"Elizabeth Vaughan - Chronicles Of The Warlands 01 - Warprize" - читать интересную книгу автора (Vaughan Elizabeth)

hands.

It had not been a good summer for us. Spring had brought with it what weтАЩd thought would be the
normal raiding along the border by the people we called the Firelanders. But the warriors we faced this
time were led by a warlord they called the Cat. His armies had descended on our southern borders,
devastating the countryside and the towns and villages that lay there. Usually the Firelanders looted and
pillaged on the border and then disappear into their wide grasslands without a trace. But this warlord had
different ideas. He was seizing towns, and holding them, forcing the folk to swear fealty to him. It was
said that he would kill all the men if the people resisted, torture the women and children, and burn the
town to the ground. All through the summer, heтАЩd fought his way up the valley, securing the lands behind
him.

WaterтАЩs Fall had filled with those fleeing the conflict. King Xymund had assured his council and the lords
that this upstart would be crushed under the might of the armies of Xy. But over the months, our army
had been pushed back by the warlordтАЩs thundering horses and flights of arrows. The healing temple
overflowed with the injured and displaced. Many were taken in by families in the city who opened their
homes. With the influx of people, the city was a crowded, unhappy place. Eln said that the crowding
would bring more illness with it, and I feared he was right.

The farmersтАЩ market wasnтАЩt its normal noisy boisterous self, with vendors calling out the virtue of their
wares. There was a dullness to it, fear that hovered in the very air. Still the clamor from the poultererтАЩs
was as loud as ever. Geese, tied to the stall in every way possible, honked and gabbled and beat their
wings. Chickens and ducks, their legs trussed together, floundered on the ground nearby, their clucking
adding to the cacophony. There were feathers everywhere, and the smell of drying blood.

Even with the armies of the warlord drawing close to the city, Xymund, Lord High King, had evidenced
great mercy to his opponents. He had publicly decreed that wounded prisoners taken on the field were to
be housed and cared for as our own. But his private hypocrisy was the few prisoners that had been taken
were isolated in the deepest part of the gardens that lay within the castle walls, surrounded by guards and
given the barest of necessities. As the days passed, it was clear that Xymund regretted his public stance.
It was only the need to live up to his honorable image that kept those men alive.

Certainly no other healer dared to venture there. The King seemed to feel that caring for these men was
treason of the highest order. IтАЩd fought hard to be ElnтАЩs apprentice, fought harder to claim journeymanтАЩs
status, and then defied my father himself to claim my mastery. Xymund could bully the entire guild, but IтАЩd
sworn oaths to deprive no one in need of my services, and IтАЩd ventured to the tent, with no support, and
much opposition. IтАЩd ignored them all, and dared any and all to say me nay, but in my heart of hearts, I
wasnтАЩt sure if I cared for their wounds out of a higher ideal, or simply as a way to anger my elder
half-brother.

My elder half-brother had, in turn, suggested, asked, demanded, ordered, and forbidden my visits. I
disregarded him. He had cursed, ranted and shouted to no avail. HeтАЩd kept the pressure up, making it a
daily battle for me to render aid to those men. Pressure had been brought to bear, and IтАЩd come close a
time or two to wavering. But each time IтАЩd reconsider my defiance, thereтАЩd be another wounded
Firelander dragged to the tent and dumped on the floor. I could not turn my back. Not when I had it
within my power to heal and ease their pain.

Nevertheless, Xymund had made one thing very clear. None of the prisoners was to know that I was a
Daughter of the Blood. If anyone learned that fact, he said that he would chain me in my room for the
duration of the war.