'What is wrong?' asked Sieben.
'Nothing a gajin could see,' said the warrior, walking away.
'What was he talking about, Druss?'
'They are all with their own tribesmen. The mixing has ended. They came together for this one battle, and now they are drawing apart again — the way of the Nadir perhaps.' Druss sighed. 'Ah, but I am weary, poet. I need to see Rowena again, to breathe the air of the mountains. By Heavens, it would be nice to smell the sweet breeze coming over the long grass and the pine meadows.'
'It would indeed, Druss, old horse.'
'First we must return to Gulgothir. I want to see Klay. We'll rest for a couple of hours, then ride out.'
Sieben nodded. 'Niobe is coming with us. I'm going to marry her, Druss — give her babies and an iron fire-bucket!'
Druss chuckled. 'I expect it will be in that order.'
Sieben returned to the hospital where Talisman was sleeping soundly. In the small office he found a strip of parchment, a quill pen and an inkwell that was almost dry. Adding a little water to the ink, he penned a short message upon the parchment. When the ink was dry he folded the parchment into four and walked back into the larger room. Kneeling by Talisman, he slid the message under a fold of the bandage around his chest and used the power of the Eyes of Alchazzar to heal the Nadir leader.
One by one he visited all the wounded, leaving them all asleep, their wounds vanished.
At the last he stood in the doorway and looked back, satisfied. Many men had died defending this Shrine, but there were others, Talisman among them, who would have died had it not been for him. The thought pleased the poet.
He glanced up at the battlements, where Druss was stretched out asleep. Sieben climbed the rampart steps and healed him also.
Lin-tse and his Sky Riders were dismantling the wall around the gates. Sieben sat upon the walls watching them. The sky was a glorious blue, and even the hot breeze tasted good upon the tongue.
I am alive, he thought. Alive and in love. If there is a better feeling in all the world, I have yet to taste of it, he decided.
Chapter Fourteen
Okar, the fat gatekeeper at the hospice, cursed as the pounding on the front door continued. Rolling from his pallet bed, he pulled on his leggings, stumbled along the corridor and dragged back the bolts. 'Be quiet!' he ordered, as he dragged open the thick door. 'There are sick people here trying to sleep.'
A huge man with a thick black beard stepped into the doorway, seized him by the arms and hoisted him into the air. 'They won't be sick for much longer,' he said, with a wide grin. Okar was not a small man, but the giant lifted him and moved him aside as if he were a child.
'You must forgive my friend,' said a slim, handsome man, 'but he is very excitable.'
A young woman followed the two men inside. She was Nadir, and strikingly attractive.
'Where do you think you are going?' asked Okar, as the group made their way up the stairs. They did not reply, and he hurried after them. The Abbot was waiting at the top of the stairs; still in his night robe, a candle-holder in his hand, he blocked their way.
'What is the meaning of this intrusion?' asked the Abbot sternly.
'We've come to heal our friend, Father Abbot,' said the giant. 'I kept my promise.'
Okar waited for the harsh words that he was sure would follow. But the Abbot stood in silence for a moment, his expression unreadable in the flickering candle-light. 'Follow me,' he said softly, 'and please be silent.'
The Abbot led the way through the first ward, and on to a small office in the western part of the building. Lighting two lanterns, he sat down at a desk littered with papers. 'Now explain,' he said.
The giant spoke first. 'We found the healing stones, Father. And they work! By all that's holy, they work! Now take us to Klay.'
'That is not possible,' the Abbot told him, and he sighed. 'Klay passed from this life three days after you left. He is buried in a simple grave behind the gardens. A stone has been fashioned for him. I am truly sorry.'
'He promised me,' said Druss. 'He promised me he would live until my return.'
'It was a promise he could not keep,' said the Abbot. 'The bolt that struck him was tainted with some vile substance and gangrene set in almost immediately. No man could have withstood the deadly effect.'
'I can't believe it,' whispered Druss. 'I have the stones!'
'Why is it so hard for you warriors to believe?' snapped the Abbot. 'You think the world revolves around your desires. Do you honestly believe that nature and the laws of the universe can be changed by your will? I have heard of you, Druss. You crossed the world to find your lady. You have fought in many battles, you are indomitable. But you are a man of flesh and blood. You will live, and you will die — just like any other man. Klay was a great man, a man of kindness and understanding. His death is a tragedy beyond my ability to describe. Yet it is part of the cycle of life, and I do not doubt that the Source received him with joy. I was with him at the end. He wanted to leave you a message, and we sent for pen and ink, but he died very suddenly. I think I know what he wanted to ask you.'
'What?' asked Druss, numbly.
'He told me of the boy, Kells, and how he had believed that Klay was a god who could lay his hands upon his mother and heal her. The boy is still here. He sat with Klay, holding to his hand, and he wept bitter tears when the fighter died. His mother still lives. If the stones have the power you say then I think Klay would want you to use their power on her.'
Druss said nothing but sat slumped in his chair, staring down at his hands. Sieben stepped forward. 'I think we can do a little better than that, Father. Take me to the boy.'
Leaving Druss alone in the office, Sieben, Niobe and the Abbot walked silently through the hospice, coming at last to a long, narrow room in which twenty beds were set against the walls, ten on each side. Kells lay curled up and asleep on the floor by the first bed; a tall thin woman was sleeping in a chair beside him. Within the bed, her face pale in the moonlight from the high window, lay a wasted, dying figure, the skin of her face drawn tightly around her skull — no flesh visible, black rings beneath her eyes.
Sieben knelt by the boy, lightly touching his shoulder. Kells came awake instantly, his eyes flaring wide in fear. 'It is all right, boy. I come with a gift from the Lord Klay.'
'He is dead,' said the child.
'But I bring his gift anyway. Stand up.' Kells did so. The movement and the voices awoke the thin woman in the chair.
'What is happening?' she asked. 'Is she gone?'
'Not gone,' said Sieben. 'She is coming home.' To the boy he said, 'Take your mother's hand,' and Kells did so. Sieben leaned forward and laid his own palm on the dying woman's fevered brow. The skin was hot and dry. The poet closed his eyes, and felt the power of the stones flowing through him. The woman in the bed gave a weak groan and the Abbot moved in closer, looking down in wonder as her colour deepened and the dark rings beneath her eyes slowly faded. The bones of her face receded as the wasted muscles of her cheeks and jaw swelled into health. Her hair, which had been dry and lifeless, now shone upon the pillow. Sieben took a deep breath and stepped back.
'Are you an angel of the Source?' asked the thin woman.
'No, just a man,' said Sieben. Kneeling down by the boy, he saw the tears in his eyes. 'She is healed, Kells. She sleeps now. Would you like to help me heal all these others?'
'Yes. Yes, I would. The Lord Klay sent you?'
'In a manner of speaking.'
'And my mother is going to live?'
'Aye. She is going to live.'
Together Sieben and the boy moved from bed to bed, and when the dawn sun rose over Gulgothir the sounds of laughter and unfettered joy came from within the walls of the hospice.