THREE
Blaine, wrapped in a quilt, slumped in his seat. A pillow was shoved against the back of the chair. Strips of cloth showed at the split sleeve of his left arm, and his leg was propped up on a small embroidered footstool. It had been the worst injury. Konrad had sewn the wounds shut, using herbal salve and bandages to protect them. Even a small cut could turn septic and cost a person his arm. Blaine trusted Konrad's battlefield dressings more than those of most doctors. Tereza had tried to get Blaine to go to his own bed, but he'd refused. He wanted to be there when Elaine awakened.
Elaine was always weak after a vision, but Blaine had never realized how weak. Her skin had been colder than the snow, cold as death. Only the rise and fall of her breathing had let Blaine know she was alive. Though blood had dripped down his arm and seeped from his leg, though the tree branches had torn his leg and he couldn't walk without help, it was Elaine who had nearly died.
He gazed down at his sister. Her pale yellow hair spilled out over the pillow. Elaine's face was like a mirror of his own. The bones were slightly more delicate, the eyes greener than his own blue, but the twins were still like two sides of the same coin. Their parents had been killed when they were eight; from then on, it had been just the two of them. They had survived for two years before Jonathan took them in. Two years with only each other to trust, to depend on. Mo matter how grateful they were to Jonathan and Tereza, they were each other's family.
He slumped lower in the chair, blue eyes fluttering closed, then open. He struggled to sit a little straighter in the chair. A sharp, stabbing pain ran up his leg.
Elaine's warning had come in time. He and Thordin had dived for cover, but the stranger with them hadn't understood Elaine's yell. He had been a villager from Cortton seeking Jonathan's help. They had been his escort, his safety.
When the tree grabbed the man, they had tried to help. But the tree hadn't felt pain, and where was a vital spot on a tree? Mo heart, no head. They had done their best, but the man was dead. He had screamed for a very long time before he died.
A small sound came from the bed-not a word, more a soft moan. Blaine straightened up. "Elaine?"
She moved under the heap of blankets, head shifting on the pillows.
He reached out, fingers touching her cheek. "Elaine, open your eyes, please."
She opened her eyes. A gentle smile touched her lips. It was the most beautiful smile he had ever seen.
"Blaine, you're all right." Her voice was soft, almost rough, as if her throat hurt.
"How do you feel?" he asked.
Her blue-green eyes blinked up at him. "I'm fine."
He smiled. "I don't believe you."
She glanced at his arm. "You're hurt."
"Konrad fixed me up. I'm more worried about you."
"Why?" She looked puzzled.
He smoothed her hair back from her forehead. Her skin felt blessedly warm. "We sent for a mage."
A frown line appeared between her eyes.
"You nearly died, Elaine. Your skin was cold as ice. We got you home and bundled you up with hot bricks, bed warmers, anything we could think of. But you stayed cold." He answered the question in her eyes. "We don't know what happened to you. Tereza sent for a mage. Even Jonathan agreed to it."
"He agreed to let a mage in the house?" Her voice held soft astonishment.
"We were all scared for you."
"But Jonathan doesn't allow mages inside the house. He almost put" us out when he found out about my visions."
"Visions are not the same thing as real magic."
Elaine smiled. "I remember the arguments."
The household had been divided. Mo one really wanted a mage in the house, but neither did anyone want to turn two young children out. It hadn't been until Tereza sided with those who wished to keep the children that Jonathan had relented.
Jonathan Ambrose was a mage-finder. It was what he did, who he was. He had been a virulent antimagi-cian. After he accepted Elaine and her visions into the household, he had become more understanding, not so quick to condemn everything supernatural as witchcraft. He accepted that Elaine could have unusual powers and not be evil.
Jonathan said Elaine had broadened his mind, and he would always be grateful for that. Without anyone saying it aloud, the twins knew they were loved.
"Is the mage here?" Elaine asked.
"I don't know. I've been here since they put you to bed."
"You're hurt. You need to rest, not sit in a chair."
He grinned. "Like you needed to rest in a warm bed after your vision, not go outside in the winter cold."
Elaine blushed. "I had to go."
"And I had to be here when you awoke."
Elaine reached her hand out to him. They held hands quietly, no more talking. They didn't need words.
There was a knock at the door. Konrad opened the door without waiting for an answer. "The mage is here. Does Elaine feel well enough to come downstairs, if we help her?"
"Why? Can't the mage come upstairs?" Blaine asked.
"Jonathan won't allow the mage out of the kitchen. He says just inside the back door is far enough."
"Do you feel well enough to go downstairs, Elaine?" Blaine said.
"I think so." She sat up carefully, arms bracing against the bed.
Blaine gripped her arm. "You're shaking."
"I'm not cold, but I feel weak. I'm not sure I can walk downstairs."
"Then I'll carry you."
"You'll be lucky to get yourself down the stairs," Konrad said. He stepped fully into the room. "I'll carry Elaine myself."
Blaine opened his mouth to argue, but he realized that Konrad was right. He might be able to limp down the stairs, but he'd never be able to carry anyone.
Konrad was already leaning over the bed.
"I'll need a robe," Elaine said.
Konrad straightened. "Of course. I forget sometimes that you're not a child anymore." He turned around in the room as if a robe would magically appear. Then he turned back to Elaine. "I don't see it."
"It's in the wardrobe."
Konrad moved to the tall, oaken wardrobe that stood against the far wall. He opened the carved doors. Clothes were neatly folded on the many shelves; dresses and a blue robe hung on pegs to one side of the shelves. He pulled the robe out and handed it to Elaine.
"Turn around, please."
"Blaine has only one good arm. Do you really think he will be able to lift you so you can dress?"
"I will dress myself," she said.
Konrad gave a soft snort. "You are too weak."
She clutched the robe in her arms. "Turn around." It was an order.
Konrad sighed, but turned his back, arms crossed over his chest. His straight back said plainly that he considered it all very silly.
Elaine raised herself on her arms, elbows locked. Her arms shook slightly with the effort. Her lips were a narrow line, breath held. The white gown she wore covered her more than some dresses Blaine had seen her in, but that wasn't the point. He didn't understand why a thick gown was more shameful than a low-necked dress, but it was to most women. Or at least to Elaine. He knew better than to argue.
He held the robe out so that one arm was partially open for her. Elaine leaned her back against the headboard, using it to prop herself up. She shoved one arm into the sleeve. He shifted as far as he could to tuck the sleeve on her shoulder. Pain stabbed up his leg. He fell back in the chair, gasping.
"If you would let me help, we could be headed downstairs by now," Konrad said.
"Mo," Elaine said. Her voice was loud, but breathy.
"Modesty is a virtue, Elaine, but this is ridiculous. Let me turn around."
"No!"
It began to dawn on Blaine, for the very first time, that Elaine wasn't this careful around any other man in the house, including the servants. Blaine was sometimes slow on such things, but once an idea hit him, it didn't leave. Elaine liked Konrad.
Blaine glanced from the man's stiff back to E
laine struggling into her robe. Konrad was a widower, able to marry again. He supposed that Konrad was handsome; Blaine had just never considered him in that way. Certainly not as a prospective husband for his sister. He'd never considered any man as that.
Elaine lay back, gasping, on the pillows, the blue robe pulled tight over her chest. Her blue-green eyes stood out fever-bright against her pale skin. Her light wavy hair fell around her face like a golden curtain. She looked almost ethereal. With a shock that went all the way down to his toes, Blaine realized his sister was beautiful. It was a shock, and almost frightening. How had he never noticed?
The question was, had Konrad noticed? He had never seen any sign that the tall warrior thought of Elaine in that way. Of course, until today he'd never thought of her that way, either.
"Can I turn around now?" Konrad's voice was thick with scorn.
Elaine seemed too tired to notice. "Yes," she said.
Konrad turned around. His darkly handsome face was set in a frown. Because he was looking for it, Blaine saw the wince in Elaine's eyes. It distressed her that Konrad frowned at her. Darn. That Konrad's opinion mattered to her that much bothered Blaine. It was silly, but he was jealous. The moment he realized it, Blaine pushed it away from him. He let it go. If the dour Konrad could bring his sister happiness, then who was he to complain? Of course, if Konrad hurt her, that was a different matter. Keeping one's sister safe was a brother's job, wasn't it?
Konrad pulled back the covers. Elaine drew the robe closed over her gown. Without being asked, he picked up her slippers from the floor and slipped them on her stockinged feet. It was a curiously intimate gesture.
He tied the robe's sash with abrupt hands, as though she were yet a child.
Two bright spots of color burned on Elaine's cheeks. She was careful not to look directly at Konrad's face; she couldn't bear to meet his eyes.
He lifted her in his arms, as if she weighed nothing. Elaine put her arms around his neck, face pressed against his shoulder. She looked pale and ill and lovely in Konrad's arms. And entirely too much at home for Biaine's liking.
"Can you make the stairs by yourself, Blaine? If not, I can come back up and help you down."
Blaine shook his head. "I can make it." He would make it down the stairs by himself, or with someone else's help. Blaine would have taken anyone's help in the house before Konrad Burn's, right now.
Konrad nudged the door open and walked out with Elaine in his arms. He never glanced back or asked again whether Blaine needed help. Blaine had said no. It would never occur to Konrad it might not be true.
Blaine levered himself up from the chair, hopping, leaning on the heavy frame. A sharp pain slapped him every time he jarred his injured leg. His arm hurt with a persistent, bone-numbing ache. A crutch with cloth wrapped around the top leaned against the wall. He grabbed it and placed it under his arm. It was his crutch, carved for his height. Monster fighting tended to be hard on a body. As Tereza said, they were all temporarily able-bodied.
Blaine hobbled out the door. Konrad and Elaine were out of sight down the stairs. He balanced a moment in the empty hallway, letting the pain in his leg subside. It hurt to stand with the leg dangling, but it hurt much more to move.
He stood, getting his breath back, preparing himself to hop down the stairs. It had been childish to refuse Konrad's help. He would pay for it in pain. But it was his pain, his privilege not to accept help from the man who made his sister's eyes flinch. He doubted Konrad even realized how Elaine felt. Blaine wasn't sure if that made things worse or better. Probably neither.
He balanced at the head of the stairs, one hand tight on the bannister. A deep breath, and he took the first step. The pain flared up his leg like fire. By the time he reached the bottom of the stairs, he would be nauseated, weak, and feeling almost as badly as Elaine. What price, pride?
Blaine hopped another step down, gritting his teeth to keep from crying out. He'd make the same choice again. A slow, unreasonable anger had settled in his heart against one Konrad Burn.
FOUR
A strange man sat before the kitchen fire. His hair was white as snow, his face dominated by a yellowish beard and a beaklike nose. He smiled at Elaine, gray eyes gentle.
Elaine sat in a chair on the other side of the fire. Mala had put another cup of tea in her hands. The cook was a great believer in the restorative powers of tea.
The man was also sipping tea. A plate of cookies balanced on his knees. It was the treatment any guest would receive, except that most guests would have been seen in the parlor.
Jonathan stood in the middle of the floor, arms crossed, frowning, staring at the stranger. He stood like a guard. Apparently, the kitchen was good enough for this particular guest.
Tereza sat at the table with Konrad and Blaine. They were the audience. Whether they were here to see a real live mage or to witness what Jonathan would do in the presence of one was unclear. It was certainly going to be entertaining either way.
"I am Gersalius, a wizard. I am told you have some magic of your own, Elaine."
She glanced at Jonathan's scowling face. "I don't think of it as magic."
The mage settled back in the chair, one hand steadying the plate of cookies. "Then what do you call it?"
She shrugged. "Just visions."
"Tell me about these. visions," Gersalius said.
Elaine sipped the hot tea, not sure what to say. "Do you want me to describe them?"
"If you like."
She narrowed her eyes, trying not to frown. Jonathan was doing enough of that for everyone. But the mage was being. frustrating.
"What do you want of me?"
"To help you."
"How?"
"For someone who has magical abilities, you are very suspicious."
Elaine looked down. "I don't know what you want me to say."
"Enough of these word games," Jonathan said. "Can you help her or not?" He stood over them like a tall, disapproving cloud.
"Mr. Ambrose, if Elaine had fallen ill and you had called in a doctor, would you be telling him how to do his job?"
"So far, you have done nothing."
Gersalius sighed. "The girl has magic powers. She sparkles to the eye that can see it."
"She has visions; that is all."
Gersalius stood, tea and cookies in hand. "If you insist on arguing with me at every point, I cannot help her."
"Good, then go," Jonathan said.
Tereza said, "Jonathan." That one word held something hard, almost threatening.
Jonathan turned to her. "He has done nothing but speak in riddles since he entered our house."
"You have not allowed him to do much of anything, Jonathan."
"Elaine is not a mage."
"Jonathan," Tereza's voice was gentle but firm, "she nearly died today. It was her vision that nearly killed her. The visions are magic of some kind. We need to know what happened."
"She is not a mage," he said.
"And if she is?" Tereza asked.
Jonathan closed his mouth with an audible snap. He turned away from them all.
Elaine huddled in the chair, the tea forgotten in her hands. Would he send her away if she were a mage? Would she be cast out of the only home she'd known?
Mala came up behind her, placing her hands on Elaine's shoulders. "You'll not be sending her away."
"If we're not wanted," Blaine said, "we can go." His voice was warm with anger. He was struggling to his feet.
"Sit down, Blaine," Konrad said. "No one is sending Elaine away." His voice was very firm when he said it.
Elaine turned in the chair to see. Konrad's green eyes were sparkling, the lines in his face tight with anger.
Would he have been this outraged over anyone's leaving, or was this especially for her? Elaine's face lit with a heat that had nothing to do with the potential loss of her home.
Tereza stood up. "Jonathan, you had better make yourself very clear on this issue."
He spread his hand
s wide. "Well, of course, Elaine will stay, no matter what. This is her home." But there was something in his voice that made Elaine shrink against the chair back. A hesitation, as if he had more to say but left it unspoken. If she were indeed a mage, Jonathan would never make peace with it. Not really.
She didn't want to be a mage. The visions were bad enough.
"Sit down, Gersalius," Tereza said. "Jonathan and I were just leaving so you could get on with your work."
Jonathan opened his mouth to protest. She stopped him with a small gesture. "We need to talk, Husband. And the wizard needs to see to Elaine."
She rarely called him husband. When she did, it was usually the beginning of a quarrel, or at least a disagreement.
Jonathan stood very straight. "If you say so, Wife." Anger was plain in his voice.
"I say so." She left the room first, and he followed.
There was silence for a time, then Gersalius sat down and said, "Describe one of your visions for me, Elaine. Please."
Elaine sipped her tea. She didn't want to talk to the wizard. It wasn't just wanting to avoid strife. Jonathan had taught them well. Magic could be useful, but it was easily turned to evil.
"I don't want to do magic," she said softly.
Gersalius's smile widened. "Child, magic is not a choice. I have known men who wanted more than life itself to do magic but had not the talent. You cannot force magic into your body, nor can you rid yourself of it if it is a natural ability."
"I have seen people who bargained with evil things to gain magic," she said.
"That is not natural magic, Elaine. That is abomination."
"Magic is magic."
"Those are not your own words, child."
She stared down into her cup. "I don't know what you mean."
"Elaine, magic-true magic-is not intrinsically evil. It is like a sword. The steel itself has no leaning to good or evil. It is the hand that wields the sword that dictates whether it will be used for good or evil. The weapon itself is neutral."
Death of a Darklord (ravenloft) Page 3
