Dragon Heartstone > Chapter 63–The Price Of Mercy

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Larah shielded her eyes from the sun’s slanted rays as the orange orb hovered just above the horizon. Long shadows from the ragged column of refugees shuffled around her. The expatriates of Landros shuffled slowly along, family and possessions in tow. Some rode wagons, jostling with baskets and bags filled with cookware, clothing, jars of dried fruit, and wineskins filled with water. A few, like herself, carried only what they had on their backs, as well as scars and nightmares.

Along the periphery of the column, small groups of Preytars patrolled the crowd’s boundaries, shouting and cajoling those who strayed from the formation’s confines.

Looking back to the head of the column, slowly darkening ridges loomed ahead. From memory, she concluded that those must be the highlands separating the rolling grasslands near Landros from floodplains surrounding Tenoach.

She stifled a yawn. Ever since before daybreak, this mass of humanity had trundled along a road running south of, and parallel to the Nathiar River.  That body of water snaked its way east into the Tenoachian River. Eventually, the trail would turn south and wind through the foothills separating Tenoach from Landros.

A Preytar rode past, and Larah hailed him. “How much longer before we reach Tenoach?”

The man grimaced. “The rest of today, and most of the next as well. It would be best to camp on the other side of the foothills.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Word of what’s going on in Landros has no doubt spread throughout the region. Every malcontent in the area will try to exploit the situation.”

“How so?”

“Raiders are the biggest threat, particularly those from Tamor. They can move fast and are very dangerous. They’d like nothing more than to add more slaves to their inventory. Trying to protect a group this size is difficult, so we try to keep the column together.”  A whistle cut through the air, and the Preytar nodded toward her. “I must go. Stay with the others, and you’ll be alright.”

Larah nodded. She had no intention of doing anything other than blending in.

Time passed as the column continued to meander east, before at last beginning to angle south away from the Nathiar River. Up ahead, a covered wagon on the side of the road sat tipped at an awkward angle. The wheel on the lowest corner jutted back against the carriage. Looks like a broken axle. Sounds of moaning came from the back. Was someone hurt?

She rode up the cart, dismounted and tied the horse’s reins to one of the good wagon wheels. In front of the cart were two old horses, bony and ill kept. No one sat on the running board, so she peeked into the back. An older woman lay on her back, writhing from side to side, hands on her greatly distended belly.

“Are you injured?” Larah asked.

“No, just with child,” the woman replied, turning her reddened and sweaty face toward Larah.

“Are you alone?”

“Do you see anyone else? Of course, I am,” the woman barked at her.

“Where is your husband?”

“Dying like the rest of the fools in the garrison.” The woman clenched and shrieked.

Larah flinched but slipped into the back of the wagon.

The woman turned wild-eyed, “What are doing?”

“I’m going to help you deliver this child.”

“You’re hardly more than a child yourself.”

Despite herself, Larah chuckled. “Be that as it may, I’m still going to help. Unless, of course, you have someone else in mind.”

The woman smiled, though it didn’t hide the discomfort on her face. “I’ll take any help I can get.”

“This your first?” Larah asked.

“No. And you?”

Larah looked down. “Yes. Although I did deliver a goat once.”

“Oh my, then this should be an adventure. My name is Danali. What is yours?”

“Larah.”

Danali clenched and gritted her teeth. After catching her breath, she added. “Well, my dear, I don’t think it’ll be much longer.”

Shouts erupted from outside the wagon, and a man stuck his head inside. Larah recognized the Preytar from earlier. “You’re going to be left behind if you don’t get moving.”

“GET OUT,” Danali shouted.

The Preytar blanched, but Larah turned to him. “This woman can’t move until the baby is born. I’ll stay with her.”

He glanced at Danali before speaking to her. “You do so at your own risk. We can’t stay to protect. Rejoin the group when you can.”

“I understand,” Larah replied.

Danali bared her teeth. “Oh, just disappear like men always do whenever needed.”

The Preytar pursed his lips and disappeared.

Larah resisted a smile. “He was only warning us.”

“Yes, yes. They always do. But enough of that. Are you ready?”

A shudder of anticipation ran through Larah, but she gulped it down and nodded.

“Don’t be shy,” Danali said, pulling back her dress. She grabbed the side of the wagon and shuddered.

Larah peered underneath. “The top of the baby’s head is visible.”

Taking a deep breath, Danali sputtered. “Good, because I can’t hold back much longer.”

“Then don’t,” Larah said, squeezing Danali’s hand.

Danali took a breath and spoke in a highly strained fashion. “Here it comes . . .” With that, she clenched. Her face reddened, and she shook all over.

Larah barely had time to whisper “Lavo” to magically sterilize her hands before the birth canal widened, and the baby emerged. She reached in to guide the shoulders. With a sudden spurt, the baby erupted, along with a large amount of blood and other fluids. Danali’s screams echoed within the wagon.

The wriggling infant slid about in her goo-covered hands. Larah’s heart thudded wildly as she fought not to gag at the mess. Keeping her mind on task, she wrapped the baby in swaddling cloth and tied off the umbilical cord with sinew. With her knife, she severed the cord. Hands still dripping with fluids, she held up the infant so Danali could see.

“Boy or girl?”

“Girl,” Larah replied. The child let loose a loud cry. “A healthy one, too.”

Danali’s eyes glistened as she stared at the child. “Hello, love.”

Larah quickly wiped off the infant and handed the baby over.

The older woman smiled briefly before a grimace crossed her face. “Oh dear, I’m not done yet.”

Larah looked down and found more mess, this time afterbirth. Once again, she felt nauseous but pulled the bloody mass into some nearby straw. It had to be buried quickly to avoid attracting wild animals.

Danali groaned, and her nether regions still bled quite freely. Was this normal? Larah started to ask, but the new mother was focused on the baby and preparing to nurse—maybe later. Using what few bits of clothing were handy, Larah fashioned a compress. Then, after wadding up straw and placenta, she made her way outside the wagon. The sky was clear but darkening, as the sun was almost down for the day. The crescent moon shone dimly on the horizon.

Though a starlit canopy glimmered overhead, she ignored it to grab a spade and dig a hole. After burying the mess from the wagon, she raced down to the edge of the Nathiar River and plunged her arms and hands into the cold dark water. While cleaning up, she scanned the surroundings. Flat grasslands stretched beyond the water at her feet as far as the eye could see. How different this was from Avalir, a rocky outpost in the briny waters of the Gulf of Aruna.

Behind her, the baby’s cries sliced through the scene’s grandeur. Her senses tingled. The cry sounded like distress, but she wasn’t sure. She had no direct experience with childbirth, though she had, on occasion, ventured from Avalir to the surrounding communities on the mainland to heal the injured and ill. Children often arrived, usually sick, some near death, frequently crying and mewling. The baby’s cries sounded almost like that. Perhaps she needed to check on mother and child again.

Turning away from the river, she raced up the embankment and returned to the wagon. Pulling aside the cover, she peered inside. Nothing moved, except the dim form of the child next to her mother. Something wasn’t right, but it was too dark to see anything.

“Danali? Are you okay?”

Silence. A chill raced down her spine. Though using magic would reveal her as a Druid, she had to take the risk. She snapped her fingers and whispered, “Pyro.” A flame erupted from her fingertips.

Light flooded the scene. Danali lay comatose in a puddle of blood, skin ashy, eyes barely open, with the child lying next to her, kicking and clawing the air. Larah grabbed an oil lamp with her free hand and passed the flame to it. Then she climbed into the wagon and slid next to the woman. A heartbeat was there, though weak and slow. A quick check of the compress revealed the worst; it was saturated with bright red blood. Danali was bleeding out.

The child cried a sharp, mewling sound. It must be hungry. Uncertain what to do, she placed the infant next to Danali’s exposed breast and let it take hold.

Larah’s heart thumped wildly as thoughts raced around in her mind. The Principles of Avalir stipulated that she not alter the balance in life-and-death situations unless she was defending herself.

Danali was near death. Letting her die would be letting nature take its course. But what of the child? Without a wet nurse, it would die as well. Perhaps that was as nature intended, but was that fair? She glanced between mother and child. There had been enough death in the last few weeks to last a lifetime; the prospect of doing nothing based on rules made her sick. No. No more.

She touched Danali’s belly, shut her eyes, and whispered the mending spell. With the anticipation of the consequences, she braced herself. An inferno of searing pain sailed through her limbs into her torso. She shuddered and struggled to breathe as the stabbing sensation corkscrewed throughout her form. Thudding wildly, her heartbeat against her ribcage as if it was trying to escape. Then, the sensation passed. She opened her eyes to see the world bend and twist until righting itself. Beneath her hands, Danali took a breath and groaned.

Larah shuddered as a chill swept over her. Lightheaded, she toppled forward before catching herself. With effort, she sank back against the wagon’s side, barely able to keep her eyes open because of exhaustion.

The baby cried again, and Danali opened her eyes. With jittery movements, she scooped up the infant and brought it back to her breast to feed. She looked at Larah with a smile, but it quickly disappeared.

“What happened to your hair?” the woman said to her.

Larah raised a hand and ran it through her locks. It felt no different. “Why do you ask?”

“You have a gray streak on the right side.”

She parsed her bangs with her fingers and let the gray strands dangle in them. Seeing gray in her hair was unexpected but not surprising. A small visible price to pay to heal. But what of the unseen price? There was no bargaining when repairing a life thread; you can only trade what you have for what has already been lost. She had restored Danali’s life thread by shortening hers. But by how much? No way to know, but the fact remained: healers rarely lived a whole life.

Danali stared at her in confusion. “I was watching the baby feed, then fell asleep. I had the most wondrous dream of flying through the night sky toward the sun on the horizon. Then suddenly, I tumbled from the air and awoke with you kneeling over me. Now you look more tired than I feel with your hair like that,” she finished, pointing at her.

“I guess childbirth was a bit more than I could handle,” Larah offered, hoping to avoid any more questions.

Muffled voices and splashing drifted from outside the wagon. Danali perked up. “What’s that? Did the Preytars come back for us?”

“I will see,” Larah said, struggling to move her leaden limbs. As soon as she left the lit confines of the wagon, night enveloped her. Splashing came from the river. Was someone fording the river? Her skin prickled. If those were horsemen, they came from the north, not the east. Not likely Preytars.

She ran back to the wagon and yanked back the cover. “Slavers are coming. Give me the baby and get out of the wagon. My horse is tied up on the far side.”

Danali started to speak, but Larah shushed her. “MOVE.”

The older woman did as she was asked, then hustled out of the wagon with stiff, jerky movements.

Larah handed Danali the reins, but the older woman shook her head. “I don’t know I can ride a horse so soon after giving birth.”

“We’re just going to have to risk it,” Larah said.

Screwing up her face in anticipation, Danali swung into the saddle and settled in. She opened her eyes in astonishment. “I don’t believe it, just mild soreness.”

Men’s voices carried on the night air, urging their mounts through the river waters. Larah gave the child to Danali, who held the wrapped child tight against her with one hand while holding the reins with the other. “Ride south fast. Try to reach the caravan before they pass through the foothills.”

“What about you?”

“I will hide. Escape while you can.”

Danali hesitated, but Larah waved her on. With some reluctance, the older woman spurred the mount and vanished into the darkness.

No sooner had she disappeared than hoofbeats approached. Larah dove under the wagon. Gruff voices cut through the air. “I will search the wagon. Did either of you see someone riding off to the south?”

“I think so. Should we go after them?”

Larah hesitated before casting a shape-change spell. Danali won’t get far with slavers on her trail. A distraction was needed. North was the only option — away from Danali. Hopefully, the slavers would follow. Then what? Shape change while running in the dark? Difficult but not impossible. She rolled out from under the wagon.

Dressed in crude leather jerkins, with steel helms on their heads, three men sat on horses looking off to the south. One quickly spotted her, pointed, and shouted, “Get that one.”

Larah ran into the darkness, racing along the river. Hoofbeats thundered up behind her.  Nothing lay off to the left. Further down the trail was just as unappealing. Slopes down to the river loomed to her right. She veered right and raced toward the waters, heart and the hoofbeats pounding in her ears. A hand seized her left arm as the cold current wrapped around her legs. The river knocked her sideways while the grip on her arm slipped. Feet slid across rocks, and she plunged into the water. Thrashing against the enveloping arms of the water, she gulped air when surfacing.

But grappling hands shoved her under the water as she opened her mouth to cast the shape-change spell. Choking and clawing the riverbed, she caught a handhold on the rocks and lurched up onto the shore. A hand seized her collar, pinching off her windpipe. Hands rolled her over, and she looked up into a pair of faces with cold smiles and sharp eyes.

One of the men looked at the other and spoke, “Tie her up. She’ll make a good prize.”