Putting up a couple chapters right away, since they're short and I have most of it written :). Enjoy! -DR


Strangers When We Meet

II.

"It's worse than I thought. She barely remembered the name of our own country!" Agonized, Neal clutched his hair and resisted the urge to bang his head against the wall. Such behavior wasn't fitting for the third most powerful healer in the realm.

Alanna sighed, rubbing her forehead. She, Neal, and Duke Baird had done all they could for Keladry, but even that wasn't enough.

It was Neal that had found her, two months ago, lying on the ground with blood on her face and matting her hair. The Scanran War was nearly over, treaties being signed even as the final skirmishes picked fruitlessly at the Tortallan forts. Kel was out riding on patrol in Merric's place, the red-haired knight having come down with a cold, when they attacked. It had been a fairly quick battle, with only fourteen hastily-cobbled Scanran men, bitterness and desperation in their eyes. Peachblossom was in the stables with a pulled tendon, and Hoshi was no warhorse. Her screams cut the air as one of the Scanrans slashed at her delicate legs, and Kel was thrown against some rocks. A horrible, untimely accident, the fall had taken almost all of her long-term memory with it, and her short-term memory was terribly scrambled for weeks afterward. Neal had kept a constant vigil by her bed, prepared every moment to calm her as she looked around frantically, half-hysterical, not knowing herself or where she was.

"There has to be something more we can do," Wyldon murmured from his corner of the room. "Not Gifted… something therapeutic, something she excels at that her muscles will remember."

"She's not stable enough for heavy weapons work," Duke Baird said tiredly. "Jousting, swordplay, glaive… it's out of the question. She's too fragile, still."

"Then what? She's cooped up in the healing ward with only healers for company – and I mean no offense, Your Grace, Sir Alanna, Sir Nealan… But my daughter is a social creature, whether or not she remembers it. It would do her good to be active." Lady Ilane's words were affirmed when her husband nodded.

"She remembers horseback riding, I know that," the baron rumbled. "She's mentioned her childhood pony a few times."

"Begging your pardon, my lord, but Peachblossom's no pony," Neal said, caught between his aching heart and his healer's sound logic. "She could control him when she was herself, but now?"

"I would like to try," Ilane said firmly. "Surely, were she properly supervised, she could handle short rides."

There was a brief pause, and the three healer-mages traded various looks of worry, despair, and reluctant hope. At last, Duke Baird ventured an opinion. "It would not hurt to try. Perhaps, my lord Wyldon, if you're not busy…"

"I can spare my mornings," Wyldon answered immediately. "Does she still rise early?"

"We think so." Ilane hesitated. "She lays in bed longer than she used to, but there is little to keep her occupied. We're afraid that, left to her own thoughts, she'll work herself into a depression."

"It's decided then," Duke Baird said, taking the initiative. "Wyldon, you will oversee Keladry's morning rides – keep them light, make certain she doesn't tax herself. I'm certain you know what's best. Neal, I believe it would be pertinent for you to attend as well, to measure her strength and the degree of improvement – if there is improvement," he added, almost under his breath.

"There will be." Ilane and Wyldon exchanged embarrassed glances, having spoken at the same time. But to them, and to everyone in the room, there was no alternative. Anything less was too painful to contemplate.