Warsworn

him.
    "Othur rules well. Anna makes good food. She fancies me. Warren is a strong warrior and we have tested our blades against each other. Eln has said that Atira is fine. I was forced to share my kavage with her, as her pleas were pitiful. My own leg heals well.
    "I have attended a High Court and am not impressed. We of the Plains can teach your people much about senels and celebrations. The women dress in drab colors and act oddly. They pretend to fear a warrior such as I, but they admire my strength and prowess. They all fancy me."
    I laughed so hard, I started to cough, and Gils waited until the spasm passed.
    "Send word of your lives to me. Send kavage, for I will grow ugly without it. I have sent words for Joden's song. Read them to him."
    Gils came to stand at the end of the bed, his hands on his hips, chest thrust out. 'Tell that Warlord of yours that all is well, and that he could have no better voice than I. Fare well, little healer, Xylara, Daughter of Xy, Warprize and my friend." Gils bowed, and I laughed, looking up into Keir's face again to share the moment. His eyes softened as he returned the look. Gils approached, his eyes alight. "Warprize, here are the others. I could only read that of Simus. The words in the others are too hard."
    "You did very well, Gils." I smiled at him, and he blushed.
    "Now." Marcus stood. "Isdra and I have to wash the babe's things before we are overcome with the stink." He fixed his good eye on Keir. "You are getting flabby. Go spar with Gils. Leave her to her letters."
    Gils went pale, his eyes wide.
    Keir raised an eyebrow at Marcus, then looked at me. "Do you need anything?"
    "She's fine." Marcus started to push him out of the tent. "Are we not within calling distance?
    Go. Work out your frustrations, yes?"
    "Why me?" Gils protested, as they all filed out.
    Simus was right. The formal letters from my council were dull and dry. They'd all been sent some time ago, so there was no mention of the plague, or its effects on the city. Simus had included another letter for Joden, with his version of the events that had reunited me with Keir. I tucked that one away to read to Joden once we were all together again. The parchment of the various missives crackled under my fingers. Othur had included a short, private note to tell me that he and Anna were well and that Lord Durst was still recovering from the blow that Keir had dealt him.
    The next set of letters would tell me what had happened. If the plague had hit the city. If Eln had gotten my warnings in time. As much as I longed for word, I dreaded it as well. Eln would want the details of what had happened, and how I had managed to survive an illness that killed a warrior in his prime and the entire village of Wellspring. How Isdra and the babe remained healthy when everyone else succumbed. I had no answers.
    From outside the tent I could hear the sounds of sparring, and water being sloshed in buckets. Probably Marcus and Isdra washing the babe's cloths. The guilt rose in my chest, and my eyes filled. The entire village, the babe's mother… the babe's name… we'd lost all of that. Rahel's remedies and cures, her stash of notes, all gone in a matter of days. What kind of illness was this, that some lived on for days, and others suffered for a few hours, but all die? All except me. Of course, they hadn't had Gils. I smiled, wiping my tears. I couldn't ask for a better apprentice. He was so passionate about his new skills. He'd taken an old saddle bag, and was using his spare moments to make it into a kind of satchel, stitching on a wide strap, and adding pockets for 'lots of useful things'. He'd offered to give it to me, but I'd told him to make me another one when he was done with his.
    My smile faded slightly. Gils had found a way to break my fever, which had left me with enough strength to fight the lethargy and the fluids that had built up in my lungs. But I doubted that Eln would be satisfied with my new remedies. He'd want an herbal cure and I'd nothing to offer. All I had to offer was a desperate way to bring down a raging fever, and a touch that caused the body to do what it should do on its own. Those were not the weapons with which to defeat an invisible enemy.
    The tent flap opened and Keir stepped in, sweating in his armor. He gave me a gentle look, and I flushed a bit, conscious that this was the first time that we'd been alone since the fever had broken.
    He came to stand at the foot of my bed. "All's well?" He