"It falls on you and your men, Dyus. I know full well that it is not fair, but there is no other choice," Soran said as he attempted to find a position in his chair that was not painful.
"They are not my men, Soran. You are Harbinger, they are your men, as I am." Dyus replied before changing the topic of conversation, "your injuries still cause you pain?"
"They do not heal quickly," Soran said as he gave up his attempts to stay seated and stood before limping around the small room, "Jurgan urges me to go to bed and not get out of it for two days, but there is too much to do, collecting quicksilver ore being high on that list. And you take my meaning as it pertains to your men. Or should I say Krev's men. They do not listen to me. With Krev and Frik away, you are next on the list. We need our quota of quicksilver ore or we have nothing to trade for silver ore."
"I do take your meaning, Soran. I will not insult you by denying it. I will also not deny that I do not like the look of some of those men, and I am certain that some of them will not lift a finger to work in that mine, not for any asking or ordering on my part. But some of them will, and we will do our duty."
"I am glad to hear it. Thank you."
"I would take this opportunity to make a request of you."
Now it comes, Soran thought.
"This is not a precondition for working the mine," Dyus said, seeming to read Soran's mind, "I say this only because your face took on an appearance if irritation, or wariness."
He has sharp eyes.
"Forgive me, Dyus, I am used to a certain system of barter when dealing with Krev. I apologize."
"We will chalk it up to the pain of your wounds, and say no more of it."
"What is your request?"
"Some of Krev's followers are not his followers at all, and would be rid of him if a they could escape his grasp."
"You make them sound like prisoners."
"They are prisoners. Prisoners of association. And you are one of their jailers. You make yourself so when you label them Krev's men."
Soran had no idea how to reply to those words, words that bit deeply because they were true.
"Again I must ask for your forgiveness. I cannot but help see them as a faceless mass, ill equipped, poorly trained, unkept, and unruly. The fault is mine."
"On that point we agree," Dyus said which earned him a hard look from Soran, "They are your men. If they are poorly trained and ill equipped, it is because you have not trained them, or equipped them, properly. If they are unkept and unruly it is because you have not imposed proper discipline over them. Some of them are lost causes, I admit that freely, but many of them are not, and your abandonment of those men is a source of great resentment among them."
If Soran had thought that Dyus' previous words were painful, they were nothing compared to the words that Soran had just heard, and the pain they caused him.
Gods, I do not deserve the title of Harbinger. I deserve no title at all.
Dyus had always stood out among Krev's band of men; Soran and Hellina had noticed that quickly. That he was closely associated with Falco had led the two leaders of the Hand to conclude that both men were spies. But it was only Falco that made solitary journeys to Solitude, and there was no evidence that Dyus knew anything about those journeys. But in every other way he and Falco were of a kind: well kept, well equipped, more prone to over training than over indulgence, but neither yet full members of the Hand, mostly because of their association with Krev. That, at least, was something Soran could correct.
Soran walked painfully to the door of his small office and opened it.
"Jurgan, Cruith, would you please attend?" he asked the two Vigilants.
"It is custom when a member of The Silver Hand receives a commission that it be witnessed by the Hand's most senior members. Since all senior members of the Hand are away, I ask you both to stand in their place."
"Of course we would be honored," Jurgan replied as he and Cruith exchanged a glance.
"Dyus Jeranus, by my authority as Harbinger of The Silver Hand, and according to the rites and customs passed down to us from Ysgramor himself, you are hereby commissioned Subaltern of The Silver Hand. Your first official assignment is to collect a formation of men to gather two cartloads of quicksilver ore. Your second assignment I will discuss with you in private."
"Your second assignment is to identify those men whom you mentioned previously and present me a list of their names. We, you and I, will devise a method to separate them, in small groups of two or three, and assign them temporary duties that will allow us to ascertain their strengths and weaknesses. Do you understand your assignments?"
The stunned, newly minted, Subaltern took a moment to find his voice.
"Yes, sir."
"It is twice the amount of quicksilver ore we usually collect, and we will require, and receive, twice the amount of silver ore in payment. The additional silver ore will be necessary to properly arm and armor any men you identify, as well as yourself. We will rectify my error as quickly as possible without putting any of our number in danger. Half trained, overconfident members do no one any good service."
"I agree."
"I have rank insignia for you somewhere, if I can locate it," Soran said with a grimace, no longer able to keep the pain from his face, "it is no doubt tarnished, but a bit of polishing will fix that. And I will write your official commission out in due course and give it to Hellina to copy in her fine hand before affixing the proper seals."
"Thank you for this honor, and for your faith in me, Harbinger," Subaltern Dyus Janus said solemnly, "I will strive to be worthy of both."
"I will leave you to attend to your duties, Subaltern. I believe I will take Jurgan's advice, and lie down for a short time."
"He does not mend, and I believe he actually grows worse," Jurgan said to Cruith, "I do not understand it, though you well know that Restoration is not my strength."
"Do any others from the attack show the same difficulty healing?" she asked.
"I do not know. All of them are elsewhere. But Carcette was grievously wounded, and she has healed much quicker," Jurgan answered.
"She had the benefit of the healing skills of the Thane of The Pale, and his potions and medicines. Soran has not."
"That is true. He must be a powerful healer."
"A fast rider can be at that homestead and back again in a day," Cruith said, "and I remember the route Hellina and I used when we retrieved Carcette."
"Too many of his loyal men are away, and he grows worse daily. The worse he gets, the more likely, I fear, that one of those cut throats seizes his opportunity to put Krev in Soran's place. And that event I will not allow. How will they respond if I am force to kill a number of their men? I do not know, and I do not wish to find out."
"Then I will leave at once, and you will not leave his side until I return."
"Do not forget that we have our own to care for. Carcette is much improved, but we cannot abandon her quite yet."
"I agree. Might I suggest that you place those two eggs into one basket until I return?" Cruith asked with a smile, "she is well enough she can assist you as you render your unskilled care."
"Allow me a short time to write a note to the Thane's household."
The sun was well past its zenith - indeed, it was well on its way towards setting, when Cruith's horse began to navigate the inclined road that led past the giant and his mammouths, which was the landmark Cruith used to locate the Thane of The Pale's home. Her rapid passage caused some small stir in the pack, but nothing that would rise to the level that would endanger Cruith, though the Giant's eye did not leave her until she herself had left the saddle and run to the main door of the large house, a door that was answered by a young man who from the nature of the banging on his door must have thought that the world was ending.
"Madam, you look as if The Banshee herself is on your heels," he said.
"I do not take your reference, sir, but if you mean that a man's life rests on the success of my mission, then you are correct," she answered before realizing that she smelled too much like the horse she had just ridden at breakneck speed to be allowed into any respectable home, "my name is Cruith Avalen. I am a Vigilant of Stendarr. Your housecarl and steward treated our High Priestess, and brought her back to health after our hall was attacked by vampires. There is a man in Dawnstar who was also attacked, and his wounds do not heal. He grows worse, and we fear he will die if he is not properly treated, but none of us have the required skill. I am here to beg your assistance. Can you spare any of the medicines that your household used to treat our High Priestess?"
"Freya!" The young man yelled over his shoulder, "NORA! Please come in, madam, we will collect what is required immediately."
"I stink of horse, sir. I would defile your home in my current state," she answered.
"Our house has endured much worse, madam," he answered just as two women appeared together at a dead run.
"Arreba?" Nora asked the Vigilant quizzically.
"Harbinger Soran oso txarra da," Cruith replied to her in the native tongue they shared, "laguntza eskatzen du, eta azkar."
"Collect what was used when you treated the Vigilant High Priestess and saddle a fresh horse for the lady. We leave at once," he said, "give me a moment, madam, and I am at your service."
"What is your name, sir?" she asked.
"My name is Samuel."
"He is fevered, there is no doubting it now," Carcette said, "it is much like how my injuries progressed, as much as I remember at least. But you are certain he was not bitten."
"He was certain. He was adamant. I was not there, and have no first hand knowledge," Jurgan answered, "this is madness, to take this burden upon themselves without the proper remedies to treat such injuries."
"Were we better prepared?"
"We thought we were. But we did not factor in the possibility of both our healers dying in the same attack."
"We will not make that mistake again, and neither will they," Carcette said as she placed her hand on Soran's head once again, only to remove it a moment later, "we will make sure of that. In this battle The Vigilants of Stendarr and The Silver Hand fight as one."
"You have done enough. Back to your own bed now. I will not risk losing both of you."
"You do not risk losing me, but I will do as you ask," Carcette replied, "but you must also rest. I am no healer either, but even I know that pacing back and forth does no one any good."
"If you will lay in your bed, I will sit next to you and read you more of the Biography of Barenziah."
"I agree to your terms, but I know it is only an excuse for you to read more about her yourself," Cartette said with a broad smile.
"What do you mean?"
"You are in love with her, is what I mean. Really, do you think that none of us knows that?" Carcette asked with a laugh.
"I do not love her."
"Yes you do, and it is just like you to fall in love with a woman who has been dead for two hundred years, and can no longer hurt you."
Jurgan was about to reply when he changed his mind and closed his mouth, and his face took on a familiar look.
"There is some amount of truth in what you say, I suppose," he said as he looked at the closed book on his lap. Carcette had climbed into bed and adjusted the pillows behind her to support her where she sat.
"It is her loss," she said kindly, "she did not deserve your devotion, and you did not deserve her abuse. I would not repeat our previous conversations on the topic, but I still do not know what you saw in her in the first place."
Jurgan smiled wistfully, a smile that in no way hid the pain of a broken heart. But while his eyes became damp, they did not overflow.
"She was the most exotic creature I had ever laid eyes on. Even more exotic because, against all odds, she took an interest in me."
"You were blinded by love. It is in no way an exclusive club to join. Everyone else saw immediately that she was a flawed creature. Either nature or nurture made her so. You were not to blame, and you should not have born the burden of those flaws as long as you did. She did you a favor by leaving."
"I thought we were not going to repeat our previous conversations on the topic."
"There are more fish in the sea than ever came out of it, or so the philosophers say. Some of those will also be quite exotic."
"Says who?" he asked as he opened volume 2 of The Biography of Barenziah to the dog eared page.
"Says the law of large numbers, my dear friend."
Carcette was asleep, as was Jurgan - asleep in his chair, when the sound of horses approaching at speed startled him. It was only a moment later, just as Jorgan had reached the front door, when Cruith and a young man that Jurgan did not know entered the house.
"Here is the medicine," Cruith said as she held up a dark brown leather satchel, "The is Samuel. It is his generosity we must thank for these gifts."
"Sir, if you will take me to your patient, we will soon put him to rights," said the young man who, like Cruith beside him, was covered in dust and speckled with sweat and saliva from his horse.
Gods be praised, Jurgan thought.