Redeeming the Lost

VIII Healing and Healers

"Marik and Berys! He named them before witnesses!" I turned to Jamie, laughing with savage delight, and saw that his eyes burned with the same fire as mine. "Those bastards seduced that poor fool of a Healer into selling his soul to demons. They are now outlaws in every Kingdom in Kolmar. Fair game at last!"

I had been waiting years for this. The Silent Service had known for some time that Marik had been building up the House of Gundar, raising small branch Houses throughout the Four Kingdoms, each with its own supply of men and arms, and—rumour had it—its own sorcerer. I had thought that last an exaggeration.

"They have called in our debt," Donal had said. And "They gave us power."

Hells.

I grabbed Rikard from the frantic melee around Donal's corpse. "Where was he quartered, Rikard? Where did he serve?"

"He worked in a little branch of the House of Gundar some leagues north of here, towards Elimar," said Rikard, still gazing at the body. Rikard's voice was flat, though with anger or with shock I knew not, nor cared in that moment. I dragged Jamie a little apart.

"Hells' teeth," I whispered to Jamie, "that's it. The House of Gundar. We were right, damn it, the Healers are all sold to Marik and Berys the Bastard."

"Every one? In all the Four Kingdoms?" Jamie swore. "Hells, there must be hundreds!"

"And Donal said the debt had been called in. If that's an example—"

"Lady save us," muttered Jamie, and I'd swear he turned pale under his tanned leather skin. "Hundreds like him? Walking demons?" He shuddered. "What chance would anyone have against them if there were no dragons by?'

"Little to none," I growled. "But Vilkas said there was another way. The death of the demon-master who made the pact." And I felt myself smile horribly. The idea of Berys's death had always appealed to me.

'The sooner the better." Jamie's sudden grin frankly blazed. "I'm first in line!" he cried.

"Only one tiny problem," I said ruefully. "We don't know where he is."

"Ah," said Jamie, suddenly quiet. "It is just as well then, isn't it, that we've a Farseer to hand?"

And with that he strode over to face Maran, who stood, head high, waiting for him. I would have greeted her but she was too busy staring at Jamie, who was giving as good as he got.

They were both closed and armoured, hearts locked securely away. At least, I knew Maran well enough to see that's what she thought she was doing, the poor innocent. You're a blacksmith at heart, my girl, I thought, wrapping my own fragile heart in stone. You've had no practice. You can't lie to iron.

Jamie, now, he was a lot better at it, but when he saw her like that, so much older, so much like Lanen, and trying so hard to pretend that she didn't love him with every bone in her body— well, I had known it was coming, no matter what Jamie said. I was desperate to turn away. I forced myself to wait and watch.

"Jamie," she said, nodding to him, not trusting herself with more. I swear the sun could have turned green just then and she'd not have noticed.

"Maran," he said, nodding back.

Lanen, who stood astounded, watching, could wait no more. "Maran!" she cried. Lanen's eyes were huge with the shock, and I could practically hear the clang when her gaze locked with her mothers. They both just stared for ages, then I swear, with a single breath they both said exactly the same thing, with exactly the same inflection.

"Hells' teeth!"

I led the retreat. I think Jamie would have stayed, if only to ensure a fair fight, but I grabbed bis sleeve and hauled. I made sure Rikard came too.

The poor souls. It was going to be hard enough without an audience.

For the longest time I just stood there, staring at her. To be fair, she was returning the favour. Neither of us said anything after that first outburst. Everyone else must still have been there— I know Varien was somewhere near—but I saw no one but her.

She was my height or a little more, though she looked to have twice my strength: her thick linen shirt covered shoulders wider than mine, and could not hide the impressive lines of her arms beneath. Her hair, light brown like mine but with a generous coating of silver, was braided and wrapped round her head like a crown. Her eyes ... ah, her eyes. I knew them. They were the same as those that stared out of my mirror. And hers were crinkling at the edges.

"Hullo, lass," she said, grinning suddenly. Her joy was mixed with a measure of panic, to be sure, but for all that it was overwhelming. "By my soul, Lanen, but it's good to see you in the flesh."

"Maran Vena," I replied quietly, my mind reehng, my belly fluttering. Nervous, frightened, angry, floating on a sea of wonder and of fury and of longing that threatened to undo me. "Maran. Mother."

No, it wasn't yet real. Impossible, she was on the other side of Kolmar—"What in the name of sense are you doing here?"

"I do still have the Farseer, you know," she said, her grin fading to a wry smile, her self-control taking hold again. "I left Be-skin while you were on the Dragon Isle. When it became obvious that Marik had recognised you and knew you for his. By the time you had started back with that new-minted husband of yours, I was well on my way. I'd swear it was chance that brought us to meet here," she said, her eyes narrowing, "but the world is a strange place at the moment. I'm not so sure I believe in chance just now."

I suppose I should have been shocked that she knew about Varien but, to be honest, in the face of her presence it seemed a minor point. A thousand questions, a thousand blessings and curses and demands coursed through me. Why did you leave? Why have you not returned until this moment? Was I so terrible? Did you hate me? Did you love me?

"Why did you want to talk to me?" I managed to choke out. Ah, well, it wasn't the most pressing question, but it was a start.

She sighed. 'There is much I need to tell you."

"Is there, by all the Hells," I snarled. I hadn't meant to be angry with her. I could see her calling on every ounce of courage she possessed not to fly from me—but I swear, I felt possessed. The words that burst from me didn't even seem to be mine, at first. "Then why has it taken you twenty-four years to bloody well come out and say it! Goddess, Maran, was I so terrible you couldn't bear me even for a year?" And then it came out, the one thing behind all my bluster, the one thing every abandoned child needs to know with all her heart, no matter how great the fear of the answer.

"Why?" I demanded, my voice high and thin and not my own. "Why did you leave me?" Oddly, I seemed to be shaking, and my eyes stung. "Why didn't you ever come back?"

My mother lifted her chin, her eyes wintry, her face like car-ven stone. "Lanen, I swear to you, my soul to the Lady, I left you because I believed you to be in peril of your life."

"And was I?" I asked.

She shook her head, unable to speak, and finally whispered, "No. I was wrong. I didn't know it for years." She cleared her throat and managed to reclaim her voice, or most of it. "And even when I knew you were safe I didn't dare come back."

"Why not?" I demanded.

She smiled at me then, one corner of her mouth tilted up. "I was too bloody scared, what do you think? I know how I'd feel if I'd been abandoned."

"No you don't!" I shouted, my fists clenched. "No you bloody well don'tl"

I didn't know whether to laugh or be sick. It felt as though a dozen mice were quarrelling in my belly. I had longed for this day from the moment I had understood, as a small child, that I didn't have a mother like everyone else. Jamie had done what he could and I adored him, but—every girl needs her mother. I had mourned for her, longed for a mother's touch, been desperate for the wisdom of an older woman, so many, many times—and now here she was. Now, when I had faced death not once but several times, now I had grown strong and been wed and had children growing below my heart. I didn't know whether I wanted to throw myself in her arms or punch her in the nose, though if I am truthful the latter was the stronger impulse.

She nodded. "No, you're right. I don't."

"Its terrible!" I shouted passionately, shaking my fists in her face, my whole body shaking with the terrible release. "Unloved, unwanted, abandoned—with only Jamie to look after me, and Hadron who hated me left to bring me up. How could you just walk away from your daughter?"

"Because I was young and stupid and I thought I was saving your life," she replied sternly. "Lanen, I can't change what has been or deny that I have been a fool and a coward—but I was hoping we might start again."

"You're too damned late!" I shouted, my voice soaring as years of hurt tore through me. Here I thought I'd got it out of my soul long since, the more fool I. "You're twenty years too late! Where were you? Why didn't you come before now?" I demanded. "Why did you leave me there, my whole life there at Hadronsstead, with that man? It was terrible! I thought Hadron was my fatherl He hated me, and for years I thought I was evil and twisted because I couldn't bear him either."

"Lanen—" she began, but I was fairly started now and I couldn't stop.

"He kept saying I was too tall and too like a man and not fit for anything or anyone!" I watched as my words struck her like so many daggers. Years upon years of that terrible loneliness poured over me afresh, and all the bitterness, all the years of desolation, came pouring out in an agonized flood—and she stood there like a rock in a stream and bore it. "I believed him. There was a time when I even thought of killing myself to get away,"

Damnation. I'd never admitted that to anyone. I'd barely admitted it to myself.

"If it hadn't been for Jamie I'd have gone mad years ago. Goddess, Maran, how could you leave Jamie to look after me? Did you ever love him as he loved you? Did you ever even think about him?" My throat caught, then, as I stood a handspan before her and shouted past the tightness. I wanted her to shout back, cry, rage, anything, but she just stood there and listened. "Eh, Maran? Did you ever think about me? Did you ever love me?"

She never moved.

"Damn you!" I screamed, and without thought I drew back and struck her as hard as I could across the face.

She took the blow without flinching. A distant, cool part of my mind took careful note that, whatever else she may be, she was bloody strong. "I deserved that, Lanen," she said. Her calmness was infuriating. I went to strike her again, anything to get a reaction, but this time she stepped in and caught my wrist in a grip of iron. And held it.

"Listen to me, Daughter," she said, keeping her voice low and as steady as she could. Her eyes were the hopeless grey of a winter sky, but they were sharp and focussed entirely on me. "I don't expect you to understand or approve or forgive what I did, but you will hear me." She was breathless, suddenly, and had to stop and just breathe. I wrenched my arm, trying to pull away. I might have been a child for all that her grip loosened.

"When I left you I was sure I was saving your life," she said finally. She closed her eyes just for an instant, swallowed, continued. "The demons had found me. Found us. I didn't learn that I was wrong for sixteen years."

"Demons?" I repeated, suddenly shaken. A memory from before memory came to me then: a bright room, dark fear with red eyes, a flash of silvery metal.

"Demons," said Maran, letting go my wrist. "Have you never wondered why you have that scar on your right shoulder?" She reached out and touched the exact spot. How in the Hells did she know that?

I shivered. "Jamie said I hurt myself when I was—tiny—" I said slowly.

"It's a demon scar, Lanen," she said, her face unreadable. "You weren't even a year old. They came for me. I had learned how to get rid of them, but that time—that time there were more of them, and they hurt you as well." For the first time her gaze left mine as she lived that moment again. I wondered, in a quiet part of my mind, how many times she had lived it over the years. "It was such a tiny scratch, but you cried so hard. I had to fight you even to cleanse it. By the time I was done I was shaking so badly I had to put you down lest I drop you."

I waited.

"I was younger than you are now, Lanen. I knew so little of life," she said, and for the first time she let her guard down a little. " I knew it was wrong to treat Jamie so, but—"

"Why did you, then?" I demanded.

She stared into my eyes, challenging me. "Life is not always black and white, Daughter. Sometimes we just have to find the shade of grey that we can live with. The sooner you learn that, the better." She frowned and looked away. "I thought the demons would take you and any who cared for you. My own life I never feared to risk, but I could not bear that they should hurt either of you, whom I"—she stopped and wrapped her arms about herself— "either of you, whom I loved."

"I see. You loved us," I mocked. "You loved us so much you abandoned us for twenty-four years."

Maran sighed, and in that moment her whole armour of self-control dropped away, leaving only a middle-aged woman with a weary heart. "Bloody stupid, isn't it? Hells, Lanen. I know I'm too late," she sighed. "I know I've done damn near everything wrong, but"—she caught my gaze again and said very quietly—"my soul to the Lady, Daughter, I loved you and Jamie so much that I murdered my own heart and left you. I could not bear to be your death."

I shivered again, blinking back tears—and my new deeper vision shocked into me against my will. I had been fighting it, not looking deep into her eyes, not wanting to know, for now I could see the truth of her: the desperate fear, the courage it had taken to dare this meeting, the resolve that held her to her course in the face of such pain, risking all in the name of hope.

"That's it, and all the truth of it," she said. "I found out about eight years ago that I need not have left you. The Farseer didn't work the way I thought it did." She managed a wry smile. "Berys was just being enthusiastic. By then, though, I feared—well, this." She shrugged, her hands turned palms up and open in surrender. "Should have faced this the moment I learned the truth, shouldn't I? Got it wrong again. That's no great surprise."

She stood there, waiting. When I said nothing—how could I speak in the face of this revelation, with twenty-four years of thoughts and feelings still fighting to get out?—she nodded, and those broad shoulders slumped even as her chin rose. "As you will, Daughter," she said, and turned to go.

I was ready to curse my new sight, for I could see pain scoring her soul like terrible weals from a whip. Odd, I thought. That's how I feel.

Well yes, idiot. That's the point, isn't it?

"Mother?" I whispered after her.

She stopped and turned back to me slowly, hardly daring to believe what she had heard.

"Mother, please, I—oh, Hells, don't bloody leave again!" I cried. She was back in a moment, and we finally dared an embrace.

What ever happened to the strength of lonely despair? I asked myself mockingly, even as I felt my mother's arms around me for the first time, even as I clung to her. I thought that was what made us strong?

No, I corrected myself. That was what helped us survive. Knowing that love had not deserted us, even when we couldn't feel it—-Jamie and Varien, our babes unborn, now perhaps Maran/Mother—that's what has always made us strong.

We did not hold each other for long, and we both knew as we drew apart that this was only the beginning, but—I cannot speak for her, but I felt something very small, very deep inside me, change. As if a wound deep within had stopped bleeding at last; as if a loose brick deep in a well had been mended and the clear water could begin to find its true level.

We were not given long to consider our meeting, for at that moment Jamie and Rella came striding up to us.

'Thank Shia you two have finally stopped shouting," growled Rella. "I'm sorry, but there is no more time for this. We need your help now, Maran."

She grabbed each of us by an arm and drew us away, past where Rikard and his students were laying out the body of poor Donal. There was quite a crowd of the townsfolk starting to gather.

Varien appeared again at my side. I took great comfort from his presence, though I still felt—detached from myself. Everything seemed so unreal.

Rella was busy explaining to Maran about the corrupt Healers, and why she and Jamie needed the Farseer. "Can you find him?" she demanded. "I never have understood the limits of that thing."

"Oh, I can find him, certain sure," said Maran, frowning. She seemed to be having as much trouble as I was, trying to wrench her mind back to the matter at hand. "The dragons aren't going to like the smell of me doing it, though."

"I feel certain that Shikrar will forgive its use in so worthy a case," said Varien, a crooked smile on his face.

Maran shrugged off her pack and carefully withdrew the Farseer. I remember thinking it had no business looking so normal. Just a big glass ball. "There is a difficulty, however. I may well not recognise what I'm seeing." She turned to Rella. "This is where you get to work for your information, my friend. I gave up wandering twenty years ago."

My mother—how strange, to say that!—my mother knelt down, putting the smoky glass globe on the ground before her knees, and we all gathered round. Will had wandered over to see what we were doing. Jamie and Rella were nearest, as they had travelled most.

I think I was expecting some kind of ritual. Far from it. She put her hands on either side of it and said clearly, "Show me Berys," and instantly an image formed in the globe. It was him, sure enough, in an airy, well-lit room, asleep in the middle of the day on a luxurious bed. I thought of sleeping on the stone bench in my bare cell and wished him seven kinds of ill.

"It could be anywhere," said Jamie, fidgeting in bis frustration, trying to see around the edges of the image. "Can you—does the thing move?"

"What do you mean?"

"Getting a look out that window would be a good start," said Rella, shivering. I looked up. The morning was starting to cloud over and a nasty cold wind was gleefully searching out every loose seam and unmended tear in my old clothing.

"I'll try," said Maran doubtfully, turning back to the Farseer. I noticed she had to be touching it for it to work. "Show me the view out of the window there."

I blinked. Berys was gone, and in his place there rose up high, snowcapped mountains, ridge upon ridge stretching away into the distance, the bright sun gleaming full on the white peaks. Away below and to the left was a large placid lake, the far shore lost in a haze. In the center of the lake a small hillock, an island ringed with trees, boasted a high and ancient oak in its centre. That wooden monarch stood tall and leafless yet, only a haze of green about it showing that spring was well under way.

Jamie cursed, roundly and creatively. It helped a little, but not enough. "He's in the East Mountain Kingdom," he spat. "Hells' teeth! And damn me if I don't even know the place. It's only bloody Castle bloody Gundar! Where else? Marik's ancestral home." He rose to his feet and stamped about, beating his frustration upon the ground as he paced. "Curse it! If I'd had half a brain I'd have guessed they'd go there, but how in the name of the Lady did they get that far away that fast?"

"Demonlines, of course," said Vilkas quietly, and I wasn't the only one who jumped. He, Will, and Aral had joined us silently, while we were absolutely focussed on the Farseer. Vilkas sounded grim. "Berys must have set this one up a long time ago. You need to travel the distance in the real world to set the things up in the first place. He must have been planning this for years."

Jamie gazed up at Vilkas, his eyes alight again for a moment. "Just remember, lad, I'm first in line." He swore. "If we manage to get to him in our lifetimes. It's on the other side of Kolmar, hundreds of long leagues from here. How in all the Hells are we going to get there this side of winter?"

"I'd have thought that part was reasonably obvious," said Varien dryly. I shared a glance with him and smiled. Varien raised his chin in the direction of the mournful little group around Donal's remains, and there stood Shikrar, all the lovely size of him, his great wings folded neatly over his back.

"Oh," said Jamie. Then I swear, for the first time in my life, I saw him blush. "I really am an idiot," he murmured, grinning.

"Shikrar cannot carry us all, of course," began Varien.

"Truly," interrupted Vilkas. "It seems clear who must go. Jamie and I..."

"We are therefore fortunate," continued Varien more loudly, "that there are a hundred and eighty-six others nearby from whom we may request assistance. I would not ask it of the Aiala, though some of the Dhrenagan may wish to be of assistance." He grinned. "It will give them something to do."

Will, who was watching Salera and paying more attention than the rest of us, said, "That crowd's getting bloody noisy for mourners."

We turned as one. There were quite a few raised voices. I exchanged a glance with Varien and we hurried over to where Shikrar stood.

It did not surprise me that they took the Healer's death ill. Those who had been there—Rikard, the students, a few of the townsfolk who were sifting the ruins of the College—knew the truth. The rest of those gathered knew only that a Healer had been killed by a dragon. I had cleaned my talons of his blood as best I could, but there was no water nearby. Dark stains remained, testimony that could not be denied.

To my surprise I noted that many of them bore small weapons—tiny blades, or slightly larger ones that must surely be swords. I had heard of swords but never seen one close to. The largest was not the length of my least talon, and it was thin and weak beyond belief. Some carried what looked to be thick tree branches, others had long sticks with many-pronged heads. I breathed a sigh to the Winds that they might not descend to an attack. It would dishearten them so.

Rikard explained again and again, but there were some in the growing crowd that would not believe him. "He is in thrall to the dragon!" some idiot cried out. "Rikard is corrupted!"

"Rikard is one of the few who isn't," retorted Lanen, loudly. She and Varien led the others, as they all came to stand by my side. Rikard let out his breath. I think he had been growing anxious.

"Haven't you been listening?" asked Lanen, her voice laden with scorn. I was most impressed at the sheer volume she managed to achieve. It was—arresting, and that was what was needed, a moment to stop and reflect.

"Most of you weren't here. I was. I saw the demon using Donal's body," said Lanen, only the slightest quiver in her voice showing her remembered revulsion. "When Magister Rikard banished it and Donal returned for a brief moment—my soul to the Lady, he begged desperately for death ere the demon could take him over once more." She raised her head, frowning, her arms straight down at her sides and her hands curled tight. "I have been at the mercy of demons. It is a terrible thing—and I was not taken over as Donal was. For a Healer to be in the same body as something so obscene, so opposed to everything in the soul of the Lady's chosen ones, and to know of no end and no way out... I can well understand that death would be welcome. Even desirable."

There was a moment of silence. Perhaps she has touched them, I thought in wonder. She is a truth-speaker, Lanen, and such truths can be very powerful—but then a strident voice from somewhere in the crowd called out, "Is the dragon to get clean away with it, then? It killed a Healer! Donal's blood yet stains its claws, and it would talk its way out of paying for murder!"

To my surprise, Salera bespoke me. Quite clearly, too. Aside even from her words, I could not restrain a surge of pride in her ability, so newly won and already so well controlled.

"Lord Shikrar, do you focus their attention on you. The Raksha smell is strong now, where it was not before. I go to find its source. Distract them!"

Very well. I would distract them.

I rose up on my back legs, spreading my wings wide, in the Attitude of Defiance. Not appropriate, perhaps, but it most certainly caught their attention.

"What would you of me?" I cried loudly. Some raised their hands to their ears. Ha, I thought, let you ignore that. For sheer volume, we of the Kantri are difficult to surpass. "I and my people are the life-enemies of the Rakshasa: you may have forgotten that, but it is as true now as it was thousands of winters past.

Healer Donal confessed his corruption, he admitted before witnesses that he had sold his soul to Berys the demon-master and Marik of the House of Gundar." Quickly, Solera, I can only bluster for so long no matter what Akhor says. "The Lady Lanen has the right of it, he longed for—"

Towards the back of the crowd, a man cried out as Salera wrapped her tail about his waist. "Thiss isss anotherrr," she hissed, her voice sliding out of the difficult Gedri speech, her wings rattling with anger, her deep blue eyes blazing. "Rakshadakh!"

The people round about her scuttled away. Just as well, perhaps.

"Don't hurt him, Salera!" cried Varien. Vilkas and Aral were fighting their way through the crowd, as was Rikard. Rikard reached them first.

The man, held helpless in the coils of Salera's tail, was very young even to my eyes, but he bared his teeth in a snarl at Rikard. "Will you destroy me as well, then?" he spat. "You and your pet dragons! Who have you sold your soul to, Rikard?"

"No one, Rathen," Rikard sighed. "Which is more than you can say." Rikard raised his power about him and sent a shaft of purest blue to surround the man, who cried out. "Rathen of Eli-mar, Rathen of the South Kingdom, Rathen ta-Seren, speak to me, in the name of the Lady!" said Rikard. His power blazed. Rathen gave a great shuddering cry and wilted.

"Let him down gently please, Salera," said Aral as she and Vilkas arrived. They caught Rathen as Salera loosed him from her tail, and lowered him carefully to the ground. "Rathen?" called Aral.

There was no response, though the body twitched. "Come on, man, fight it!" urged Aral.

Rathen moaned, opened his eyes, and sat up. "Mistress Aral?" he said, frowning. "Rikard? Name of the Lady, where am I?"

"You're in Verfaren," said Rikard harshly. "And I know you have made pact with Berys. Have you not even realised that you have been worn by a demon?"

Rathen went white. "No," he whispered. "Mother Shia, I thought that a nightmare."

"It is truth. I have called you back but I do not know how long the creature may be banished."

"Save me!" cried Rathen, grasping at Rikard's robes. "I swear, Rikard, I only ever used the power when I was desperate. I used it to heal, in the Lady's name! Surely that is not so terrible?"

No, I thought. The terrible part is that I know you, Rathen. You only got your warrant last year, as a Healer of the first rank. A low level, to be sure, the lowest warrant there is, but sufficient for most ills. I never knew you were so desperate for greater power. "Rathen, was mention ever made of what you might do should you wish to break the pact?" I asked.

"No," he replied miserably. He started to shake as with an ague and gazed up at me, imploring. "Vil, you've studied demons, I know it. What can I do?" He began to weep. "Vil, how shall I ever escape?"

"You can begin by renouncing the power you have received," I said sternly, and without much real hope. At least it would be a start.

"I do! I renounce, in the name of Mother Shia, the power granted me by this pact!" he cried aloud. For a moment he looked a little better. For a moment.

Then, horribly, he began to shrivel. Before our eyes he grew weak and starveling, his eyes sunken, as if he had not eaten in a year. "Vilkas!" he screamed, his suddenly bony hand clutching desperately at my robes. "Help me!"

I summoned my power and poured it into him. The drain, and his need, were terrible. It was as if every act of healing he had performed in the last year, each of which had its own cost in strength of body and will, were being taken out of him again, all at once. I sustained him as best I might, but I had never known so arduous a task. I had always been proud of my inherent power. In my years at Verfaren I had never truly been taxed by any effort required by my studies.

This was exhausting. No matter how much I gave, it was not enough. Like pouring water through a sieve.

Ah!

I used my Sight to look deep into Rathen, and there it was. A wound in his soul, a link, sustaining something. The demon? No, there it was, fighting to regain the mastery over him, nothing to do with that wound. No, the link went elsewhere ...

Berys.

Without stopping to think I cried out, "Blessed Mother, Shia, Goddess, sever this bond and deliver your servant!"

The bond was broken. Rathen screamed once and fell to the ground. The demon also screamed, frustrated to find defiance where it had expected nothing but ease, and disappeared in a gout of well-aimed Fire from Shikrar.

With the Sight upon me I saw the flame of Rathen's life reduced in that moment to a tiny spark, barely present, flaring its hopeless defiance against the endless darkness that surrounded it.

Still I let my strength flow into him, protecting that flame, encouraging it to life again ...

I was not expecting Aral's slap in the face. My concentration was broken abruptly and I shuddered at the sudden withdrawal from deep healing. She hit me again, and I realised that she had been shouting at me for some time. "Stop, Vilkas! Stop it, you'll kill yourself!"

I glanced down at Rathen. He was terrifyingly thin, but he breathed yet.

"Good, he's alive," I said, and fainted into Aral's arms.

"Fetch food and drink for them both," commanded Rikard sharply, and I saw several hurry to obey as I lowered my beloved Vilkas to the ground. It struck me in passing that I had never had him in my arms before and might never again. I desperately desired to hold him to me just a little longer—raining kisses on his face occurred to me as well—but I knew that he would recover best if his head was level with his heart. I banished my ill-timed longing. Vilkas was pale as death. I started trembling.

No, no, don't be stupid, he'll be fine, I stopped him in time. Just.

"That was well done, young Aral," said Magister Rikard as he knelt to help me make Vil comfortable. "He's always been a stubborn so-and-so. At least he had the good sense to listen to you."

"He's going to be furious with me when he wakes up," I said, trying to make my voice light. I'm not at all sure I managed it.

"Then he is an even greater fool than I thought," muttered Rikard, "and I shall be happy to tell him so if you so wish."

I grinned. "Thank you, Magister, but I'd rather deal with him on my own."

Vil, with his usual riming, managed to rouse just as the food arrived. Rathen we had to restrain from eating too much, lest he overburden his newly frail body, but Vilkas ate as though he hadn't seen a morsel in weeks and was all the better for it.

And as he began to recover from his work, I locked my heart away again, hidden, safe, unknown. I did not dare listen to its strident voice. I knew Vilkas too well, knew that he felt nothing of the sort for me; but I still could not give over my stupid longing, hoping—dreaming—that perhaps, one day, he might recognise his folly.

Magister Rikard stood, brushed down his robes, and addressed the crowd. "They will both live, though Healer Rathen will take some time to recover." He frowned at those nearest him. "I trust that this has brought you all to your senses. Blaming the dragons, forsooth! They are creatures of Order. Our oldest wisdom preserves that at least."

"But, Magister," said Tolmas the stonemason, stepping forward, "what now?" He gestured to take in all the ruin of the College. "What are we to do? The town has always looked to the Archimage for guidance."

"I will meet with any who wish to look to the future in an hour's time, Tolmas," said Rikard firmly. "Until then, let each help as they may." He sighed. "There is surely enough for us all to do."

I have to say, if I had tried to stage that revelation I couldn't have pulled it off nearly so well. In the general milling about I hauled Hygel off to a quiet corner and told him rapidly what I suspected about all the House of Gundar Healers. "Get the word out fast. I don't know how to fight them, so best to tell everyone to keep out of their way."

"And what are you going to be doing, hey?" he asked.

I allowed myself the faintest smile. "Ah, now. Privilege of rank, you see. I'm going with this crowd to get Berys."

"You cheat. I've always said so," he said cheerfully. "I live a stone's throw from that rat bastard for six years and you get to take him. It's not fair."

"Never mind," I said. 'There's every chance we'll end up as demon fodder. If that happens, I'm counting on you."

Hygel snorted. "Ha! With yon bloody great beastie on your side?" He gestured at Shikrar, who was even then taking to the air on some errand. "Even Berys can't stand against that, surely!"

"I truly hope not," I said. "Spread the word, my friend. I think you'll have your hands full here as it is."