Free Defiant Swords (Durlindrath #2) by Robert Ryan Page B

thirst for knowledge took a special form – a
desire to understand the human body, to cure illness, to slow aging, to make
people’s lives better. It was a worthy goal. But a goal, at least in Cardoroth,
reserved as the special province of
men.
    She learned and studied under bearded old healers, never
more than a servant to them, never having any real hope of
being more than their pretty flunky. But she kept her mouth shut and her eyes
open – and learned – and endured. Until one day Brand exposed her master as a
fraud and propelled her into the light. For she had learned her lessons well
through long years of servitude, and he had given her the chance to save the
king’s life.
    It was a kingly gift, for Brand had earned enemies that day.
The bearded old man knew other
bearded old men, and they
talked and plotted and schemed against him. But he was Brand, and he smiled at
them when he saw them, but he did not turn his back on them.
    Now, she wore the white smock of a healer herself, the only
female in Cardoroth to do so. Though many still called her a witch behind her
back, even those who begged her to heal them when they were sick ,
she had prosperity and fame. But not respect. Then again, the king respected
her, and the queen, and the Durlin. And there was always Brand. There was always him. The esteem of a few like that was worth more than the
veneration of the masses.
    She followed the stretcher-bearers to
the palace and the chambers of healing situated within its east wing. These
rooms were shared by several
healers, those old men she despised so much, but medications and equipment were
close to hand .
    T he rooms could be noisy, for the king paid the healers to see
not just to palace staff but every morning and every evening they opened the
doors to the poor. And the poor were many, and often in need of treatment.
    Barok was there, though he was not busy. He paid her little
attention though, until he saw who was on the stretcher. His eyes widened at
that, and she could see his mind working and knew where it would take him.
    She went into a room. It was empty, containing little more
than a bed. What she wished most for was a door though, but there were none
anywhere in the chambers of healing. Had there been one, she would have closed
and barred it.
    Barok followed her inside, as she knew he would. He was in
charge of these rooms, and the only healer left because all others now served
in rooms close to the Cardurleth. He was going to try to take over, for to heal
Aranloth would win him praise, and praise meant fame and money.
    “Gently,” she instructed the soldiers as they began to
transfer the lòhren from the stretcher to the bed.
    “You’ve done well to bring him here,” Barok said.
    She raised an eyebrow and shot him a flinty look with the
other eye. It was no easy thing to do, and it usually had the desired effect.
But Barok had seen an opportunity and he would not be so easily put off.
    He ignored her and made ready to commence an examination.
    “Out!” Arell said with intense force, but still quietly. “I
didn’t bring him here so that you could squint at him and pretend you had an
idea of what was going on. Out!”
    Barok turned. He gave her his own look. It was one of
superiority. His pale hands, nearly as white as the smock he wore, were clasped
in front of him. He peered down at her, eyes cold as they studied her from
above his long beard. It was a look that she had seen him use on troublesome
patients, but it had no effect on her.
    “Out!” she repeated.
    “Don’t you think someone of Aranloth’s stature deserves
treatment from one of Cardoroth’s finest healers?” He looked at her, leaving no
doubt in his expression that he did not consider her worthy of the task.
    Arell had had enough. “The king placed him in my care, and
I’ll do what can be done.” She spoke quietly, her voice filled with icy
determination, and it carried an edge of threat. “Speak with the