by Carol Berg
“Gar’Dena’s house!” I said, when I followed them into a luxurious chamber, uniquely exotic in its decoration. Once introduced to the swathes of enfolding red silk draped from the ceiling to serve as seats, the elaborate fountains, the exotic plants and birds, the bells, the wind chimes, and the hundreds of colorful cushions scattered everywhere, one would never confuse the place with any other.
“Is this room not every bit a reminder of him?” asked the young woman who offered me an embrace as I entered the room. “Would my father lived to offer his own great heart’s care in this terrible time.”
Aimee was the youngest daughter of Karon’s late counselor and friend Gar’Dena. Five years had left the luminous Aimee more womanly than when I’d seen her last. Her sun-colored hair was coiled smoothly at the back of her neck rather than hanging in the girlish loose curls of the past, and a serene confidence imbued her every word and gesture.
“Your father’s kindness and generosity live on in his children,” I said, kissing her flushed cheeks.
“Many thanks for your hospitality, Mistress Aimee,” said Ven’Dar as the young woman offered him the Dar’-Nethi greeting of respect, a graceful bow with hands extended, palms up.
“As always, it is my pleasure to serve you, my lord, and my honor to aid those who have given so much for Gondai.” Aimee’s countenance expressed her sympathy, though her eyes reflected nothing of what they looked on. She had been blind since birth.
Aimee led Ven’Dar and me to a large, airy bedchamber with high ceilings. Late-afternoon light spilled through its tall windows. The four men had settled Karon on a wide bed, where he lay as pale as Aimee’s sheets, and so thin and still he might have been an image graven on a stone tablet.
“My lord prince, I’ve summoned T’Laven as you commanded me,” said Bareil. “He will arrive within the hour.”
“Thank you, Dulcé,” said Ven’Dar. He stroked his short beard thoughtfully as he gazed down at Karon, rare uncertainty clouding his face.
Aimee, who was stacking extra blankets and pillows on a nearby chest, lifted her head and raised her eyebrows. “But, my lord, have you not asked for the Lady D’Sanya? I would have thought—”
“No! I’ve sent for T’Laven. You understand, young woman, that no word of our guests is to be spoken to anyone unless I give you leave.”
“Of course, my lord.” Aimee wrinkled her brow as she moved to the hearth and blew gently over her fingers toward the fire. The flames snapped and flared high.
I’d never heard Ven’Dar speak so abruptly to anyone. And for the recipient of his rebuke to be Aimee, who had served both Karon and Ven’Dar in many matters where discretion was required . . . Why would Ven’Dar doubt her? As soon as the thought blossomed, I dismissed it. He’d never have given us into her care if he doubted her. Something else was bothering him.
The prince took his leave before I could question him. “Have no doubt, my lady,” he said, meeting my gaze only briefly as he squeezed my fingers. “T’Laven is a superb Healer. I’ll return this evening to see what he has to report. I have charged Mistress Aimee with your comfort and Je’Reint with your safety. Bareil has offered to assist you with anything you might need.”
Je’Reint took his leave at the same time, bidding me a kind farewell and Aimee an even kinder one. “You will soon completely overwhelm me with your talents and mysteries, mistress,” he said to her, bowing deeply and extending one hand in invitation. “Every day I seem to learn of another.”
She flushed and dipped her knee, laying her hand in his. “Good sir.”
Je’Reint kissed her hand, and as he straightened from his bow, his fingers seemed reluctant to allow hers to slip away.
Bareil excused himself. The prince and Je’Reint followed him out, pausing at the doorway to confer quietly.
Je’Reint’s gaze flicked several times to Gerick, who sat on the gleaming wooden floor with his back against Karon’s bed, elbows resting on his drawn-up knees, the heels of his hands pressed into his eyes.
Aimee ran her fingers along the edge of the tabletop and set a glass of wine on the curved-legged table between my chair and Karon’s bed. “Here, refresh yourself, my lady,” she said. “You must tell me what you need. I’ll have rooms made ready for you and your—” Her voice dropped to a polite whisper. “Is it your son here with us, my lady? He has not spoken. And someone else with him, I think?”
With skill, experience, and some wondrous working of her Dar’Nethi gifts, Aimee could read some enchanted books, find her way about her house and the city, and pursue her talent as an Imager, using her power to create exact images to match the ideas in another’s mind. She used this same power to connect an individual’s presence with an image in her own mind, that is, to “recognize” the person, but only if the individual had spoken to her. It was easy to forget she couldn’t see everyone in the room.
“Oh, Aimee, please excuse my rudeness. Yes, my son is here, and his friend Paulo, who stayed here with me so many years ago.”
Poor Paulo looked as if a brick had fallen on his head after witnessing Je’Reint’s obvious attentions to Aimee. Karon and I had not failed to note our young friend’s casually placed inquiries after Aimee’s well-being over the past years.
“Welcome, my lord and good sir,” said Aimee, bowing her head and extending her palms in their direction. “May I offer you some refreshment?”
Paulo crouched beside Gerick and whispered a few words, then stood up again after Gerick shook his head slightly.
“If we could just have a bit of ale or tea for the young master. He’s had a rough—But he’ll be fine if he could please just have a sip. Or if you could tell me where it is, I could get it.” Paulo’s eyes darted between the young lady and the floor, and his freckles pulsed in a sea of scarlet.
Aimee’s smile had the brilliance of raindrops in sunlight. “Of course, I should have thought to bring in ale and water, too. We must fetch Andeluthian ale for Master Karon—it is so nourishing—and a bowl of fresh water to soothe him. And it is very kind of you to offer to help. Though I can carry quite a lot, I do have a problem getting it all set down safely.” Much to Paulo’s discomfiture, she beckoned him to accompany her through the doorway that Ven’Dar and Je’Reint had just vacated. “Would you prefer ale, also, or water or wine? Or saffria, perhaps? I’ve some newly brewed.”
Paulo’s color deepened, if possible, but he was saved from the desperate chance of having to speak to the lady again in public hearing by the return of Bareil with a slight, dark-haired Dar’Nethi man of middle years. The stranger’s floor-length tunic was scarlet, trimmed in yellow, and his left arm, bared by the silver brooch that held his draped sleeve, was covered with a network of uncountable white scars. This man was a Healer of extensive experience.
Bareil introduced the stranger as T’Laven, recognized for many years, the Dulcé said, as the finest Healer in Avonar.
T’Laven flushed at this introduction. “No man can hear himself called the finest of Healers when in the presence of Prince D’Natheil. I am honored beyond all telling to be entrusted with the knowledge Prince Ven’Dar has shared with me today and with the care of my noble lord. If it comforts you to know it, my lady, I am one of those who followed your husband when he lived among us, studied his work, and listened to his words as he demonstrated talent not seen since the Catastrophe diminished all talents. Every day of my life I strive to emulate the grace with which he practices our Art.”
“Nothing could reassure me so well,” I said. “But you must call him Karon now. He no longer answers to your late prince’s name.”
T’Laven dragged a green-cushioned bench up beside my chair. “Now, lady, if you would please tell me the course of his illness. I see how heavily it lies on him, and I would not rouse him from Prince Ven’Dar’s enchantment just to tell me what another might report as well.”
The Healer shook his head gravely when I finished my description of the past three months. “So long . . . unfortunate . .
.”
“I understand the cost of the delay, Master T’Laven, and I’ll not hold you to account for the workings of fate any more than a Dar’Nethi would do.”
“I’ll do everything I can for him, madam.”
As T’Laven stood up and unpacked a small silver knife and a strip of white linen from a leather case attached to his belt, Gerick at last took his hands from his eyes, unfolded himself from the floor, and came to stand behind my chair. The Healer bowed and extended his palms, his expression politely neutral.
“T’Laven, may I introduce our son Gerick. Gerick, this is T’Laven, a Healer sent by Ven’Dar.”
I could not see Gerick’s expression or whether he offered any greeting in return. The Lords had taught him that the Dar’Nethi were greedy, conniving, and cowardly, unworthy of the great talents they hoarded and constrained. His only experience of the Dar’Nethi beyond his father and Kellea had been as the master of Dar’Nethi slaves during his cruel childhood in Zhev’Na and as their reviled prisoner in Avonar. Knowing that half the population of Avonar would put a spear through his heart and the remainder recoil in horror at the first hint of his identity, one could not expect him to have endearing thoughts of his father’s people . . . his own people.
“If my father falters while you do this work”—Gerick’s words were soft and cool—“give me a sign. I can sustain him. I don’t think it will interfere with you.”
T’Laven’s sharp gaze told me how dearly he wished to ask how Gerick might do such a thing, but no note in Gerick’s chilly offer invited him to make the query.
So the Healer nodded and turned back to Karon. T’Laven made an incision in Karon’s arm and his own, and bound the wounds together to mingle their blood. Whispering the Healer’s invocation, he stripped away the barriers of Ven’Dar’s winding and created his link into Karon’s mind and body. Karon stirred restlessly but did not open his eyes.
The evening birds whistled and chittered in the flowered grotto just outside the tall windows. As the daylight faded, Aimee returned. With a touch of her finger, she caused an ivory globe painted with delicate brushstrokes of green to cast a soft light across the expanse of floor. Paulo accompanied her, carrying in a tray laden with a crystal carafe of water, three stemmed glasses, a pewter pitcher, and several mugs. He set the tray quietly on a small table, filled a mug from the pewter pitcher, and gave it to Gerick.
As Aimee drew Paulo out of the room once again, whispering of a light supper for later in the evening, Gerick sat on a footstool beside my chair and took my hand. Callused with his work in the Bounded, scarred by his years in Zhev’Na, his strong hand unraveled the knots inside me. After a while he closed his eyes. Frown lines about his eyes told me he was not asleep.
More than an hour later, a pale T’Laven, his narrow face glazed with a sheen of sweat and his skin showing the transparent aspect of a Dar’Nethi Healer who has expended every scrap of his gathered power, untied the strip of linen that bound his scarred arm to Karon’s. I knew better than to question him right away. He had lived with Karon’s disease for every moment of their link, delving deep into nerve and muscle and tissue seeking out the cause of the illness and the possible remedies for it. Dar’Nethi healing was a formidable calling.
After a short while, the slim Dar’Nethi sighed and raised his head. “It is as he has surmised. To heal such disease is beyond my skill and beyond my judgment. I do most sincerely wish I could say otherwise. With Master Karon’s consent, I have temporarily severed the sensory pathways that cause him such distress, so that for the moment he may rest in comfort. He sleeps even now, and will do so for another hour or two. But you must know, my lady and good sir, that as long as I maintain this remedy, he will remain paralyzed, unable to move, unable to speak save with his mind. Only heavy enchantment keeps him breathing. He has no wish to sustain his life in this fashion, as I am sure you understand better than I, and so, at his sign, I will undo what I have done.”
“And then?” I said, knowing what I would hear, and yet required to ask it in case the universe had taken a left turn and changed its villainous workings.
“He will die, my lady. Not in an hour or a day, but neither will it be so long as a week. Though I will offer what remedies I can, his death will not be easy, but it will be the way of his choosing.”
T’Laven started to add something else, but seemed to think better of it. “If another alternative is available,” he said, “Prince Ven’Dar must inform you of it. I will return tomorrow morning unless you summon me sooner.” He bowed and left the room.
I told myself that I had expected nothing else, but, of course, I had. Gondai was a world of sorcerers. Avonar was a city of power and magic. Anything was possible.
Well, no more of that.
We ate Aimee’s supper of cold roast duck, herb-buttered bread, and sugared oranges at Karon’s bedside, I in the chair, Gerick and Paulo on floor cushions, and Aimee sitting on the footstool when she was not serving us with her own hands. Our attempts at whispered conversation flagged early on. No one wanted to risk disturbing Karon’s sleep, and yet to leave his side was unthinkable. As Paulo followed Aimee out of the room, carrying our still half-filled plates, Ven’Dar returned.
“What news?” asked the prince, beckoning me from the doorway of an adjoining room.
I stood up and then hesitated. “Gerick, perhaps you should come—”
“I’ll stay here,” said Gerick, who had not spoken a word since T’Laven’s verdict. “He oughtn’t be alone when he wakes.”
I followed the prince into the tidy, efficient study adjacent to the bedchamber.
“So what did T’Laven find?” asked Ven’Dar.
“Nothing more than we expected . . .” I told him all the Healer had said, including his enigmatic conclusion.
“Perdition!” Ven’Dar slammed his hand against the window frame and pressed his forehead to the glass. I had never seen him in such a temper.
“What is it, Ven’Dar? What remedy could you or T’Laven know that Karon himself would not? If you can make it any easier for him, we can ask no more.”
“You could ask if I have done everything remotely possible. You so blithely assume such to be true. You think that because he is my friend, I would not allow him to suffer without offering every remedy.”
“And would not my assumption be true?”
“No.”
Ven’Dar turned his back to the window. In the dark glass gleamed the reflection of two tulip-shaped lamps of amber glass that hung from the high ceiling. They looked like the eyes of a great cat peering around the prince’s back. I felt suddenly uneasy, my past experience of the conspiratorial Dar’Nethi undermining my trust.
“Then there must be some good reason for your withholding.”
“I cannot see the Way.”
“I don’t believe that. If anyone among the Dar’Nethi can—”
“I’ve failed to mention certain alternatives for the same reason I came early to Windham. I need Karon’s advice as to whether I should give up the throne of Avonar.”
CHAPTER 3
“Her name is D’Sanya, and though she appears no older than Mistress Aimee, there are not five Dar’Nethi in all of Avonar who fail to believe she has lived more than a thousand years. And in five months’ time, on the day appointed by the Preceptorate, I must yield the—”
“He’s awake.” Gerick appeared in the doorway from the other room.
“Go to him,” said Ven’Dar, offering me a hand up from the couch where I had just settled. “The world will wait.”
I hurried into the softly lit bedchamber, a thousand words of comfort ready. Yet once I’d knelt beside his bed, I couldn’t think where to begin.
It’s all right, love. He lay so pale and still, his eyes closed, a trace of a smile on his lips. One might think him already dead but for his words that shimmered in my mind and body, bearing everything of him. Comforting me. You know it’s all right. I’ve been ready a long time.
Una
ble to answer, I lifted his cold hand, so limp and lifeless, kissed it, and pressed it to my brow. His chest rose and fell almost imperceptibly.
I can’t stay this way, you know.
“I know.”
I miss not feeling things. Not the disease, of course. But a lady’s kiss . . . to do without for very long would be dreadfully boring.
“Your imagination has always been excellent,” I said, smiling through my tears. Paulo came in and joined Gerick, who stood on the opposite side of the bed. “We’ll just have to keep your mind occupied . . . until you’re ready.”
Not too long, I think. I’m not much use. . . .
“As a matter of fact, Ven’Dar came to Windham to ask your advice.” I grasped at anything to stay the future. “Perhaps . . . He was just beginning to tell me about something astonishing. Would you like to hear?”
As someone very wise once said, “Nothing better to be at.”
I laughed at hearing Paulo’s favorite phrase so dryly echoed. Karon had clearly directed his reply to the other two as well, for a trace of a smile lightened Gerick’s somber expression, and Paulo ducked his head and grinned, his cheeks blazing.
“I’ll fetch Ven’Dar, and we’ll make him restart his story.”
When I stepped into the study, I discovered that Je’-Reint had returned. Though I urged them to come in, the prince hung back. “Ah, no. To burden him in these last days . . .”
“He told me not two days ago that life was not done with him yet,” I said. “Perhaps it is for exactly this. Let him help you if he can. He’ll tell us when he can do no more.”
And so we gathered at Karon’s bedside—I in the chair, Gerick and Paulo close beside us on cushions, Ven’Dar on a backless stool, Aimee on a settle beside the door with Je’Reint standing beside her—and listened as Ven’Dar outlined his dilemma.
Gerick’s face grew stony as the prince described D’Sanya’s claim that she had been kidnapped as a girl and held in a prison of enchantment by the Lords of Zhev’Na, the three sorcerers who had rebelled against King D’Arnath and laid waste to nine-tenths of the lands of Gondai.
