Healer (27 page)

After returning the blade inside the wood,
Chronicles planted the staff firmly on the ground to examine its sapphire tip.
His gaze then flicked to his son.

“Thank you for returning this to me,” he
said flatly. “However it may have served you, it will now serve
my
purpose.”

“Did you forget that it was a gift?”
Wisdom clenched his teeth against the haze of pain flaring up his ribcage. “You
may have also forgotten that we were meant to
protect
life, not take it!”

“We
will
be protectors once again, but
only
after
humans pay for what they did to us.”

“I think you’re overlooking the obvious.”

“You may have seen to the land’s
destruction,” Chronicles sniffed at the air, “but you
were not
alone. I
smell them, and I
will
find them.”

Without any signals, the awaiting Healers
silently approached their leader.

“I’ll deal with you later.” To the others,
he simply said, “Take him.”

Wisdom watched them come. Like a wounded
rabbit, he waited for his hunters, for it was wolves they had become. The
different colors of their fur revealed traits from their true forms. Hair color
mixed with the natural look of the animal. Even down to the eyes, though the
prince could still see the brilliant colors masked beneath those yellow orbs.
Eagerness caused the irises to glow in a display of silver, emerald, and gold.

Nearly upon him, a sudden blaze of fiery
earth erupted between them. In panicked yelps of confusion, the wolves slammed
into one another to keep from touching the flames. Teeth
bared
at the prince, who watched with a satisfied grin as they turned to beg advance
from their leader. Yet even Chronicles was at a loss for guidance, though he
concealed it by keeping himself composed.

An ear flicked to movement from behind,
then something was pushed into the prince’s hand. The soft touch of leaves
promised relief, and he glanced up to see
who
had
brought them.

Donning his own vest of chain-mail suited
to his height, Ashpin eyed the Healers returning to their true forms. It was
their leader that captured his fancy, an outfit of iridescent scales protecting
the chest and down the thighs. It was unlike the armor Wisdom’s clan had
prepared, with hard-edged shoulder pieces, thick breast plates and heated
shields.

“Can we hope to win if they get through?”

“It’s not about winning.” Wisdom nodded
behind him. Though the field looked vacant, he knew the Simpletons were merely
blanketing the rest of the group with their projective thoughts. “Get back with
the rest.”

The crunch of withered leaves confirmed
its life energy had passed into him, and Wisdom slowly stood. He let the dry
leaves crumble from his fingers. A glance behind revealed no trace of the boy,
as he had passed within the safety of the Simpletons’ projected walls.

“So you wish to play illusionary games,”
his father said. “You should be mindful of our own.” He raised both hands, and
when they fell it was as though a curtain had closed around the race of
Lo-ans’rel
.

Like the prince’s troops, they too were
shrouded from view.

At his side, jewels along the sword’s hilt
began to glow a brilliant blue as it detected illusionary activity. What his
father emitted was strong. Calling upon the sword’s Sight ability, a blue
outline revealed what others could not see.

In that moment his father’s form broke
through the ring of flames. No sword counter was fast enough against the
lumbering gray and black bear. Instead, the prince threw himself back, shifting
in the process. When the glow of shifted forms faded, cloven hoofs pawed the
air. He dropped on all fours, turned and let loose a powerful kick that cut
across the bear’s shoulder.

While the leader had let illusion lapse
from
his own
form, the rest were still concealed. Yet
pain was not what Chronicles’ focus had been on. As he glanced behind to the
flames still flickering across the field, then back to his son, Wisdom began to
suspect what his father’s next move would be.

He
knows it’s not real!

*****

Shy pressed on through the trees,
following the road that would lead them past the ruins of Lexington. Just a few
miles east of Central Valley Clan, and already they began to pick up sounds of
fighting. He wished his kind had not settled for Chronicles’ way of thinking.
It was all about destruction. Shy could not even remember the last time his
father spoke of preservation or the values of healing.

The death of Glory’s father was also upsetting.
It was hard to tune out constant sobbing coming from within the traveling
crystal. For now, it contained Glory and her stepmother, accompanied by
Katherine. There was a deep sorrow in the pit of Shy’s stomach as he somewhat
listened to her pleas.
Pleas to go back.
Pleas to heal a body beyond repair.
He wished he could, but
Lo-ans’rel
were not known for bringing
back the dead.

That, to his knowledge, was something only
a unicorn could grant.

A change of scent drew his attention
south. The
Lo-ans’rel
had moved on to
claim other territories. He could make out his father’s distinct smell, glad
not to have encountered him in his travels coming...or going.

So
who’s fighting in Lexington?
‘Keyarx against humans still?
It would have been a cruel way to leave, but these
days Shy did not put anything past his father.
Rather, he’d let the birds have their last peck!

Shy,
the thoughts of Katherine came to
him,
is there nothing we can do to help
those still in the city? Glory wants to know—

I
know what she wants,
Shy said.
But we’ve already spent too much time here.
Chronicles has moved the clan toward Trully. We don’t even know if my brother
is even prepared for an attack!

But
he knew this was coming. You gave him that advantage, at least.

Shy stopped in the middle of the dirt road
to eye some hoof prints. He inhaled deeply. The prints came from Roland’s army,
sent out earlier before he had reached the clan. Perhaps they still lived,
whereas their leader did not. Perhaps...there was still a chance to save them
instead.

I
can’t help everyone!
his
thoughts shouted back.
If we go to Lexington, then my brother stands alone. If we return to
Trully, we don’t help those still in the city. Not to mention, at some point I
need to get all of you to a relatively safe spot. I’d rather not go to war
carrying you all with me. Something happens, and you’d be transported in the
middle of battle!

I
can handle myself!
Katherine sent a defensive
wave of bitter thoughts, causing Shy to stagger and hold his head in
discomfort.
We’d be fine! Remember,
Wisdom did send Chanté for support.

Without
absolute proof he’s even found that support,
Shy thought,
what would you have
me do?

There was a moment of silence before a
sniffling, older woman’s voice entered the conversation.

“For
my husband...please. Help those in the city.”

Even before Shy reached the edge of the
forest, he was confused by the sounds coming from around the city. These were not
the shouts of fleeing people. As he swept aside some low hanging branches to
peer through, he saw exactly what two parties were fighting.

War cries carried across the field. Yet
those creating those cries were not from humans. A tubby body charged an oncoming
harpy. As Shy watched the two clash, there was one feature that seemed to catch
his attention. With narrowed gaze, the Healer focused on that one part, a
semi-pointed ear that he guessed was incapable of moving like the rest of his
kind
–
like a purebred. 

So
my brother sent for rift-wizards?
He
was slightly dumbfounded. They were the rift-raft of the race, the half-breeds
–
part human, part
Lo-ans’rel
. Some of them, he had heard, could not even shift. Yet
here they were, fighting against a legion of White Wings to protect what
remained of human civilization. Even more baffling were men clad in armor from
Central Valley Clan fighting alongside. 

But
how do I introduce myself into their battle?
No sooner had the thought been processed when a dagger slipped under
his throat. Instinctively, Shy tensed, but could do little more than tilt his
head back into the grip of another. 

“Consider
yourself
introduced,” the one holding him breathed in his ear.
“Now a
question for you.
Considering your current position, and heir to your
father’s clan, where do your loyalties lie now, hmm?”

There was no mistaking who held him, even
without visually making eye contact. This was no half-breed, but a skilled
Healer in perfect position to kill. One slice was all it would take, and Shy
knew it. Just as he had nearly done with Jangus, Shy knew the blood would spill
far too fast to heal. 

“With—”
a quick intake
of breath against cool
metal to the soft flesh of his throat.
“Wisdom.”

Slowly, he could feel the blade being
removed. Yet it was made very clear who was in control as the point trailed
over his skin before he was released. The uncomfortable sensation heightened
the need to rub his throat before turning to his assailant.
Chestnut
hair.
Gold eyes.
His father’s description of
their past leader caused for caution. 

“Master...Windchester?” 

A single nod.
“No doubt, Chronicles would have scarred our people’s
memories with false interpretation.
No matter.”
He
pointed the tip of dagger at the young Healer. “You’re not alone.”

Shy just stared. “There’s no—”

“The necklace!
I recognize a traveling stone when I see one. So
who’s inside?”

Slightly taken back, Shy wrapped his
fingers protectively around it.
“My brother’s fiancée...and
two others.
I’m keeping them safe.”

“Ha!
Not out there, you
won’t!
You want to help? You get them to safety first.”

“And yet there’s fighting every place I
look! I can’t just trust a place to just set this down.”

“Then mask it,” Windchester said. “It’s in
plain view, or I wouldn’t
haven’t
noticed it. Do it quickly!” 

Shy brushed a hand over the charm before
tucking it as best he could beneath his shirt collar. In his haste to help with
the battle, he had not even bothered to check whether anyone else could see it
or not. Now, with the illusion that he wore nothing, he was reassured no one
would bother it.

“Your life protects it now, Shy.”
Windchester pushed past the trees and out onto open field. Shy followed close
behind. “I’ll help you guard it, for your brother’s sake.”

The young Healer sighed as he watched the
mayhem before them. “You don’t trust me, in other words.”

“Here’s your chance to prove yourself.”

Shy needed no other prompt but to shift
alongside the rift-wizards’ leader. The two charged headlong into the sweep of
harpies, but not before the scent of a particular White Wing drew Shy’s
attention toward the city.

Was
that Chanté?

*****

The fog lifted momentarily, allowing a
glimpse outside the city walls. There, Chanté could see his kin diving at their
foe. It was not a shock to find more joining the skies as they abandoned the
ravaged buildings for still-scrambling humans
–
perfect timing for thieves. At Chanté’s beckoning, Blackavar
started bringing out those still trapped in the guild. 

An emergency exit, the Master Thief called
it, fed right into the back alleys along the city wall, though now that wall
was little more than crushed stone. As the thieves climbed over its remains to
flee the underground passage, Chanté kept checking the sky as best he could
through the shifting fog to make sure no other was around. Using collapsed
exteriors as lookout points, the young ‘Keyarx hopped from one to the
other. 

He cocked his head to listen. Shrieks of
anger echoed across the field. 

“What..?” Chanté picked up on high-pitched
chirps, too high for mere mortal ears to detect. This was not typical bird
chatter, but a series of selective war cries addressing a single individual’s
defeat.
“Father?”

With each passing moment, hatred deepened
toward humans. And it was quickly spreading to the half-breeds for protecting
them. Without a leader’s guidance, they were sure to seek a new one, and there
was only one it would fall to
–
his
son.