His vision narrowed, the edges of his sight were crowded with a swirling cloud of golden sparks on a background of deep forest green.
He grabbed a penitent to steady himself as his knees turned traitor and he crumbled to the ground.
Even as the darkness overwhelmed him, Sulrad felt hands grabbing at him and voices calling out for healing.
“He’s waking.” A gentle hand drew a warm cloth across Sulrad’s brow. “We thought we’d lost you.” Ignal gently lifted Sulrad’s head and positioned it on a pillow adorned with gold embroidery, the one that she had commissioned just for him, the one she had insisted he deserved due to his chosen status, the one he despised for its ostentatious display of wealth
She dabbed at his brow, cold water soothing the fever that raged within him.
Ignal’s face was creased with worry lines even as she hummed softly, no doubt taking pleasure in being allowed to serve him in such a personal manner.
“What happened?” Sulrad tried to sit up, but his arms were useless. He tried to recall how he had come to be in Ignal’s guest chamber. The last thing he remembered was the crowd of penitents pressing in on him.
“You fainted,” Ignal clucked. “Fortunately for you, the temple guards were nearby and able to pull you to safety.”
“Safety from what?”
“From the masses of unwashed.” Ignal almost spat the words.
“I was healing people.” Sulrad called to mind the image of the young girl he had healed, the woman with the young son who was near death, the man with the severed hand. He had been doing the work of Ran. How had it turned from such a great good to this?
“They drained you.” Ignal leaned close to his ear and whispered. “And the crystals.”
“They needed me.” Sulrad gently pushed her away.
“If you are ill, what good can you do them? You need to rest. You’ve been asleep for two days. You can’t do this. I’ve told you before, you must choose whom you heal. You don’t have enough power to heal everyone.”
“Ran is all-powerful,” Sulrad muttered.
“But you are not.” She dipped the cloth in the bowl of water, wrung it out, and placed it on his forehead once more. “You fainted away. Dropped to the ground like a sack of root vegetables. I feared you were dead.”
“I healed them,” he said. “Not all of them, but many.”
“And what thanks did you receive in return?” Ignal waved her hand at a servant who entered the chamber carrying a tray laden with pastries, breads, and cheese. The boy placed the tray beside her and backed out, closing the door behind him.
“Eat,” she said. “You need to regain your strength.”
“I was doing good.” Sulrad glanced at the tray of rich pastry. It made his stomach turn to think of the richness of the food he was being offered. Surely this was not what Ran had in mind for him.
“I healed them,” he said. “Ran’s hand was on the poor and afflicted. It was like nothing I’d ever seen before.”
“Seen before?” Ignal grabbed a mirror from the nightstand and held it before his face. “Look at yourself!”
Sulrad blinked at the image the mirror showed him. His cheeks were sunken, his bones standing stark beneath his sallow flesh. His eyes were circled in dark umber. His already bird-like nose was thin and dry as if the flesh had been stretched tight over the bone beneath. Had a petitioner appeared before him looking as he did, he would have surmised the person was at death’s door. What had happened to him? Had Ran abandoned him? Why had the power fled when he was doing Ran’s holy work?
“See why I was so worried,” Ignal interrupted. “Eat something. And don’t give me the argument that Ran despises those who indulge themselves. You are weak. You need sustenance.”
Sulrad shoved the mirror away. He didn’t want to look at what he had become. “What happened?”
“You were healing the great unwashed masses, when you fell to the ground. They came at you. Even as you faded away, your power continued its healing ministrations. I fear if the guards had not gotten to you when they did, you might even now be dead. I don’t know why, but your magic kept toiling even after your spirit had fled.” She gently touched his face. “You gave me such a scare.”
“And the townsfolk? How many were healed?”
“Do you care? They didn’t. They pressed against you, demanding healing as if it were their right. They cared little that you were in dire straits yourself. They pressed on you even as you lay there in the dirt. They only thought of themselves, crying out that you owed them your magic.” Her face contorted into a mask of anger as she spoke. “I don’t know why you insist on healing those who show not even the least bit of gratitude. You could have brought in golds beyond your ability to carry with that magic, but instead, you squander it on the ungrateful, and now you lay here near unto death yourself.”
“They need me.”
“They used you.” Ignal replied.
“They were infirm.”
“They were greedy.”
“You just say that,” Sulrad explained. “You don’t understand. There was this girl. If I had not healed her, she would be dead. They need me. All of them.”
“Of course they need you. They need food and water. It’s not your business to provide them with everything they need. Does Ran provide for all their needs, or are they meant to toil for their daily bread?” she asked. “And they have no gratitude. They are takers. Nothing but greedy, grubbing takers. How can Ran approve of such a lust for health and healing? Is this not worse than the lust for gold?”
“They’re not that bad,” Sulrad said, but even as he uttered the words, he felt the stirrings of the lie within them.
“Oh, no?” Ignal leaped from the bed and waddled over to the window. She drew back the heavy curtain and threw the shutters open. “Listen to them.”
Sulrad rolled to his side and gazed at the window. The sounds wafting in on the gentle breeze were those of a large crowd. Voices blended together, making it hard to pick out one over the others.
“What do they want?” Sulrad asked.
“They want you.”
Ignal stepped close to the window, drawing a small step stool from the shadows and climbing up.
The voices outside grew louder at her appearance.
“Heal me,” came the cries of a woman.
“My child suffers,” came another.
“Send out the healer,” decried yet another voice.
Sulrad struggled to sit. “They need me.”
“They don’t even know who you are.” Ignal stepped down and drew the shutters closed.
The sound from the crowd below grew louder, more insistent.
“They need me,” Sulrad repeated, but the lack of conviction nagged at him.
“That they do, but what of it? You can’t heal them all. All you managed to do when you tried was to put yourself in a state that will take half a moon to recover from, and in the meantime, they surround us like rotting seaweed washed up on the shore. They stink. They’re filthy. They’re greedy, grubby, small-minded, and selfish.”
Sulrad had never heard Ignal speak so. He wondered what had happened to her to cause such hatred of the very people he wished to serve.
“Ignal. Ran does not distinguish between rich and poor. He cares not that they stink or that their clothes are worn and well-used.”
“Well, maybe he should.” Ignal hopped back onto the bed.
“They will drain you,” she said. “Suck you dry, spit you out, and demand more. I’ve seen it. They care not for Ran nor his beneficence. They only care for themselves. They are greedy, grubbing little gnats that will suck the very blood from your veins.”
“Do they not deserve Ran’s blessings?” Sulrad asked.
“No. They don’t. Can’t you see that? They are greedy. Selfish. They care only about themselves and their immediate families. Not a one considers the welfare of anyone beyond that. Can’t you see that? The wealthy — the ones you despise so much — they
do good. They create wealth that is shared by all.”
Sulrad started to argue, but she waved her hand to silence him. “Certainly the wealthy hoard golds, but they also spend them. Who pays the seamstress for the gowns they wear? The baker for the bread they consume? The butcher for the meat they eat?”
She paused, looking a bit confused. “Well, you don’t eat meat, but you understand what I’m saying. The affluents create wealth that is spread throughout the land. Do you think those folk you care so much for mine gold or cut down trees and saw them into lumber? No, they don’t. They grow just enough grain to feed their families and pay the baron’s due, and that’s it. Not a lick more. They don’t care about anyone but themselves, and it has always been so. You must see this. If you do not, it will lead to your death.”
A single tear escaped her eye and rolled down her cheek.
“You must believe that Ran has more in store for you than a brief moment providing healing to an ungrateful mob followed by an agonizing death. Can’t you see that? Can’t you feel it? You’re destined for great things. Promise me you will never repeat such a foolish squandering of Ran’s power on those who can never be sated. That you will consider wisely before you choose to waste his blessings on those who don’t even acknowledge his power.”
Sulrad took her hands in his, noting the plumpness of her flesh in stark contrast to the stringy, rope-like flesh of his own hands. She was so unlike him, yet she cared for him like no other. He might not always agree with her, but there was no debating that she had his best interest at heart. It warmed him to think how much she cared, but it also brought back memories of his own mother, and how she cared not at all for him. How could Ignal love him when his own mother had abandoned him, calling him unlovable?
“Sulrad?” she asked. “Promise me?”
“I hear your words,” he said.
“But you cannot promise me.”
“I cannot.” He reached for his magic, finding a small reserve deep within him. He released it into her, just as he had before, willing it to soothe her, to calm her troubled mind. The last thing he needed was to have Ignal angry with him.
She drew a breath.
For a moment, Sulrad thought she was growing angry, but before she could utter a word, a calm passed over her, settling onto her countenance as if the clouds had parted and the sun had come out.
“Ran is mysterious,” she said in a voice that sounded far away and distracted.
“He certainly is.”
Sulrad released his hold on his magic and flopped back onto the pillow, exhausted.
13
Kelnor had studied and pondered until the idea hit him. A music box was a device that moved under its own power. If he could mount a crystal on a music box, modified to trace out a spell, he might be able to cast a spell without the presence of a wizard. He’d located several scrolls that discussed how music boxes were constructed. He had acquired several drawings that should have told him how to fabricate one, but so far, the concepts had eluded him. The one he currently studied described techniques in vague words, assuming the reader was already familiar with them and that they needed no explanation. He threw the drawings on his desk and shoved his chair back.
He had chosen to work in his room to avoid prying eyes, but the tools he’d managed to acquire were too crude for his purposes. The mechanism was complicated. It had been fabricated by a master toymaker, and Kelnor’s skills with tools fell far short of those. Perhaps he could find someone with the skills. Not in Amedon, but somewhere he’d visited on his way? He could travel the void if he needed, not that he relished the thought, but he could do it.
He shuddered. The last time he’d crossed through the void, it had taken him days to recover. He’d emerged starving and dizzy and hadn’t felt like himself for half a moon. How someone like Garlath could travel without seeming impact was a mystery. It was said that everyone experienced the void differently. Well, Kelnor knew he wasn’t meant to travel that way, but the idea of the music box nagged at him until he couldn’t put it out of his head.
Scouring the more recent scrolls, he found tales of a skilled toymaker in a place named Radlage. It was less than a day’s travel from Dandina, a city he had visited on his way to Amedon. Dandina was a fair-sized city with many unique buildings that he recalled in great detail. He had been no more than a lad when he last visited, but his recollection was clear. There was one particular statue that caught his eye. The sculpture had carved the body of a horse with the head and torso of a woman. The woman was beautiful and stirred feelings in Kelnor that he had never really shaken. Sometimes when he’d had a particularly infuriating day, he would imagine that statue coming to life. The woman offered much-needed comfort and attention. Enough. He could travel there. He recalled it vividly, and that was all that was required.
He packed a sack, pocketed a handful of silvers, and paused. It was getting late. The evening meal had already been served and sunset was fast approaching. Was now a good time to travel? Perhaps it was. Arriving in a town early in the morning would raise suspicion. Arriving late in the day would make more sense. He shouldered his pack.
“Et ampererit mihi me exiler kupig.”
When some wizards invoked this spell, the portal to the void sprang into existence with a pop. For him, it was more of a whimper. A tiny golden spark appeared before him. It slowly traced a circle in the air, a handful of spans in diameter. With agonizing slowness, the golden spark circled, leaving behind a faint line that grew slowly brighter and brighter. He hated that he was the least powerful wizard around. Most of the new recruits were better at this than he was. But if he was right, he would soon be able to invoke spells on a scale that none of them ever would. Then they would remember his name.
He let that thought entertain him as the agonizingly slow spark finally completed its work and the shimmering silver surface appeared.
“Dandina, here I come,” he muttered and took a step into the mirror surface.
As he entered the void, his guts twisted. He was on a narrow dirt path that wound its way through a series of windows. He peered into one of them. He always did, and he always regretted it. In the window, a woman screamed at a young boy to finish everything on his plate or get the switch. She berated him for wasting food when so many went without. The young boy choked as he attempted to finish a portion that would have better suited the blacksmith or farmhand after a hard day’s labor.
He turned away. That image was not one he needed any mirror to recall. He’d relived it often enough. He wondered what had happened to his governess? She had been ancient when he was a boy. Certainly she had since passed on. Perhaps one day he would return home, seek out her grave, and relieve himself on it.
Enough. None of this was helping. He turned his memory to the image of the centaur. The woman was portrayed with her head turned slightly toward the rising sun. Her hair had been tied back in a single queue that fell over her left shoulder. Her face was round, her nose slightly shorter than Kelnor’s own, with just a hint of spread to it that gave her an exotic look. She wore no jewelry, and only a halter on her human torso to give her a touch of modesty. It was the eyes that had captivated him. They were, of course, blank, but they appeared to be looking straight into the rising sun as if watching expectantly for something that Kelnor longed to see himself.
He reached out toward the statue and almost tripped.
The plaza around the statue had been rooted up since he was last here. The paving stones that had formed the smooth floor of the plaza were gone, replaced by grass and large stones. The statue had a look of neglect to it. It was covered in moss and stained as if from a dark rain. How could they abandon such beauty?
“Hey, you. Get off the grass,” a city guard shouted at Kelnor. He advanced, hand on the hilt of his sword, his armor gleaming in the last light of day.
“Sorry. I just wanted to get a closer look,” Kelnor muttered.
“Well. Look from behind the stones.” The guard pointed to a neat
perimeter of stones set in a circle about the statue.
“Sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Just be on your way.”
“Yes, sir,” Kelnor said. “Can you recommend a nice inn? I’ve only just arrived.”
“And already breaking the peace.” The guard jutted his chin down the street. “Three blocks down. Take a left at the livery. Two blocks, and you come to the Elf Tavern. They have rooms for travelers that won’t set you back too much, and the fare is hearty.”
Kelnor nodded and set off. The inn was precisely where the guard had indicated. Had the guard offered his name, Kelnor would have sought out another place, but since the guard did not, he took it as a genuine recommendation, and not some way for the guard to make extra coin.
The Elf Tavern was small as taverns went. The public room had space for about a dozen patrons if you didn’t mind the crowding. The place was filled with what appeared to be townsfolk, and the evening meal had been cleared away in favor of more serious drinking.
Kelnor shuddered. He didn’t need any of that. His guts were still uneasy, and he had a lightheaded feeling that made it hard to think.
“A room for the night,” he told the man behind the desk.
“Just the one?”
Kelnor peered at the man. He was in his early twenties with a scraggly beard and rough face. He appeared to have spent many a day out in the sun from the looks of his skin.
“Just me.”
“Seven coppers. Morning meal is included. Not fancy fare, mind you, but hearty. Starts a glass before sunup and stops a glass after. You oversleep and you’re going to go hungry, or you have to pay extra for the inconvenience.”
“Understood.” Kelnor slid the coins across the counter without paying much attention.
The man retrieved a large brass key and motioned him to follow.
The room was small. The ceiling was so low, Kelnor had to duck to enter. The bed was narrow but serviceable. There was no wardrobe, no desk, no washstand.
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