As they rode, the desert landscape gave way to a small oasis: they were back on rolling green hills, the sand giving way to fields of grass, and a well-paved road appeared which led them over a gurgling stream, across a small drawbridge, unmanned, and into a small village. It was surrounded by a stone wall, demolished in places by the McCloud raid, and the village, with its several dozen cottages, looked large enough to hold only a few hundred people. Thor could tell from here that most of the buildings had been damaged. The streets were filled with debris and even one or two houses were still smoking, smoldering slowly.
There was no sentry standing guard as they rode through the open gate, which was smashed off its hinges, and headed right into the town square. But this village was beautifuclass="underline" in stark contrast to the wasteland around it, it had vibrant green grass, gurgling streams, beautiful fruit orchards. Sulpa was an idyllic oasis in the midst of a vast and unforgiving terrain. Thor was not that well-traveled, and he had no idea that places like this existed in the Ring.
As they charged into the town square, a dozen of the town’s elders hurried out to greet them, concern in their eyes. These were smart people, and they spotted Reece’s condition before Thor even stopped, before he even had to say anything. They fixed grave looks of concern on him, and seemed to immediately recognize what he was suffering from.
“How long ago was he bit?” one elder called out.
“Not ten minutes ago,” Thor responded.
“There might still be time. He must to the healer’s house, and quickly. Follow us.”
The elders turned and ran through the narrow streets, and Thor and the others rode after them. The village was small, and after a few blocks the men came to a stop before a small cottage built of an ancient stone, with an arched door. The elders slammed the knocker as Thor dismounted, carrying Reece in his arms. Reece was completely limp, and Thor could not believe how sick he had become so quickly.
The door opened, and a beautiful young girl, maybe sixteen, stood in the doorway, wearing a flowing white robe, with straight black hair and sparkling blue eyes. Her eyes immediately fell to Reece and flashed with concern; she ran to him without saying a word.
She reached up, lay a palm upon his forehead, scanned his body, and saw the bite festering on his arm.
“Inside!” she said urgently.
She turned and hurried back inside, and Thor raced after her, carrying Reece. Behind him, the other Legion members took positions outside the door, the house too small to fit them all.
“Set him down there!” she ordered, frantic, gesturing to a stack of hay in the corner of the room. Thor hurried and set Reece down, and as soon as he did, the girl crossed the room with a sharp knife.
“Hold his arms!” she commanded, great authority in her voice, an authority that surprised him. “Grab his wrists!” she added, “and hold them firmly! Do you understand? He will fight you. Even in his weakened state. Do NOT let him flail. Do you understand?”
Thor nodded back, nervous, and she wasted no time. She leaned forward, took the knife, and in one quick motion cut deeply into the wound that was already festering, half of it black. She cut in a small area, right at the center, and Reece suddenly shrieked as she did, trying to sit up. He buckled like crazy, and Thor, sweating, did his best to hold him down. It took all of Thor’s might. He had never seen his friend like this.
She held a pan beneath his arm, and black liquid began oozing from the wound, filling nearly all of it. Gradually the oozing stopped, and Reece began to calm, breathing hard, moaning in agony.
She threw the pan of black ooze out an open window, set down the knife, hurried over to a stand, took a red ointment, and quickly rubbed it into the wound. It hissed, and Reece screamed once again. Thor did his best to hold him down, though it was not easy.
She wrapped a fresh bandage around Reece’s wound several times, then tried to calm him by laying an open palm on his chest, reassuringly, slowly easing him onto his back.
She held a palm to his forehead, pried open both eyelids, and examined his eyes. She let go and his eyes closed. She waited patiently, and after several seconds, his eyes fluttered, then opened. Thor was shocked: he looked exhausted, but alert.
“I feel better,” Reece said weakly, his voice hoarse.
“That is the poison leaving you,” she explained. “We may have just caught it in time.”
Reece licked his lips, chapped and dry.
“Am I seeing things, or are you the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen?” he asked, sounding nearly delirious.
The girl blushed and looked away.
“You’re seeing things,” she replied. “Either that, or making fun.”
Reece grew serious.
“I swear I am not, my lady,” he said, eyes open, more alert, looking at her with urgency. “I must know your name. I think I love you.”
She reached up, took a small vial of liquid, opened Reece’s mouth and poured it in.
“My name is Selese,” she said. “You don’t love me. You love my medicine. Now drink,” she said, “and forget all of this.”
Reece gulped down the liquid, and a moment later, his eyes closed, unconscious.
Selese looked at Thor.
“Your friend will live, it seems,” she said. “But I doubt he’ll remember much of this. He was delirious.”
But Thor was of another mind. He had never seen Reece so smitten, and he knew he was not one to take love lightly. He felt that, despite his sickness, Reece’s feelings for her were genuine.
“I would not be so sure of it,” Thor said. “My friend does not speak lightly. I would not be surprised if he has found his love.”
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Godfrey walked with Akorth and Fulton down the back streets of King’s Court, on guard, keeping a loose hand on the dagger on his belt as he went. His eyes shifted, and he was increasingly paranoid in light of the week’s events. Godfrey no longer underestimated the tyranny of his brother’s reach, and felt he could be assassinated at any moment. He had become closer to Akorth and Fulton than ever, grateful to them for helping save him, and while they were hardly warriors, they were at least two more bodies, two more sets of eyes to stay vigilant.
Godfrey turned the corner and saw the sign for his old tavern, hanging crookedly, swinging in the afternoon, drunks spilling out of it, and he felt a sense of repulsion. A wave of anxiety overwhelmed him. He no longer felt comforted being here; now he just associated the place with his near death. He told himself that he would never walk through its doors again.
But he trudged forward, despite his fears, right through the open door, because he was determined. He was determined to bring Gareth down, whatever the cost, whatever the personal danger. There was too much at stake for him now, too much blood that had been drawn. He couldn’t just let this go and disappear quietly in the night. He had to find out who had tried to poison him, not for his own sake, but for the sake of them all. If he could prove the assassination plot, then legally it would be enough for the Council to depose Gareth. All he needed was a witness. One credible witness.
But in this part of town, he knew, credibility was a rare commodity.
Gareth and his friends entered the tavern, and several of his old compatriots stopped and looking his way. Their expressions told him that they were surprised to see him alive; they looked as if they were watching a walking ghost. He did not blame them. He also felt certain that he would die the night before, and that it was a miracle he had survived.
Slowly, the room came back to life, and Godfrey made his way over to the bar, Akorth and Fulton beside him, and they took up their old seats. The barkeep looked at Godfrey warily, then ambled over to them.