Healer (Brotherhood of the Throne Book 2) (3 page)

“I agree,” Ewart said. “We said we don’t want to be seen building an army but we need experienced men. I could absorb some into my own militia.”

“Good. I’ll get the word out as soon as I get back.” Brunger looked relieved. “We’ve already got some of the best trackers from the Guard working with Eryl and his gang to keep tabs on the city. Stobert and his men have been seen in Kingsreach quite often, but they’re not staying with Thorold - seems the duke doesn’t have quite so much use for him after all.”

Kane nodded. While he was in Kingsreach he’d heard that Stobert fancied himself the next Duke of Fallad but he didn’t think Thorold had enough to gain from the Falladian noble to allow it. Without any deep connections to the Brotherhood, Stobert’s usefulness had probably already passed.

“Eryl’s been very impressed with the quality of tracking from the Guardsmen,” Brunger continued.

“Yes,” Kane said. “I told him he had Brenna to thank. The men got a lot of practice trying to keep up with her when she was hiding at my uncle’s house.”

“Really? She did say she was a thief,” Ewart said.

“And a good one,” Kane agreed. “So the Brothers left in the Guard are keeping their heads down?”

“Yes,” the Guild Master replied. “We’re using more non Guard Brothers, including my daughter Carolie.”

Kane could hear the pride in the man’s voice but he remembered Brenna’s comments that the girl was headstrong and spoiled. “Is that wise? She’s not very old.”

“She is the same age as Beldyn and she’s a pretty girl. We’re not noble but she caught his eye at a dance and it seemed like too good an opportunity to pass up.”

“The rest of us agreed to it, Kane,” Dasid said. “We need to know more about Beldyn. Is he simply his father’s pawn or would he be his own man when he’s crowned king? Carolie is never alone with him but there’s another young Brother you know who’s also been able to gain Beldyn’s confidence. Colm trained with Brenna as did Carolie.”

“Colm, yes he seemed a competent young man,” Kane said. “I still don’t like sending children into danger.” Could he trust Carolie Brunger to look out for the Brotherhood’s best interests above her own?

“Both Colm and Carolie will soon to be sixteen,” Dasid said. “I don’t think either of them would appreciate being called children. They both volunteered - as you would have at their age.”

“At their age I was already in the Guard.”

“And Carolie, head strong as she is, has been managing some of my accounts for two years,” Brunger said and shook his head. “She’s much harder to fool than I ever was.”

“Enough, it’s required,” Kane said. They were adults, much as he thought otherwise – as he’d been at fifteen. “So what
has
been discovered about Beldyn?”

“Not much other than that the heir to the throne is a very quiet young man,” Brunger said. “Carolie claims he seems not to be cowed by his father but neither does he oppose him. Generally he keeps out of his way as much as possible.”

“A smart lad, then,” Ewart interrupted. “Rumors from the castle staff are that Beldyn is rarely in his bed at night, although none think he’s out wenching or drinking, as his father did.”

“He’s staying in the castle? Not at his father’s estate?” Kane was surprised that Thorold would allow his son to stay beyond his reach.

“Yes. Apparently Beldyn convinced Thorold that living under the same roof as the king would make him seem more royal.” Ewart flashed a smile. “Again, I think the lad simply wanted to be as far away from the duke as possible.”

“Interesting.” Kane glanced at Ewart. Brenna had told them both about Beldyn following her around when he was very young. “Guild Master, we should assign some of those watchers to Beldyn. If he’s not in his bed at night we need to know where he is.”

Kane sipped the fiery brandy, rubbing his tired eyes as he warmed himself in front of the fire. He’d been on the road for three months, rarely sleeping in the same place two nights in a row - he was exhausted and he still had another three weeks of traveling before he would see Brenna again. He’d missed her deeply. He fingered the pommel of his sword, wishing they could communicate through old steel - to feel her presence, to know that she was alive and well, would give him strength.

Kane turned as the door opened and Dasid entered.

“Everyone is bedded down, although both Brunger and Duke Ewart are used to much better accommodations,” Dasid said. He poured himself a brandy and sat down at the desk.

“I’m just thankful to have a roof over my head.” Kane smiled and pulled up a chair. They’d slipped into their old Kingsguard habits, with Dasid at the desk and Kane across from him.

They were in Murdoch’s office, the light from the hearth and a single lamp casting a warm glow over the sparely furnished room. Only two cloaks still hung by the door, Dasid’s, a thick navy woolen garment, and the one Kane thought of as Master Arlott’s cloak. It was in a finely made, but well-worn, muddy brown fabric. He would need to find a new cloak soon, Kane mused, Master Arlott seemed to be falling on harder times.

“Thorold seized the house,” Dasid said.

Kane stared at his glass, swirling the golden brown liquid. “So I heard from Eryl. We knew it was likely.” He had to stop thinking of it as his home and remember that his uncle was not waiting there for him. “It’s the only real home I can recall,” he said softly.

“He’s given it to Barton.” Dasid sipped his brandy. “We were able to get everything of value out. Documents related to the Brotherhood as well as some items from both yours and your uncle’s rooms. And we sealed up all the secret entrances.”

Kane smiled sadly. “And my uncle? After the High Bishop …” Kane stopped, unable to go any further.

“He had as fine a service as possible, under the circumstances. He was cleaned and mended and committed to Jik, as all warriors are,” Dasid said gently.

Kane nodded. His uncle had spent his entire life in service to the people and his king - he deserved respect even though he’d been branded a traitor. “Brenna killed him, not the High Bishop.” He looked up into Dasid’s startled gaze. “We were almost into Aruntun and she felt his pain through his sword, through the old steel. They were using it on him and she was able to reach through it and send him beyond the pain.” Kane paused, recalling the anguish in her face as he’d held her. “My uncle asked her to, as did I.” He gulped down the rest of his brandy and rose and headed to the door. Dasid’s hand on his arm stopped him.

“Thank you,” Dasid solemnly looked at him. “It helps knowing he didn’t let them win.”  He pulled a knife out and dropped it onto the desk. “We found Feiren’s knife. They somehow overlooked it and turned it over along with his body.”

Kane reached out and picked it up. He unsheathed it and felt the old steel react to him. The weight was good – it felt well-balanced. He stared at the knife his uncle had worn for as long as Kane could remember.

Without another word he sheathed the knife, nodded to Dasid and grabbed his cloak. He stepped out into the chill air and sucked in a cold breath. As he made his way to the barracks a single tear tracked down his cheek.

two

Brenna’s boots squeaked as she walked across the hard-packed snow. It was a clear, cold day. Her breath clouded and her eyes watered as she squinted against the sun. Finally, she was starting her magical training. She was to be taught by Mistress Oswin Utley, a tiny, frightful woman Laurel had introduced her to last week when she’d taken her to the witch’s home.

Oh, Mistress Utley appeared harmless enough, with her sparse, white flyaway hair, ropy hands and narrow shoulders. Her thin body seemed barely able to keep her head upright, the top of which only came up to Brenna’s shoulder. But then one looked into her eyes - eyes so brown they were almost black, eyes filled with power and wisdom and a bit of ruthlessness. Brenna shivered. She felt as though Mistress Utley had looked through her and found her wanting. But even Mistress Utley’s disapproval couldn’t dampen her enthusiasm for learning. To learn magic! Brenna could put up with just about anything for that.

The small cottage came into view when Brenna rounded a stand of fir trees. She stopped and took a quick look around, breathing in the piney scent of the trees and the smell of wood smoke that trailed from the chimney.

This would be a very pretty spot in the spring
. She could imagine the wildflowers and herbs and tall grasses that would blanket the valley.

“Don’t just dawdle, girl. Get in here.”

Brenna turned towards the voice. A small figure wrapped in an enormous green cloak glared at her from the front door of the cottage. She stomped up the steps to the door and quickly ducked inside.

“Sorry, Mistress, I was just admiring your view,” Brenna said. She took off her pack and then her cloak, which she hung on a hook beside the door. Her boots went below her cloak, the snow quickly melting to puddle by the door. Pack in hand, Brenna carefully stepped around the small puddle as she followed the elderly woman into the main room of the house.

Though Mistress Utley’s cottage looked small from the outside the room was easily as large as the main room in Laurel’s house.

It was obvious that this was where the old woman spent most of her time. A fire crackled in large hearth - three iron pot hooks that could be swung over the flame were pushed up against the brick and a large basin with a hand pump sat underneath a window. Brenna looked dubiously from Mistress Utley to the pump, wondering how the tiny woman operated the heavy lever.

Immediately in front of the hearth sat a large padded bench and two wooden chairs and to the left, along the east wall, stood a huge table, littered with various books and papers and quills and jars. More books were on the floor beside the table, stacked almost even with the tabletop, which was covered with various jars and scrolls. The basin and pump lined the west wall, along with a dining table and two chairs. A large cupboard sat close to the front door.  

Mistress Utley pulled her cloak tighter about her thin frame, walked over to the chair closest to the fire and gingerly sat down. Once she was seated, the woman turned to glare at her.

“Well, what are you waiting for,” she said sternly. “Do something.”

“Do what?” Brenna asked, puzzled by the older woman’s behavior.

“Do whatever you think needs doing first,” was the response.

Brenna frowned as Mistress Utley sank down into her cloak. After watching the older woman for a few seconds, she picked up her pack and headed for the basin. She rinsed the kettle and pumped fresh clean water into before setting it over the fire to boil.

Opening her pack, Brenna rummaged around until she found the two ingredients she wanted. She studied Mistress Utley, who seemed to be almost asleep, then pulled the old steel mortar and pestle from her pack. One hand briefly caressed the smooth metal and she cocked her head and listened to its song for a moment before carefully placing some leaves into it. With her knife, she shaved a bit of the root she held into the small bowl, carefully eyeing the quantity of shavings. With the mortar, she ground the herbs into a fine powder. The water was boiling when she pulled the kettle from the fire and Brenna filled a clean mug. One small measure of powder went into the mug and the rest she dumped into a small bowl she found in the cupboard. Mistress Utley could use this for another dose later if she needed.

“What are you doing, girl?” The voice was querulous, and stronger than Brenna had expected, given the woman’s obviously frail state.

“Just making you a tea.” Brenna grabbed the mug and walked over to her. “See, it’s something to help.”

“What’s in it?” Mistress Utley reached one shaky hand out and gripped the mug, bringing it closer as she sniffed.

“A little meadowsweet for your aches and pains and some ginger to ward off chills.”

“I can smell that, girl.” Mistress Utley’s eyes narrowed as she sniffed again at the tea. “I mean the magic. What spell did you use?”

“Spell? I didn’t use a spell.” She looked over her shoulder at the mortar and pestle sitting out on the table. Too late, she realized that she should have put them away. She turned back to see Mistress Utley’s eyes dart from the tabletop to her and back to her tools again.

“Sit down.” Mistress Utley motioned for Brenna to sit on one of the chairs opposite her.

Nervously, Brenna complied, settling onto the hard wood with a lump in her throat. She could still see the mortar and pestle, innocently sitting on the table across the room.

Brenna watched as Mistress Utley sipped her tea.

“I don’t think you’re trying to kill me, girl. I can’t detect anything amiss in this tea.” The elderly woman sighed as she took another sip. “It works wonderfully well, as a matter of fact.”

Brenna watched silently as Mistress Utley finished her tea and placed the mug on the bench beside her.

“Thank you my dear, that was very helpful.” Mistress Utley let the green cloak fall from her shoulders and she sat up straighter. “A most unusual beginning. I’ve never had this happen before.” She turned her dark eyes on Brenna. “I start all my students off the same way, Brenna, by letting them decide what needs to be done first. But you are the first one to feel that my well-being needed tending to first.” She smiled, her face wrinkling up around her yellowing teeth. “And the first to use magic on me. Don’t worry, I can tell you meant no harm. Likely you don’t even know what you did.”

Brenna nodded. She’d suspected that the old steel mortar and pestle somehow helped make her poultices and potions work better but she hadn’t been sure it was actual magic.

“I do want to know more about that magic,” the witch said. “Bring me that mortar and pestle.”

Reluctantly, Brenna stood and went back over to the table. She blew the last few particles of the tea from the bowl of the mortar. She could leave now, stuff everything back into her pack and simply walk away. But then she’d never get to learn magic, really learn it. And she had no doubt the witches of Aruntun would soon be on the lookout for her - a renegade witch with too much power and no control. She had to stay. Her shoulders slumped as she picked up the mortar and pestle and turned and walked back to Mistress Utley. Wordlessly, she handed them over to the papery grasp of the elderly woman.

“Well, well,” Mistress Utley muttered under her breath as she turned the objects over. She smoothed a hand along the mortar and Brenna felt a ghost of a shiver run down her spine. “Very interesting. Where did you find these, girl?” Black eyes bored into her.

“In Kingsreach,” Brenna said. She ducked her head as she sat back down in the chair. “They more or less found me.” The urge to snatch them out of the other woman’s hands was strong. She clenched her fists and reminded herself that even if taken far away and hidden, she’d always be able to find the mortar and pestle. She automatically reached for their song and on hearing it, relaxed.

“What did you do? Just now?” Mistress Utley looked from Brenna to the mortar and pestle she held. “They reacted magically to you in some way. What did you do?”

“I, um, I didn’t do anything, really,” Brenna stuttered. “I just
reached
out for them. Mentally.” She had a hard enough time describing it to Kane, who could at least feel something with his sword. “Like this.” She reached out again and Mistress Utley’s dark eyes widened in surprise.

“That’s the same magic I felt last fall, before you crossed the border. I felt it from here. So very strong, but a magic I don’t recognize. How do you do it?”

“I don’t really know,” Brenna said. “It’s because of what they’re made of. I have an affinity for the metal.” She watched as the old woman passed age-worn hands over the mortar and pestle. Mistress Utley closed her eyes and held both items close to her face, sniffing them.

“Hmm.” Mistress Utley opened her eyes. “I can’t feel any magic at all when you’re not triggering it. Do it again, Brenna.”

Once again, Brenna mentally reached for the mortar and pestle. This time she lingered and slightly dropped her controls until both items were glowing softly in the older woman’s hands. Mistress Utley turned the mortar over in her hand and looked at it from all angles.

“That is remarkable,” Mistress Utley said. She held the items out to her. “I’m old enough that I believed I’d seen every type of magic there was but here you go and surprise me.”

Brenna took the mortar and pestle from Mistress Utley. She cradled both items to her chest and let them go dark. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you,” Brenna said.

“Oh don’t be sorry, girl,” Mistress Utley said. “At my age any new discoveries are wonderful – they remind me why it’s good to be alive.” Her wrinkled face broke into a grin. “The first thing we need to teach you is how to contain your power. You’re scattering it all over when you do that. You have plenty of magic to spare,” Mistress Utley said with a frown. “But there might come a day when you don’t. Even though your magic is different, the principals of controlling it should be the same.”

Mistress Utley paused, lost in thought, her fingers drumming on the table top. Brenna waited silently. If she could control her power, she’d be able to contact Kane. 

“Now then,” Mistress Utley said abruptly. “I need to know what your skills are. The ability to do magic is something one is born with but magic usually enhances other existing abilities.”

“Like healing?” Brenna asked.

“Exactly.” Mistress Utley nodded. “If you’re a healer, magic will enhance those skills, but you’re also a Seer. Seers often have the ability to piece information together to see the whole.”

That’s what she’d done with her network of informants, Brenna thought, seen the patterns among apparently unrelated pieces of information.

“What else are you good at?” Mistress Utley continued. “Are you a good cook? A fine seamstress? We have witches who are good at growing things and others who are good at building things.”

Brenna shook her head. She was a decent cook, but only because she knew herb lore - the only other thing she’d excelled at was what she’d started doing as a young girl in Thorold’s household - sneaking and thieving.

“I’m a very good thief,” Brenna blurted out. She clamped her hand over her mouth. She hadn’t planned on telling anyone that.

“The gods must have heard me complain that life was boring,” Mistress Utley said. Her face crinkled up and she giggled.

The sight of the old woman giggling like a young girl made Brenna smile.

“I’m not even sure why I told you,” Brenna said. “I hadn’t planned to.”

“I know why,” Mistress Utley said. “You are the most unusual student I’ve ever had. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone your secret.”

“Truly?” Brenna sat up. Now that Mistress Utley knew about the mortar and pestle and her being a thief, Brenna felt exposed, vulnerable. But she needed the training so badly …

“Truly.” The older woman smiled at her. “You see, one of my abilities, one that’s enhanced by magic, is the ability to gain people’s trust. That’s why you told me something you’d rather not have people know. It helps make me a better teacher, knowing these other things, having you trust me, but I’m very conscious of keeping your trust once I have it. So no, I won’t tell anyone about you being a thief or the magic you have with the mortar and pestle.”

Over the next few weeks Brenna and Mistress Utley fell into a routine. Brenna arrived at the cottage shortly after sunrise every day and would make breakfast of porridge and a tea to help ease the older woman’s aches and pains. Then Brenna would sit down to her studies while Mistress Utley sat by the fire.

Brenna had been disappointed to find that she’d be spending long hours studying the old gods - she wanted learn how to control her power - but Mistress Utley insisted that the balance of the old gods was the basis of all magic, so she’d concentrated on the task.

Growing up in Duke Thorold’s estate, Brenna, like all members of the household, had been required to attend services for the One-God - but the church’s strict rules and disciplines had never inspired a child already confined by her circumstances.

Her mother had taken her to other ceremonies where the old gods had been worshipped. It was a very small group of people, rural folk mostly, tied to the ebb and flow of the land. For them, spring planting, healthy livestock and good weather were all due to the bounty of Ush. Brenna’s mother also prayed to Ush for aid in healing and Brenna had sometimes joined other indentured servants to pray to Jik for safety, but she knew little about the rest of the old gods.