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DENEAS LOOKED AT A valley just brightening with the first silvery rays of dawn. It had taken hard riding, but they had arrived at the meeting site a day earlier than planned. Instead of the central bonfire and a ring of smaller ones used by families to cook their evening meal, it appeared to her trained eye that the caravan they approached had not one, but two distinct camps. An attempt she figured to stave off the fever ravaging the camp.
Movement behind a pile of rocks alongside the trail jerked her from her ruminations.
"Halt." A man about thirty years old stepped out from behind the cover. An adolescent boy dressed in the leather breeches and vest of those who cared for the caravan's animals followed four paces behind. Deneas gauged the youth’s age at ten years old. Both had red cloths tied on their faces to cover their nose and mouth.
The boy’s blue eyes were wide with fear. His two-handed grip on a sword meant for someone twice his size showed more nerve than skill. Yet he lifted his chin in defiance. In response to the challenge, Deneas’ mount leaned back on its haunches, but to attack or flee? She pulled the reins and turned the horse’s leap into a spin. Gentle strokes and calm words settled the animal enough that she could return her focus to the guards.
The tableau remained unchanged. The armed men still blocked the way.
She opened her mouth to explain the purpose of their visit, then closed it. It was not appropriate for her to speak for the group.
"Agreed." Trelleir’s soft voice came into Deneas’ mind. "Let Keyne and Betrys handle this."
Even as Trelleir mindspoke, the village leader addressed the waiting guards. "I am Keyne, come to trade with Clan Vreis." He gestured at the watching Betrys. "This is my mother."
The guard’s focus shifted, turning his frigid stare on Trelleir. A blink dismissed the other man and the glare settled on Deneas.
A cold chill had Deneas' fingers clenching as if around the hilt of her sword.
Keyne answered the unspoken question. "And Deneas and Trelleir, two friends."
The guard nodded, then signaled his younger kin who took off running toward the closest of the camps. "Sorry, sir." He bowed first to Keyne, then to Betrys. "Mistress, you are the healer?" At her confirmation, he added. "There is fever." He gestured at the more distant of the camps. "Those afflicted are set off by themselves, but there is still a chance of danger." His pause told of his fear – and hope – more than any words could. "Will you enter?"
Before the healer had a chance to answer, a burly man strode straight up to Keyne. Similarities in build and features declared the newcomer as kin. "Thank you for coming, brother." As the scout had done, he bowed to Betrys. He rose with a whoop, grabbed the healer around the waist, and spun her in a circle. "Welcome, mitther."
Betrys cuffed the caravan member's ear. "Put me down, you big oaf. I taught you better than that." Once her feet were back on the ground, she swung at him again. "I am not your mother."
With a muttered, "Yes, little sister," the trader caught her hand in mid-swing to kiss it in a gesture worthy of a high councilman.
Deneas turned her grab for her sword into a cover of her mouth to hide a chuckle.
Swift introductions by Keyne made Deneas realize the honor the trader bestowed by greeting them himself. The man warmly shaking her hand was the head of the wagon train ... and Clan Vreis. "I appreciate your coming and that your journey was long. Refreshments await you at the fire."
During the short walk from the guard point to the main fire, Betrys pulled every detail from the caravan leader about the fever. His dry recitation of the type of symptoms and the progression of the stages hid what Deneas could tell was a deep concern for his people. It was not until he came to the mortality rate that emotion showed.
"The newest of the afflicted is Brial, my granddaughter. She had been working with the sick for so long that I had hoped she was immune. She lives, but who knows how long she can keep fighting." A pause and he added, "You were wise, brother, to leave your daughter at home. Even though she has the talent and is Betrys’ apprentice, Leri does not need to learn the heavy burden of this much responsibility at such a young age."
Nearing the central fire, Feldt gestured everyone to benches. As soon as she sat down, Deneas could tell the seats were recently vacated. A wave brought over several girls bearing plates of steaming fruit pastry and mugs of chilled water. As they ate, Deneas paid attention to both her friends’ conversations with the caravan leader and the people he waved over, and to the group gathering on the other side of the fire. While some faces reflected hope, for most of the traders, their eyes held fear and mistrust.
Betrys handed her plate to a waiting girl and leaned over. "Feldt is taking me on a walk around the second camp." Then added in a whisper Deneas swore she heard in her mind rather than her ears. "They are good people. Just scared."
Movement in the sky turned into a large black bird on the wing. It circled the fire, then landed on the roof of a wagon. Its orange eyes seemed to blaze with energy, a hatred it turned on Trelleir. She pictured the lethal curved talons ripping the flesh from Trelleir's bones.
Deneas reached out to Trelleir using the magic in her amulet to touch his mind. She did not want to risk any of the watching clansmen hearing their conversation. Magic was still new to her so small acts such as mindspeech not only gave her more experience at controlling her powers but also put into practice the lessons Betrys and Trelleir had given.
She kept her mental voice soft so as not to startle Trelleir. "That is a helwr. And it acts like it knows you."
Trelleir's mental tone showed no emotion. However, Deneas' pulse leaped at his simple confirmation of what she knew in her heart. "Karst must be nearby."
Memories of the last time she and Trelleir had seen the bird pushed forward. She felt the anger of the larger creature that was Trelleir in his true form of a dragon at being challenged by the smaller one. Pain surged through her link with Trelleir and she relived Karst stabbing the dragon to save the helwr, and of the helwr's talons ripping across Trelleir's wings as the bird fought to defend its master from the dragon.
"Karst tried to kill you, to shoot you in the back," Trelleir softly reminded.
"I know." Deneas shrugged. "And I let him go. So what do we do now? Feldt is Betrys' kin, and by extension so are his people. I cannot turn my back on innocents and leave because Karst is here."
Her parting words to the former bully of Darceth echoed in her ears. "Go home, or not. It is your choice. I will not have your blood on my hands."
"I have learned much from you and yours." Trelleir looked up at the watching helwr whose baleful gaze had not shifted. "Compassion does not always come naturally to me. Especially to one such as Karst who bullied, blackmailed, or used his father’s power to get what he wanted. I would have squashed the life from him, scraped what was left from the bottom of my foot, then seared the ground with dragon fire. All without a twinge of regret." A deep sigh escaped. "But I promised your mother not to take revenge for his actions. Then or now."
Deneas pondered the revelation. The deeper their mental connection grew, the easier it was to forget that at his core Trelleir was not human, but a dragon, with all the unrestrained instincts of an animal. A question she refused to ask, even in the privacy of her soul, was how much dragon he remained, and whether he could love a human.
I would not want him to change for me. But could I still love him if he kills Karst?
A more dire consideration demanded to be heard. Does he care for me for who I am? Or because I am the only one who comes close to being one of his kind? Even if it is only a pale substitute created by magic.
Unable to bear the answer he might give, she returned to what, if anything, to do about the former slayer. "Karst is as much a victim as me. Like my mother Adais, his mother was also murdered and by the same man. Head slayer Caldar betrayed his position and his marriage vows."
On the wagon roof, the helwr raised its wings.
Deneas tensed, ready to block the bird's path to Trelleir. Her fears failed to materialize and with a harsh caw, the helwr settled back to its watchful position. All without shifting its intense focus from Trelleir. "You heard the conversations around the fire. They speak his name kindly in the camp. Maybe he is changed, has become a better man." An idea took wing. "I will talk to Feldt." She smiled as the idea shifted. "Or have Betrys do it. Feldt can tell us more about the man Karst is now. After all, the helwr has been sitting on the wagon for more than a candlemark and no one has sounded an alarm or paid any attention to it."
Trelleir returned his focus to the helwr. His face remained composed, but Deneas could feel the turmoil in his thoughts. "There can be only one explanation. They are familiar with the bird. Feldt is a good choice to give us the answers we need. We wait until everyone is healed before bracing Karst." Behind Trelleir’s agreement, Deneas heard darker words in her head. Then I will have my revenge.
PACING BACK AND FORTH within the confines of the wagon kept Karst close to Brial. And, at the same time enabled him to look at something other than her pale face. After a night full of keeping damp cloths on Brial’s forehead, only a few drops remained in the water bowl which meant a trip to the well.
Careful to prevent his weight from shifting the wagon, Karst climbed out the back of the wagon. Streams of rising fog from the nearby rivulets mingled with the smoke from the campfires. Extra coals had kept out the night chill, but they made the transition to the damp morning air worse. I would do anything if it meant easing the shivers that racked Brial’s body all night. He looked back at her unmoving body, her hair dripping with sweat. Forcing himself away from the sight, he pulled his coat tighter around his body as protection against the cooler air.
The camp was quiet. No pots simmered on cookfires. No children raced each other in a competition to gather firewood. Stomps and chuffs from the stockade area were the only signs of life. The debate of whether to care for Brial’s team or to pull some more water from the well lasted mere moments. Emrys was well ready to take care of the haulers. Lifting the bucket off the side of the wagon, he headed out through the dew-covered grass toward the nearest well.
A sharp caw and the rush of air sent him to his knees in the space between two wagons. "What now, Tywyll?" he cursed. Heavy breathing and the thud of running footsteps had him peeking around to see what the commotion was. "It is only one of the scouts," he told the watching helwr. "Now let me go. I need to get to the well." But no matter the tone or commands he used, the bird refused to let Karst leave the hideout. "I might as well go back inside until that crazy bird straightens out."
His hand had not even reached the wagon door when he froze. Feldt led a small group of people and their horses toward the other circle of wagons. That is why Tywyll didn’t want me to leave. Cold, unrelated to the temperature, washed over him. Two of the newcomers were Deneas and Trelleir.
I am not the same man they knew, not the son of Caldar who used his father’s power to get what I wanted.
Guilt at the boy he was back then heated his collar. The thaw didn’t reach his heart. Brial needed more help than he could give her. Without the healer, she would die.
Karst fought against the panic in his roiling thoughts. "I never had much interaction with Trelleir," he whispered into the hauler beast’s ear. That won’t help with their decision, he thought. The scholar was friends with Geren the blacksmith. My father made up for my not doing anything to Trelleir with the way he abused the power of his positions as village elder and as the head slayer. Just because my father’s blackmail and attempted kidnapping of the blacksmith didn’t work, doesn’t mean Trelleir won’t hold me to blame.
One question demanded an answer. But it was an answer Karst could not bear to hear .
Would Deneas and Trelleir use their friendship with the healer to make her leave?
BETRYS WALKED OUT FROM between two wagons and slumped down on a wagon tongue. Deneas noted how even the short time spent among the sick had drained her strength. "Trelleir, I know it is much to ask, but would you consider shifting? Your healing fire would make my medicines more effective. From what I see, the fever is bad." Her gaze took in the camp around them and the one just beyond the protective circle. "I fear many deaths." She shook her head and the long gray braid slid down over her shoulder. "I am not certain Keyne and I will be able to return home."
Trelleir laid a hand on the healer’s shoulder. "It is that bad?"
"If I cannot stop the fever here and now, nothing will stop it. I cannot risk taking it back to my village or the other settlements and cots I serve." Her light hazel eyes darkened. Not to the steel gray of when she healed someone, but that of unshed tears. "Leri may have to don my mantle sooner than we had hoped ... and without my guidance."
Deneas caught the look Trelleir sent over Betrys' head. Although it lasted but a heartbeat, it held an undeniable message. It is up to me to ease our friend’s sorrow. With the need came the uncertainty of secrets revealed and the strength of new-found control. Deep breaths helped calm her soul for the decision ahead.
"Betrys, you know these people more than Trelleir and I do." Deneas released the smile she had hidden at the earlier greeting between the healer and the caravan leader. "Since Feldt is your brother." She straightened her features. "We have kept it secret, but using Trelleir’s abilities, I too can shift." She squashed the fear that rose unbidden. But can I use healing fire?
Trelleir’s wink gave her the strength to not only hold the thought at bay but to project confidence. "Two can work as easily as one. Do you know how the healing can be done and still protect our secret?"
Her unfocused gaze said the healer was pondering not only the answer to the question but also to the revelation. Betrys' sharp inhale provided no clue as to her inner thoughts. "So that explains it. I knew something had changed since your first visit. I thought it was the same resonance between the tear stone I gifted you and the one in your amulet." Her eyes twinkled with humor before resuming their serious cast. "I thought Feldt and Keyne could raise a tent or build some structure out of wagons. If the space is divided by a curtain into two rooms, my plan was for Trelleir to transform behind the curtain and then come out into the main space to do the healing. Once he was safely hidden again, I would summon the men to take those we treated to their quarters or a common recovery space and bring in the next group of the sick. Smoke would obscure things in case the damp cloths covering the foreheads of the sick slide off."
"Den, what do you think? They are your people." Trelleir’s tone gave no insight into his thoughts.
It is up to me, Deneas decided. I can say no to the plan and Trelleir and I walk away. Just as quickly came the realization that she could not deny her duty and refuse to help the sick, regardless of the consequences. "Saving everyone would be worth the risk. If I help, use my healing fire, we can heal more in less time and reduce the chance of exposure."
Betrys’ wave summoned the waiting village and trader clan leaders. "We will help. This is what we need."
After plans had been finalized and orders issued, Deneas leaned in. "Feldt, while things are being prepared, there is one thing you can tell me." Her wave pointed at the helwr now watching from the top of a different wagon. "Is that a helwr? I’ve only heard about them. Can you tell me about it?"
Deneas swore the older man puffed out his chest. Pride shone on his face. "Yes, that is a helwr. His name is Tywyll. The bird belonged to the mother of one of our people. We met Karst at his mother’s cabin in the singing valley two planting seasons ago. Tywyll adopted Karst as his master as he had Karst’s mother and has been with him ever since. Karst traveled with us for a while, then when our paths crossed again, he decided to journey with us and has been with Clan Vreis ever since."
Feldt looked over at the wagons where the sick were being tended to. "I don’t know why Tywyll is over here. Normally he is scouting ahead of us, or, when not flying is riding my granddaughter Brial’s wagon." He seemed to force himself back to the question. "We have been fortunate Karst returned to us. He helped gather the needlethorn for the healer. You will probably meet him later." Sadness flickered in his eyes. "Right now he is caring for my granddaughter."
A nod and the clansman headed over to join the men and women gathering their tools and supplies to build the place for healing.
"I know what herbs and other supplies Betrys needs," Trelleir whispered, "and can help the traders gather them. Den, stay here and care for Betrys."
Slow, sure steps accompanied Trelleir’s leaving. And with it came a sense of emptiness that wrenched at Deneas’ heart. With Betrys deep in thought, Deneas sank into hers. All too soon her and Karst’s paths would cross ... and a decision would need to be made. The Karst that Feldt described is so different than the bully of Darceth I knew. Could a man change that much?
Logic said that no one can change who he is, change his destiny.
A loud caw pulled her attention to the helwr. All the information on the legendary creatures from Trelleir’s stories and his books was sorted through. Although it gave no guidance in divining a man’s soul, one fact remained consistent. Helwrs were known for their intense loyalty. Could such a creature be faithful to Karst if he didn’t have at least some redeeming qualities?
Maybe the road has changed Karst. It has me.