| |
"SHE'S SO BEAUTIFUL, isn't she?" The soft words were spoken with an inflection of awe. It was the voice of a woman, though her identity was clouded from view.
Merrilyn had heard the women before. There were two at least, whispering over her from beyond the thick veil of darkness. She could only occasionally follow the meaning of their words. This time they seemed closer, stronger. She wondered why.
Now the other voice was whispering. "I have never seen a woman behave as she does. Why do you suppose she ran at him like that?"
"I don't know, but they say her face was filled with calm determination when it happened. Personally, I would have run the other way."
"Well, they say she did it to save the prince."
A quiet laugh. "He may be handsome, but no man is worth all this..."
She wanted to shout at them. Of course Justan was worth this. He was worth everything. What would they have preferred she do? Let him die? Leave him to be murdered by that evil man?
Another voice interrupted the whispered conversation. "Ladies, please!"
Merrilyn knew that voice. She tried her best to call out to Aileena, but once again, her body refused to respond.
"Merrilyn needs her rest," Aileena continued. "All this gossip is not good for the soul."
Merrilyn did not know how long she lay there in silent darkness. At first, there had been only fear and pain. The last face she had seen was that of the wizard. He had been so intent on his purpose that even now, it wrenched her heart to remember his clear desire to kill Justan. She had only meant to push Justan out of the way, but her anger propelled her farther. As she turned to face him, she whispered Loian’s name. She felt the power coursing through her just before impact. Her vision filled with light. Blinding, brilliant light, then...all had gone black.
All this played over and over in her mind until she longed to be rid of the memories that racked her heart and body with pain. Again and again she saw the image of Justan standing on the hillside above the pools. Her screams didn't reach him, and her feet couldn't move fast enough. Her heart raced as she tried to reach him once more. Once again she faced the man in battle, only to be swallowed up by darkness. But, even here, there was light. She felt him beside her always, and in the end, Loian gave her rest.
****
AILEENA STOOD SILENT beside the bed, wiping tears from her eyes as Merrilyn's screaming finally faded into silence. She would have been relieved except for the knowledge that it was only a matter of time before it all began again.
Merrilyn had been screaming for days. Each time it began, Aileena pleaded with Loian to take away the pain that so clearly ravaged Merrilyn's body and mind. In all her years of caring for those who were sick or dying, she had never been so tortured as she was now. Each day and each night was an endless stretch of fear and heartache as she watched Merrilyn fight through the pain and nightmares that plagued her mercilessly.
Aileena stood over her now with a wet cloth, trying to bring down the fever that had consumed her for the last two days. She feared it was getting worse rather than better and wished for the hundredth time that she knew what to do for this beautiful young woman she loved like a daughter.
"Justan," Merrilyn cried.
This whispered plea brought an entirely new expression into Aileena's tear-stained face. Sitting back, she stared at Merrilyn, her lips thinning into a hard line.
"Georgetta, please take this cloth and continue to bathe her. It will help to control the fever a bit." She handed the rag to the cook who had volunteered to act as her aid until Merrilyn revived. Unfortunately for them all, it didn't look like that was going to happen anytime soon.
Aileena wiped her damp hands on her apron and then put on her cloak. "I have a small matter to attend to. Would you mind staying here with her for a bit?"
Georgetta nodded, and Aileena stepped out into the night.
The fires burned brightly around the camp and their crackling echoed among the trees. The moon had already risen to its full height, and she guessed morning was no more than five hours away. Almost stomping in her anger, she marched past sleeping men rolled tightly in rows upon the ground. A guard watching her approach hurried into the prince’s tent to announce her. As she reached it, the guard returned and held the flap open, gesturing for her to enter. Squaring her shoulders, Aileena marched into the small space.
Justan looked up from his maps and stood to greet her. The worried look on his face melted into a stern expression as he realized she was here to fight.
"What do you think you are doing?" she demanded, her hands on her hips.
"I don't know what you mean, Aileena. What is the problem?"
"Don't you know she has been calling for you? Haven't you heard how she has worsened?"
She waited for a response, but he only looked at the quill in his hands, twirling it between his fingers.
Aileena huffed in anger, wanting to swear at him. "How can you be so callous, Justan? She could quickly die! You can ignore this no longer!"
His expression darkened, "I warned you of this, Aileena. I told you from the beginning that she did not belong here. She may be a healer, but who will heal her, Aileena?"
Aileena took a step back, her eyes widening at his reaction, but said nothing. He began pacing, reminding her of a trapped animal.
"I have no way of knowing how to help her. You are the master healer, so surely you know what must be done! Do it!"
"I have! There is nothing more I can do here,” she insisted. “She needs to return home. There are medicines there that may help her. I don't have supplies here to do any more for her. You must send her home immediately."
He ran his fingers through his hair. "How could I possibly send her home? There is no way to know whether she will be safe. What if she doesn't make it? It will be better to keep her here."
"If she stays here, she'll surely die," Aileena argued. "Besides, I hear you have plans to move forward into the forest. Will you drag her along with you or will you leave her here, dividing your troops to protect her? Your Highness, it is the only way! You must send her back."
Justan turned his back on her and stared at the wall.
"She has been calling for me?"
"Yes, for nearly two days."
Aileena was relieved to finally see his concern. She had begun to think he no longer cared for the woman who had been his dearest friend since birth.
"Justan, go to her," she pleaded softly. "She needs you."
He shook his head.
"Please, it could help. Perhaps she'd know you were there. Perhaps..."
"No!" he shouted. "I won't see her that way! There is nothing I can do for her. I couldn't keep her safe before and I fear there is no keeping her safe now! If only I could be certain that she would get to Nomar safely, then perhaps I could hope."
An unfamiliar voice interrupted them. "I'll take her there safely."
They both turned to find Aiden standing at the entrance.
He bowed before the prince, a hand across his heart in pledge. "I'll take her to Nomar, Your Highness."
Justan shook his head. "Why? Why would you risk such a journey with the enemy out there? They could pursue you, these shadowmen. What would you do then while escorting a sick woman?"
"I would protect her until my last breath. It is what I owe her. I would have no life within me at all if not for the Alaith. The least I can do to serve her is to take her safely back to Nomar. I will do this for her, Your Highness."
Justan scowled, and to Aiden’s credit, he never blinked, never looked away. Justan ran his hands through his hair, massaging tired muscles at the base of his neck. He appreciated the soldier's devotion, but a part of him was intensely jealous. It should have been him. He should have been able to take Merrilyn back himself. He wanted to be the one to protect her. Instead, he would have to rely on this stranger to do it for him. His only comfort was in knowing that Aiden spoke the truth. He believed the man really would give his life for her safety. If Justan couldn’t be the one to protect Merrilyn, it would have to be Aiden.
"Very well,"—Justan’s jaw clenched as he forced out the words—"You will escort Merrilyn back to Nomar, safely into the hands of her fellow healers. Stay with her. Send word to me when you have arrived and when she is healed or when she..."
He could continue no more. Aiden jumped in for him.
"I will keep you informed of any change in her condition, Your Highness. Thank you, sir, for this opportunity to serve." He bowed low and left the tent before the prince could change his mind.
"You have done a good thing here, Justan," Aileena said. "I will prepare her to leave immediately."
Justan nodded, and she reached out to touch his arm.
"She'll be okay, Justan. Loian is with her. He won't take her from us so soon."
Justan went back to his maps, turning his back to the healer.
Aileena watched him in wistful silence. With a tired sigh, she turned to leave. There was much to be done to prepare Merrilyn for the journey home and the night was near over.
****
THE NEXT MORNING, EVEN before sunrise, Justan stood with Aileena outside the camp and watched a small caravan make its way back along the road through the forest. Merrilyn lay on a covered cart surrounded by men on foot and escorted by four horsemen. Aiden led the procession and, once again, Justan wished it could be him instead.
"You did the right thing, Justan." Aileena patted his arm in a motherly kind of way.
He grunted. "I don't remember having much of an option."
She stared at him for a long, sad moment, then glanced again at the road just in time to see the cart disappear through the trees.
"Loian be with her," she whispered before marching back to the camp.
"It should be me with her," Justan said under his breath. His chest tightened, making it difficult to breathe as he stared down the long, empty road. His worst fear had come true. How he would cope with the guilt, he didn't know—but he knew what to do with the anger.
Justan had never looked forward more to war.
****
THE NEXT FEW DAYS WERE filled with a tension that could be seen throughout the camp. The men were on edge and often ended up fighting by evening. Aileena stayed busy patching up bloody noses and swollen knuckles with the occasional broken rib. Justan rarely left his tent and when he did, those around him hurried out of his way. The scowl on his face darkened with each passing day. Caide did his best to keep him calm, but there seemed to be nothing but bad news for the prince these days.
The messengers from Keelan returned and were unhappy to report that the Keelanis had no information to share concerning the shadowmen or their cloaked leader. In addition, king Andraus had sent a personal message to the prince instructing him to fight only if provoked. There would be no reinforcements. The king claimed it would be wiser to come home and let the enemy bring the battle to them, where they would be more prepared to fight—and win.
These instructions stood in direct opposition to Justan's plan, but as his scouts could find no trace of the shadowmen, nor of their path toward the camp, he really had no way of pursuing the enemy anyway. His frustration with the situation was only increased by the guilt he felt at not having treated Merrilyn better in the weeks before the attack.
His temper was becoming quite a problem these days, and it seemed that he could never fully relax. Even in sleep, he wrestled with anger, guilt and fear. He woke twisted in his sheets and sweating after nightmares where he returned home to find Merrilyn in Aiden’s arms. He was tortured by dreams of her death. He spent night after night searching dark forests, calling her name while the shadows laughed at him, making him all the more difficult to work with each day. It was as though he was a different person altogether from the man he had been just a month ago, when he had been oblivious to the dangers and pain of the outside world.
A week after Merrilyn left for home, Justan and his men were no closer to discovering the identity or the source of their enemy. Time was running out, and he wondered if his brother was still alive. He sat with his advisors that night around a giant fire and puzzled over his dilemma while the men prattled on about wine, women, and war.
Justan looked up to see Caide coming toward him with a jug of ale.
"Cheer up, Your Highness," his friend called cheerfully. "We haven't seen a sign of them since the day by the pools. Perhaps they've given up and gone home."
Although Caide was clearly encouraged by this thought, Justan's frown deepened.
"Well, if they have gone," he replied with a growl, "they've probably taken my brother with them and we still are no closer to discovering how to find him."
Caide sat down and thrust the jug into Justan's hands.
"I just don't understand how all this began," Justan muttered. "What could they possibly want with us? Why Nomar?"
He sat glaring into the fire. His mind raced past his brother, his enemy, even the war that grew ever closer. As he stared into the flames he saw only a beautiful girl, curls bouncing as she laughed into the sunshine. Her face brought a now-familiar pain flooding into his chest. He almost welcomed it now, like a trusted friend. It was his constant companion—heartache and guilt.
The daydream shattered as a sense of foreboding crept over him. Justan glanced around, but could see no reason to worry. His men still laughed against the backdrop of the crackling flames. He looked again at the fire.
Suddenly, the cloaked man appeared there before his eyes, his hands hidden in the sleeves of his black cloak, his head covered with a giant hood. The men gasped and stood to draw their swords, but were stopped by invisible hands that gripped them from behind. They were surrounded.
Justan held up his hand to silence their protests. He stood and met the wizard’s intense gaze.
"What is it that you want from us? Why have you come here again?" Justan asked.
"Where is the healer, the one you call Alaith?" His voice was chilling, the sort of voice you fear hearing behind you on dark nights. A voice for nightmares.
The prince took an angry step toward the wizard.
"She is no longer here. Why do you seek her?" he demanded.
The man did not answer. He took a step closer and sneered down at the prince.
"I said, where is she?" His voice rumbled through the night like thunder, but it still did not shake Justan's confidence.
Justan raised one eyebrow in mockery "Far from here, where you cannot reach her. You will not be able to harm her where she has gone. Now she is protected by her king and her god."
"You lie!" he screamed.
"I tell you she is not here!" Justan shouted back, his rage barely contained.
The man leaned back on his heels, eyes narrowed in contemplation of the prince. "Very well," he said at last. "If you are telling the truth, then you may go home to your city now. If you are lying, then I will know soon enough, and then...you will be dead."
He leaned forward, a sneer curling its way up his face.
"Along with your brother."
Justan growled and it grew into a roar as he charged at the man who laughed before him. Instead of the impact he expected, flames swarmed him as he landed in the fire. His shouts turned to screams as legs and arms began to burn. His men, released from their captors, dragged him out, rolling him in the grass of the field to smother the flames. His clothes were ruined and his hair singed, but it wasn't the burns he was concerned about—it was Merrilyn.