Don't you know there's no place on this Earth
Where you can run to escape the pain of a broken heart.
It's useless to spend the time it takes you to try.
~Styx
Kindrie had just returned to the kitchen when the alarm bell began to ring. Deep and resonant, the sound made even the sturdy stone vibrate. Instant chaos ensued in the kitchen, and the healer ducked quickly out into the hall.
People were racing through the halls, randon warriors scrambling into armor even as they ran. Others were anxiously searching for someone who knew what was happening. Kindrie made his way to the tower room, certain that it would be deserted. It was, and he was treated to a fine view of the battle raging down below. He gaped in astonishment- that device, surely it couldn't possibly be...? But whether or not it was Gerridon, there was something wrong with the field of battle. It was already littered with defenders, who screamed and thrashed about in agony while those they had just stricken down laughed and rose anew, stronger than ever. Changers!
It was all happening so quickly... Kindrie could already see stretcher bearers darting out to retrieve the wounded. His eyes sought automatically for Torisen, but it was impossible to pick out a single black-armored figure in the storm-wracked melee.
Numb with the horror of the scene below, Kindrie drew back slowly from the window. He could feel the familiar fear rising up in him, the fear of actually using his healing ability in a stressful situation, where it really mattered if he did things right the first time. With heavy heart, he turned and left the tower sanctuary for the infirmary.
There was a commotion at the door as a new victim was brought in. Kindrie ignored it, concentrating instead on smoothing away the last of the acid burn on the young randon's face. She was scarcely more than a cadet... fortunately, Kindrie had gotten to her in time and there would be no scarring. Not so for some of the others...
Kindrie straightened, one hand on the small of his back. Too long hunched over, tending burns from changer blood. Then his ears caught a word as it emerged from the incoming crowd- Torisen. He was pushing through the crowd before he had consciously decided to move.
"Let me pass! I need to get to him!" He shoved one last person aside, then froze in shock.
The Highlord was unconscious, bleeding from a dozen minor wounds and burns. There was a dent in his helm which promised a concussion at the least. But that wasn't what had the senior healers shaking their heads and speaking in frightened whispers. Torisen's breastplate was shattered, a gaping wound torn uncomfortably close to his heart.
"There's nothing we can do," one of the healers said, stunned.
"No!" Kindrie howled and lunged forward. Hands caught at him from behind, restraining him. "Let me go!" He wrenched free, and his surroundings receded to nothing but a faint babble. There was nothing in the world beyond Torisen. He laid a shaking hand on the Highlord, automatically reading his condition. It wasn't good. But Kindrie had to try, had to do something- this was Torisen here, not some nameless soldier. Tori, my love, I promise I will get you through this... it isn't over yet, not by far.
"Bring water," he said aloud. "And cloths. I will need tweezers as well, and someone fetch a smith to get that helm off his head."
"And you are...?" The most senior healer spoke up, hostility barely in check.
"I'm a healer, and a damn strong one. That's enough, isn't it?" Kindrie shut the world out again and began to work. He was vaugely aware when someone brought the items he had asked for. He extended his senses carefully into the Highlord's body, identifying and stabilizing all vital functions. Then he began to remove Torisen's armor. Hands assisted him, stripping the unconscious man down to the skin. Kindrie wiped as much blood away as he could, then began plucking bits of leather and cloth out of the damaged flesh. He refused to think of failure.
He finished cleaning the terrible wound and took a deep breath. Then, without hesitation, he plunged his awareness into Torisen's body, knitting muscle and bone together. The healing energy flowed from him in a steady powerful stream, for once in his life without any hesitation or doubt. There was damage to one lung- he hoped there was no blood inside it. Ribs cracked, torn from the sternum... he manipulated them gently back into position and fed them gently with energy until they formed a callus. Flesh, torn away cleanly- he pulled and tugged it all into the proper place and knit it back up. Then he turned his attention to the minor wounds, closing them over with a touch.
Someone must have peeled the helmet off Tori's head, because it was bare when he finished the last of the burns. He looked at the blank face for a moment and stroked the smooth cheek. Then he shifted his hand and attention to the lump. Had the Highlord not worn his helm, he would have been dead in an instant. Kindrie breathed a small prayer of thanksgiving, then extended his weary senses once more. There was a slight fracture, and already some fluid buildup. Kindrie felt a brief moment of panic, then reminded himself of the cost of failure. Then he was delicately easing the pressure, sending the fluid back where it came from. He felt Torisen's brain activity alter subtly- from a stressed situation, to a more normal pattern for one on the verge of dwar sleep. Kindrie sighed with relief and withdrew completely.
He became aware that there were people around him, watching in respectful silence. Calm now, he turned to the senior healer again. In a voice which did not betray a hint of his weariness, he said, "He can be moved now. His own rooms would be best. He is on the verge of dwar sleep, and will make a full recovery."
"I shall see to it myself," said the other. A new respect showed in his eyes. He turned and sought out assistance.
Kindrie swayed a bit, looking for a place to sit down. He was amazed at the transformation in the infirmary- while he had worked on the Highlord, healers had tended nearly all the wounded. The beds were filled now with men and women sleeping peacefully as their bodies completed the healing process.
Two Kendar arrived in response to the healer's summons. At his direction, they place Torisen on a litter and bore him out of the room. Kindrie followed, not yet willing to let the Highlord out of his sight.
They reached Torisen's rooms without incident, and deposited him gently into his bed. Kindrie looked at him, hesitated, then found a chair and pulled it beside the bed. He settled down in it and watched the sleeping face before him. Almost of its own volition, his hand stole forward and grasped Torisen's.
Slowly, although he tried to fight it, the accumulated weariness and stress carried him off into a deep, dreamless sleep.
He woke slowly, drifting through clouds of sleep like a leaf on a river of air. A feeling of content permeated every fiber of his being- despite the fact that he was in a decidedly awkward position. Eventually, Kindrie opened his eyes to see Torisen. He smiled when he figured out why he was uncomfortable- half of him had migrated onto the bed with Tori, while the rest remained in the chair.
"Lord?"
Kindrie jumped up and spun, heart pounding. "Who- what... oh, Burr." He drew a shaky breath. "What is it?"
"Perhaps you had better go eat now, lord. It is suppertime, and you need to regain your strength."
"But I-" Kindrie looked at Burr's protective, vaguely hostile countenance, and changed what he was going to say. "Perhaps you are right. I am rather hungry."
He was surprised to find this was true. His stomach growled ravenously, reminding him of days of neglect. With a last glance at Tori, he made his way out of the suite and down to the dining hall. Amazing, really, what good a few hours of sleep could do- as long as Torisen was there. Kindrie sighed and entered the hall.
He found it impossible to remain unnoticed. People had heard what he had done for the Highlord, and refused to leave him alone. He answered as many questions as he could, while trying to eat his supper.
"That's enough, now! Leave the boy alone, all of you. He needs to eat." Ardeth shooed the crowd away, then settled down beside Kindrie.
"Thank you, my lord."
"Not a problem. I came to tell you, dear boy, that I have received word from home. There is need of me there, and I must leave. Will you be traveling with us?"
Kindrie froze, spoon of thick stew raised halfway to his mouth and forgotten. Leave? Travel to Omiroth, and leave Torisen behind?
He set the spoon down carefully. Ardeth was watching him, gaze as sharp as a hawk, pinning him down with no escape. "Leave, my lord?"
"Indeed. My son urgently requires my presence. I must go." Pain shadowed the old features.
"I..." Kindrie swallowed hard. "I cannot, my lord. Torisen..." He paused, looked away. "I cannot leave, when I don't know..."
"The Highlord will be fine, dear boy." Adric was sharp, impatient. "I'm offering you a permanent place with me. Will you take it, or not?"
"I thank you for your offer, lord." Kindrie steadied his voice, hoping he was making the right choice. "I must stay here."
Adric looked at him for a long moment. "Very well, then. May you find that which you seek."
With that, the old lord rose and left the dining hall. Kindrie, bemused by that parting remark, scarcely noticed when the curious crowd returned.
"Well, I've done it now, Torisen," Kindrie whispered into the dark. There was no response from the still form of the Highlord, who still lay in dwar sleep. The healer had reclaimed his position beside Torisen after his meal, despite Burr's dismay. He had even had the foresight to position the chair for maximum comfort, to prevent the awkward stretching of the previous night. He stroked the unmoving hand. "Whether you want me or not, I'm stuck here now. Ardeth's going home tomorrow, without me. And if you cast me away...? Then perhaps your sister will take me on, at least I'd be able to see you still." He laughed at his own folly. Bitterness welled up within at the situation. It is of your own making... whispered that damned voice of sensibility. If you would just talk to him, work things out...
He sighed, wondered briefly if the voice was right. Perhaps he should talk to the Highlord, once he awakened. But he knew he wouldn't- even this uncertain and suffering existence was better than hearing words of utter rejection from the man he loved. At least now, with Torisen unconscious, he could pretend things were fine. He sighed and laid his head on the bed, shifting until he was marginally comfortable. Would that it were not only pretense.
On the fourth day after the attack, Torisen woke at last. Kindrie felt the hand clutched in his own begin to move, then the Highlord sighed and rolled over. With a surge of wild joy, Kindrie leapt to his feet and flew to tell Burr the glad news.
"So..." Torisen coughed, sat up. Burr hovered anxiously beside the bed. "I'm still alive?"
"It would seem so, Blackie." A wide grin spread across his face. "Your proverbial luck again- that, and a very powerful healer."
"Kindrie." Tori felt like he had cobwebs in his head- a not altogether unwelcome feeling, since he had been reasonably certain Gerridon's last blow had finished him off. "Where is he?"
"Gone, my lord." Burr ran a hand through his hair, scowled at a chair. "I don't know why he'd stay clinging to you like skunk stink for three days then vanish completely, but that's what he did."
"Damn. He's good at that, isn't he?" With a headshake to dispell the last of the cobwebs, Torisen made an effort to get out of bed. Burr anxiously assisted him, hovering until Tori waved him away. "I'm fine, Burr. Three days, huh? Seems it should have been longer- my head still hurts. Ah well, no matter. What is the state of the keep?"
"Lord, you should rest." Burr looked away, shifting his feet.
"Nonsense!" Tori said, with false vigor. "I've been resting for three days, now what happened while I was out?" He began dressing, with Burr's reluctant assistance.
"It's pretty bad," Burr hedged.
"I figured that from your reaction. Now out with it."
"Losses were heavy on the field, but..."
"But what?" Torisen curbed his impatience. Clearly something was troubling the man, which meant it was worse than news of deaths. Otherwise he would have said it straight out and been done with it.
"Maybe you'd better talk to your sister on this one. I'll go fetch her." Burr made his escape before Torisen even realized he was leaving.
"Well fine, go then," Tori said to the closing door. "Maybe Jame will want to talk to me. I seem to be decidedly unpopular lately." He heard the petulant tone and laughed at himself.
He migrated slowly into his sitting room and sat down. Despite what he had told Burr, he felt very weak still. And worse than that, there was the feeling of something not-quite-right which was throwing him off balance. It was a strange feeling, as though he was full of a shifting, flowing something.
So Kindrie had saved him... again. Perhaps there was hope yet. If the healer had stayed by his side all the time he was unconscious, maybe that meant something. He was beginning to get annoyed by the healer's continuing avoidance. He had made an effort to overthrow the training of a lifetime, for someone who couldn't even be bothered to-
Just then, Jame arrived. She was uncharacteristically subdued. "Glad to see you back, brother," she said, settling on the arm of the couch.
"Glad to be back. Now what is going on? Burr wouldn't tell me."
She sighed. "He wouldn't, would he? Bugger."
Tori waited impatiently, but she only looked at her boots. "Well?"
"Well." Another sigh. "It would seem you have a great many people with mangled souls now. The shadows bit chunks off if they couldn't take the whole thing. Apparently Gerridon got the munchies." A quick humorless grin. "So I've been trying to deal with their families, to help them make a choice..."
"Oh. The choice."
"Yes. It isn't easy, for some of them- the ones who are still partially coherent."
"Partially coherent? What exactly are we dealing with, here? And how many people?"
"There's over a hundred still living. Bits of their souls were chewed off. Sometimes, there is enough left to allow some sort of thought to remain, but for the rest-" she shuddered. How long before they began to rot, like Thulig-sa's victim? "The rest are missing too much to retain much wit at all. The best of them are no longer capable of caring for themselves."
"Damn and blast." Torisen stared numbly into space. Such a horrible fate, worse than a clean death in battle. Now that he knew what had happened, he could put a name to some of the wrongness inside of him. He had always been aware of the Kendar bound to him- another Shanir trait- and now he was aware of the mutilation of the souls though the bond. "Damn," he said again. "And what of the attackers? Why are we all still alive, when Gerridon defeated me so soundly?"
"But he didn't, Tori." Jame shot him a startled look, with a touch of awe. "You held him off long enough for the tide to turn, and then you struck him down."
"I did?" Tori shook his head, bemused. "I seem to remember it was me who was struck down..."
"You took him out as well. He was carried from the field and the darklings just gave up and left. You saved us all."
A wide grin spread across his face. "Amazing! And here I thought he'd finished me." Then he sobered abruptly. "I suppose I'd better go visit what's left of my forces."
"Perhaps so." Jame rose reluctantly. She didn't like being around those pathetic wrecks of people. And the families could be even worse... clinging to the wretched relics of humanity, too selfish to let them go... She caressed the knife at her side. At least some had been granted release. "Let's go."