The confusion started in the earliest hours before the first errant rays of the rising Sun touched his windows, as Myrl stirred in his bed.
Taking in a huge breath as consciousness returned, as was Myrl’s custom, he noticed the sour, sweat laden smell of his room and instantly regretted that first, sharp inhale. He usually attempted to wash thoroughly before retiring, hating to bring his day’s filth and evidence of exertions to bed with him.
When he had lived at Jibiril Keep there had been times when he had to accompany patrols through the South Valley, or the Eastern Rise. These had been times when he did little more than washed his face before rolling himself into his bedroll by the banked fire. If the patrol had ventured into the Dragon Mounts to the west, then there would be more chances for him to give himself a good scrub before getting his head down. More cover in the Dragon Mounts, and more small streams to get a quick wash in.
But, as his awareness sharpened, and he became more aware of his surroundings and his situation, Myrl almost cried out in pain. Something incredibly heavy was resting on his right leg. Heavy and… oddly cold.
Pulling his right knee up toward his chest, his right leg flew out from under the heavy, quilted covering blanket he had remembered his maid folding at the foot of his bed as the colder weather had threatened.
And now he came closer to screaming than he had before as his lower leg was bathed in fire, porkuswine quills, and razors.
Flipping quickly to his left side, keeping his right leg elevated to keep it from the maw of whatever shark-toothed thing was trying to gnaw on it, Myrl let out a whimper, and froze in place, tensing every muscle in his wracked frame, as his mind tried to process the pain.
A rustling to the left side of his bed barely captured his attention as the voices of both Ashe and Elbana began to overlap that of an soft, kindly, older woman’s voice that he almost recognised. Ashe, Elbana, and the older woman all talked over him as they moved his body about on the bed.
Firm but gentle hands began to move him in his covers as a light was thrown across his chest and face from the opening of the door to his outer room. This harsh light stabbing into his sleep darkened eyes, Myrl would have been angry, if not at least affronted by the inconsiderate nature of their leaving him out of what was obviously a conversation about him, but he was now in so much pain that his body had completely seized up in self defense.
“...ack…!”
It was an awkward first greeting for the young king to make to his staff, but there it was, he would have to live with that.
Ashe then put his hand on Myrl’s forehead, and Myrl could feel the man lining up his Will and his Talent, but before he could ask his mentor what he thought he was doing, a wave of blissful relief flooded Myrl’s body as every iota of pain was stripped, layer by layer from his shivering, sweating form.
As each complaint was stripped from him, he could then feel, briefly, the next utmost complaint his body had to register. More than just feeling each one, his mind was sent on a spiraling journey about his battered form, detailing each insult. An inventory of cuts, slices, and crushing bruises were bad enough, each on their own, but one or two of the injuries worried him as they numbered themselves in bright detail across the expanse of his fleeing thoughts.
A puncture to his lower abdomen was worrying, but whatever blade had given him such insult had been oddly kind enough to barely nick the surrounding organs as it had passed through on its rush to exit through the skin and muscle of his back.
There was a thin ring of scar tissue wrapped about his brow. A glance to his reading table, and he saw the formal Crown of State sitting innocuously next to his Scepter. The Ring on his hand throbbed and pulsed dully with the shifting emotions of those in the room, as well as those people in the outer room, and the hallway beyond.
…its range has increased… he thought in passing as his mind was shown more by Ashe’s spell.
Now his awareness sharpened as it passed by and through each part of his affected anatomy, Myrl shuddered and repressed his rising gorge as his mind showed him the worst of his injuries in excruciating detail and brief flashes, echos, of the pain that he had received when he had gained each one.
It was a process more intimate than any Delving he had ever attempted. Seeing the damage that had been done to his right leg in order, he truly did understand, to save his life; it was a bracing slap in the face. As Ashe’s spell peeled back his ability to feel the pain of the affronts done to his body, Myrl saw in the closest detail how his bones had been sawed apart like lumber to save the still growing tree that was his body. Small, mote-like, pieces of his bones, equivalent to the sawdust created by the carpenter, littered the tissues that surrounded his injury, and the repairs to that injury equally.
He took in a cleansing breath, the air then almost immediately hissing through his teeth as it made its bid for freedom. He couldn’t blame the air too much, he could taste his own breath, and he wouldn’t want to be tangled in amongst it, either.
…what is that unholy stench? …did I eat dirty goats’ hooves…? His thoughts were more intrusive than usual. And more like crystalline structures for some reason unknown to Myrl; they were very clear, almost pretty, and very brittle. He didn’t want to move too much, lest he shatter.
The soft, lilting voice of the older woman asked him how he felt.
…ah… the little doctor… Kove? Camp? Kaaaaule…? ...yes. The woman that Ashe had talked about, and the Doctor that had treated the lacerations he had suffered in the initial attack… Doctor Kaule…
Finding he could move his body reasonably now that Ashe had torn away the pain that had frozen him, Myrl raised a finger, asking for patience and silence. He worked his jaw a few times, to make his ears pop, and to elicit some saliva; his mouth was so dry.
With a crabshell caked voice, he asked, “My good Doctor Kaule, Lord Ashe, I have been injured?” Thinking for a moment, “I know I have been injured, but what I am asking is, I guess, the nature and depth of these injuries.”
The smooth baritone of Ashe’s voice answered, more calmly than Myrl would have thought this required. “Yes, my King. The mage, and his creatures. You fought him. And them.”
He was certain the gray man who had been his constant companion and teacher for at least a decade and a half sounded somehow disapproving. “Your plan to hunt them all down, and for me to tie up the mage’s magic was… almost successful.”
With a wrinkled brow, …well, no use dropping hooks at low tide… he thought. “My Lord Ashe, I remember having a second foot yesterday. I seem to be missing one of them. Or is my memory of yesterday faulty?”
There was a pause. “Hrrrm… Well, Your Majesty, you do still have two feet.”
Myrl raised an eyebrow, and narrowed his eyes.
Stoically, Ashe replied. “Your right foot, and most of the lower leg with it, is currently in a waste bucket in your receiving room.”
From the corner of his eye, he just saw the square fist of his Master of Sword and Horse flash for a moment in a quick, darting arc through the air before striking the back of Ashe’s head. The “THOK” noise the impact made was just satisfying enough to make Myrl smile.
“Master Elbana, please.” Myrl said.
“Apologies, Sire. There was a fly. In the room. On the back of my Lord Ashe’s head.” She paused significantly. “It’s very large. It might come back later.”
He could see the concern on the doctor’s face as Ashe rubbed the back of his head and made a slight hissing noise.
The next hour was spent with Doctor Kaule explaining what they had been forced to do, and why, while she checked over his injuries and the security of his stitches and bandages. She replaced some of those bandages while she had been about her assessment. Each new whapping of clean cloth felt joyously cool against Myrl’s skin.
At one point he had asked to be allowed to both sit up and to put on some clothing.
After a brief interval, he now sat up in his bed wearing an open-fronted tunic, an Eastern design which could be closed along the left side of his chest, that he had been gifted by the duchess of South Wall; the laces having been removed so that Doctor Kaule and her staff could get easier access to his abdominal stitches, and the bandages wrapped about his ribs.
A tray of steaming broth and hot tea was brought in by an older man with a prodigious paunch and a red nose that had been broken at least four times, making his face a road map of odd choices and bad decisions. The tea smelled of mint and lemon, and Myrl took up the stout mug as soon as it was within range of his right arm.
…maybe the mint will chase away this swamp-mouth I have… Before he knew it, the mug was empty.
“Corporal Felmet, good to see you, thank you for this lovely tea and broth.”
The man looked startled, and sketched a rough bow as he stood by the king’s bedside. “Your majesty, it’s my pleasure to serve! I didn’t think you would know my name, or remember it, I mean. I thank you.”
Myrl smiled at the older man; of course Myrl “remembered” his name. “Corporal, how would I not know the man who keeps me in this Nation’s best ginger cakes and preserved lemon cookies? Master Sergeant Donchaminar thinks the world of your talents as a pastry chef. Also, we were both at Jibiril together, remember.”
Felmet stood at attention in such a sudden, sharp, straight movement, his face reddening so severely Myrl thought the corporal was about to tip over backward.
“You are too kind, sire!” the man almost shouted. It made Myrl smile. This was the same man who when Myrl had merely been the “Prince in Exile” had regularly washed pots, knives, and dishes in the kitchen next to Myrl as Donk supervised.
“Corporal, I am just being honest.” He wanted to laugh, but there was a slight tugging from his gut that subtly suggested to Myrl that it would be a bad idea. He also wanted to cry; Myrl wasn’t certain where that feeling was coming from, though.
Felmet looked on the edge of tears himself, and Myrl doubted his praise of the man’s ability to make cookies was the cause.
“Corporal, are you well? What do you need?”
“Sire… It’s Master Sergeant Donchaminar… He’s not well. He saved us. He saved the entire Understairs staff. If he hadn’t stepped between us and those monsters… He…” his words cut off with a sob he tried to repress.
“Lord Ashe.”
Standing beside him as though he had never been anyplace else, Ashe was ready to do or answer anything he was asked.
“What is he talking about?” There was an edge to Myrl’s voice. Spoken with a solidity of stone that matched the foundations of the palace and the surrounding lands of Rhiada.
What followed involved a brief explanation, then a more detailed explanation, some small amount of argument, then some shouting, and finally capitulation on the parts of Elbana, Ashe, and the esteemed Doctor Kaule.
Looking down, Myrl noticed his bowl of broth was now empty, as well. Felmet nodded at the tray, and mouthed “More?” Myrl nodded, and the older man snatched up the tray and was off out the door, and down the hall before the other arguing adults around Myrl noticed.
One of the guards who had been standing by the door was dispatched to Myrl’s study to bring one of the light, but very sturdy woven wooden chairs.
Another guard had been sent to the stable yard to fetch a pair of poles used as lance blanks and rope.
Not too long after, an open sedan chair had been improvised, and with the help of two stout guards to carry him, a newly dressed King, the much lighter, “Casual Coronet” placed gently upon his now scarred brow, they all set off to visit the Leech Hall. It was awkward, and while the spell Ashe had cast upon him to keep him free of pain lasted, he knew that the pain would return as the spell faded, and bouncing around too much would make it all worse when it did. So, trailed by two of his advisors, four more guards, Myrl remained silent and filled with sorrow, rage, and worry, and a disapproving doctor and her assistant as they all made their way through the palace corridors.
The noise they had heard from outside of the great, iron-bound doors of the Leech Hall dwindled to nothing as the king’s little caravan clumsily entered the Hall. In no time at all, a fussy barrel of a man came trundling up to the sedan chair just as it was carefully lowered to the floor.
“Your MAJESTY! What are you doing out of bed? Your injuries… How are you even sitting upright? I know your father was known for his stout constitution, but… Sire, I cannot see any reason for Doctor Kaule to have allowed you…” Doctor Greylin Frake, the titular head of the Leech Hall was speaking faster and faster by the moment, and it wasn't until Myrl held up a hand that the man, always a political animal if ever there was one, went quiet.
“Doctor Frake. Please, calm yourself. It is because of the ministrations of Doctor Kaule that I am as hale as you now see me.” He let that sink in for a moment before he continued. “I have come to see to the wellbeing of my people.”
The elderly doctor opened and closed his mouth like a carp out of water a few times before he bowed low before Myrl in his sedan chair. The hood of the man’s robe flopped down over the top of the man’s head.
“Please, I know that I am not a doctor. I cannot engage in the healing arts my people need. but I came to see if the Leech Hall has everything in hand.”
Greylin looked up at his king, and his mouth made more fish-like motions before a graceful woman of indeterminate age glided forward, curtsied, and addressed Myrl.
“Majesty, I am Mistress Alia. Please, let me thank you personally for sending the volunteers to aid us in our efforts.” With that, she gestured broadly to one side, and Myrl saw a variety of young nobles NOT wearing the white and red robes of the Leech Hall bustling about the various occupied beds with earnest and vigorous intent.
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Some cleaned.
Some sat by bedsides holding the hands of the injured while doctors and apprentices saw to their patients’ needs.
Several were in the process of feeding the injured.
With a start, Myrl recognised many of them as they worked to be useful.
Leaning forward, Trying to not wince too much as a throb of pain blossomed in his stomach, Myrl asked in a low voice, “Please, if you would be so kind, Mistress, send me the names of everyone working in the Hall. Staff and volunteers.”
She curtsied lower, and melded the motion into an elegant bow. “Your majesty.”
He spent the next several minutes drawing a report from both Mistress Alia, and from Doctor Frake. The two had very different ideas of how the Hall was handling this tragedy.
“Now,” He said, looking between the two. “I hear you also have my chef down here. May I see him, or is he unable to receive visitors?”
The taller woman looked embarrassed, and the shorter man looked smug and disgusted. “Oh, Greylin said with a curl of his lip. “You mean the troll?”
Before Myrl could even begin to admonish the fool, Elbana had stepped forward, and sent her fist crashing into the side of the man’s head in such a sharply downward arc that Myrl could trace the flash of her steel gauntleted hand as it moved through the air like a falling star. Greylin struck the floor with such force that he bounced.
Mistress Alia looked shocked.
Myrl and Ashe looked stoic.
Veda Kaule, if Myrl wasn’t mistaken, looked pleased momentarily, before a look of concern slid into place.
Before anyone could say anything awkward that Myrl would then have to deal with, he snapped his fingers, prompting two guards to step up. “You two, Doctor Frake has suffered some kind of…”
“Nervous attack.” Veda Kaule, ever the soul of helpfulness, supplied.
“Yes.” The young king said in a placid monotone, staring straight ahead as if looking far into the distance. “A nervous attack. Indeed. Please see him to a bed so that the new head of the Leech Hall, Mistress Alia, can see that he is cared for properly. We wouldn’t want his retirement to be marred by ill health.” Myrl slowly turned his head to a now very distressed Mistress Alia. “And see that his neck is checked for injury. This kind of a… fall… can be disastrous for the health of one’s neck.”
Mistress Alia, stunned, wandered after the guards who carried Frake to an empty bed.
“Now. To Our chef.”
A young Apprentice stepped toward the king’s party, and made a gesture for them to follow.
The guards once again raised the sedan, and Myrl was swept along the wide rows of beds filled with the injured to the back of the Hall. The enormous orcish form of Donchaminar was sprawled across three beds that had been roughly pushed together.
Several young people, probably all apprentices from their look and demeanor, worked on and around the orc where he lay. Bandages were being wrapped and rewrapped on the hulking form, and one young apprentice who looked even more like Doctor Kaule than Apprentice Yarpa, who herself was now standing beside her grandmother, sat on the pillow by Donk’s head was slowly dripping water into the orc’s mouth. Occasionally she used a pure white cloth to wipe away errant spills or drooling from around his mouth and tusks.
Doctor Kaule snapped her fingers, and several of the Apprentices, their red boots now obvious as they ran to stand in front of the commanding woman. She addressed the tallest, an awkward, thin lad with a long nose and a high forehead.
“Apprentice Gherd, explain.” It was short, and not harshly spoken, but the order was implicit.
With a slight bow, Gherd, now wide eyed as he noticed the royal guest of the Hall said, “Maestra Doctor Kaule, this patient was brought to the Hall by the kitchen staff, and when it became obvious that they would not allow Doctor Frake to remove him from the Hall, he was left here on these beds. The Doctors were told to ignore him, and tend only to the human patients.”
He nervously bowed again. “Several of the Doctors argued with Doctor Frake, and he allowed them to assign their Apprentices to see to Master Sergeant Donchaminar, but only when we were off shift, and only voluntarily.” A third bow rounded out his recounting.
“This looks like the entire Apprentice Class to me. Maybe only a face or two missing.” Her gaze raked up and down their line. “And are you all currently done with your daily shifts?” Doctor Kaule asked.
This time the entire line of the assembled apprentices bowed. The plain white robes lent them an austere uniformity that their ages, heights, and very young builds otherwise denied them. Myrl stared at the line of young people, most younger than himself by a decade, who stepped in to save his friend when a cruel man had made this a choice between their own rest between long stints in the Leech Hall tending to a raft of wounded humans, and Donk’s very life.
He wanted to address them. To thank them. But his eyes blurred, and his throat had suddenly become blocked and sore with repressed sobs and unshed tears for these children who had stepped in and saved a man who Myrl cherished.
Ashe stepped in front of the king, and spoke solemnly to the line of healers. Myrl tried to listen, to keep track of everything his mentor said, but he was sitting in his sedan chair, his eyes closed, trying to not break down in combined frustration, relief, and ultimately grief.
Before he knew what was happening, the petite doctor was sending them all back to their beds to rest, reassuring them that the new head of the Leech Hall would not be reassigning them to new duties tomorrow. She mentioned to them that they were to work half shifts among the wounded staff and guests, and the other half of their shifts they would be continuing to tend to Sergeant Donchaminar’s needs under her direct supervision.
While her tone made all of these orders sound like a punishment, her words, and the smile on her face let them all know that she was proud of their determination and would be seeing to their continued training herself.
Leaning forward to rest his hand on his friend’s arm in a place with the fewest bandages, where it might, Myrl hoped, hurt his friend the least, he said a prayer to Rhoona, Goddess of the Sun, and to Arluan, who Myrl wanted to blame for these events, but knew this mess was entirely down to the efforts of People.
Everything, Myrl knew, would be fine in the world, were it not for People. People ruined everything, it felt like.
Back in his chambers, he had been lowered gently into his bed to sleep at Doctor Kaule’s orders. When Myrl had tried to argue, he knew there would be work that the king needed to do. Too much work to be sleeping the day through, Ashe had turned a glare on the young man like he had not seen on the man’s face in years.
Before he could argue any further, Ashe waved a hand, and spat a word.
Myrl stood in a room he didn’t recognise. It wasn’t even made from stones of a color he could name. He had apparently interrupted a luncheon amongst giants, as a table was set with thousands of dishes, and giant beings in beautiful robes sat cross-legged around the polished golden wood of the table. A kind faced woman walked toward him from where she and a younger, but still older than Myrl, man had been sitting in a group of people whose faces he could not make out.
The light was bright. Every detail of the room stood out brightly to Myrl.
But not the faces of the others who sat at the table in the Sun.
Her robes were gold, and yellow, and oranges, and reds, and so many warm colors woven into intricate geometric patterns his eyes crossed trying to follow them. They shifted and surged with each move the enormous woman made as she glided across the smooth white floor toward Myrl.
“My dear boy.” The very tall, matronly woman with dark skin and intricate braids and twists in her salt and pepper hair said as she bundled Myrl up in a hug so expansive and all encompassing, he thought he would never make it out of her arms. He felt much like he remembered being a small child swept up in his mother’s arms. And he didn’t want to ever leave this giant woman’s embrace, now that he considered it.
She smelled slightly of warm tea, and apricots. Sunlight on the fur of a clean horse. A breeze through the high mountain meadows in late Summer when the heather was in bloom. And of the smoke of the forge when the billows rope was pulled to send the fires jetting up through the glowing coals. “You have gone through so much. You have lost so much. And I am sorry.” Her voice was smooth, and caring. He could feel her desire to never see another harm come to him.
He could also hear her regret that she knew more pain waited for him. Not just his body’s many complaints when he awoke from this dream, but a thousand thousand other insults that Life would be bringing to him.
The man who had risen from the table to follow the woman over to Myrl had the blue skin of a Gorma, and wore robes that at once looked woven of indigo mist, and at the next instant, shone a light blue with silver threaded designs picked out on their edges in hunting and forest scenes. His long, light brown hair was smoother in texture than his mother’s, and held back from his head by a simple band of wrought silver. The dimples of hammer marks made facets that reflected the light in dancing glints and minute flashes. His eyes were the deep colorless expanse of unending night.
His face was careworn, and he smiled enough in his life that he wore crows feet and smile lines around his mouth like a king in his own right. “Mother.” He said in the voice of a man who has had to warn his mother off of stealing children from other women in the marketplace one too many times. “If you hold the young Man any harder, you will subsume him into your coronal mass. That will end his Dynasty.”
“What?!” The woman sounded scandalized by the very notion. “I am just trying to offer the boy some of the love the world has denied him.”
“Mother, you offer him a death by smothering and call it love. Please put the King of Rhiada down. He has come so that we may answer for the sorrows he has had to suffer.”
“Ari,” She said. “Hush!” But she did place Myrl back onto the floor. Back onto his own two feet, he now noticed. He looked down, and saw that he did, indeed, have both of his feet. They looked pale in the bright light of what he now saw as this rooftop garden populated by giants.
And also he saw that there were currently no boots keeping his feet from his own nor anyone else’s view. No boots on his naked feet to either scuff the milky smooth floor, nor to keep the pervasive cold from numbing his toes.
He wanted to call Rhoona, Goddess of the Sun by her name. But he may have been a king, but she was the Goddess of the Sun. And the blue skinned man by her side smiling down sadly at Myrl had to be her son, Arluan, God of the Largest Moon.
It had been an Artifact of His Temple that had been used to wreak such havoc in his kingdom. Had been used to kill so many of his people.
And he had not stopped any of it.
“People.” Arluan said to him in a sad voice. “We have to allow people to make their own mistakes. Otherwise they would never grow beyond such mistakes. They would never grow.”
“Those who died these last few days will never learn.” Myrl responded.
Rhoona answered his accusation then. “Yes, Myrl. They will. Just not during this cycle. In a century, when they have lived another life on a Higher Plain, they will be sent back to your realm. Born Again. A new life and a new chance to learn, to grow, and to make the People,” and here she turned a look of such profound mirth on her son. “All of the Peoples of Thach better.”
“So, Life is lived, and then another life is lived elsewhere, and then another life is lived, and another… where does it end?” Myrl asked, his head starting to hurt as he contemplated the endless turning of a waterwheel of lives spinning souls through turns in the water of the flowing rivers of time and then interspersed with turns being pulled up from those cold waters and moved through the bright sunlit days and starlit nights as the top of the wheel moved through the air.
“See?” Arluan asked his mother. “This little king has it! This was easier than I thought it would be.” He sounded very relieved for a god.
“Ari, he sees the edge of the Sea, and knows water is wet. He has no idea of what the Sea’s purpose is, nor what great and terrible things swim in the Sea.”
He was confused now.
“Mother, don’t shift the metaphor on the poor man. It isn’t helpful.” The large blue man turned to Myrl then. “The Wheel of Souls turns, and each soul as it is created is pulled from the Waters of Time to be sifted and Purified in the Trials of Life that you just call ‘Living.” he made some circular hand gestures.
“Each one of you is the tiniest of water droplets, and you are precious beyond compare. Not wasted. Never. Everything you see, feel, learn while on the Wheel is used to make the Wheel turn. The Wheel turns, and the Worlds are fed by the Elevation of the Souls on the Wheel. Every piece of art, every song sung, whistled or hummed. Every moment of emotion felt. All of it. It all goes to making this world, and all of the other worlds, better.”
“Sickness. Death. Misery.” Myrl wanted to shout. All of the tragedies that populated the lives of those in the world. It was tearing at his soul to know these beings allowed it all.
A boiling voice floated to the trio where the two giant celestials talked to the tiny human. It was subdued anger, and arrogance and rage of the darkest kind. “If you never had the choice to do Evil, you would never recognise Good. Your kind, those of you who stand up to what you think of as Evil, could never see it if you didn’t have Good to Aspire to.”
The words were cold, and edged with anger.
Behind the seated form of Rhoona, rose a roiling blackness that ate the light from around Myrl and his hosts. The man-like shape never came into focus, and Myrl wondered who this was. Why the two gods with whom he had been speaking didn’t react with the same fear he was now feeling. Could they not feel the cold, calculated disregard of this new speaker?
“There was once a plague amongst you kind that killed every fourth child in their sleep. The Wheel turned faster in those times, and mortals cried tears enough to drown in it.” The unfocused, nebulous face hove nearer to Myrl suddenly, its deep voice shaking the very floor beneath Myrl’s feet. “Some of your children caught this sickness, but survived it. They taught those who came after how to survive it. Now, many turns of the Great Wheel later, no child dies of this plague. The world is better now than it was.”
“Orranat, please.” Rhoona asked her husband, the Sky, the First Storm, Father of Her children, and all It Encompassed. She looked down at Myrl, and smiled a sad smile at him. “You have learned much in this life. More even than you had a chance to learn in your last life. And you have survived, to live and learn more.”
This stopped him from being able to think for a moment, as he frantically searched his mind and soul for what his last life might have been. Who he might have been.
The laughter of Orranat was thunder across the Heavens. “See how he tries to imagine what life he left behind a century ago and more! See what he thinks of when he thinks of his Soul? Does he think of the little knife he made to hold a part of his Soul? No. Will that piece be reclaimed before he rejoins the river again? Most likely… ALSO NO!” The laughter went on for a while. It reminded Myrl of the bullies who laughed to make their prey fear them more. It was…
Annoying.
Arluan rolled his eyes, and sighed. “No one will ever know, not for certain, what their last life was. It would hinder them in their living of their current lives. Stop poking at that idea for now. Trust Us. At least for the moment, Myrl, King of Rhiada.”
Tears had begun to soak Myrl’s cheeks, though he didn’t remember beginning to cry.
“Your body is in pain. Were you to just sleep, you would feel nothing as you slept, even now that you ‘Lord Ashe’s’ spell to strip you of your pain has ebbed. Sleep does more to heal you than you can know.” Rhoona said to Myrl, her voice soothing away some of his distress.
Arluan spoke next, “Much of what we will tell you now, you will not remember. At least not right away. Some of what we tell you, you cannot accept, and so your mind will reject it until you learn enough to accept what we say.” He sighed again, a great gust of a sigh that rolled over Myrl. “But, I can tell you this, and you may be happy to know it…”
Myrl awoke in a sweat in his bed. The pain in his abdomen was almost as bad as that gnawing, bone grinding ache that capped the end of his truncated right leg a hand width below the knee. He gritted his teeth, and looked to see if there had been a mug of water left by his bedside.
Nothing.
And as his body’s various needs made themselves known, he realized the bed pan was nowhere in sight, either.
He let out a frustrated little “...fuck…” as he thrashed more listlessly than pride might allow him to admit to as he sought to throw back the covers and either find the bed pan, or make his way to his personal toilet in the small chamber off to the left.
“...fuck…fuck…fuckityfuck…”
Light speared into his eyes and across his face as the door to his chamber opened, and Lord Ashe and a petite woman walked in.
No. TWO petite women walked in with Ashe. One wore a large naval style hat that was favored by the captains of Kleinhoff’s fleet. The other was, predictably at this point, Doctor Kaule.
Ashe and his doctor friend helped Myrl attend to his needs, and then helped him wash his face and put on a new shirt.
The captain settled herself into one of the chairs nearest Myrl’s bed.
With a brief word and gesture, he offered to rid Myrl of his pain once again. Myrl considered, and then refused. “No, Thank you, my Lord Ashe. The pain is not as bad as it was, and it is mine. I will need to learn to deal with it until I have healed enough to bid it goodbye.” He gave a small smile at that.
The look on the woman’s face said that Myrl had just surprised her. She approved of his choice in some way. He was oddly, unexpectedly happy with her approval.
Ashe smiled at him, and stepped to the bedside again. Ashe held out his hand to help Myrl into the other chair, and introduced him to the young woman. “Sire, this is Captain Erminea Kleinhoff of the Gryphon’s Wings. And she has some information to relay directly to you on the matter of your Parthiqueen guests, and the captain who fled the harbor after delivering them.”
“Captain, please, I would be delighted to hear what news you have to offer Us today. Have you had breakfast yet? I'm not certain what the time is, but I am famished. Please, join me in a light meal as we talk.”