He barely looked up when the door slammed open, but he heard the shocked cry of Pedric. "Deveren, your hands!"
Deveren couldn't take the time to explain. He assessed the situation at a glance and sprang forward. His radiant hands reached, not to hurt, but to heal, and he touched Vandaris's broad chest.
Light flooded from him into the dark corners of Vandaris's corrupted spirit, gently chasing away the demons that lurked as a child might brush away a fluffy bit of milkweed. There was nothing that could harm Deveren when he ventured into the dark places tonight, and it was with real joy that he reached for and grasped Vandaris's evil and shaped it into light.
Heal. Be warm. Be comforted.
His strong fingers, glowing with an unearthly radiance, turned sorrow into joy, pain into pleasure. And it gave Deveren joy in the doing as well. He touched something in Vandaris's mind that was still crouching, whimpering, like an injured beast. Tears stung Deveren's eyes as he realized it was the old man's love for his daughter. Deveren longed to touch it, heal that wound as well, but something wise beyond his ken whispered that such was not for him. Vandaris would need to heal himself of that particular pain.
Gently, reluctantly almost, Deveren withdrew. He rocked back on his heels, as full of energy now as when he had begun. Vandaris gazed up at him.
The whole encounter had taken only a few seconds.
"Good gods, what did you do?" whispered Pedric, his eyes glued to Deveren's still-glowing hands.
"A gift from our Lady Health herself," said Deveren with quiet reverence. "For tonight, I am as she is. I can Heal." His eyes met Pedric's and he smiled. Gently he brushed his fingers across the younger man's furrowed brow, erasing the pain and fear and exhaustion. He moved toward Griel- Rabbit-who only now was beginning to recover from the kick Vandaris had dealt him, and took away his pain as well.
The three men stared at him, and Deveren began to grow uncomfortable. "It's still me," he said, almost defensively.
"Are you sure?" quavered Rabbit.
Deveren rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Last time I looked, it was. Now listen, you three. You are now immune to the curse's effect. Rabbit, go to Vervain. With your knowledge of herbs, you can probably be a great help to her in creating more of the tincture. Otter, I've got about fourteen more bottles in the pack on Flamedancer. You and Vandaris have to split them. You go and find the rest of our people and make sure they take the doses."
"But Dev-it's because of them that this damn curse is even here!" protested Pedric.
Deveren didn't waver. "You weren't part of that. Rabbit isn't part of that. I think you know who we can trust, Pedric. Find them; heal them. When they're cured, send them to the temple of Health. They in turn can distribute the tincture. Vandaris, you need to find Telian Jaranis, the rest of the council-anyone in law enforcement. We need those people on our side. Vervain will be working through the night, making more of the stuff. Any questions?"
"Yes," said Vandaris, his gray brows drawing together. "Why do you refer to 'our people' and call Griel and Pedric by animal names?"
Deveren's mouth went dry. "Urn… it's nothing, really. Private nicknames."
"You don't lie very well, Lord Larath," replied the Head Councilman coolly.
"It doesn't matter!" Deveren exploded. "Good gods, the world is going mad out there!"
"You are right," conceded Vandaris. "Now is not the time. But Deveren, I'm starting to put a few things together. We'll have to have a long talk about this when all this chaos is over." "If you and I are alive by dawn," agreed Deveren grimly, "then we'll talk. In the meantime, gentlemen, the people of Braedon need our help."
The four men hurried out of Rabbit's shop to their various tasks. Deveren paused, pressed a hand to his mount's head. The gelding snorted, suddenly full of energy. Flamedancer would be able to go at full speed for the rest of the night.
He swung himself into the saddle and glanced around, heartsick. The crowds had been here earlier. Doors were broken. Filth had been written on walls. Most of the shops had been robbed, and sometimes the shopkeepers had not escaped with their lives. The smell of fire was in the air along with the tang of the salt sea, and a dim orange glow in the distance had nothing to do with a setting sun.
He glanced down at his hands, and his heart lifted slightly. With a single touch, he could bring healing and sanity to the cursed of this town he so loved. With only the gentlest of squeezes, Flamedancer leaped forward.
Later, ballads would be written about the deed, of how one man, blessed by a goddess, had ridden through the longest night in Braedon's history. Deveren would be lifted to the ranks of hero. Long after he had turned to dust, his name would echo in taverns and feast halls, by firesides and on the road. But as he thundered through streets lit only by fires and moonlight, reaching down to grasp a hand curled into a fist, touch a brow streaming with sweat and blood, Deveren Larath's thoughts were not of future glory and immortalization in song. He did not think of the dozens, perhaps hundreds of people whom he would, by the grace of Health, pull back from the edge of madness tonight. It was each individual that mattered, each touch that counted.
His thoughts were firmly in the present, rooted in each minute as if it were the last he would live. He felt as though he memorized every face whose expression went from hate to compassion, from confusion to clarity. In the space of a few seconds, he knew them all, and he brought hope where there was none.
And he would later count it a mercy that, as he raced through the night on a fire-hued horse, he did not know that the Mharian and pirate fleet was sailing into the Braedon harbor.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
One foe of yours is human.
One foe of yours is not.
And everyone you love most dear
In their dark web is caught:
Your brother fights for freedom.
At perhaps a bloody cost,
But it's here in these dark streets tonight,
That the war is won or lost.
The night wore on, and, for the first time since Vervain's touch had enabled him to be a vessel for Health, Deveren began to despair.
Gods, there were so many of them. So very many. He could not possibly reach all of them tonight. Though he felt no physical exhaustion, his initial joy was tempered by simple fact. Many had tried to take Flamedancer from him; he had always been able to make physical contact with the would-be horse thief before it was too, late, but each time it startled him.
He had worked his way through the merchant's area and was braving the throngs clustered around the square when the attack came. Deveren knew, even as the figure came crashing down on him, dragging him off a terrified Flamedancer, that he ought to have been expecting this. He hit the street hard, and heard Flamedancer neighing frantically. He opened his mouth to scream at the horse, send it away from these insane people who would do him harm, but a fist landed in his mouth.
Automatically, Deveren clamped both hands around his attacker's wrist-and stared right into the furious face of Freylis.
His healing touch had no effect, and Deveren realized with horror that it was because Freylis was not contaminated with the curse. He was at this moment, and always had been, a simple, angry, dangerous brute, and no Healer, not even the divine one, could remedy that.