks, down in Avaros when last he wrote, and my sister, Alenna is married to a farmer near Feldhelm on the Snowbourne. Only father still lived at the inn, with the help. That's why I was here. I worry for him when he's all alone...I...”
   Shaela knew Baylor could not know if his father had died in the attack. The old man had pulled an old club with a spike on the end out from behind his bar and joined the soldiers in their defense. The chaos of the end of the battle had left all things uncertain.
   The carriage house was obviously ransacked, and if there had been a carriage inside, it was now gone. Baylor grabbed a couple of dusty blankets from a pile near a thrown open chest, pulling a beaten old canteen off the wall as well.
   “My place is about twenty miles due north of here,” he said quickly as he pulled her with him, “a couple of miles into the forest that comes down from the Dragonscales. I have plenty of supplies and clothes for us there. Weapons too, if needs be.” Baylor looked up at the sun high above them. “If we move fast and keep at it, we could be there by midnight. You think you can do it?”
   Shaela had done plenty of distance running during her training for the Bluecloaks. She still made a run a couple of times a week to keep her healer's body in shape. The distance was longer than any she had done since her earliest training, but she felt it was possible.

   It was harder than she thought. Her breath was heaving, her legs were leaden, and it was well past midnight when the heavy tree cover of the last couple of miles cleared to show a small open meadow in the moonlight. The short cabin built along the northwestern treeline looked like the coziest inn she had ever found, even though the two little windows were dark.
   Baylor held her back as she began to trot towards the woodland cottage.
   “Shhh,” he said in a fierce whisper. “Stay down. There is smoke coming from the chimney.”
   Shaela fell flat, the leaf litter far more inviting than she first thought. Exhaustion coursed through her veins, to every muscle in her body. She longed to curl up in what was left of last autumn, and crash into an dreamless slumber.
   “I'll go forward. You stay here.”
   “No. I'm going with you,” she said, forcing herself back into a crouch. “I've had more training than you, no matter how much hunting you've done. I will stay behind you, stay low, and stay quiet.”
   Apparently he had no desire to kneel there and argue. The lowering moon was full, and it still gave enough light to show fatigue on his face as well. He nodded and began to move along the edge of the treeline, around the circumference of the clearing. Shaela did as she promised and followed him in silence.
   It was interminable. Baylor moved very slowly, now completely on edge. He held her dagger, the only tool she still had from before the grotto.
   Baylor obviously knew what he was doing, though. He led them through the tree-shadowed moonlight, eventually ducking under the shuttered window and approaching the front door.
   “I don't know who you are,” he yelled out suddenly, “But my brothers and I are all armed, and my uncle stands with a bow on the edge of the clearing. This is our hunting cabin. If you are just lost travelers searching shelter, we mean you no harm, and you may go your way in the morning. However if you are thieves, we can cut you down. We've all served.”
   A gruff voice called back. “And whom do you serve now?”
   “The king,” Baylor returned.
   The voice sounded relieved. “Then enter in peace. We meant no harm. We only sought shelter.”
   The sound of a bar being removed from the inside broke the momentary silence. The moonlight caught a the face of a man just a few years older than her.
   “Corporal Durtz! Dear Waters!” she said in shock.
   Shaela had to fight down the impulse to hug the man.
   “Lieutenant? By the Waters.” He looked inside for a moment. “Come in, quick. I can't believe its you. The sergeant...I don't think he'll make it to the morning.”
   “Sergeant Ohr?”
   Durtz nodded. “Yes. He took two arrows getting off that hill, and they've festered. I thought I might be able to save him when we found this cabin, but...” The corporal trailed off, nervously glancing back inside.
   Shaela pushed him out of her way, dashing quickly into the cabin. It was cozy, and warm, a small, well banked fire glowed softly in the darkness. A wide bed sat near it, and a motionless lump lay under the blankets.
   The red glow of the fire lit the sergeant's grizzled face. One hand lay on top of the coverlet, the other bound tight with the rest of his arm in bloody bandages. Shaela had been a healer too long to not recognize the smell of gangrene immediately. She knelt on the edge of the mattress, her hands going straight to Ohr's temples. They were far colder than she expected, a very bad sign. If they were hot, that would mean his body was fighting the infection with a fever. A cold body meant the fight might well be over.
   She reached into him with her Talent, her lifeforce reaching out to his. It was dim and colder than his body. The blackness of the infection shadowed its light. She reached for it, pulling it together, like gathering leaves floating in a pool.
   “Baylor,” she said distractedly, “I need boiling water and towels. Quickly!”
   “There's a kettle on already,” said Durtz quietly from the recesses of the cozy cabin. He had closed and barred the door behind them.
   Shaela did not really notice her surroundings, her awareness completely involved with the sergeant's fading life.
   “Will his wounds not close?” Baylor asked as he placed several towels beside her.
   “I don't even care about the wounds right now. It's the infection in his system I'm worried about. That's what is killing him.”
   She gathered the blackness of the infection with her will, wrapping it up with her Talent, drawing it out of the sergeant. She rubbed her hand on the towels, blackness, like tar, left in trails with each wipe.
   The ardor of their travel to the cabin had drained her already, but this use of her Talent sapped her resources even drier. She blackened three towels, handing each off to Baylor after it was used up, who then placed it in the boiling kettle at her command.
   The sergeant's lifeforce brightened for a moment, shining through the oily ink of infection. He coughed up hard, bloody spittle gathering on his three-day beard. His eyes flashed open.
   “D-don't give up,” he stuttered roughly. “They'll follow ya...get to...king...”
   The light in his eyes dimmed, much as the light of his lifeforce. The black infection consumed it finally as it disappeared from her mind. Her Talent could not find it. Sergeant Manon Ohr was gone.

   The summer was a peaceful dream. Even Durtz was in a good mood, most of the time. The three shared the cabin, and in a small, lean-to stable lived Baylor's gelding, Scout, whom he had left pastured in the meadow while gone to the inn. Shaela made friends with the old horse, giving him his oats every morning for several weeks. The rest of their day was spent hunting or searching the woods for herbs, tubers, and mushrooms. Baylor also had a garden with tomatoes, peppers, and several different squash. There were even a half dozen apple and pear trees along the edge of the heavier woods, now full of fruit and just beginning to ripen.
   Baylor and Durtz both hunted often, Durtz sometimes disappearing by himself for days. Baylor came back to the cabin every night, however. He certainly seemed to pay her a great deal of attention, and she was beginning to feel certain that she liked it. After he brought back a fat summer buck, along with some pheasant and several rabbits, Baylor began to spend his afternoons walking the woods with her, or simply sitting in the meadow watching the white daisies waving in the breeze.
   “Come with me,” he said.
   They had lain Sergeant Ohr's body in a grave along the edge of the woods, far enough into the meadow that they could dig without hitting roots. Baylor had brought some slate up from a forest streambed to build a cairn. Now he led her to another, larger stone, freshly lain near the head. Carved in a strong, well talented hand were words she read out loud:
   “Manon Ohr, Sergeant First Class, Royal Guard of King Aerus II.”
   Tears came to her eyes as she threw her arms around Baylor's neck. She was surprised at how well they fit, since he had always seemed so tall.
   “You carved this?” Her voice broke with a thankful sob.
   “Yeah. I've had some spare time.”
   She reached up, pulling his face closer. Their lips touched before she knew what she was doing, and it was so wonderful that she just gave in, sinking into the luxuriousness of the kiss.
   “I suppose you two have been at it the whole summer.”
   The interruption startled her out of her journey through the pleasure of passion. Durtz was back, and the look on his face was an odd combination of cruel glee at catching them mixed with a streak of disappointment plain for a moment in his wrinkled brow.
   “You need to get your weapons and come with me,” Durtz said, unable to meet either of their eyes.
   “What's happened?” Baylor said quickly.
   “Men are coming this way, but there seems to be two groups of them fighting. I was almost certain I saw a blue cloak on one of them.”
   Shaela dashed with Baylor back to the cabin, Durtz following not far behind, his eyes on the woods and an arrow nocked to the extra bow Baylor had given him. The hunter now grabbed his own, while handing Shaela her dagger on its belt.
   “You'll stay near me,” he said firmly. “Durtz and I will hold off anyone who means us harm. You must be there to heal us if we get wounded.”
   Shaela nodded, wrapping the belt around her waist and pulling the knife.
   A few minutes later they were on the top of a small ridge in the forest, hidden behind several large white oak trees. Shaela could hear the clash of metal in the distance, as well as the shouts of men fighting. Sweat began to bead on her brow in the dense summer forest. It ran in annoying drops down her nose and temples, but the sounds of battle were so close she dared not move for fear of being seen.
   That was when, with a sudden shaking of underbrush, three men in ragged blue cloaks broke into the gully below them. They were bleeding and exhausted, but fire still burned in all of their eyes, as they turned, back to back to back to face what was following them in the narrow clearing.
   A half dozen figures in armor and green chopped through the briars at the edge of the gully, each man's sword touched with crimson.
   “Damn you, and your traitorous duke, Farrold, you b*****d. Fiery Hells, I tire of running. Let us end this here and now.” One of the men in blue had a lieutenant's star on his tunic, much like her old one that lay hidden in the bottom of a little trunk back at the cabin. He looked younger than her, though, and likely on his first assignment as well.
   “I'm not letting that Looey get cut down,” Durtz said softly, as he pulled an arrow back. He held only a moment before it leaped from the bow and deep through the chain mail and green tunic of the lead pursuer.
   The soldiers below them erupted in an automated response. They did not care who had come to their sudden and unexpected aid, but they were not going to let the surprise on the faces of the duke's soldiers go to waste.
   Shaela charged, under cover of another arrow from Durtz and Baylor's first, both of which hit the same target, dropping him hard.
   In moments it was over. The Bluecloaks were deadly, even when outnumbered. With their arrow cover from on high, they severely, and quickly, outmatched the men in green.
   Shaela did not have time to save any of the duke's soldiers. The Bluecloaks finished them before she arrived. No matter, they could die as traitors for all she was concerned, just as their master one day would.
   “Who are you?” the lieutenant asked.
   “Lieutenant Shaela Maycrest, Healer's Corps. I used to report to Captain Orios in Gavanor.”
   “Damn glad to find you,” the young man said. “We had feared the Healer's Corps wiped out. They hit the mages first, then the messengers and healers. What good came of slaughtering healers?” The lieutenant in blue shook his head in amazement. “Of course, the b*****d had no problem killing children, evidently, so I suppose Rackus is capable of anything.”
   Shaela ignored the man as he went on. She put her hands on him and each of his companions, healing them with her Talent. Nothing more than a few cuts and bruises. One man had a puncture wound in his leg that would have festered, but with a moment of her time, it was healed to no more than a pinkish scar.
   “What are you doing out here?” the young lieutenant asked her after she took her hands from his temples.
   “I escaped with a detachment commanded by Sergeant Manon Ohr,” she replied. “We held a hilltop inn south of here for near a day before we were overwhelmed. Corporal Durtz and I are the only two survivors, along with the innkeeper's son who has a cabin near here.” She paused a moment. “By the way, who are you?”
   “Lieutenant Lex Lindon.   I arrived in Gavanor the night before that green cloaked b*****d started his rebellion. With me are Soldiers Grayson and Felitz. They are all that is left of my platoon.” The young man looked even younger for a moment if possible.
   “Well, I guess that puts you under my command, as I served at Gavanor for six months,” Shaela said in her best officer's voice. “Corporal Durtz, you are my non-commissioned officer. And Baylor, that makes you our Ranger.”
   The bearded man had a bit of a startled look on his face. “What are you getting at Shaela?”
   “We aren't going to let the duke get away with this.”

   And that was how it began. For the rest of the summer, and through the depths of autumn, Shaela led a band of outlaw Bluecloaks, raiding the Emerald Duke's rear and fingers. Dozens of men and several women joined them, most of which were scattered royal guard, lost from their units during the running battles that crisscrossed the Western Realm from Tearbridge to Dadrick. They hit the duke's caravans and his supply trains, stealing what they could, burning the rest, and melting back into the forests that ran for miles south of the Dragonscales down towards the Great River. The Blue Band of the Stonebourne Fork, as they came to be known, struck quickly and quietly from a several different hideouts.
   Their stories were manifold and daring, and the Emerald Duke was often enraged by the biting mosquito at his rear that he could not squash. He was busy preparing a defense near Bridgedale, readying to stop King Aerus when he inevitably came west to put down the rebellion. Duke Rackus Garlan had no time to be wasted wiping out a tiny company of guerrilla warriors. But they were operating within his breadbasket, and he needed those supplies to keep his main army ready to meet the king. So he was binded by a paradox, where he had to weaken his eastern defenses to keep his supply lines flowing, in order to keep those defenses strong.
   When winter came, and the first snows began to gather on the branches of the woods, Baylor Griffin led them further north, deep into the woods, up near dwarf territory. There he showed them a huge cavern, opened up in a southern spur of the Dragonscales nine centuries ago when the Cataclysm formed those mountains. The cave was wide and dry, save for a small stream that emerged from deep within. It was a perfect winter hideout, a place where the whole Band could gather and share resources while they awaited the spring.
   Baylor led Shaela towards the back of the cavern, showing her the barrels of supplies he had stored here over the years.
   “Always prepared, are you?” she asked him, twisting her fingers through his beard.
   “I lived alone,” he said with a grin, “in a cabin in the woods. I had little else to do.”
   “I have something for you to do,” she said playfully, her hand tracing down his neck to his chest.
   “That brings me to the other thing I wanted to show you.”
   He pulled her towards a small crack in the wall, which led into a side chamber. He turned up the lamp and reached out his hand to help her through.
   Her breath caught as the glittering cavern opened up before her. It was not nearly as large as the outer chamber, but it was covered in glittering, blue-white gypsum crystal, as if they had stepped inside a giant geode. On the floor lay a soft mattress of straw, covered in pillows and blankets.
   “You're kidding me right?” she said, her sarcasm not entirely sincere. “Was this another place where 'your brothers' brought girls?”
   “No. You are the only person to whom I've shown this place,” he said, his hazel eyes looked for hers in the lamplit darkness. “The truth is, I prepared it for you long ago, even though I had no idea who you were yet.”
   He pulled her close to him, his kiss deep and enthralling. Her heart leaped and quickened as he lowered her to the soft mattress, the glittering cavern winking to her knowingly.

   The winter was long and cold. The Blue Band hunted game, instead of green bannered caravans. They had saved many of their stolen supplies, and Baylor led them in gathering their smaller caches back to the cavern. At least twice they had captured ale shipments for the duke, and those barrels were very helpful in warming the winter nights.
   For Shaela, it was the greatest time of her life. She was in love with this man she had met the day her old world was destroyed. Most of the others in the Band thought their dalliance a great thing, a good luck sign. But a few, including Durtz on occasion, gave disapproving stares.
   That did not change the sheer romance of that winter. But even the longest season comes to an end, and soon green returned to the forests, though not just that of the leaves on the trees. The duke had tired of the gnat on the back of his neck, and over the winter he had gathered an army to swat it.
   Hundreds of the duke's soldiers swept through the forest, burning wherever they found evidence of the Band's hiding. They never penetrated as far as the cavern, not having the woodcraft among them to know the wilderness as Baylor did. But they caught many of the Band as they ranged, most fighting to the last man once they were trapped.
   The soldiers of the Emerald Duke needed captives though, and it was a trap specifically set that caught Baylor and Durtz out together one day, while they were watching the north road for the first wagon train of the spring.
   Shaela had been back near the cavern, tilling a new garden she had planned for the summer. The soil was good, and she had found a fairly root free clearing nearby. The blisters on her fingers were wearing against the hoe as Lieutenant Lindon burst from the tree lined edge.
   “Shaela! They've been taken!”
   She knew whom right away. Shaela knew where Baylor was every day and had not been happy about him deciding to scout the roadway himself this time. But he had been adamant that it was his turn, and she had not been able to sway him.
   “Are they alive?”
   “Yes,” Lindon said. “Here.” He passed her a piece of parchment, a small hole ripped in its top. She noticed a cheap, bent dagger in his other hand. A message was written.

    We have your men. They will be tortured until either they tell us where you hide or they die. Or you could turn yourselves in. His Grace, Duke Rackus Garlan of the Free Duchy of Gavanor offers his amnesty to those who seek it.

   “What do we do?” The youth that had begun to slip from Lindon's face over the last year began to return.
   “I will turn myself in. I am the highest ranking officer.” Shaela sighed in resignation. “You take the others and all the supplies you can gather. There are too few of us left to be able to achieve anything as it is. Head towards the Free Cities. Novon or Dern would be best. Don't return while Rackus lives.”
   “But Shaela, my father is the Duke of--”
   “Don't argue with me,” she snapped. “I know damn well who your father is. If you can get back east after you have gotten the others out, then do so. And you still address me as Lieutenant, mister. I am your commanding officer and you will follow my final command.”
   Lieutenant Lex Lindon, second son of the Duke of Allanor, saluted the girl from Harlong, and dashed away towards their cavern camp. He was young and a little naïve, but he could get the job done. She had learned that a dozen times over in the last several months.
   The walk out of the forest was a long one, for which she was thankful. The spring had warmed, and the green tint to the branches had become visible leaves. May-apples had bloomed, and the violets and knicker blossoms peaked from the ground. It was a last moment of peace, and she was able to put the destination of her journey out of her mind.
   All sweet moments end, though, and this one came to finality with a flash of steel and green, the grey castle on their tunics now crowned with gold. She told them her name and rank, and claimed command of the Blue Band.
   “The few others of my Band you have not killed or taken fled towards dwarven lands. I have come to surrender myself. We will harass the duke no more.”
   The man had broken teeth, and the sergeant stripes freshly sewn onto his tunic were slightly crooked. “We will see if you are all that's left. I'm sure the rack will convince you to let His Grace know what he wants.”
   It was the back of a wagon for several days, crawling back through the land she had fled across with a small detachment not quite a year ago. They hopped a river ship down the Stonebourne to Gavanor, the city where she had spent her first assignment what seemed so long ago. It was a blur through the streets from the wharf to the Citadel. She was taken in silence, and none of the citizens noticed her passing as anything significant. Most were busy with their own concerns. Through her Talent, Shaela could feel the tension among them as they scurried from one door to the next, avoiding the glance of the soldiers.
   Shaela knew where she was headed. The Citadel loomed over all from its perch on Malador's stone. Likely she would soon find herself in the depths below, somewhere in the fetid dungeons of the Emerald Duke.
   But that was not the case. The guards locked her in a small room near the back of the servant quarters, leaving her with bread, ham, water and a light robe. The washstand in the little cell was clean, and soon her hands and face were as well. She tried the door, but it was bolted from outside. She did not understand why she was treated as such. She hoped Baylor and Durtz had received as good.
   Food came twice every day, and it was passable good. The servant who opened the door always had a green clad guard over her shoulder, and neither of them answered her questions with more than a glance.
   Once the soldier in attendance told her to, “Wait your turn,” at her repeated questions.
   Several times over the several days Shaela heard the clanging of bells in the city, bells not timed to the hour. Once she heard what sounded like a crowd from the Hayball arena, and it went on for hours, only to end in screams of anger, fear, and pain. Nothing but the food came to her door though, and she waited in uneasy anticipation.
   Near a week after her arrival, the door opened suddenly in the mid-afternoon, long before she would normally get her evening meal. A tall man in chain armor and a tattered green tabard came into the room, his face washed grey with anxiety.
   “You are Lieutenant Shaela Maycrest, correct?” The soldier nodded before she could respond. “I believe I remember your arrival in the city with a detachment of Blue Devils from the east. You will come with me if you want to live.”
   The man gently, yet forcefully, pulled her from her reclined position upon the narrow cot, leading her out the door. He said nothing as he escorted her through the Citadel, the grey stone corridors far less inviting than they had been when she was stationed here a year and a lifetime ago.
   She was not familiar with the area to which she was led. While stationed in Gavanor as a Bluecloak, she had taken care of Prince Gelrud's family health, and she knew the princely quarters. But Duke Rackus had been castellan to Gelrud, and the Garlan family had been cared for by Talented healers in green.
   The room to which the soldier took her stank of the sour smell of oncoming death. A weak cough, followed by a gasp of pain sounded from the bed. Shaela knew the smell and sounds all too well, and she quickly approached the bedside.
   “If the duke dies,” the soldier said with a glare, “we will have no Talented healers left in the city. You must heal him, or I will personally behead you and your two friends down in the sourer parts of the dungeon.” The hard man pushed her towards the deathbed.
   “I would save him without your threats,” she answered with spirit. “It is what we who honor our profession do.”
   Shaela knelt down by the dying duke. A stinking, wet stain of crimson reflected the sunlight pouring in through the open windows. She placed her hands on the man's head, sinking into his lifeforce.
   Down in the darkness there was light, and it reached out back to her. The sinews of his gut mended back together, finding their proper ends. The poisonous bile that had leaked from them gathered, and she pulled it from his tissues, wiping it on the already stained sheets. His skin rejoined, and she pulled that bloom of light from the black hand of death, and it flowered with the opening of the duke's eyes.
   “Ah,” he said weakly, “it was you out there, harassing my rear. They told me it was a healer sapping my support from the forests, but I never thought it really could have been you, Lieutenant.” His voice gained strength as he continued, nodding at her moment of surprise. “Oh, yes, I remember you. I knew the name of every Bluecloak in Gavanor, as well as my own men. And believe me I've counted their deaths.”
   Shaela rose to her feet, backing into the grip of her escort, who was suddenly very present once again.
   Her anger made her brave. “Do you count the death's of Gelrud's children? The ones you must know I cared for in my short time here?”
   The duke stood from his bed, his feet unsure for a moment before he steadied.
   “I count them first,” he said with obvious sadness, “for I did not wish them dead. An overzealous general's head now rests on the Western Wall, as it was he who ordered the killings without my consent. I had hoped to give Gelrud's family to King Aerus as a peace offering.” The duke met her venom tainted stare, his grey-green eyes solid and very sane. “I hope you know that I also count other lives as well. Those Gelrud killed to drive me to this.” He paused, his fists clenching. “Those he drove away from me who still live.”
   “What do you mean?” Shaela was startled by Rackus' claim to have not murdered the Prince's children. Stories she had heard put the sword in his hands.
   “Gelrud was insatiable when it came to women, and he had grown mad with power.” The duke's eyes were glittering with rage now, as he went on, telling his story to the full. “He was perverted, and the Princess often wore heavy makeup to hide his rages. He went through the w****s of Gavanor like they were cattle, leaving them bruised and beaten in his wake. Some brothels refused to serve him, and they would be burned in the night, some of the fires causing death and damage far beyond the whorehouses. Finally, even that was not enough for the b*****d. Gelrud took to seducing the wives of the noble court. Ofttimes he would even do so in public, daring the offended magistrate or count to do something to stop him.”
   The duke's demeanor changed, and his hard voice softened. “That was when I met Arina. She was lovely as a prairie spring. My own wife, the mother of my...” his voice broke for a second “...sons -- she died five years ago, and Arina, a daughter of Darilla, made me happy for the first time since.”
   He sat down for a moment at a side table, pouring himself a glass of wine from the carafe there. He continued, as if he needed someone to whom he could bear his soul, someone to give him absolution.
   “Arina and I married, even though my sons were not happy about it. They could not understand why I needed love in my life too. It did not mean that I loved their mother less, it only meant that I missed her love so much in my life...” The duke took a long swallow of the wine.
   “It was the day she told me she was pregnant that it happened. She told me that morning, and when I rode out to check on a shipment coming in at the Woodton docks, my heart was singing.” He had a soft, sad smile as he looked at Shaela. “You may not believe it, but it is still the simple things that give us all the greatest pleasure, no matter how powerful we may become. But they are also the things that can break our hearts the most.”
   He rose swiftly, downing the remaining wine in the glass and pouring himself another. “When I returned, it was to grief I could not have imagined. This room,” he waved the goblet about, “It was covered in blood. Gelrud had raped her. He had stormed into the room in a drunken rage and taken her against her will. The baby was lost in his barbarous, vile madness!”
   The duke paused for another draught of his wine. Shaela was shocked to hear this. Rumors had abounded that the Prince had little discretion with his appetites. But Shaela had not been in Gavanor long, and her contact with Gelrud was limited, as he seldom visited his children.
   “She survived the miscarriage,” he said in a broken voice, “but she could not live. She slit her wrists that evening. Gelrud died as well that night. ” The Emerald Duke, his worn face still sallow from his sickness, shook his head. “I slew Gelrud as any man might, for the sins any man might have committed. But because of our birth this was also treason, and rebellion came unwanted in its wake. My men followed me, as did a number of Bluecloaks who switched to my green. The prince's own men knew his madness more than anyone.”
   Shaela's shock was great, but somehow the story fit with the bad vibrations she had felt whenever in Prince Gelrud's presence. Her Talent was strong, and one of the side effects was an ability to feel the mental wellness of those around her as well as their physical wellness, something similar to the powers of the secret order of Paladins. She had been able to sense that the prince had not been right, and she was always glad she only been required to heal his children.
   “We almost had them too,” the duke said quietly. “I was almost a king. But now, thanks partially to you, all that is over.” He shook his head. “Aerus may have forgiven Gelrud's death; they were never friendly. But the death of his family cannot be forgiven, and that is how I will be remembered by history, as a child slayer. No one will remember my child, unborn and looking no different than my own stain that now lies on those sheets His blood, her blood, and my blood, now all have drenched that bed, yet somehow it is I, the one with the most sin, who lives.”
   Shaela could say nothing. Her voice was not available. The things the duke said challenged everything she believed, her loyalties and her honor. Even if only a part of it was true, the duke was not the monster she had thought he must have been. Perhaps Gelrud had been the true monster.
   The duke cleared his throat and stood up straight, casting the past behind him. “I thank you for your healing, Lieutenant, but you have only healed a dead man. My son has betrayed me to Aerus, and my forces could not concentrate. We were defeated, and part of the fault lies with you. Were I the tyrant you thought me to be, I would undoubtedly take your blood in revenge.” The duke chuckled for a moment. “But I am not. You may go, with my thanks for the short life you have returned to me. Your two compatriots are free to go also. Enough have died, and enough will die yet.”
   She squeaked out a bit of a bow, and a small “Your Grace” as the escort pulled her from the room. An hour later she, Baylor, and Durtz were all walking out the western gate, a few coins in their pocket from the duke's guard. Shaela healed her friends swiftly, her touch lingering on Baylor for a moment extra. But they had no time for love, as the battle horns of the last mustering of the Emerald Duke sounded behind them.

   The sun was setting in the distance over the last stretch of western frontier. The work on the huge structure had stopped for the day, and Baylor came wandering over to the cozy little cottage he had built for them as a temporary home on the hill. The king's reward for their service as renegades at the Emerald Duke's rear had been quite generous, and Baylor had begun to build what his father could only have dreamed of upon the ashes of the old inn. Huge, red Firewood timbers broke the skyline, paid for by the ransom handed them shortly after the king had removed Rackus Garlan's recently captured head.
   Baylor's arms stretched around the growing bump in her belly, as they both watched the vermilion sunset.
   “I like Tallen,” he said with a smile. “Or Flayd. They are both Griffin family names.”
   “What if it is a girl?” she asked, nudging his ribs with her elbow.
   “Then we will just have to have more.”
   Her happiness was the small things, but it was greater than anything Shaela had ever known.