The Raven's Chronicles. Rage of the Wraith

Chapter 4. The Ghost

"Oh, move away, for the goddess' sake!" the fiery-haired healeress stopped her incantation to glare at sir Kedmon, who loomed over her shoulder as she drew healing runes on his father's torso. "I don't need you to supervise me! Leave the room, or I'll personally kick you out!"

Jules observed her from the corner, peeking from behind his master's back. Now he gaped, his bi-colour eyes following the healeress around Lord Harald's bed. He'd never heard a mage, a man or a woman, addressing a noble in such an abrupt way.

Sir Kedmon stepped back and collided with a young girl with ashen hair that assisted the healeress, knocking a bucket full of water out of her hands. He glanced at the infuriated woman, her dark-green eyes flashing with little flashes of lightning, and hurried out of the chamber.

"Leave it, Evi, and help me here!" she hurried the girl. As she moved, Jules saw the long, deep gush cutting through Lord Harald's torso, stomach and abdomen. His fall had been most unfortunate; having dropped his sword, the old man had fallen onto his own blade. The wound produced more blood than the ashen-haired apprentice healeress could wipe.

"It's bad," the healeress stopped humming the incantation. She tied her fiery locks in an unkempt bun. Then, she took the towel from the girl. "Give me the stitching kit. Disinfect and thread me a needle."

"Do you mind me placing protective runes in the room?" Ravin motioned at Jules to put the bucket away. "Just some simple ones, so they won't interact with yours."

"Go ahead," the woman muttered, her eyes never leaving Lord Harald's chest. "Made them strong. I need you to block the curse. He won't survive another attack."

The hunter gave a sharp nod, taking the rod out of his pocket. It was a piece of long, thin metal with a spiral of magical symbols carved around it. Now, when touched, they shone with golden light.

Approaching the lord's bed, the Ravin brushed past the apprentice healeress helping with the stitches, and ripped the tapestry hanging above the headboard.

"Catch!" having rolled it hastily, he threw it to Jules. The boy grasped the roll, sneezing as a cloud of dust raised from the material. "Put it away somewhere."

The hunter put the tip of the rod against the wall and traced it down the stones. The symbol was made of straight lines, yet complicated, a combination of runes joint together and intertwined. The rod left a golden trace on the stones as the man drew; the gold slowly faded into a dark, reddish shade.

Jules knew the symbol. It was Mothalah. It stood for purity.

He won't stop bleeding," the healeress bent over the Lord with a rod similar to the hunter's one in her hand. "Evi, ran to the infirmary and see if we have any swamper's saliva."

The girl dashed out of the chamber.

"Is he going to make it?" Ravin drew another rune on the opposite wall so that it fronted the first one. Jules observed him cautiously, moving out of his way.

"I don't know. The blade's edge cut deep into his stomach. His vitals are bleeding," the healeress put her rod aside and reached for the cloth to wipe the drying blood. "Kedmon believes there's a curse upon his family. He was really relieved when he heard rumours about you being in the area."

"It's not a curse," Jules chimed in, his eyes tracing the movement of Ravin's hand. "It was a ghost."

Both adults turned toward him; his master frowning, the healeress looking at him with surprise.

"He's my apprentice," the hunter saw the confusion on the woman's face, then turned back toward Jules. "Are you sure? What exactly did you see? And what were you doing by the door in the first place?"