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Topiara - Chapter 20
Jilan didn't know if it was the power of that mysterious stone that Lyara refused to talk about, or whether it was simply her own willpower that kept her upright in the saddle. The fact was that Lyara did ride the next morning, and the morning after that, grim and pale and untalkative. From time to time, Jilan took the initiative to make her stop so he could check her bandage to see if she was still bleeding so profusely. Lyara tolerated his rough nursing with the same stoicism that she tolerated the bumps and jars of pony riding.
Tandri had never seemed such a long two-days' ride. The warm weather had passed, and there was a new chill in the air that boded yet another howling storm in the near future. As the city drew nearer, however, there were more inns; and Jilan was determined that Lyara spent a quiet night in a warm and comfort able bed to prepare her for the next day. As usual, most of the inns on the outskirts of Tandri were filled with travelers not wishing to pay the higher prices of lodging within the city itself.
By the second night, however, Lyara had been visibly tiring. Jilan had almost despaired of finding a room before she was too exhausted to continue. Finally, an inn was found with one remaining vacancy, and Jilan carried Lyara from the stable up the stairs and into the room where he deposited her on the bed. The innkeeper vanished modestly through the door as Jilan removed Lyara's cloak and examined her side. Through the band age and second leather tunic, the blood had seeped until the garment was nearly soaked.
There wasn't much left of the linen tunic, but what there was left Jilan tore into strips and wrapped together to make another pad for a bandage. Gently he untied the first and removed the pad. The wound was small, but very deep and still oozing blood. He stood again and went to the small dresser where he filled the basin with water from the ewer and brought the basin back next to the bed.
With a small scrap of fabric, he gingerly washed the blood from the skin surrounding the wound. The cool water roused Lyara slightly, and she opened her eyes partly to look at him. "Does it look that bad?" she questioned in a weak voice.
Jilan looked up quickly into her face and then with a grim smile looked down to his task again. "I don't know good from bad, Lyara. You're still bleeding. You need a healer." He gently lifted on her back so he could bring the strip around her so as to tie the new bandage in place. "I don't think you should ride tomorrow."
She opened her eyes wider. "Tomorrow would see us both home, Jilan. Right?"
"Or you dead in the saddle on the way," Jilan insisted, tugging on the strip to make sure that the bandage would stay in place. "I could go into Tandri and bring back Master Lyndon and a cart before midday." Lyara opened her mouth to complain, but Jilan covered it before she could speak. "In the name of your precious Predator, Lyara, be sensible. You've been seriously wounded. Certainly there is no honor lost in needing to be brought home more comfortably." He removed his hand. "I would by far rather have you angry at me for lessening your honor than dying to prove a point."
Lyara closed her eyes. "I want to be home tomorrow, Jilan. If you insist that it be by cart, then get me a cart. We don't have to fetch Master Lyndon out. Hire a cart here and return it later."
He blinked in surprise. "I thought you were going to argue the point."
She smiled, still with eyes closed. "I may be stubborn, but I'm not stupid."
Jilan didn't respond to the quip, but placed a worried hand on her cheek to check the progress of what was becoming a low fever. "What I am is hungry. Will you be alright if I leave you to get some food for us both?"
Lyara sighed and nodded against his hand. "I'll try to sleep while you're gone," she promised.
"I won't be gone but just a few minutes," he promised in return, a worried frown creasing his brows. The fever in her cheeks bode ill. His steps to the door of the room were quick, for he decided that he had best inquire about the nearest healer from the innkeeper while obtaining the food.
The dreams had turned into visions, and the visions had turned ugly and confusing. Flashes of memories of her father, the raid that had brought her to Talandria were hopelessly jumbled with glimpses of Sidon and the old healer Talia, Farranby and a strange old gentleman who watched with sad and concerned eyes. Through it all, the flute kept appearing and disappearing, swords kept flashing and swinging in all direc tions, and blood flowing from numberless wounds. Periodically, a warmth would spread over her body radiating from a point in her chest, and the nightmarish images would resolve themselves into seeming order for a while before becoming confused and ugly again.
There was one face in the tumble however, one personality of all the characters haunting her nightmare, which seemed to wait for her, offering safety and comfort. He stood back, out of reach, ever beckoning when he appeared. Lyara fought with the other images, but this one she called to, reached for. In her delirium, she finally moaned and then yelled the name. "Jilan!"
"I'm here, Lyara." A soft voice answered her call and cool, gentle hands captured and held her grasping claws. "I'm back. I told you I wouldn't go far."
The nightmare receded, the visions fading. Slowly Lyara opened her eyes to the sight of Jilan kneeling by her side. "It was a horrible. . ." Her arms reached out for him and the safety that he offered her fevered mind. "Hold me?"
Jilan sat down quickly at her side, and his arms wrapped around Lyara gently and held her close as she continued to tremble from the chill and clung to him tightly in the wake of the terror of her nightmare. "Hush, hush," he murmured into her tousled hair, feeling the heat of her fever against his neck. "I didn't go far. I brought us some food. Hush, you're safe."
"Don't leave me," she whimpered, burrowing further into his shoulder as the nightmare visions of her delirium surfaced again behind her closed eyelids.
Jilan leaned forward slightly and drew the rag from the basin of tepid water to wipe her forehead as it lay on his shoulder. The water seemed to calm her and rouse her once more.
"Jilan," she murmured, opening her eyes to find his face only inches from hers, wrinkled in a worried and tender expres sion. "I keep seeing..."
"Hush," he soothed, wiping her forehead once more with the wet rag. "Rest. I'm here now, and I'll take care of you."
Lyara nodded silently and closed her eyes once more with a long sigh. She fell deeply asleep even as Jilan gently laid her back on her pillow so that he could continue washing her face in his effort to keep her fever from returning. It was going to be a long night.
Jilan had only managed to dose briefly by the time the sun was shining brightly through the opaque window, and the glare of the sunlight quickly roused him again. Immediately he bent over Lyara, feeling her warm cheek with the back of his hand to test how high her fever had climbed. Lyara stirred slightly at the touch, but the fever was low and the sleep genuinely restful. Jilan sighed in relief and glanced at the remains of the meal he had brought back to the room the evening before. If he were going to eat today, he would have to leave Lyara to do so.
Gambling that a few moments downstairs getting food and arranging for a healer's visit would not take too long, Jilan used the wet rag to wipe his own face in an effort to rouse himself more before slipping as quietly as he could from the room. The innkeeper's wife sympathetically listened to his questions about a healer and promised to send for one immediate ly. Jilan watched the kitchen drudge speed away for the healer and then set about making up a platter of food that would sus tain both he and Lyara for the entire day. The drudge soon returned, with a woman following close behind. Jilan took up his tray and led the way up the stairs.
Lyara stirred and watched with tired eyes as Jilan came back into the room. "Jilan?"
"I'm here, Lyara."
"You were gone," she stated plaintively.
"I know," he soothed, returning her hands to lie on the bed next to her. "I brought someone back with me. A healer. Her name is Marisa." His hands brushed her cheek softly, and then moved away as he stood aside to let the healer see her patient.
The black eyes in the youthful face could have been Talia's: sharp, noticing everything, yet betraying none of the inner thoughts of the healer. A pillow of red hair surrounded a face with not one wrinkle, and there was a smile on the young woman's face. "Your gentleman says that you've a bad way on. Sounds most worried-like about you." With hands that were gentle and practiced, Marisa moved aside the strip holding the bandage and sucked in her lips at the sight of the wound. "A wicked little blade did that, I reckon. You're lucky there was no poison on it, or you'd not have made it so long."
Jilan tugged at the healer's sleeve. "Will she be all right?"
"Aye, sir. She must rest a day or two -- complete rest and no more travel -- and then we will see." Marisa brought up a small bundle that she laid on the bed next to the wounded woman. She loosened the drawstring and began mulling through the contents.
"Jilan," Lyara whispered her complaint, "You said we could go home."
"Nonsense, miss," the healer interrupted before Jilan had a chance to respond. "You've lost too much blood for that. Your home will go nowhere between now and two days from now." The black eyes were knowledgeable enough to show that the healer would brook no further argument. "Lay back and gather your strength, Lady. 'Twill do you no harm and much good."
Disappointed, Lyara closed her eyes and looked away. The healer stood and handed Jilan a small packet after closing the little bundle once more. "Rinse the old bandage out and soak it in stout tonight," she instructed softly. "Then re-bandage tomorrow and put half of this packet in the wound. Use the other half when you change the bandage in the morning. Always soak the old bandage in stout after rinsing -- 'twill keep infection away. The fever may continue tonight, but it should begin to leave about midmorning and shouldn't be too dangerous. If it does get too high, have the innkeeper fetch me again."
"Thank you," Jilan bowed and handed the young woman sever al pieces of Lyara's specie. The healer's eyes brightened at the sight of the coins, and then she bowed quickly and took her leave. Jilan closed and barred the door after she had gone, then returned to the bedside. "I've some stew, Lyara. Are you hungry?"
Lyara turned back to him and opened her eyes. "I wanted to go home," she complained again.
"Marisa is right, Tandri and Master Lyndon will be there three days from now." He brought a bowl of stew to her side that brought her more awake. "Humor me, Lyara, for once. Do as the healer says. And eat this."
Jilan opened the window of the room and tossed the con tents of the basin to water the ground below, then putting the now rinsed bandage in the basin and pouring some of the stout ale from the other pitcher over it to follow the healer's in structions. A moan from the bed made him work a little faster. Lyara's fever was climbing again. Already he had used the cool water from the ewer to wash her face and neck three times to bring the fever under control. He wrung the excess stout from the fabric and draped it over a chair to dry, then returned to Lyara's side.
Her cheek was warm, but not as hot as it had become the last time. Lyara twitched in her restless sleep but did not thrash or cry out this time. Jilan breathed a sigh of relief. He too needed to rest. He checked to make sure that the scrap of linen with which he had been bringing down the fever was still in the ewer of water and then placed the ewer on the floor next to Lyara.
With a yawn, he stepped to the other side of the bed and lay down next to Lyara. As exhausted as he was, he lay there for a while wondering what his father would say to him. In a perverse mood, he wondered what the reaction of his university fellows would be if they could see him now. No, there was definitely no returning to that shallow life.
His eyes seemed to close of their own accord, and soon he too found himself deep in a restless sleep.
Lyara slept most of the next day, barely rousing when Jilan changed her bandage in the morning except to hiss in pain as the concoction Marisa a given him hit the open wound. The fever, as the healer had promised, had not returned since late in the night, and Lyara's sleep was both restful and healing. Jilan too had rested fairly well in the night.
There was the temptation for him to send a message to Master Lyndon, to inform him of Lyara's injuries and beg a cart be sent for her the following morning. He succumbed to the point of sending a message to Master Lyndon, informing him of the injury; but he assured the Guides Master that Lyara would be able to complete her trek within the week.
To his father, too, Jilan sent a message. Of the two, this was the one that was the hardest to word and send. Jilan was forced to report his inability to rescue his little cousin, and announce his intention not to return to the family manor on a permanent basis.
Rodayn Torbishahn was quick to respond to his son's mes sage, sending out his own men to search for the inn from which the message had been sent. Once found, the King's chancellor begged pardon from his liege lord and left the city in search of his wayward son.
The last place he had ever expected to see Jilan was in one of the rough inn-houses outside the city limits of Tandri. The Jilan he remembered was a soft and unpredisposessing scholar with little wanderlust and no real stomach for a man's life. The young man who answered the knock on the door the innkeeper had described was a seasoned traveler, weary and yet keen.
"May I come in?" Rodayn did look foolish standing in the rude hallway with all of his fine robes and golden chains.
Jilan moved aside to let his father in, and then closed the door. "Speak softly," he cautioned the older man. "She is sleeping, and I don't want her disturbed."
Rodayn looked at the bed. A rather haggard and pale young woman lay in the midst of mussed covers and bloody rags. "Who in the name of all the gods is this woman?" he demanded, only to be curtly hushed at by his son.
"She was my guide into the Kauwlut lands, Father. If it hadn't been for her, I would never have survived the search." Jilan's voice held a tone of steel it had never once shone before. "She's been wounded in an attack and is resting as the healer recommended."
Rodayn determined to research this little Guide with Master Lyndon on his first opportunity, but left that matter for another time. He turned to his son. "You say you could not bring Sidon out of his prison. You disobeyed me to follow him into strange and dangerous lands and then come back without him?" The older man's voice rose slightly until he caught sight of his son's scowl.
"You might as well know the truth, Father." Jilan scratched his head wearily and moved away to the window of the little room. "We found Sidon. We left him where we found him."
"What?!" Rodayn's bark roused Lyara enough to make Jilan rush to his father's side.
"Be quiet!" Jilan's order was forceful. "We had no choice. We were only two against an entire band. Besides, the leader had decided that Sidon was of value and was considering adopting him into his clan. Face it." Jilan's voice grew flat and uncompromising. "He had a better chance at life as a Kauw lut healer than with Uncle Torgaf as a half-witted child."
Rodayn snorted. "The Kauwlut are a mob of primitive savages with no idea of honor. If you were going to leave him, best you had killed him yourself than to make him into one of them."
"You're wrong, Father."
"How dare you contradict me, your Father!" Rodayn was livid. This was not the soft and pliable son he had remembered at all.
"That's why I won't be coming home, Father," Jilan contin ued. "My ideas about the way things existed were totally wrong. I don't fit into the niche of an Talandri aristocrat anymore, and I really don't want to." Jilan looked from the window to where his father stood. "I'm sorry, Father."
"What part has this woman to do with this grand decision of yours?" Rodayn demanded, pointing at Lyara with his walking stick.
"You leave her out of this!" Jilan flared. "She had nothing to do at all with my decision. She merely did as I asked and guided me into and out of Kauwlut lands safely. What I saw there, and what I saw on the way there and back opened my eyes."
"Very well, then. You leave me no alternative but to ask the King to order you back to the manor."
"The King has better things to do than to help chasten an aristocrat's son," Jilan scoffed. "And nothing will ever make me forget what I've seen. As you have so often told me, I am now a grown man. I have a right to live my life as I wish. I don't wish to live as an ignorant aristocrat."
Rodayn was astounded. Jilan had never stood up to him before -- a fact that had sorely disappointed him about his son. Here, now, was a young man with the faith in his new convictions, telling his father that he had no use or desire to return to the family fold. The new strength his son displayed was indeed encouraging, but the disdain Jilan held for his old ideas and training was intolerable.
"I have no son," the older man stammered in a near fit. "If you are so sure that you no longer can be an aristocrat's son, then you indeed are one no longer. Your belongings will be set outside the walls of the manor this evening. Come to get them or let them be stolen. The choice is yours."
Rodayn turned on his heel and stomped angrily from the room, down the stairs and out the door to where his carriage waited. He was certain that little tart of a Guide had more than a little to do with Jilan's new attitudes. Surely there would be something he could do about her. He would have to speak with Master Lyndon, as soon as possible!
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