The First Confessor: The Legend of Magda Searus

Chapter 55

On the stone bridge that spanned the vast chasm before the Keep, two women crossing, near the short stone wall on the opposite side, spotted Merritt and momentarily froze in their tracks. Both were in long gray dresses and both had short hair. One was a couple of years older than Magda, while the other appeared old enough to be the first woman’s mother. Magda saw blood on the younger woman’s dress. Both threaded their way through the throngs coming and going from the Keep to intercept Merritt.

“Mary, what’s the matter,” Merritt asked the younger of the two as she grabbed one of his hands. The older woman stood behind, expectantly wringing her own hands.

The younger woman’s face was tearstained and she was in obvious distress. “It’s James—he’s been hurt. Hurt bad.”

“Hurt?” Merritt asked, clearly alarmed. “How? What happened? How badly is he hurt?”

“He was working on an assignment from the council to make a sword of some sort.” She had to pause to choke back a sob. “James never talked much about the work he does, so I don’t know a great deal about it. But earlier this afternoon there was some kind of an accident down in the lower regions. Three of the men with him were killed outright by a massive explosion. Two others standing farther back were hurt but not seriously. James is in a bad way, though. He was closer and breathed in the inferno. They say it burned his lungs. He can’t breathe. He’s hurt bad, Merritt.”

As she fell against him, sobbing, she clutched his black shirt in both fists. “What will I do if he dies, Merritt? What will I do?”

“It had something to do with magic gone wrong,” the older woman added when the first succumbed to her tears, hoping that somehow the information might help him.

Merritt cast Magda a look as he circled an arm around Mary’s shoulders. His big hand gently held the woman’s head to his chest as she wept.

Magda knew what the look meant. Yet more men had just died and others had been hurt in a futile attempt to make the key to the boxes of Orden.

“Are they healing him?” Merritt asked. “Are there gifted working to heal him?”

“No. He wouldn’t let them,” Mary sobbed, barely getting the words out.

“What? Why not?”

The older woman placed a hand on his forearm. “James is asking for you, Merritt.”

“But why? Why won’t he let the gifted help him?”

“Apparently, he believes that you are the only one who knows enough about what they were doing, what elements are involved, to have a chance to heal him. The wizards with him are trying to keep him alive until you could be found, but they told me that they don’t know enough to heal him and they need you. It’s only chance that Mary and I spotted you on our way down to the city to look for you. Hurry. Please.”

Merritt, with one arm around the younger woman, holding her as she cried against his chest, put his other hand on the older woman’s shoulder.

“Of course.”

He turned to Magda, concern shaping his features. “I need to help James. Wait for me?”

Magda nodded. “Hurry. Help him.”

Magda put a hand on Mary’s back. She knew what it was like to fear for a loved one. She knew the terror of it. She was getting tears herself at the sight of Mary’s distress. At least this woman was not yet grieving her husband’s death. Magda hoped that Merritt could prevent that from happening.

“Try to be brave,” Magda said. “Merritt will help. Your husband will need to see you being strong for him.”

The woman nodded as she reached out to squeeze Magda’s other hand. “I’ll try.”

“Where will I find you?” he asked in a private tone.

“I’ll either be in my apartments,” Magda said, “or in the storage room next door getting my things ready to move so the new First Wizard can have the space.”

“Wait for me, then, and I will come get you as soon as I help James.”

His hazel eyes looked even more green in the late-day light, and they spoke more than mere words. He knew how important their business was, but at the same time he couldn’t let a man barely clinging to life die if there was anything that could be done to save him.

Merritt reached out and briefly touched Magda’s cheek, then let the two women lead him away in a rush.

Magda stood in the center of the massive stone bridge, still feeling the touch of his fingers on her cheek as she watched the three of them cross the bridge and race toward the gaping iron maw of the portcullis. It had been a small but rather remarkable gesture, she thought, as if to say that he understood the trouble they were in and to hold tight until he was back.

Magda knew that healing a seriously injured person could take quite a while. If everything went right, it could sometimes be done in a matter of hours, but it could also just as easily take days.

The man, James, was apparently a friend. He needed Merritt’s help or he would certainly die. Merritt of course had to go help, to try to heal him. Magda would expect no less of Merritt.

But Magda didn’t think the rest of them had days to wait.

The boxes of Orden were missing, dream walkers were haunting the Keep, traitors were among them, people were dying mysteriously, and dead men hunted among the dark passageways.

Magda knew that no one else but Merritt even believed her.