Death of a Darklord

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FOURTEEN

Averil knelt by her father. It wasn't until she knelt that Elaine realized the girl wore no shoes. She had run over the snow in her stockinged feet. Her bare shoulders were blue with cold, but her hands were very steady as she searched for her father's pulse. She undid his shirt and pushed her hand over his heart.

She glanced at Konrad. "His heart beats strongly. His color is good. She said he was ill." Averil glanced up at Elaine. Her eyes were accusatory.

"Keep your hand over his heart, and you will feel it flutter," Konrad said.

"Flutter? What do you mean?"

"The pulse is steady most of the time, but every few minutes the heart hesitates. The problem is growing worse, happening more often."

Averil shook her head. "I feel nothing."

Randwulf and Fredric were sitting to either side, covers tucked round their bare bodies. "He has never had a problem with his heart before," Fredric said.

"No," Averil said, "he hasn't." She kept her hand over his heart, but her liquid gold eyes were growing angry. After only a few hours, Elaine was finding it easier to read her expressions rather than just staring at the strange color of her eyes.

They waited. Elaine found herself willing his heart to falter, which was obscene, but she didn't want Konrad to seem a fool. Besides, she had felt it herself. It was there.

Averil stiffened. A small gasp escaped her lips. She fell utterly still, even holding her breath. Finally she let it out in a long sigh. "Yes, you are right."

She slipped her hand off his heart. Her hand lingered to cares his cheek. The movement was so gentle, so intimate, it was painful to see. "I don't understand this. He was not injured in the heart at all. Why would this be happening?"

"Could it be a strain from raising the dead?" — Konrad asked.

Averil shook her head. "Mo, healers have the ability to heal their own bodies as well as those of others. His heart would mend itself before it got to this point."

"Yet," Konrad said, "something is wrong with his heart."

"I know," she said, her voice harsh. She looked down at her father, then up at Konrad. "I'm sorry. I have no right to snap at you. This is just so inexplicable. It should not be happening."

She opened her backpack and began rummaging in it. There was a soft clink of glass, and heavier duller sounds, like pottery. She extracted a small glass bottle. It was familiar, somehow.

Her vision. She had watched Averil force some liquid down Silvanus's throat in her vision. The girl unstoppered the bottle and raised the elf's head just a little.

"He's unconscious and may choke," Konrad said. "I'll stroke his throat and get him to swallow it." "He could still choke." "I've done this before when the need was great."

She looked at Konrad, her liquid eyes full of such sorrow that Elaine had to look away. Konrad did not. Elaine fought the urge to make him look away. Some pain was too private for a stranger's eyes.

"Lift his head for me, Fredric."

The paladin moved forward, cradling the elf's head in his lap. The gold hair mingled with the fur, framing the too-thin face in soft textures. Fredric, who earlier would barely let Elaine look at his bare chest, now was mostly naked to the waist and didn't seem to care.

Averil forced her father's mouth open.

"I'll hold his jaw while you pour," Konrad said.

Averil looked at him a long moment, then nodded. Konrad's strong fingers held the elf's mouth open, and Averil trickled the smallest of doses into it. "Let go now, healer."

Konrad let the lips fall together gently. Averil firmly stroked the elf's throat. He convulsively swallowed.

Moments passed. Silvanus's eyes fluttered open. He blinked up into Fredric's face. The paladin smiled down at him, big hands cradling his head.

"Good afternoon, old friend," Fredric said.

Silvanus smiled. He looked around at the gathered faces. When he found Averil sitting beside him, the smile deepened. She took his remaining hand, holding it in both of hers.

Elaine stared open-mouthed. Konrad made herbal potions, but nothing like this. This was as wondrous as the laying on of hands. A sip, and a badly injured man awoke smiling. She knew Konrad couldn't lay hands, but could he make such potions if he knew the ingredients?

"How do you feel, Father?"

He seemed to think about the question, more than he should have. "I am not sure."

"What do you mean, Father?" She leaned over him, face and voice demonstrating her concern. She touched one hand to his forehead. "I feel no fever."

"It is not fever," he said. He coughed, a great racking sound that doubled him over.

"Raise him up," she said.

Fredric did, cradling the elf in his strong arms. He held him against his bare, scarred chest until the coughing eased. Silvanus's voice was a harsh whisper. "Water."

"Elaine," Konrad said.

She broke the thin skin of ice on the bucket and dipped the wooden cup into it. She handed the water to Konrad, but Averil took it from her. No one protested.

Silvanus took a sip of water. It set him coughing again, but not so badly. He kept sipping water until he could drink without coughing, then he lay back in his friend's arms, exhausted.

"Oh, Father, what is wrong?"

"I'm not sure. I have raised the dead before. I feel so strange."

Averil turned to Konrad. "You are a healer. What is wrong with him?"

Elaine knew the answer; Konrad didn't. He took a deep breath as if trying to decide what to say. "I believe it is a reaction to his healing of the others."

"But he has healed me many times," Fredric said. "He has not been like this before."

"Yes," Randwulf said, "he is a cleric. They heal; it is what they do. It would be like my shooting an arrow and having it harm me. It's ridiculous."

"Perhaps, Randwulf is closer to the truth than he knows," Elaine said softly.

Everyone turned and looked at her. Even Silvanus's strange eyes were upon her face.

"Go on, Elaine," Konrad said. His expression was neutral. It didn't seem to bother him that she was usurping his territory. Konrad always wanted to hear what others had to say, if it would save lives.

Elaine licked her lips and took a shaky breath. Suddenly she felt silly. What if she were wrong? She looked round at their expectant faces. Silvanus's face was very patient, gentle even. What if she were right and did not speak up?

"Gersalius and Thordin say magic healing does not work in Kartakass. Not even laying hands on a wound will work here. But Silvanus has raised the dead. What if he can still heal, but it harms him as it helps others?" Spoken aloud, the idea sounded farfetched, the barest conjecture. She felt heat crawl up her face as they all continued to stare at her.

"That is ridiculous," Averil said. Her voice held the scorn Elaine expected.

"No, Daughter," Silvanus said, voice harsh with coughing. "Hear her out."

Hear her out, Elaine thought, that was it. That was all the theory she had. Averil's face was set in disapproving lines, but she waited. They all waited for Elaine to go on, but there was no more.

Silvanus took his hand from Averil's grasp and held it out to Elaine. The hand trembled slightly. She took it. The skin was cold, or perhaps it was her own hands. She almost apologized for not warming her hands first, but something in his eyes stopped her. She was babbling in her own head, trying desperately to think of something useful to say.

"Do not try so hard," the elf said softly.

What did he mean? "I'm not trying at all."

"Ease your mind. Empty your thoughts. Feel."

It was something Gersalius would have said and just as inexplicable. "I don't know what you mean."