"Keir, it's Lara. It's all right—"
Keir strained at the strap around his other wrist, trying to break it. He cried out again,summoning unseen help. "Bring water! Douse him with water, bring buckets—" Keir relaxedfor a moment, moaning as if in sorrow. "His ear, oh his ear."
I glanced at Marcus, and knew where and when Keir was.
Keir's voice dropped to a snarl. "Damn you to the snows forever, Warrior-Priest. He will live,and I will use my last breath to break you, do you hear me?" He threw his head back againstthe bed. "Heal him now, or I will kill you."
"Is this what happened?" I whispered.
"Don't know, Warprize. I was not aware at the time." Marcus looked grim. "Where are thosefools?" He looked toward the tent flap, then back at me. Marcus growled. "Do not dwell on it.
He called me back from the snows. I answered. There is no more to say."
"Fear the day Keir of the Cat is named Warking." Ken-howled.
Prest, Isdra, and to my surprise, Rafe poured into the tent, with Isdra stepping forward to helpMarcus. At the word 'Warking', all of them flinched in shock, but only for a moment. Marcusdarted to Keir's side, and put his fingers over his mouth. "Warlord, the enemy is near. Besilent."
The others exchanged worried looks. I opened my mouth to question them, but Marcus caughtmy eye, and shook his head, putting a finger to his lips. So I suppressed my curiosity.
"Rafe, are you well enough to be up and about?" I asked.
"Well enough, Warprize." He gave me a faint smile. "Seems I didn't sicken as much as othersdid. Didn't even need the aid of the lake waters."
I frowned, considering him. He'd lost weight, and there were smudges under his eyes. He waspushing too hard, I was certain, but for now I had a greater concern.
Keir had fallen silent, still a prisoner of the fever. The others started to rebind Keir, but Istopped them. "Prest, call Gils. It's time."
I followed them down to the shore, the moon providing enough light to see by. Gils, Prest,Marcus and Isdra carried Keir, who struggled in their arms. Marcus had insisted that they bindKeir to take him to the water and he'd been right. They set him down on the shore to givethemselves a chance to strip out of their own clothing. Once they picked him back up, Ifollowed them right into the water, catching my breath at the bite of the cold against my skin.
I supported his head, using my hands to pour the water onto his forehead. His bronze skinlooked so pale, his hair so dark as the water trickled through it. He didn't open his eyes, but hislips opened slightly, and I trickled water into his mouth, remembering how sweet it had tastedwhen I'd been in the same position. The others chanted the same ritual of purification that I'dheard in my fever.
I knelt down, and whispered his name into his ear. A slight turn of his head, and I knew I hadhis attention. "Fight, beloved. Remember that you are my Warlord, Keir of the Cat. You aremine, and I am yours. Fight for us, my heart's fire."
Keir blinked, but gave no other sign.
They dipped him in and out, letting the water and the slight breeze chill his naked form to thepoint where he was shivering. Only then did we return him to the command tent. Rafe hadstayed behind, warming the bed with heated stones under the bedding, keeping the warmthwithin the covers. He used a dagger to cut Keir's bonds as the others gathered drying cloths.
Once we had him dry, we slipped Keir into the warmth, keeping him upright just long enough toget a bowl of broth into him. He looked so pale, laying there, so still. My heart was in mythroat, although his pulse beat strongly under my fingers.
To my surprise, Keir's eyes fluttered open after we settled him down. They were foggy withsleep, and when his fingers moved, I took them into my hand. He felt so cold, so I sat on thebed, and tried to rub some warmth into them.
"You need to get out of these wet things and get some sleep." Marcus moved behind me, andput his hands on my shoulders. "I've sent the others off to rest."
"You need sleep more than I do, Marcus. I'll change, then take the first watch." Marcussighed, but he didn't argue.
How many sickbeds have I watched over in my time? More than I can count or remember. Yet,this time was different.
Eln taught that a good healer was dispassionate. Objective. I tried to follow his teachings, andwith most patients I succeeded.
Not with my father.
Not with Keir.
My father's illness had been a long slow process, and his death had been a release. But thisman was a strong warrior, in his prime, and my emotions swayed from despair to hope and backagain. I'd done everything I knew to save him, and it lay within the Goddess's hands. All I coulddo was sit and watch over him, taking in each breath as if it were my own. Hours passed, andKeir still slept, with no sign of the fever's return. The light was faint in the tent, with thebraziers burning to provide warmth.
Marcus had curled up on a pallet at the foot of the bed, exhausted. I checked on him as thehours wore on, to make sure that he was sleeping easily, and that no sweat formed on thescarred forehead. I'd everything I needed close at hand, thanks to him, including a pitcher ofkav-age as thick as mud. All that was left to do was wait and watch.
Watch and worry.
