by Andrew Rowe
He bit into his tongue just a little bit – deliberately, to make a distraction from the far worse pain in his arm and side. It didn’t help. “Talk.”
“Aladir is going to check on you soon. He’ll do a little more life sorcery on your arm. When he’s here, I need you to ask him to go get someone else to help with your treatment. Liarra Dianis.”
His mind was still swimming, but even in his half-conscious state that name sounded unusual. “That’s almost your name. Mother, or a sister perhaps?”
“She’s my sister.”
“Not seeing why this is such a problem, or why you haven’t asked her yourself.”
“I – You can’t tell Aladir I asked. Or that she’s my sister. And Liarra can’t know I’ve been here, at least not until I tell her.”
“Still not seeing why you haven’t asked Aladir directly.”
“If you ask, he’s not going to be all that suspicious. Just say she’s well-known for treating poisons and diseases. That’s true, and Aladir will almost certainly already know that. If I asked, he’d probably notice our resemblance, in spite of the efforts I’ve taken to change how I look.”
“Why wouldn’t he have gone to see her already on his own, if she’s an expert?”
“People don’t usually just randomly go asking strangers for help, Jonan. He’s not going to ask her on his own because he’s planning to go ask the Paladins of Tae’os to send someone in the morning. You need to convince him to bring Liarra here instead, and to do so immediately.”
“Because she’s more skilled or something?”
“No. Because she’s more likely to know the most efficient treatment for this particular poison.”
“Why?”
“Because I think she made it.”
You have got to be fucking kidding me.
“Okay. I want to ask why you think that, but on the other hand, I pretty much feel like I’m roasting in a fire right now, so let’s save that for later. Is it safe to say she’s not actually one of the assassins herself?”
“Probably.”
“Okay, I’m a little slow right now, so let me see if I’m getting this right. You want me to convince Aladir to go get someone who may or may not be one of the people who tried to kill us in the first place. I also can’t tell him that this was your idea, that she’s your sister, or presumably that she might be one of the assassins. And he already has another plan that seems infinitely more rational on the surface.”
“Yes.”
“You were a little off before, Rialla. You said I wasn’t going to like this plan. That would be somewhat like saying I wouldn’t like being actually lit on fire, in addition to the more metaphorical internal fire I’m already experiencing, and also that the fire was somehow made out of bees. An infinite number of bees. That’s more like the scale of how much I abhor this idea, Rialla.”
“Glad to see you’re feeling more like yourself.”
“Oh, be quiet and get the paladin so I can try to convince him that your sister is single and ripe to be impressed by his masculine healing abilities.”
“Actually, she’s only a couple years younger than he is, so that’s not necessarily a bad –”
“Just go get Aladir before I decide that cutting the arm off is the easier route.”
***
By the time a soft knock sounded on the door to Jonan’s room, the pain in his arm had shifted from consistent burning to an agonizing throbbing that pulsed with his heartbeat. Making the effort to ignore the pounding just drew his attention to it further, and the sound of the knocking – out of sync with the beating of his heart – somehow worsened the effect, like discordant notes in a song.
Not sure what the point of knocking is, since I’m not exactly going to turn away visitors.
“Come on in,” he greeted with false cheer. The door opened slowly, cautiously, a moment later.
Aladir Ta’thyriel was largely unremarkable to Jonan, as someone who had spent much of his life among Rethri. A hair taller than average and with forest green eyes, he moved with a certain timidness that masked the grace that Jonan had seen him demonstrate in earlier encounters.
This normalcy was not, however, why Jonan felt that something about Aladir was implausibly familiar. The paladin’s face, his eyes, even his voice struck the scribe as being a mirror to someone he had once known, but could not place. It was not the pain robbing him of clarity of mind – he had sensed this same fragment of certainty with each encounter.
Fortunately, that was not the most pressing concern on his mind.
“How are you feeling?”
Jonan groaned. “Come closer, I can’t hear you over the sound of my life slipping away.”
The Rethri gave a sharp smile. “Glad to see you’ve still got your sense of humor.” He sat in the same chair next to the bed that Rialla had used, but with a slight lean toward the right, most likely caused by his scabbard brushing against the floor. “Let me take a look at that arm.”
“Please, by all means. You might not want to buy it now, though – I hear it’s going to be on sale soon. Half off.”
Aladir rolled his eyes – which looked somewhat awkward to Jonan due to the Rethri lack of sclera - and leaned forward. The paladin put his hands on the injured limb, frowning as he moved his fingers across the surface.
Jonan frowned, too, even though he couldn’t sense whatever Aladir was diagnosing – he could barely feel the other man’s hands against his skin. He knew intellectually that that was probably due to the persistent chilling effect from Rialla’s sorcery, but nevertheless the lack of sensation was deeply disturbing.
“The necrosis is spreading in spite of our best efforts. I’ll do what I can to repair some of the damage, but life sorcery is best at accelerating natural healing – and natural healing can’t treat this kind of injury. Essentially, I need to force your body to try to rebuild the corrupted areas. It’s inefficient and unreliable, but it will slow the deterioration of the limb.”
Jonan nodded from his bed. Sensing that his usual sarcasm wouldn’t be an appropriate response to the diagnosis, he fumbled a more applicable reply. “I know life sorcery isn’t easy, and that you’ll pay a cost for helping me. Thank you.”
“Just wish I could do more. Hold still for a bit.”
Aladir began to hum softly, closing his eyes and slipping his left hand under Jonan’s arm. He pressed two fingers of each hand against the entry and exit wounds, and Jonan watched as a golden green glow manifested on Aladir’s hands.
No incantation? That’s unusual for a Vel – shit, shit, that hurts.
Jonan still couldn’t feel the pressure of Aladir’s hands, but the flames within his arm burned with renewed vigor. Gritting his teeth, he resisted the urge to complain, though only barely.
Minutes passed, though in his state Jonan had no capability to count them. By the time the glow subsided, the scribe was shivering in his bed and Aladir’s forehead was matted with sweat. A trickle of blood dripped from the paladin’s nose, which he wiped away with a cloth from one of his pockets.
“I’m sorry, I don’t believe I can continue right now.” Aladir broke into coughing after he spoke, covering his mouth with the other side of his now-bloodstained handkerchief.
The scribe sat up slightly, moving his right arm to clutch at his left, which was still burning with agony. He could see blackened veins within the arm, which showed no sign of recovering in spite of Aladir’s treatment. “Thanks, you’ve done more than enough.” It felt like a lie, but he felt the need to express his gratitude.
“It’s never enough. Ironic, given the words of my house.” Aladir shook his head. Jonan wasn’t familiar with the reference, so he failed to find an immediate reply.
Aladir stood on wobbling legs, turning to leave. “My healing is not the right solution here. I’ll see to it that we find you someone who has expertise at treating poisons in the morning.”
“Liarra Dianis.” Jonan spat out the name, which had been hovering near th
e front of his mind, waiting for an opportunity to escape. It occurred to him afterward that a bit of context might have been helpful to avoid suspicion.
“Hm?” Aladir turned back toward Jonan, resting his hands on the back of the chair where he had been sitting.
“Friend of a friend,” Jonan explained. It was easier for him to be deceptive while hiding within the shadow of truth. “Please go see her. I’ve heard she’s an expert at these things, and I’m not sure my arm is going to last until the dawnfire rises.”
The paladin raised a hand to his forehead, wiping away sweat. “I’m not sure that would be wise. Even ignoring the late hour, Liarra is – in spite of her talents – quite inexperienced.”
Hm, he already knows her. That could make this easier or harder.
“And, given her age, I’m not certain on how her father would react to my midnight arrival and request for her to help me with a potentially dangerous procedure.”
Jonan ground his jaw. Playing mind games to get a life-saving procedure was not what I envisioned when Lydia asked me to help her with this.
Nevertheless, he put on his most charming, friendly tone. “Oh, come now, Aladir. You’re a handsome fellow, and from a well-respected family. At worst, her father might take this as being an overture of interest in his daughter – who would probably make an excellent match for you, given your mutual interests in healing.”
“That’s part of why I’m worried. Torian has approached me about taking Liarra as a research partner twice now. In Rethri society, that’s a thinly veiled way of trying to imply a romantic match.”
“I’m not sure I see the problem.”
Aladir tapped his fingers on the chair. “It would be discourteous to do something that could be construed as a false demonstration of romantic interest.”
Be patient, Jonan. Just because the paladin is bad at relationship talk doesn’t mean he’s not trying to help you.
Jonan unconsciously rubbed his forehead. “Okay, just tell them that I – as the patient – asked for her specifically because of her excellent reputation.”
Aladir stood up a little straighter. “And a friend told you about her?”
“Right.” Shit. Did he put it together? “Besides, House Dianis is as famous at sorcery in general as House Ta’thyriel is for healing. I even thought about going to the Dianis University when I was younger.”
The paladin nodded at that – it was a valid explanation.
“If I end up with a wife because of this, you’re going to owe me an apology.”
The paladin’s tone was so deadpan that Jonan couldn’t be certain if it was a joke. Nevertheless, he laughed – and kept laughing until Aladir turned to leave the room.
“Deal.”
***
Jonan was already awake when his next set of visitors arrived. This was not due to any improvement in his condition, but rather because the persistent nightmares that shredded his mind each time he slept had forced him into a wakeful state.
He had gradually managed to push himself into a seated position, his back pressed against the bed’s wooden frame, and he had rested his injured arm in his lap.
The dull agony within his limb had continued to spread gradually outward, and he watched with morbid fascination as the blackened veins within his arm continued to spread. Unable to avoid fixating on the wounded region, he was absently tapping his right hand in time with the pulsing of his heart when the door to the room opened.
“Oh,” said an unfamiliar voice. Jonan glanced in the direction of the door. “I was not expecting you to be awake, or I would have knocked. Forgive me.”
The intruder was a Rethri man, which made his age difficult to judge. From his carefully tailored trousers and silver-gilded overcoat, however, Jonan appraised him to be a man of wealth. His eyes were ocean blue, indicating a strong bond to the Dominion of Water.
“Oh, don’t worry. I wasn’t busy.” Jonan gave a weak smile.
“Nevertheless, I’ve been rude, so you have my apologies. Torian Dianis, at your service.” The man bowed formally at the waist, his right hand folded in front of him.
You’re not quite the Dianis that I asked for.
“Jonan Kestrian. I would bow, but given the circumstances…”
Torian chuckled lightly. “May my daughter and I come in? In spite of appearances, I’m somewhat practiced in treating injuries, and my daughter more so.”
Jonan nodded. “I would be grateful for any help you can provide.”
The man stepped inside, beckoning to an unseen figure outside of the room.
A demure figure followed, stepping into the doorway and inside. The young woman was bronze-skinned and lithe, her eyes the deep brown of Selyr’s trees. She wore a green dress lined with golden thread, which served to accentuate the green highlights in in her brown hair.
Her resemblance to Rialla was instantly apparent from the angles of her face, but her poise was antithetical to her sister’s. Where Rialla had the grace of a predator, this girl showed only the innocence of prey.
Perhaps it was the thought that she could bring relief to his pain, but Jonan found the brown-eyed woman instantly captivating.
“Master Dianis, Miss Dianis, thank you both for coming to my aid on such short notice. Please forgive my disheveled appearance. I would be most grateful for any help you can provide.”
“Of course.” Torian approached the bed. “Master Ta’thyriel already regaled us with tales of your selfless bravery on the way here.”
Selfless bravery? Do they think I’m Taelien or something? Maybe they’re in the wrong room. Maybe I’m in the wrong room.
Jonan stretched his arm out across the bed toward the approaching man. Torian visibly winced when he got a better look at it, beckoning for his daughter to draw closer.
“I can potentially slow the spread of the toxin with a stability effect,” Torian offered, “But unless Liarra can remove it, there will be little chance of saving your arm.”
“I understand. Please, do what you need to do.”
And I’ll watch closely to make sure you don’t make things worse. Where’s Aladir? I could use his extra set of glowy green eyes about now.
Torian nodded gravely and pressed both of his hands against Jonan’s arm, closing his eyes for several moments. His lips tightened into a line. “The poison has spread beyond the arm. There is also a spell effect of some kind still in place around the injured area – it is already slowing the spread of the poison and attempting to filter out the poison, but with little success. I take it this was Master Ta’thyriel’s work?”
Jonan shook his head. “No, I believe it was – uh, my friend Vorianna.”
“It is a clever effect, but one that will need to be undone for Liarra to work. Ice sorcery would prevent her curative spells from spreading in the same way it is attempting to slow the poison.”
Well, uh, that’s bad.
Aladir arrived in the doorway a moment later. “Apologies for the delay, I needed to advise the ladies of the house about the situation. Lady Nakane wishes to visit at some point, but I told her that now would be an impertinent time.”
Liarra never turned her head toward Aladir as he spoke – in fact, she seemed to be deliberately looking away from him. Jonan would have been quite intrigued by the implications if he wasn’t currently embroiled in worry about both his arm and the next necessary step.
“Ah, Master Ta’thyriel.” Torian lifted his hands from Jonan’s arm and turned. “Can you summon the sorcerer who cast the ice spell on Master Kestrian’s arm? It needs to be undone for Liarra to work.”
Aladir quirked an immaculately groomed eyebrow. He looked about as skeptical as Jonan felt. “Vorianna is resting – she exerted herself significantly in the battle. Is reversing the spell strictly necessary?”
“I’m afraid so. Liarra utilizes nature sorcery in her curative techniques – and, as I’m certain you are already aware, that interacts poorly with ice sorcery.”
Aladir scratched at
his chin, in spite of it lacking any growth. “Very well, I will seek her out and return shortly. In the meantime, I would advise making any necessary preparations.”
“Of course.”
Nature sorcery – that’s interesting. Explains her beautiful – I mean brown – eyes. Attempting to restore the body to its natural state is a logical way to treat poison, but it’s probably not going to be pleasant.
He had expected Liarra to be a water sorceress, since water sorcery was much more common and frequently used to treat poison. Water shaping – manipulating the composition of liquid – could be used to separate the poison from the blood and remove it from the body, most likely by draining it directly through the exit wound. He had never experienced that kind of treatment before, but he had seen it performed by a Thornguard friend in Selyr.
Nature sorcery, on the other hand, would not separate or expel the poison – it would attempt to force the body to break the poison down into something harmless.
Both forms of sorcery could potentially make certain maladies worse – specific toxins reacted differently to sorcerous intervention. This was, Jonan believed, why Rialla had insisted on her sister examining and treating the wound. If Liarra had created the poison, she would be aware of the proper treatment to use.
Of course, Jonan considered, Rialla probably assumes her sister would want to undo any damage to innocent victims like myself. It’s probable that Rialla is being hopelessly naïve, and there’s a good chance I’m about to be murdered by her uncomfortably attractive sister.
I suppose there are worse ways to die.
“I – can I examine your wound, Master Kestrian?” The girl turned her head in Jonan’s general direction, but neither directly toward his eyes nor his wound.
Adorable. Yes, of course you can, murder-mistress.
“I would be much obliged if you did so, Miss Dianis.”
The brunette scurried closer, still never meeting his gaze, but finally turning her attention toward the injured limb. To her credit, her look on inspecting the wound was one of curiosity, rather than the abject horror her father had displayed. She reached down, lifted his arm slightly, and gingerly turned it over, inspecting the exit wound. Frowning, she leaned closer and sniffed it.
