48

   

Areas of depleted magic were everywhere, but that was normal for a battlefield. To compensate, Leiard only had to concentrate on the sense of magic around him and draw from less depleted patches.

He channelled magic through himself into the injured man, shifting bone and flesh until a sense of rightness began to form. Liquids returned to their correct channels. Hashes of energy shot up and down repaired pathways. He heard the man gasp with pain and quickly blocked the nerve thread again, this time in a way that could be easily reversed.

Working along the leg, Leiard repaired the rest of the damage. He passed a hand over the man’s skin, feeling a deep satisfaction at the scar-free result, then unblocked the man’s nerve pathways and went in search of another patient.

He had only to open his mind and any lingering thought of the wounded or dying would guide him. Befuddled, dim thoughts drew him to a Pentadrian sorcerer. The woman had been dealt a blow to the head that had left a bloody crater.

I can’t save this one, he thought Her mind will be damaged.

Yes, you can, Mirar whispered. I will help you.

Leiard crouched beside the woman and placed his hand over the wound. He let Mirar guide him. The work was so fine he scarcely dared to breathe. Mirar’s will blended with his as it had so many times this night, so that he almost began to feel he was losing himself. That brought a sense of panic, but he held it back. For the woman’s sake.

Leiard felt the crater in the woman’s skull expand under his hand. Bone knitted. Liquids and swelling within the brain drained away. Damaged areas were repaired.

Will she return completely to normal? Leiard asked.

No, she will have some memory loss, Mirar replied. Not necessarily a slice of her past. More likely she will have to relearn something, like how to talk, or dance—or see.

I did not know that was possible.

You did. You have just forgotten.

The woman was healed. She opened her eyes and stared at Leiard in surprise. Then she rose to her feet and looked around the battlefield. Leiard turned her to face the Pentadrian side of the valley, then pointed. She nodded, then started walking.

Leiard turned away. Pain and grief drew him to a young Siyee man, his legs and arms bent in places and directions that they would not naturally go. A young female Siyee kneeled beside him, sobbing.

Another victim of a fall, Mirar observed. His back may be broken, too.

This would take a lot of magic and concentration. Leiard ignored the crying girl, kneeled beside the Siyee and began to draw in magic.

Danjin woke with a start. He was lying beside a fire. Flames licked at a fresh piece of wood. From the shape he guessed it was a piece of broken shaft from a war platten.

How long have I been asleep?

He sat up. A servant was walking away from him, probably the man who had brought the wood. He looked around at the camp. Fewer lamps burned now. A handful of people still moved about, but quietly. There was a stillness to everything. No wind. Little sound.

Then he looked beyond. The sky was glowing faintly in the east.

Dawn. It’s dawn. I slept most of the night.

He hadn’t meant to. He had only stopped for a warm drink and a little food. Sleeping on the ground had left him feeling stiff and sore. Without any destination in mind, he rose, stretched and began to walk.

His legs took him to one side of the camp. He was cheered to see a dead vorn there, a variety of arrows, knives and even splinters of wood embedded in its side. A long line of bodies lay beyond it—the servants who had died. It was a grim sight, but nothing in comparison to the battlefield on the other side of the ridge.

Looking toward the valley, he saw a row of servants standing at the edge of the camp. As he watched, a figure walked out of the darkness. A Hanian soldier, covered in blood. Two servants stepped forward, wrapped a blanket around the man and guided him to a fire.

As a pair of Dunwayan warriors appeared, Danjin realized what was happening. These were the survivors of the battle who had been healed by priests and Dreamweavers.

I have to see this.

Walking past the waiting servants, Danjin started up the slope. The sky brightened slowly. By the time he neared the top of the ridge, he was able to see men and women coming back to camp. Some walked, some limped. Some were supported by servants. A few were being carried.

At the top of the ridge stood a familiar figure. He felt a stab of guilt as he saw her. She turned to regard him, then beckoned.

“Good morning, Danjin Spear,” Auraya said quietly.

“Auraya,” he replied. “I must apologize.”

“If you feel you must, then do so. But you are not to blame. They would have discovered it anyway. I did intend to tell them, and you, eventually.”

He looked down at the ground. “You must know I think you could have made a better choice.”

“Yes.”

“Good choice or not, you must be… disappointed at the result.”

She smiled tiredly. “So tactfully put. Yes, I was disappointed. It is in the past now. I have more important things to do.”

He smiled. “Indeed you have.”

Her attention shifted to the valley. Following her gaze, he saw movement among the fallen. Dreamweavers and priests were at work.

“The change I’ve long considered starting has begun by itself,” she murmured.

“Change?”

She shook her head. “The healer priests and priestesses, instead of ignoring or scorning Dreamweaver healing, are paying attention. They will learn much today.”

Danjin stared at her. Priests learning from Dreamweavers? Was this what she had been aiming for all along? As the implication of this dawned on him he felt dazzled by her brilliance. If the priests could offer the same services as Dreamweavers there would be no more need for Dreamweavers.

Did Leiard know? Had he ever guessed?

Danjin doubted the man would have liked the idea. And being his lover must have made Auraya hesitate to work toward bringing about the end of his people, even if it did mean she would save the souls of those she prevented from joining the heathen cult in the future.

How long had she been planning this? Had making Leiard the Dreamweaver adviser been a step in the process? Now that Leiard was gone she was free to continue her work.

Auraya sighed and turned around. Glancing back toward the camp, Danjin saw that the other four White were approaching.

“We’re going to have a little conversation with the gods now,” Auraya said lightly. “Go back to camp, Danjin. I’ll join you for breakfast soon.”

He nodded, then watched as she walked down the slope to join her fellow White.

A soldier limped out of the valley toward him. He glanced at Auraya again, then hurried over to help the man.

For a long time now, Tryss had struggled to make sense of it. For hours he had lain in a daze, listening to the sounds of men and women murmuring in languages he didn’t understand. There was a desperation to their voices. Only much later did he realize that what he was hearing was praying.

It went on and on. Eventually most of the voices faded away. He wondered if the gods had answered. He hoped so.

A new voice had started, but this one did not speak the names of gods. It spoke a more familiar name.

“Tryss! You’re alive! Tryss! Wake up! Talk to me!”

It was so familiar. And comforting, somehow. Yet he wasn’t about to do what it said. Waking up meant pain. He’d had more than enough pain today.

“Tryss…” There was a long pause, then a choking sound. “Tryss. I have something to tell you. Wake up.”

He felt a stirring of curiosity. It wasn’t enough. The memory of pain was too frightening. He let himself drift.

Then pain came seeking him.

It was not like before—a distant, constant ache. It came in brief stabs. Each time it shot through his body it was followed by a sudden absence of pain. He felt himself dragged out of the comfortable place. The voice will be happy, he thought grumpily. I’m waking up; just what it wants. I’ll open my eyes and…

Suddenly he was staring up at a face. A man leaned over him, frowning with concentration. The face didn’t match the voice.

“Tryss! Oh, thank you!”

The exclamation came from Tryss’s left. He began to turn his head, but it hurt too much. So he rolled his eyes. He could see a blurred face. A female face.

She leaned forward and recognition came like a bolt of lightning.

“Drilli.”

I spoke, he thought. Perhaps I’m not dying after all. He looked at the man again. A Dreamweaver. Tryss felt another stab of pain followed by numbness. Rolling his eyes to the right, he saw and felt the Dreamweaver’s hands on his arm.

He felt movement inside his arm. Bones and flesh shifting. The sensation was peculiar and nauseating. Tryss decided it would be better not to watch. He looked at Drilli.

She was so beautiful—even covered in mud, sweat and blood. She was grinning at him, her eyes all glittery.

“So what is it?” he asked.

She blinked and frowned. “What is what?”

“That you have to tell me.”

To his amusement, she paused. “So you heard that.” She bit her lip. “Perhaps we should wait until later. When you’re healed.”

“Why?”

“It’s… too early.”

“Too early for what?” He tried to lift his head and gasped as pain ripped down his back.

“Tell him,” the Dreamweaver said quietly.

Drilli looked at the man, then nodded. “Just remember that these things often go wrong in the first few months.”

Tryss sighed and rolled his eyes. “What things?”

She bit her lip. “I’m—we’re—going to be parents.”

“Parents?”

“Yes. I’m carrying…”

A baby. She’s pregnant. Tryss felt a thrill of excitement. The next stab of pain hardly bothered him. He grinned at Drilli.

“That explains why you’ve been sick all the time. I thought it must be all those spices you like in your food.”

She pulled a face.

Tryss opened his mouth to speak, but stopped as the Dreamweaver slid his hands behind Tryss’s neck. Pain shot down his body, then numbness. The Dreamweaver remained still for a long time. Slowly, feeling returned, but no pain. The Dreamweaver’s hands finally slid away and Tryss felt the man turn his attention to his other arm.

“That was… amazing,” Tryss managed.

“Keep still,” the Dreamweaver said.

Drilli shifted position to Tryss’s right side. He found he could move his arm. Lifting it, he was amazed to see there wasn’t even a scar left to mark his skin.

He was able to turn his head now, so he began to watch the Dreamweaver working. The sight of his other arm bent at a strange angle was disturbing, but as the Dreamweaver’s hands slowly moved over it, his elbow bent back in the right direction. Tryss felt a growing awe. He had heard of Dreamweavers’ legendary abilities, but nothing like this.

I was dying, he thought. And this man has done what should have been impossible: made me whole again. He has saved my life.

The Dreamweaver sat back on his heels and regarded Tryss critically. Then he rose and turned away.

“Wait.”

Tryss hauled himself to his feet. Belatedly he realized what he had done, and paused to look in wonder at his arms and body. Then he hurried after the Dreamweaver, Drilli following.

“Wait. Thank you. You’ve saved my life.”

The man’s eyes roved about. He muttered something. Tryss frowned and moved closer.

“No. Not safe there. But Jayim. No. Forget. You must leave before he returns with Arleej.” The Dreamweaver paused and his voice became thin and weak. “One more. One more.” Then he shook his head. “Enough. The sun is rising. It is time.”

The Dreamweaver was talking to himself. Were they always like this? Perhaps only when they were working. Tryss hoped so. There was something disturbing about the idea of being healed by a madman. Shaking his head sadly, Tryss returned to Drilli.

“I don’t know if he heard me. I don’t know if he can,” he told her.

She nodded, and her eyes roamed over his body. “What he did… it was amazing. Do… do you think you can fly?”

He grinned. “Let’s find out.”

She frowned with concern. “Wait. What if it’s too soon…”

But he was already running. Racing across the battlefield with his arms spread wide. He felt a light wind catch his wings and he leapt into the air.

As Drilli joined him, he whooped with joy and soared up into the sky.

* * *

After walking for an hour the White stopped on top of a low hill. Auraya looked back. Thin trails of smoke were the only clue to the camp’s location. They moved to form a wide circle.

“Chaia, Huan, Lore, Yranna, Saru,” Juran spoke. “We thank you for giving us the means to defend Northern Ithania. We thank you for protecting our people from the Pentadrian invaders.”

“We thank you,” Auraya murmured with the others.

“We have fought in your names and we have won. Now, as we face the aftermath of this battle, we need your guidance even more.”

“Guide us.”

“We ask that you appear now, so that we may ask for wisdom.”

Auraya held her breath. She could not help it, even now. A glow filled the circle. It coalesced into five figures.

All five, she thought. I haven’t seen them all together since my Choosing.

The gods’ features appeared. They were smiling. She could not help smiling too. Chaia stood facing Juran.

:We are pleased at your victory, he said. You have all done well. And Auraya… The god turned to regard her. You have surpassed even our expectations.

Auraya felt her face warming. She lowered her eyes, amused by her own embarrassment at his praise.

:What is it you wish to ask? The question came from Huan.

“We have allowed the remaining Pentadrians to surrender and return to their lands, as you instructed,” Juran told them, “but we fear the consequences of doing so.”

:The Pentadrians may regain their strength and invade again, Lore said. If they are determined to, they will. Killing this army would not stop another coming.

“Then if they invade again, perhaps we should not only drive them away, but rid the world of their cult,” Rian said.

:There may come a time when that is unavoidable. You are not yet ready for that battle, Chaia replied.

“When Auraya witnessed the Pentadrian army emerge from the mines, she saw what appeared to be a god,” Dyara said. “But that is impossible. What was it? An illusion?”

:It is not impossible, Yranna replied.

“But there are no other gods.”

:None of the old ones survived but us, Yranna agreed. But new ones can arise.

“Five of them?” Dyara asked.

:It is unlikely, Sara murmured.

“But not impossible.”

:No. Chaia looked at the other gods. We will investigate.

They nodded.

Chaia turned back to Juran.

:For now, return to Jarime and enjoy the peace you have fought so hard for. We will speak to you again soon. He glanced at Dyara, then his eyes met Auraya’s. His smile widened for a moment, before his attention moved to Rian and Mairae.

Then the five glowing figures vanished.

Juran sighed and broke the circle by moving toward Dyara. “Let’s hope they find nothing.”

“Yes,” Dyara agreed. “Though if the Pentadrians do follow real gods, they must be feeling a bit unhappy with them now. They lost.”

“Mmmm,” Juran replied. “Will they again?”

“Of course they will,” Mairae said lightly. She smiled as they all turned to regard her. “We have Auraya.”

Auraya sighed. “Will you stop saying that, Mairae? I didn’t do anything extraordinary. The Pentadrians made a mistake, that’s all.”

Mairae grinned. “The enemy is going to take back stories of the ferocious flying priestess who killed their leader.”

“I didn’t fly during the battle.”

“That hardly matters. Think what a deterrent for invasion that will be. Your name will be used to frighten children into obedience for generations.”

“How wonderful,” Auraya said dryly.

“If I don’t get some breakfast soon you’ll find out how ferocious a priestess can be,” Dyara growled.

Juran gave Dyara a bemused look. “That must be avoided at all costs. Come on, then. Let’s go home.”

The Dreamweaver robes Emerahl had stolen were a bit big for her, but they had kept her sufficiently safe from priestly notice while she tended the sick. She had kept to the Pentadrian side of the battleground, which reduced the number of Circlians she treated. There had been no sign of the White for hours. They were probably discussing the battle among their allies.

She had no bag of medicines, but managed well enough with magic. It was satisfying work. She hadn’t been free to use her Gifts in this way for… a long time. Just before dawn she had decided it was time to leave, but at the edge of the battlefield she had discovered a Siyee still clinging to life and stopped to help him.

By the time she had finished, the sun had risen. Delicate light filled the valley. She had wanted to leave the field when it was still dark, but it shouldn’t matter if anyone saw her go. The Dreamweavers might wonder why one of their kind was abandoning the field, but they were probably too involved in their work to notice. No one else would know enough about Dreamweavers to wonder why she was leaving.

She glanced around. Only one Dreamweaver stood nearby, his back to her. He was looking up at the sky. She frowned. There was something familiar about him. Perhaps he was one of the Dreamweavers from the group she had run into.

A voice reached her, low and strained. She moved closer and felt a shiver run down her back.

I know that voice.

But it could not belong to the man she had known. What was he saying, anyway? She stepped over a corpse and crept closer.

“—must go. No. She can help. No. She will only make it worse. I can’t—”

The voice changed from high to low, weak to forceful, stranger to familiar. He was ranting at himself like a madman. As he cast about he turned to face her and she gasped.

“Mirar!”

It was impossible. He was dead. But as she said his name his gaze cleared and she saw recognition in his eyes.

“Emerahl?”

“You’re… you’re…”

“Alive? In a way.” He shrugged, then his gaze became keen. “What are you doing here?”

She smiled crookedly. “Long story.”

“Will you… can you help me?”

“Of course. What do you need?”

“I need you to take me away from here. No matter who I turn into. No matter how I protest. Using all your magic, if you need to.”

She stared at him. “Why would I have to do that?”

He grimaced. “Long story.”

She nodded, then closed the distance between them. He had aged. She had never seen him so thin and wrinkled. His hair was so light it was nearly white, and she could see from the untanned skin around his jaw that he had only recently removed a beard. If it weren’t for the recognition in his eyes, and the little mannerisms she had once known so well, she might not have recognized him at all. But here he was, changed but alive. She would ponder the impossibility of this later.

Taking his arm, she led him away.