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

to heal
themselves, what with the constant intervention of your gods ere you so much as
sneeze!  Bodies as weak as your minds!”
    Weak.  The word struck a warning in her mind.  In the sudden
ringing silence, Renda only stared at him.  She knew she must have sounded like
an ungrateful brat even as the words left her lips, but she could not help
herself.  The abbot’s anger was surely justified.  “My Lord Abbot, please
forgive me.  I should not have––”
    But Laniel’s anger was gone as quickly as it had appeared. 
“These simple treatments, the dabbing of his brow and the feeding of broth, as
you say, are all we of Bilkar have to bolster his own ability to heal.  Were
the wound of any other type, it would be more than enough, but in this case…”
He dabbed the silk into a mixture of herbs and oils and twisted it into a thin
strip.  Then he laid it into the burn on the sheriff’s arm.  It seemed to melt
into the wound, just as it always had on the battlefield.  Instantly, the edges
of Daerwin’s flesh started wrapping itself around the silk, bonding to it and
extending across it, as they should.  The wound appeared to be knitting itself
together, using the silk as a lattice.  But as the silk was drawn deeper into
the wound, suddenly it burned away as if it had touched the cardinal’s shield
itself, leaving the wound as raw and oozing as before.  The sheriff groaned
softly in his sleep.
    Laniel squeezed another dose of something Renda did not
recognize deep into the wound before binding Daerwin’s arm loosely with gauze. 
“It is as you see.  Nor do we believe any other priest has any means of
treating it more effectively than we, considering the nature of the wound. 
I’faith, another god’s priest might even feed it by invoking the power of his
god against it.  This is…not like other injuries.  You may not believe it, but
you chose wisely, coming to us.”
    Renda nodded, grateful for his gracious acceptance of her
contrition.  “Thank you.  Truly.  And for your care of my father, I am in your
debt.  But what of this wound?  Will he lose the use of his arm?”
    Laniel scowled at the arm, considering.  “We think most
likely not.  We must watch how the wound heals, of course.  How long it lasts
depends on many things, but we marked how the silk burned away.  The fire seems
to weaken.  We should not expect it to burn for more than another day or two,
not unless the wound is renewed, but that two days’ burn could irreversibly damage
his arm if we do not mind it closely.  For this reason, you and your father
should stay.  By morning, we should know more.”
    “Morning?”  She blew out a frustrated breath and counseled
herself to calm.  She had already angered Laniel once with her impatience.  “We
had planned to go to Windale to gather Ker––the Viscount and the knights with
him.”
    Laniel nodded.  “Most wise.  Where do you go from there?”
    She stopped short, slightly surprised at his question.  Her
meaning was that they were not at leisure to linger and that they needed to be
away.  It was not an invitation to discuss their plans.  She considered
carefully.  She had seen nothing to make her suspicious of him in the way she’d
been suspicious of Valmerous.  But why would he ask where they were going?  She
looked around at the doors to the surgery. 
    “We are quite alone,” he said, lowering his voice. “The
monks are finishing their morning chores and preparing for the meal.  We
understand your fear, but we serve only Bilkar.  We would know your plan that
we may help find efficient answer to your concerns.  Upon my word as Laniel,
six hundred seven and twentieth Abbot of Bilkar on Syon.”
    She looked up at him in surprise.  Bilkarians did not offer
such oaths lightly.  Then again, she thought of Cilder and of Valmerous.  What
oaths had they offered in their bound gods’ names while serving Xorden?
    No.  She could drive herself mad second