Benaret could feel in the chestnut's movements how tired the runner was, yet he urged him on. He had to get to a hold and healer fast, there was little hope for Lirris already, he'd been around healers long enough to have absorbed that much, but if he could get her a healer... she'd have a much better chance.
The tiring runner stumbled and nearly sent Benaret flying, but he managed to hang on. The gelding screamed his pain and frustration as he stumbled again. For a moment, Benaret was afraid he'd collapse right there, in the middle of nowhere, but the runner regained his footing and continued on. Benaret reluctantly slowed his pace down. He wouldn't get anywhere if the runner died.
Though the gelding made a valiant effort at staying on his feet, eventually the strain became too much for the poor beast. With a resigned neigh, he stopped and sank to his knees. Benaret lept from his back before the runner, too exhausted even to kneel, flopped onto his side. His sides heaved as he tried to catch his breath and Benaret, exhausted himself, knew that he'd be traveling on foot the rest of the way, however long that was.
After a few minutes of waiting for the runner to recover, Benaret gave up and left. He'd get there quicker on foot than he would waiting for the chestnut to regain his energy. The runner gave a little worried snort as he left, but Benaret paid him no more attention than he would have a root he'd had to avoid. He only thought as far ahead as his next footstep and, of course, getting a healer for Lirris.
Benaret was not sure how long he walked. It could have been minutes or hours, he had no idea. He just knew it seemed like an eternity before he saw the dim shape of a large cothold, outlined in a glowing, silvery-white border of moonlight. It was quite a ways off, from what Benaret could tell, but people didn't build cotholds in the middle of nowhere, and one cothold generally meant at least a minor hold was somewhere near. And a minor hold would have a healer.
Now that his goal was in sight, Benaret felt a renewed spurt of energy. He was so close. Soon he would be there, sipping at klah as he told the holders his story and asked for a healer and a few able-bodied men to come with him to help Lirris. Then everything would be fine. Maybe he and Lirris could even stay there, they were officially holdless now anyway. He hiked up the last, steep hill and was rewarded with the sight of not just the one cothold he'd spotted but three, equally large cotholds and more off in the distance.
As Benaret stood, catching his breath and leaning on the walking stick he'd aquired a ways back, he scanned the horizon, trying to see where there might be the hold proper of a minor hold. It was very late at night but there were still a few lights on in some of the windows. He chose the biggest cothold with the most lights on and strode toward it. It was a stately building, one that probably housed a fairly wealthy family. He hesitated for a moment before knocking on the door. "I need help!" he bellowed.
A tall, dignified, silver-haired man opened the door and peered down his nose at Benaret. He wondered for a moment if he looked like a drudge even when he was wearing the clothes of a Masterhealer. "Can I help you?" the man asked.
"Is there a healer anywhere near by? My wife is hurt and I need help," Benaret asked, hoping that, despite his dignified manner, this man would not refuse to help him. Perhaps holders who knew a drudge when they saw one wouldn't help him.
"I am a healer," the man answered, to Benaret's suprise and delight. He didn't look much like the healing type, but looks didn't matter if he had the skills. "Is your wife with you?"
Benaret shook his head. "Our cart over turned some miles back and she was too injured to ride a runner. Can you lend me a runner and come with me now? She was bleeding very badly."
The healer regarded him for a moment then nodded slowly. "Wait here, I'll go get some supplies." He dissapeared back inside his cothold, leaving Benaret to hope that he would come back.
The healer returned a few minutes later with a good sized case with the symbol for the healingcraft on it. "Come, we'll go saddle up a couple of runners. My sons will come with us, just in case we need help getting her back."
The runners stabled in the stables near the cothold looked much more sturdy than Benaret's chestnut and two boys, the healer's sons, he assumed, had already saddled four of them. "Pick which one you want," the healer told him, vaulting easily onto the back of a dappled gray with a flowing, silvery mane.
Benaret selected a big, spirited black who sniffed him curiously and accepted a lump of sweetner before allowing him to climb up. The black shifted underneath him but otherwise seemed manageable. "Ready?"
The healer nodded. "Ready. I don't believe I caught your name young man..."
"I'm Benaret," Benaret replied. "And you are...?"
"Firael," the healer replied. "Merry meet. May I ask why you two are out traveling so late at night?"
"We got lost on the way from our hold and we'd been wandering around, trying to find somewhere to spend the night when the cart overturned," Benaret explained, hoping Firael wouldn't ask any more specific questions.
Whether Firael believed this was true or not, he seemed to find it valid enough to give his runner some silent command to go and the runner started forward. Benaret's runner followed and then the two rode by Firael's sons.
"You'd better take the lead," Firael called to him over the sound of hooves striking the wet ground. "You know the way back, don't you?"
Benaret had been two busy concentrating on not collapsing when he'd been walking towards the hold to note his surroundings, but he had a pretty good idea of how to get back. "Of course," he replied, more confidence in his voice than he felt.
He urged his black past Firael and his runner and slowed him to a fast canter so that the others could keep up. So far, everything looked familiar. But then, how was he to tell between one tree and another?
About half an hour after they'd been out, Benaret's black gave a piercing wail and shyed away from something blocking their path. For a horrified moment, Benaret was sure the lump in the path was Lirris but, as he drew closer, he saw that it was his chestnut who he had been forced to abandon. He had obviously tried to follow Benaret, and even that small distance had been to much for him.
Firael brought his runner to a stop next to Benaret and then jumped down to examine the collapsed runner. "He's almost gone," the healer announced grimly after a few moments. "May I put him out of his misery? He won't last much longer anyway. I'm suprised the wherries have stayed away this long."
"You're sure?" Benaret asked, a bit uneasy about giving the okay to kill a runner who he didn't even know the real owner of. "He doesn't have a chance?"
Firael shook his head. "No. He nearly burst his heart running and he's beyond hope. If he were a human patient, he'd probably have asked for mercy by now. I'm suprised he's still concious."
"Well, if you're sure," Benaret yielded, then turned his horse away as Firael drew his belt knife. The chestnut gave a kind of sigh after the knife slashed across his throat and then died.
The horses were uncomfortable around the dead horse, so Firael remounted quickly and the four men continued on.
The distance he traveled must not truly have been as long as it seemed, for soon he recognized the clearing where he'd dragged Lirris into. There was a strange hole in the foilage above the clearing, as if something very large had dropped through the canopy of the trees.
But the discovery of the hole was not nearly as disturbing as what Benaret discovered next: in the place where he'd left Lirris, next to the overturned cart, there was only a large patch of blood-stained mud. "Lirris!" Benaret called frantically, hoping she was nearby.
No answer. He hopped down off his runner and then called again. "LIRRIS!" his call was once again met with silence. She was gone.
How could she be gone? Where could she have gone? Benaret's mind was a whirlwind of questions and denials as he sank to his knees in the mud still red with her blood. Despite the fact that three men he hardly knew were watching, Benaret began to cry. Quietly saying her name at first, until it gave way to sobs that racked his entire body.
Firael, probably used to seeing men break down over losses, put a gentle, reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You are sure this is where you left her?" he asked quietly.
"I'm positive," Benaret choked. "How many other carts do you suppose have overturned recently in the forest?"
"If she is not here," Firael said as gently as possible, "you should come back to the hold with us and warm up. You will need a place to spend the night."
"She's out there somewhere!" Benaret protested, standing up suddenly and starting towards the edge of the clearing only to sink to his knees again as he realized how huge the forest was. She could be anywhere. Still, the thought of her out there, cold, tired, injured, alone. But he was forced to admit it. He'd lost her.
"We should go back now," Firael told him, more insistently than before. It is going to rain very hard very soon.
Benaret nodded and walked slowly back to his waiting runner and climbed on. "Let's go." The four started toward the hold without another glance back at the deserted clearing, full of dreams as broken as the cart.
The next morning...