Blood and Shadow (The Mage's Gift Book 1)

by Robin Lythgoe

  Deishi offered a strained smile. “Evidently I said something they didn’t like.”

  “That’s it?” Suspicion lashed all four of them.

  The beasts snarled and shifted to put themselves between Sherakai and danger. Deishi held his hands up and took a step back. Iniki appeared to ignore them, but the faint light of aro crackled around him.

  “What did you say?”

  “If I repeat it, they might do more than howl like demons. I’d rather not provoke them, sir.”

  Iniki snorted and turned back the way he’d come. “Quit fooling around and get him to the healer’s rooms.”

  “Right away, sir.” Deishi watched him go, scratching his head thoughtfully. Then he started up the corridor, giving Sherakai and the beasts a generous berth. “Does he like this Tylond fellow?”

  “Not much. He gets impatient with him. Tylond is not… He, ah…”

  “Go ahead, spit it out.” Deishi managed to retain his good nature in spite of what he’d just learned.

  “He isn’t like the healers I’ve known,” Sherakai admitted. A trickle of warmth made its way down his temple. He pressed his palm over the cut again. “He likes pain.”

  Deishi walked with his head down, then shook it. “What is this place?” he muttered under his breath.

  “No place I want to be.”

  Chapter 74

  He led the way to the rooms Mage Tylond claimed, only to find the healer gone. The boy that served as his assistant fiddled with the sash around his waist and dithered about whether to invite them in or send them out entirely. Sherakai solved his dilemma by shouldering his way past.

  “You’d best go find your master,” he suggested. “Mage Iniki sent me up. I’m leaking.” He moved his hand to show the boy.

  With two mages involved and the beasts smiling like they’d enjoy him for a snack, the boy fled.

  “Come here often, do you?” Deishi asked, walking around the room and picking up the occasional item to examine. This outer room boasted a bank of windows to shed bright light on a high wooden bench upon which Tylond examined his patients. Elsewhere, there were tables with bowls and beakers and pestles. Shelves held books and scrolls, jars and boxes, stacks of herbs and stones. From the rafters hung bunches of herbs and a few cages. Deishi peered inside one. The creature inside stared back.

  “Sometimes. Usually, he comes to me.” He took a bandage from a basket full of them, wiped his hands, and pressed the cloth to the cut.

  He set the cage to swinging, eliciting a squeak and a scrabble of claws. “Is that because he likes you or because you can’t walk?”

  Sherakai opened his mouth, hesitated, then went on. “Both. He doesn’t actually like me, but he likes to do things to me.”

  “Should I ask what sort of things?”

  “I’m not sure I could tell you exactly. When he heals, it hurts. And loves prescribing elixirs. Mostly nasty-tasting.” He grimaced in remembrance of the last. “Watch the door please, Fesh? Teth? Let me know when Tylond is coming so I can brace myself.”

  Teth slipped silently out the door. Fesh grinned as he followed.

  As soon as they’d gone, Sherakai headed to the shelves to poke through an assortment of small bottles. He chewed on his lip as he lifted one, then the other. Blood continued to seep from his wound. He kept wiping it, but didn’t let it interfere with his search. New roommate or not, he had no intention of changing the plans he’d made with his sister.

  Deishi picked up a book at random. “Haenmach’s Methods of Pain,” he read, and flipped through the pages. “This is awful. He made proving your words easy, didn’t he?”

  “I’m not sure he cares if anyone knows. Here at the keep, at least. I don’t know if he leaves very often. There was another healer with the soldiers that captured me.”

  “Captured?”

  He pulled a cork and sniffed one of the bottles. Wrinkling his nose, he closed it, put it back, and tried another. “All part of Tanoshi’s song of tragedy.” He heard an intake of breath, but Deishi held his tongue. Finding what he sought, Sherakai slipped the bottle into his pocket. He turned around to find his companion only a few steps behind him with a clear view to his thievery.

  He pointed to Sherakai’s pocket, then to the shelf, brows lowered.

  Sherakai shook his head.

  “That hardly inspires confidence.” He pointed again as he spoke, lending double meaning to his words.

  “I can’t begin to tell you.” His chin came up, challenging.

  Deishi shook his head in warning, or perhaps only disappointment.

  Sherakai held his hands palm up, revealing the binding scars. It earned him a frown and shrug. At least he had the sense not to speak aloud.

  “I have heard rumors about your family.” Deishi took a stone from the shelf and held it up to the light as if it might reveal some arcane secret.

  “Bairith found a way to quiet them and make my father look mad into the bargain.” He made his way to the stained and polished bench and boosted himself up on it. Dropping his shirt onto the wood beside him, he swung his feet. “Or he really is mad, and I’m a liar.”

  “There’s that.” Deishi nodded, rolling the stone in his hand. “Can you prove you’re not?”

  Noisy chittering came from the hall, then Teth appeared. Lips drawn back from his teeth, he looked ready to take a bite from one of them.

  Deishi dropped the stone back where it had come from and went to stand near Sherakai. “You’re going to need to tell me your story, and I advise you do to it sooner rather than later.”

  “Do what sooner rather than later?” Tylond shoved Teth out of the way with one foot as he entered, leveling a warning finger at the creature. It seemed a bold move for him.

  Teth licked his chops. A menacing growl reverberated in his throat.

  “Get out,” Tylond ordered.

  Sherakai liked the little frissons of fear he saw in the mage’s aura. “Did you help make them?” he asked at the same time Deishi started to say, “Oh, I was just—” and stopped.

  “Whatever gave you that idea?”

  Teth’s growl turned into an odd, barking yowl of rage. He circled Tylond, huffing and snarling.

  “Out, you bloody beast!”

  He snapped at Tylond’s hand, then sauntered to the door. Tylond snatched his bloodied fingers close to his chest, cursing in two languages.

  “It was just a guess.”

  “Are you badly hurt, sir?” noble Deishi asked, and got an elbow to the chest for his consideration.

  “I am fine; it’s just a scratch.” Going to a table, Tylond held his hand over a basin and poured from a pitcher of water to wash away the blood. The two young men watched silently as he struggled to open a jar with one hand. When he finally succeeded, he spread a sweet-smelling unguent over the injury, then wrapped it in a clean cloth. Judging by the territory it covered, Teth had given him more than just a scratch.

  “I need some of that. Sir.”

  “For what?”

  Sherakai pushed his short hair back, showing the gash in his head. Tylond approached to inspect it.

  “You,” he said to Deishi. “Get the water and a cloth. Clean this off so I can see the damage.”

  Deishi grinned and winked at Sherakai, but did as he was requested.

  Sherakai shut his eyes as pink-stained water dripped down his face. The attention hurt enough to make him wince, but he made no sound.

  “Can you sew?” Tylond asked.

  Alarm zinged through him. Through Deishi, too, according to the magic.

  “Me? Ahm… no.”

  “Are you squeamish?”

  Deishi darted a look to Sherakai, then shook his head. “No, sir.”

  “Good.” Tylond produced a curved needle and a length of silk. Cutting the thread gave him a little trouble. He launched into a lesson in stitching skin as he handed them to Deishi.

  “Where’s your assistant?” Sherakai asked.

  “Not here. Do you want stitches
or a flap in your skin to gather infection?”

  He hadn’t inspected the cut close enough to know if any flapping was involved. Head wounds bled copiously, he knew from previous experience. Most likely, Tylond just wanted to cause him more pain. “Does it need to be sewn, Deishi?”

  He shrugged in apology. “I’m no expert. It’s as long as my finger and there’s a bit of a hook on one end. Your hair will cover it, either way.”

  He didn’t much care about a scar. He did care that it was going to hurt, and Tylond would enjoy it. “Do it.”

  “Have you got something to numb the area?” Deishi asked, smoothing wet hair away from the cut.

  “No,” the healer lied.

  Did he care that Sherakai knew it? His fingers curled around the edge of the bench. If Tylond didn’t know he could see a lie, Sherakai wouldn’t correct him. It was worth a little pain now in return for surprising him when it really mattered.

  “Why ever not?” Deishi asked, astonished.

  “The usual supplies from Kelamara never arrived. Something about the weather.” Tylond poked at Sherakai’s head, then went to retrieve a pair of shears and handed them to his new assistant. “Shall we get on with this, or are you going to give me instructions in how to stock my infirmary?”

  “I swear I saw a bottle of—”

  “No, it’s empty.”

  “Can’t you just Heal him?”

  The mage peered at Deishi with narrowed eyes. “If I went around healing every little cut and bruise in this keep, I’d have no time for people who are truly injured or sick, like Lady Mimeru.”

  “Just do it, Deishi,” Sherakai cut in. “I’d rather not sit here and bleed.”

  “Oh, by the Well, I’m sorry.”

  He’d never heard that particular exclamation. Before he could ask, Deishi dabbed at Sherakai’s head, then quickly cut away the hair around the gash. It smarted enough to make Sherakai’s eyes sting. He wished that was all the operation would do, but in short order he had to clench his teeth against the stab and draw of needle and thread. His knuckles turned white. His eyes watered so badly he couldn’t see, and all the while Tylond coached Deishi in exactly how to hold the skin together and knot the thread.

  Fesh crept in, hunching along the floor, whining softly.

  “Stay back, Fesh,” Sherakai ground out.

  “It’s fine. We’re done,” Deishi announced, setting aside the delicate instrument of torture and washing his hands in the bowl.

  “Already?”

  “I could put in another row, if you like. I must say, the stitching is rather fine.”

  Tylond applied an ointment that smelled bad and burned as much as the stitches had. Then he pressed a folded cloth to Sherakai’s head. “Hold this here until it stops bleeding.”

  “Yes, sir.” He wiped his eyes with the back of one hand. Deishi looked on with the most eloquent expression of disapproval Sherakai had ever seen. Sliding off the bench, he gathered his shirt and started for the door.

  “Are you neglecting something?” Tylond scolded, expecting thanks, no doubt.

  “No, sir, I am not,” and out he went. He stopped around the first corner to pull his shirt on. Fesh held the bloody cloth, sniffing at it until Sherakai snatched it and put the thing back where it belonged.

  “What an awful man,” Deishi muttered, coming up behind him. He held out a jar. “I grabbed this for you.”

  “The stuff he used on himself?” He opened the jar, inhaling the scent of comfrey, yarrow, mercywort, and… green.

  “Yes. He must have forgotten to give it to you.” A frown hovered like a thundercloud on his brow.

  “You stole this? For me?”

  “I left a coin in its place, but he has more. You were right about him. I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you. I mean that.”

  Deishi laid a hand on Sherakai’s shoulder companionably, his smile chasing away the gloomy look. “Are you going to tell me about the bottle you borrowed?”

  He had no intention of giving it back or paying for it. “Not yet.”

  “Fine, I won’t hold you down and force it out of you. Yet. Tell me your story. What really happened to you and your brothers, and what are you doing here?”

  Sherakai looked sideways at him, weighing his instinct against his distrust of anyone in this place. Finally, he let out a sigh. “Very well, story time it is.”

  Chapter 75

  Iniki hadn’t told them to return to the practice grounds, and it was too early to go to Bairith’s study for lessons. Deishi left Sherakai at the door to their rooms to go hunt for ‘a little refreshment.’ He came back with a bottle of whiskey and a supply of rags.

  “I have every intention of using some of this to medicate myself,” he announced. “But first, your head.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Removing the slop that so-called healer applied.” He sloshed some of the alcohol onto a rag and got down to business.

  “Ow!”

  “I’ll be quick, and I’ll warrant the salve Master Tylond held back for himself will make this feel much better.”

  “If it doesn’t, I’m going to punch you.”

  “What? After all the work I’ve gone to to help you? You ingrate.”

  The beasts prowled back and forth a few feet away, distrustful, yet not aggressive. Evidently they liked Deishi, at least a little.

  Sherakai grinned and clenched his fists—a contrast he found odd in the extreme. Two rags and quarter of a bottle later, they discovered that the sweeter-scented salve did indeed provide relief. It smelled like mossy shade and felt as cool as a stream. “Oh, that’s nice,” he sighed, now with a length of fabric tied around his head to hold the bandage in place. Propped against the pillows on the bed, he folded his hands over his belly.

  “Drink?” Deishi offered, waving the whiskey bottle. “Just a swallow. You’re too young to start on a habit now and besides, it’ll make you bleed faster.”

  “I’d rather avoid making a deliberate visit to the infirmary, thank you very much.”

  “Probably a wise choice.” He poured them each a little, then jammed the cork into the neck and went to tuck the bottle into his wardrobe. Doffing his boots, he ran a hand through hair that had somehow remained perfect during hard exercise and unplanned surgery. He was nauseatingly handsome.

  “Are you married?” Sherakai blurted before he thought the better of such a personal question.

  “Me? Gods, no. How about you?”

  He couldn’t help a snort of laughter. “No.” He might never marry if he didn’t get away from Bairith.

  “Women aren’t that bad.”

  Sherakai gave a little wave of his hand. “I like women. I just don’t know if I’ll—Never mind. I’m too young anyway.”

  Deishi dragged a chair close to the bed and grunted as he dropped into it.“You are a master of indecision and mystery.” He lifted his cup in Sherakai’s direction to toast him, then took a hefty swallow. “Is this dithering something to do with the story you’re about to tell me?” He propped his feet up on the bed.

  “Partly, yes.” He scrunched his nose, wondering if telling his tale to Deishi would help or hinder his cause. He couldn’t think of any way that sharing the facts would change his own plans. It was, after all, just a story and he had no intention of telling anyone about his escape plans.

  “Maybe the telling of it will help you put things in a new perspective,” Deishi offered gently.

  He looked to Fesh, hoping for some sort of guidance, but the beast only returned the look with a sense of patient waiting. It was enough.

  “Four years ago, my sister married Bairith Mindar,” he began. “I hardly remember it, except for making myself ill on the treats, but Bairith wanted something from her that he didn’t get.” He pressed his lips together, brow wrinkling. “He wanted a child, and when she didn’t get pregnant he turned to magic to fix her. That didn’t work either, so he took my brothers.”

  The whole wretched story sp
illed out of him little by little. Watching Fesh helped him keep his emotions at bay, and the creature crept close to sit by the bed where Sherakai could reach his head. His brothers’ deaths, his father’s journey to the capital, the efforts to get him away and to the safety of the college sounded like something from a harrowing folktale. It spiraled into horror filled with magic, pain, threats, and insane promises. Now and then Deishi asked questions, more to clarify than to discredit him.

  “The tattoo—can I see it?” Deishi asked. Skepticism and sympathy shaded his aura in equal measures.

  Sherakai rolled up his sleeve and held his arm out.

  Deishi touched the mark lightly. “By the snow of the Father’s beard. I can feel—prickling. Energy.” He shifted his grip to study the cut across Sherakai’s palm. “This doesn’t look very new.”

  “It was Healed.” He pulled away, drawing his knees up. He wished he could be alone. The illusion of a wall between them was just that, an illusion.

  Deishi sat back and looked into the bottom of his empty cup. He’d long ago finished the contents. “What will you do?”

  “Even if I had a plan, I couldn’t tell you. I can’t trust anyone here.”

  Breathing through his nose, Deishi let out a long sigh. “I can see why. What about them?” He waved his cup at Fesh. To his credit, he didn’t demand answers to things Sherakai wouldn’t freely share.

  “I’ve come to like them,” Sherakai admitted. How foolish was that? He pressed the heel of his hand against the bandage and closed his eyes. The pounding of his head in the wake of getting clobbered was nothing new. Every other day seemed to offer another way to give him a headache. “They treat me kindly as long as I do what I’m told. They’re his, though, whether they wish to be or not.”

  Fesh chittered softly, unintelligibly. Sherakai reached out blindly to rub his head.

  “That’s good. You’ve had a fiendish time of it, haven’t you?”

  “Still alive, though.” He managed a crooked smile, but a childish wish chased it away. “I thought my father would come for me.” For all that he’d looked forward to his Second Rites and begged to be treated like a man, he desperately wanted Tameko to come riding out of the mists, sword raised, and an army at his back. Surely the news that he was still alive and in Bairith’s hands would have reached Tanoshi by now. Not all of those who had attended Lord Chiro’s gathering could keep a secret.