Death of a Darklord

He smiled. "Yes, it is growing back."

"Does it hurt?"

"No, but it does itch abominably." He gave a small laugh like the distant ringing of bells. Human throats did not sound like that.

"How does it grow back? I mean …" Elaine tried to think how to phrase the question.

"Elaine, just ask, the perfect words for such questions are never found," Gersalius said.

"Is the arm growing back in stages? Is the bone growing first, then the flesh covering it, or does it grow all at once like a tree limb?" It sounded a very personal question, but she wanted to know. Her hands itched to touch the growing stump.

Elaine looked down at the ground, afraid he would see the eagerness in her eyes and mistake it for something else.

"Would you like to see it?" Silvanus asked.

She looked up at him, studying his face. Was he teasing her? No. His face was pleasant, but serious.

"Yes, very much." Elaine was surprised by the eagerness in her own voice. She had to learn magic, for it would control her otherwise, but healing. . she wanted to learn healing, too.

Blaine was looking at her strangely. She had not told him she might be a healer, like Silvanus. It wasn't that she had tried to keep it from him. It was more that she herself didn't believe it yet. It was both too wonderful and too frightening to share, even with Blaine.

She touched his arm, leaning close to whisper. "I'll explain all later. I don't want Jonathan to know."

Blaine tipped back from her to see her face, then leaned in, breathing words against her skin. "Is it another magic?"

She nodded.

He hugged her briefly. "You must tell me everything later." His face was very serious when he said it.

"Promise," she said softly. She caught movement from the corner of her eyes. Jonathan was walking toward them, his cloak held close to his body against the cold. It was hard to see his expression with the hood up, but Elaine thought he was scowling.

Of course, that could have been her own insecurity. She hadn't realized she did anything differently, but Blaine touched her arm. "What's wrong?"

What could she say-that Jonathan was afraid of her? That he hated what she was? Elaine shook her head. "Jonathan is unhappy with me."

"With the magic?"

She nodded.

Blaine squeezed her arm. "It'll be all right. He'll come around."

She looked into his face, trying to see if he were just saying something to comfort her, or if he believed what he was saying. His eyes, his face, his touch were utterly sincere. He believed. Elaine wished she did.

Silvanus's sleeve was tied up with string. He undid the string and began to push back the cloth.

"What are you doing?" Jonathan asked.

"Elaine wishes to see my arm. She is curious about how it grows," the elf said. He said it as if it were an everyday occurrence.

Jonathan stared down at him. "What do you mean, your arm is growing?"

"It is growing back," Silvanus said.

Jonathan shook his head. "I do not think I can face another miracle before breakfast."

Silvanus smiled and continued to roll up his empty sleeve.

Jonathan put a hand outward as if to push something away. "Please, I do not wish to look at your.. injured arm while I eat."

Silence fell on the little group. An appalled silence. Thordin stood, spoon dripping stew on the ground. "Jonathan, the cleric is a guest at our fire."

"I have no problem with him as a guest, but surely it is rude even in your homeland to show wounds at a meal."

Put like that, Jonathan might have a point. Yet he should have let it go. They were guests. You did not make a guest uncomfortable, not deliberately.

Silvanus gave a small bow from the neck. "I have no desire to be offensive." Averil had to help him refold his sleeve and tie it in place.

Elaine felt her face burn with shame. Silvanus didn't seem offended, but she didn't know him well enough to know if it were just a polite act.

She stood. "I asked him to show me his arm." She faced Jonathan across the fire, not flinching from the disapproval in his eyes.

"Then you should have gone to a tent. I do not see why you would want to see it."

"It doesn't bother you that the arm has been cut off. It bothers you that it is growing back. That it is magic." There was scorn in her voice, scorn bordering on hate. She still loved Jonathan, but she was begi

Jonathan stared at her. His expression was unreadable.

"You're afraid of it," she said.

"What do you want of me, Elaine?" His voice was suddenly tired.

She suddenly realized what she wanted. She wanted him to be someone else. To be fair. Elaine was begi

"I need to finish healing Fredric's and Randwulf's wounds," Silvanus said.

Jonathan and Elaine looked at him as if he had just appeared before them. They had been intent on each other. The elf's voice was an intrusion. Whether a welcome one or not, Elaine wasn't sure.

"I had pla

Jonathan shook his head abruptly. "No, heal them. It was unfair to protest just a moment ago. I am unaccustomed to such strange magic. It is … uncomfortable for me."

Silvanus looked at him, his face thoughtful. "Thank you, Jonathan. I will heal them here by the fire. It is warmer here than in most of the tents."

Jonathan gave a curt nod. He took his sandwich from Thordin and sat down on the opposite side of the fire, his back to them so he could not see. But Elaine could see his face. That one look was enough to know what it had cost him to let the elf heal by the fire. He was trying. Maybe he was sorry about last night, too?

He glanced up and caught her eye. They stared at each other. Elaine gave a small smile, and Jonathan answered it. The first stirrings of 'magic' tickled over her skin. She turned from Jonathan's smile to the cleric, the healing. She wanted to see the wounds close, instant healing. It was the stuff of legends. Hopeful stories told round winter fires when the wolves howled at the door.

Elaine stood and took a few steps toward the cleric. She did not glance back at Jonathan. She was afraid he'd be frowning. She didn't want to lose what good will they had gained, but she didn't want to miss seeing this miracle, either.

Silvanus clasped Fredric's bandaged arm in his one good hand. He did not throw his head back, as he had to raise the dead. It was a simpler task he set himself. He merely touched the wound and drew power.

Elaine felt the power breathing along her body, but something was wrong. She wasn't sure what, but it felt different. Incomplete.

Silvanus hunched his shoulders. She could see the tension in his body. The effort shuddered along his collarbones. His hand trembled. He lifted his palm from the bandaged area.

"Take off the bandage," he said.

"What's wrong, Silvanus?" Fredric asked.

"Please, just take off the bandage."

Fredric didn't argue again, but did as he was told. When the bloody bandages came away, the wound was still there. It had not healed.

Fredric's eyes widened. "Silvanus, what has happened?"

The elf shook his head. "Randwulf, bare one of your wrists wounds for me, please."

The younger man had no teasing words, he simply unwrapped his right wrist. The wound no longer bled, but it was still an open bite, nasty to look at and painful. Without a word, Randwulf offered his arm to the cleric.

Silvanus touched the wound, delicately, fingertips alone. He traced the laceration as if exploring it. Randwulf winced, but made no sound.

The elf closed his hand over the wound and bowed his head, concentrating. Again the soft, growing magic built, fluttering in the air like a trapped bird, a bird that had no where to fly. Something was very wrong. Elaine had no words for exactly what, but she knew it shouldn't happen like this. Even without the ability to sense the healing, the looks on the two fighters faces was enough. They were shocked, frightened.