Healer's Quest, the Sequel
an excerpt

When the large city of Brayden came into view over the crest of the hill, Bethany felt her heart leap nervously into her throat. The flat farmland surrounding the city had been converted into a base of operations for the duke’s army. The road before them disappeared into a forest of tents, log buildings, and monstruous mechanisms of war. Flags and standards whipped noisely in the wind, displaying the colors and emblems of the various legions currently encamped for training and other preparations.

As the horses continued, Bethany found herself looking all about. Soldiers were everywhere. Many practiced in large groups of neat rows with an assortment of weapons, many of which she had never seen before. Others milled about the tents doing necessary tasks. Destriers like Martindale’s were pinned in small corrals or being exercised by skillful riders. All wore uniforms of muted colors, but she wondered if the color of one’s uniform was significant in some way. She was slightly surprised when she caught a glimpse of a few women, dressed also in uniforms, among the tents.

Martindale looked around expressionless and kept his horse at a steady walking pace. They attracted some attention from those nearest the road, but no one heralded or attempted to stop them. Soon they reached newer buildings, the houses of refugees outside of the city walls, and the scene changed from grim-faced soldiers to mothers dusting rugs and children playing in the dirt streets. Dogs, cats, and even domesticated fowl roamed about freely. Bethany reasoned that many of these people were the families of the soldiers, and the reality of the imminent war pressed down upon her.

Nervous though she was about meeting the remnant of the Sterling family, she felt a stronger sense of apprehension for those brave souls who were about to embark on a war. As they approached the city gate, she took a deep, calming breath. Unlike Loring, there were no guards manning the gates, and she simply followed Martindale into the gigantic city. Everywhere she looked, she saw people either focused on fulfilling mundane chores or assisting in the preparation for war.

At last, they found themselves at another gate, and above the tall wall, Bethany could see the towers of Wycliff Castle looming against the sky. Though the gate was open, allowing her a glance into the green bailey, it was manned by guards. Like Loring, the guards wore chain maille underneath tunics displaying the arms of the city – a couchant lion .

Martindale halted his mount, and Bethany quickly did the same.

“Your name and business,” one of the guards demanded as they examined the two travelers carefully.

“Sir Prescott Martindale, Elite Knight and one of the Twelve servants of King Richard,” he replied severely, and the guards seemed to straighten in surprise and awe.

Without hestitation, he gestured towards Bethany, and she was partially afraid of how he would introduce her.

“And Healer Bethany from the valley of Robinvale. We come bearing urgent news for the Lord Duke from physicians Orla and Galatia.”

Bethany breathed a quiet sigh of relief. The grand introduction seemed to have made an impression on the guards, who, she reasoned, had been told to allow any messenger from Robinvale to enter unhasseled. They were waved through, and as she passed the armed men, she saw their looks of amazement follow the nonchalant Martindale.

As soon as they entered the bailey, an open space inside the castle walls, stablehands came forward to take the horses. The castle was a hub of activity itself with people all over the place. Forcing herself to remained forcused, Bethany dismounted quickly and walk with Martindale up the stairs to the grand entrance. As with most of the ancient castles, Wycliff Castle had been designed so that visitors immediately entered into the grand hall. In times of peace, the hall was the heart of the castle where almost everything was done, and though Wycliff had been vastly extended with new towers and buildings over the centuries, it remained the center.

They entered the grand hall to find it well lit and the twin tables spanning the length of the hall empty. On a raised dais at the far end of the room, a dozen people where gathered about the head table, some sitting and others standing.

Bethany immediately recognized the glint of chain maille worn under the clothing of some of the individuals, identifying the bearers as generals and commanders in the massive army outside Brayden’s gates. She wondered which of the men were Martindale’s comrades from the elite Twelve he had spoken of.

The other occupants of the room were dressed in casual attire though swords were at their belts and they held themselves regally. She felt her stomach lurch slightly as she realized that these people were members of the Valorian royal family... Her family.

The mixture of voices echoed off the vaulted ceiling, and no one even noticed that the guests had entered unannounced from the far side of the hall. As they walked quietly between the two long tables, Martindale leaned in towards her.

“Do not be nervous,” he whispered. “You are a healer, personally trained by one of the greatest physicians in the kingdom. Remember the reason that we are here.”

He nodded encouragingly as he straightened, and he took her arm in his. Bethany breathed in deeply and with determination composed herself. She was, after all, a healer and had experience in communicating with others. Their footsteps were light on the stone floor, and their approach to the head table went unnoticed. They stopped just a few feet from the platform, and Bethany wondered if they should make their presence known or wait to be noticed.

Suddenly, Martindale cleared his throat and all conversation at the table abruptly stopped. Those who had their backs to Martindale and Bethany hastily turned to face them.

“What is the meaning of this interruption?” someone demanded harshly.

The faces. Bethany recognized four of the faces, though they were older than she remembered. Her mouth went dry, but she forced herself to stay calm. She stared back at the people looking down at her.

One woman, who vaguely reminded Bethany of the Sauda the innkeeper, sank slowly into her chair, her eyes gazing widely at Bethany. “This cannot be...” the lady muttered softly. “It is impossible.”

A young man with curls about his high forehead paled at the sight of Bethany’s companion and murmured, “Scott.” His low recognition of the knight was followed immediately by short, muscular man saying: “Martindale.”

Then the hall went quiet.

When the silence had lasted for what felt like an eternity, Martindale placed his right fist over his heart and smartly bowed at the waist.

“Excuse the interruption, my lords and my lady,” he said gravely. “I am Sir Prescott Martindale, Elite Knight and one of the Twelve servants of King Richard Alan Sterling. We bring urgent word from Robinvale.”

His words forced Bethany into action. She pulled the letters from her sash, and stepped forward. As she looked up at the astonished expressions on the faces in front of her, she realized that though she recognized them, she had no idea who they were. Each, though dressed in simple clothes, had regal countenances. She did not even know which one was the duke.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed aside all of her anxieties of meeting her family. Squaring her shoulders, she stood as composed as she could, trying to feel the confidence of her rank as a healer.

“I am Bethany, assistant healer to Orla, and I have been sent by the physicians Galatia and Orla to explain the current situation unfolding in Robinvale.” She introduced herself firmly with an inclination of her head. “I have two letters addressed to Lord Merrick, duke of Bray.”

The men on the dais suddenly came to life. Those who were standing sat down, and the man next to the dark skinned woman stood. He was tall and lean with a square jaw and a leather patch covering his right eye, a jagged scar visible above and below it. A flicker of a memory cross her mind, and Bethany knew without a doubt that he was the duke. She stepped on to the platform and approached the table to deliver the letters into his hands.

“Eh, thank you, my dear,” Lord Merrick replied as he took the letters. His eye looked down at her sharp and piercing. “Did you say your name is Bethany?”

“We have much to explain to you, my lord,” Martindale interrupted as Bethany glanced nervously at her companion. “But first, let us speak of the plague.”

“Very well,” the duke agreed.

Bethany nodded and rejoined Martindale below the dais. Her eyes scanned the silent people and their expressions were strange mixture of surprise and disbelief. Merrick quickly read the first letter before handing it to the duchess next to him, and then he scanned the contents of the second. Bethany watched the eyebrow above his good eye rise in surprise, and she shifted nervously her weight from one foot to the other.
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