They had returned to Ralmes.
Vyncent saw that some beasts had been at the corpses, villagers and zealots alike. The ground was uneven as if it had been plowed. The temple was nothing but ash and blackened staves, save for the statue. Some of the houses had also caught fire and fell; Vyncent could see where the Bartyn Brewer's cottage used to be.
The manor still stood, secured by whips of vines that wrapped around the windows and doors. There were some faces in the windows; Molly waved at the nepher from within the manor. Fera raised a hand to the brambles that encased the great stone house. Around the great stone house, the thorny vines receded, withering rapidly. When the double-leaf door was clear, Margla, the steward's wife, slowly pushed it open. She beckoned the pair to come in. Her face was awash with worry, and she looked exhausted. When Fera made a step forward, her strength failed her. Had Vyncent not caught her, she would have fallen into the snow.
"Are you unwell?" Vyncent asked Fera, whose eyes fluttered. She felt lighter than she looked, thought Vyncent.
Fera moaned in pain, pressing a palm to the side of her head. "My flori," she uttered with a weak voice. "I've drawn more than I can bear. Forgive my weakness."
"You've spent your strength to save me last night," Vyncent said gently. The survivors rushed out to assist him. "You've saved them. There is nothing to forgive."
Before she shut her eyes, she smiled sweetly. "Vysse … "
"Rest," Vyncent encouraged softly. She sees him in me, no doubt.
Vyncent got under one of Fera's arms, Wallas the Bowman under the other. They carried her into the manor. Half of the inhabitants were injured, bloody bandages over where the Rayhanei's raiders had struck them. Their spirits were lifted when they saw the green nepher, but no sooner did it fall when they realized how feeble she was.
One man who had a bloody cloth wrapped over an eye shed his blanket. He folded it up and approached them. As Vyncent laid her down, the man placed it on the floor to pillow Fera's head. The rest offered comforts of their own, forgetting the coldness around them. They treated her with such veneration; they kept their voices low as if not to disturb her rest.
Vyncent threw back his own blanket and revealed the bundles of roots, leaves, and fungus. These were of a hidden breed, grown in Fera's cavern. The nepher had told him what was for what and how much to give. The villagers gathered around, taking what they needed.
"This red root is for the pain," Vyncent said to one man who claimed a raider had smashed his arm broken with a club. "This mushroom needs to be grounded up first," he said to a woman whose husband's flesh had corrupted, "powder it on his gash. It should rid him of the foulness quite quickly." The woman several quick nods and hurried off to her husband. There was only one healer among them, but he had lost a hand the night before. From one corner of the big hall, Bennett sat on the floor near a window. As he warmed himself in the sunlight, he would not take his eyes off Vyncent, scowling.
Molly came into the hall, rushing to Vyncent's side.
"Father is hurting," she said. "What should I do?"
"Tell your father to chew on this." Vyncent gave her a piece of the red root. "How is he?" Vyncent had last seen Magnus wounded after protecting his wife and daughter.
"He looks tired all the time," Molly said with a frown, "but he smiles and tells me not to cry." Remembering this, she grinned as if he was in the hall watching her. She turned to leave, but not before asking about Reyen. Vyncent told her what Fera had told him. They would be traveling separately and meet at Dil'vanzi in Iriaj.
"When our quest is over," Vyncent assured her with a warm smile, "we'll return. Larissa may read you all the stories you want." That had made her giggle.
As Molly left, her mother entered the hall. Her brown hair was unkempt where once it had been clean and brushed straight. But for her child, Margla giggled to match her mood as she went by.
"What is next for the people of Ralmes?" Vyncent asked Margla.
"We will rebuild," she answered. "We will bury our dead first. After Brother Lyndon's prayers, we will head north to Guybert. We shall stay there for some time if they take us in. Guybert is a well-guarded village, I hear. It has walls."
When he had finished giving out the healing gifts and the instructions for each one, Vyncent went outside. He helped the villagers dig their graves. They seemed to know about Lady Lombrea's betrayal, though Vyncent himself had not talked about it. "What did I tell you, Holly?" a man said in a low voice said to his wife. "'told you as I told everyone. Those men that came 'round here a moon ago … nobody believed me. 'Said I was crazy." Melia's eyes were wet with tears, "I was foolish to doubt the moonbowls," she said to her sister's corpse, "I couldn't believe our Lombrea …" the old woman wiped her nose and eyes with the back of her hand " … blinded by love and trust, I was robbed of you, my sister." The dead woman was lowered into her grave by those who dug it. "I am alone, for this is my punishment," said Melia, folding her hands in prayer. She pressed her fingers to her lips to hold back a sob, her eyes wrinkling hard.
Vyncent had found his long gun on the main road; the barrel had burst open, he realized. He judged he had not fired the long gun enough times to break it so soon. Not Blay's best work, I suppose, thought Vyncent with a frown on his face, but it was a gift. You shouldn't find faults in a gift received. Perhaps he would keep it as a reminder of home.
With the prayers over, the villagers prepared to leave. They picked their things out of their houses, bundling up clothes and utensils. Craftsmen packed their tools, ready for whatever work they could find in Guybert. In the stables, there were only a few draft horses left. One of the wains was loaded with the injured and weak. Fera had woken and saw the wagons on the northern path, the refugees preparing to depart. She was walking down the steps, a man following close behind, fearing she would fall. But Fera turned to him and assured him she was all right.
A boy guided a mare with a chestnut coat to Fera. "My father wants you to have her," he said sheepishly. "Also, Magnus wishes you to join us so that you can rest in Guybert." The boy had short hair the color of hay; his cheeks were beset with pimples. He had scratched them until they burst, leaving red marks.
Fera thanked him but looked ready to refuse. Yet, she was still weak by the look of her. When Vyncent insisted that she ride, however, she took the reins. "On the morrow," Vyncent told her, "we'll make for Fins." Fera agreed. As he helped her mount, Vyncent heard something move in the bushes far behind him. For a moment, he saw something move; it was orange in color. It vanished when someone called out him; the villagers were ready to move out. Just a fox, most likely, thought Vyncent. He shrugged and turned, joining the survivors ahead.
Vyncent walked alongside Fera's chestnut mare, asking her more about last night. He wanted to know more about Lady Lombrea's defection.
"After destroyed the Rose of Tuyra," Fera said, "she had led me out of the village, telling me to treat a woodcutter's son who had bitten a poisonous mushroom. Deep in the wood, a bolt struck my back. That man with the red hair had me fight one of those monsters. By their talk, it sounded like they had moved in on Pyran as well. Lombrea, the one who I had once called my friend, watched the beast bite and gore me." There was sorrow in Fera's eyes. She paused and began again. "They thought I was dead. I had thought I soon would be as well. But then I felt Lombrea's hands on my body. When I knew she had taken the black diamond, I thought only of …."
Fera glanced at Vyncent, then made a rueful smile. Vyncent was nonplussed. Hearing about the loss of the black diamond, though, filled him with dismay. "We best be more careful, then," he said after a swallow, looking straight ahead, "the Waif's men can find me easily now, yes?"
Someone at the head of the traveling refugees cried out that the village was near. Vyncent heard a few sighs of relief from the ones around him. Margla quietly thanked the God in the Stars. Molly some other children ran up ahead, impatient and wanting to see Guybert. In her hands, the girl held Larissa's red book; Vyncent had heard her trying to read from it to entertain her father on the ride.
Guybert indeed had walls; they were rows of tall sharpened staves, each about a handsbreadth thick. Outside the walls, A boy, about seventeen, with strange scarlet and jet hair dashed out of the village's wide gates. "Os! Catch!" the boy screamed as he threw his hand back and launched whatever was in it to a tall blond man coming out of the bushes. He caught it and ran back into the woods. One of the two guards who were pursuing him grabbed and yanked his arm. The boy struck his chin in retaliation, and the other guard—a stocky and surly man—kicked his leg and forced him to the ground.
"After the other thief," the one who was stricken said as he rubbed his jaw, "don't let the bastard get away. It's of great value." At his order, two other guards from the village mounted horses and rode out.
"Get off me," the thief was shouting. He sounded more frightened than angry. "I said get off me!"
The guard he hit walked over and pressed his boot against his head, pushing his cheek onto the road. "Now, now," he said like he was talking to an ill-tempered child, "cutpurses do not give us orders." He turned to his fellow guard. "Do they, Klyde?"
The guardsman named Klyde struggled to keep the thief down. "Not at all," he said, grunting, "certainly not ones that steal from the apothecary. Have you no shame, boy, stealing from the sick?" After Klyde bound the thief's wrist with rope, he stood up, much to the vagrant's relief. He squinted his eyes at the people of Ralmes. "Come on through," Klyde said as he waved a languid hand toward the gate. The refugees passed through the gates, glancing at the thief as they passed, murmuring contemptuous comments.
"I had the damn coin to pay for it," the thief was saying, "but the braggart wouldn't take it from an outsider. He treated me like a thief as soon as he saw me come in."
"Aye, Zagermund is an arrogant shit. East Virterans are like that," Klyde allowed, "but you stole from him all the same."
"Best hope my friends catch yours," added the guard who still had his boot on the thief's head. "We'll only take a finger. We'll take a hand if they lose him."
The thief smiled enigmatically. "You won't catch any of them." The guards looked at him, confused. To his left, Vyncent saw a glint of steel behind a tree.
"Say again, boy?" Klyde asked, unamused.
The boy looked ready to shout something, but before he could, Fera spoke up.
"Is it you?" Fera said quietly, more to herself than the thief. She dismounted her horse suddenly, running to the thief.
"Easy, woman," said Klyde, "this boy is dangerous."
"Please, release him," Fera pleaded. She was close to tears. "I shall pay the fine. If the price is high but just, so be it. "
The guards twisted their faces at each other. "You know this boy?"
Vyncent could see the bewilderment in the thief's emerald eyes, eyes of which matched Fera's.
Fera nodded. "He is my son," she said, letting her tears fall, "my little Roza had lived."
458Please respect copyright.PENANAOJAtLpJQUw