Rinnet of King's Helm (COMPLETED)

Chapter Seventeen

When Tregan arrived in Goldsriff, he thought the woman might not survive after the journey. She had not yet spoken or moved beyond the occasional twitch of her mouth or eyelids. He had done his best to patch her up by the river, but his knowledge of medicine was limited. He knew enough to preserve someone in King's Helm until they could get to a bigger town, but most of what he learned he had never used in practice. He'd had access to a hundred different kinds of healers in Villotta—yet another reason to stay off the rural estate. And there was little point in transporting peasants to and fro for better healing. There were always plenty more to make up for a loss.

In fact, Tregan felt a bit silly for spending the past weeks looking for one missing peasant. He realized now the outlandish tales of her skills as a farmer were likely exaggerated by the others, a ploy to diminish their own laziness. He imagined all those useless cretins laying around their huts, laughing over how they'd tricked Tregan into embarking on a pointless journey for a girl who was probably dead by now. Well, perhaps he'd fallen for it, but they wouldn't have much longer to laugh now that he understood the joke.

And he was better off for having gone to the border anyway. He'd gone looking for a peasant and come back with a Tevarian rider. He recognized her attire from his short time as a Guardsman. The Tevarian patrols he'd seen sported the same patch on the shoulder of their black riding shirts. This woman's patch was blue, but Tregan couldn't remember the specifics of rank. He thought blue was important, but maybe it was just the mark all subordinates had...or was it the elites who wore blue? The riders had a special unit, led by the warrior who ranked second after the chief commander.

If the woman he found was next in line to lead Tevar, Tregan would be hailed as a hero for capturing her, dead or alive. He just had to remember if that was what the blue patch meant.

It would be nice if she lived, too. She could be mined for information once Tregan brought her to Villotta. A dead rider couldn't offer much, but it would still look good for Tregan. He wouldn't haul an entire corpse to the capital, of course, but he could at least take the patch. Someone had already cut her braid, but that person had not finished the job, so Tregan could take credit for it.

Already the townspeople of Goldsriff treated him with more warmth and excitement than they had a mere two days ago. Though it was early in the morning, a small crowd gathered around the square where Tregan dismounted. When he asked for a healer, all hands pointed in the same direction, those gathered all too eager to help after the Tevarian raid devastated their town. A young woman said the healer's name was Zeffiren and offered to take Tregan to him.

She chattered beside Tregan as he led Valor and the unconscious Tevarian through the tangle of buildings. Tregan tuned her out. He appreciated the aid from the locals, but still he kept a close eye out. He didn't need some grubby Guardsman-hopeful stealing his trophy for their own chance at glory.

Zeffiren worked out of his house, a lopsided jumble of boards and clay that looked like it might collapse if Tregan breathed too hard. The interior appeared more jungle than household, plants Tregan had never seen draping from hanging baskets hooked over wayward ceiling beams. A fire wavered in the center of the room under an enormous tub of water. Judging by the sweltering moisture, which slapped Tregan in the face as he stepped inside, the fire and tub were a constant presence. Tregan stifled his distaste because he needed Zeffiren, a cheerful man about Tregan's age, to do everything possible to revive the Tevarian rider.

The healer beckoned him beyond the damp room with the plants to a small, better-ventilated room beyond. The room was cooler and dry, with only a small north-facing window to let in the light. He helped Tregan carry the woman and lay her on a high table.

"She's alive," Zeffiren said after holding the woman's wrist in his hand and listening for her heartbeat. "Though that might be a precarious diagnosis."