Free Guardian Last (Lords of Syon Saga Book 2) by Jordan MacLean

Renda’s
voice broke, and she looked away.
    “So we saw.  Our condolences.”  The abbot examined the
peripheral burns on the skin, the burned muscle and sinew.  “We see a strange
energy lodged in the bone like molten steel.  You see, just there.  It burns
faster than the flesh can heal.  It tries to burn into the very bone itself. 
We cannot dislodge it readily, but we can perhaps weaken it.”  He ran his
finger through the remains of the gooey salve on the sheriff’s arm and sniffed
it.  “No, this is incorrect,” he said at last.  “It does no harm, but neither
does it much good.  A shame.  The Dhanani have lost so much…”
    She jumped at his words.  “What did you say?”
    He looked up in alarm, as if he had forgotten her presence
completely.  “Forgive us.  We spoke unnecessarily.”  He took a cloth and began
wiping the remaining salve away from Daerwin’s wounds as gently as he could.
    “Perhaps,” she said, suspicion lending an edge to her voice,
“but I would know what you meant.  An old Dhanani god fought against us in the
glade.”
    “Aye, we saw as much when we read his wound.”
    “And this is His cardinal’s handiwork.  Very powerful
handiwork of a type we’ve never encountered before.”
    “Aye, so we see.”
    “Ancient Dhanani…”
    He looked down uneasily.  “Aye.”
    “So when you say the Dhanani have lost so much…”
    The abbot looked up at her.  “We…know of this kind of
power,” he said, returning his focus to the wound itself, “but never did we
think to see it ourself.”  The mix of reverence and fear in his voice worried
her, as did his evasive tone.  “We shall try to explain as we can,” he said,
continuing his ministrations.  He held up the cloth with which he had wiped
away the salve.  “This ointment is also Dhanani––it seems to us the crafting of
their shaman, Aidan, pure and well made.  It is created of the same power that
raised the cardinal’s shield, much as a child’s primer is created of the same
letters as a master’s poem.  But they are by no means alike.  This salve is
crude and primitive, by comparison.  It serves well as a general purpose
analgesic and antiseptic, good for bites and poison nettles, even minor wounds,
but against this type of injury, it is weak.”  He nearly spat the word.  “As
useless as a mother’s kiss.”
    She marked how deftly he changed the subject to avoid discussing
how he knew of the ancient Dhanani power, but she dared not confront him or he
might refuse to treat her father at all.  At least he understood the wound and
what had caused it, which was more than she had any right to expect.  “You have
a better means to treat it, then?”
    Laniel took a crate of vials and instruments as well as a
stack of clean cloths and gauze from a nearby cabinet and brought it to the
table.  “We have stronger analgesics and antiseptics.  These and rest are what
he needs most.”
    She stood and paced across the room.  She found it hard to
conceal her impatience.  “Laniel, you’ve seen for yourself.  What caused this
wound is a very dangerous and powerful business, and I am fairly certain that
we did not defeat it.  We lose ground against it every moment we waste here.” 
She looked around at the walls like a caged animal.  “We must not stay.  We
must rejoin the fight.  We have no time for dabbing his brow with wet cloths
and feeding him broth.  We must have him healed at once or all is lost!”  She
did not like the sound of panic in her voice.  “I must know, have you a more
direct means to combat this or no?”
    Anger crept into Laniel’s voice.  “You followers of the
other gods become so spoiled by Their wasteful displays of power, and so
peevish when that power is no longer at your beck and call.  Are They your gods
or your servants?”  He angrily bit at the edge of a strip of Bremondine silk to
tear it.  “A wonder, it is, that your weak bodies even remember how