A Flame in Hali (31 page)

“What nonsense is this!” Eduin shouted, shaking Saravio even harder. “You blockhead! She’s nothing more than a suicidal girl with more
laran
than is good for her! Can’t you see, she’s turned the whole castle into a tomb! We’re here to help her, not join in her delusions!”

“Join her, yes! Join her . . . Join . . . Aaah!”

With an inarticulate cry, Saravio tore himself from Eduin’s hold. Unsupported, he toppled to the floor, but not before the first convulsions shook his body. His spine arched, striking the back of his skull against the floor. The carpet muffled the impact. His breath came in ragged gasps between clenched teeth. Between half-narrowed lids, his eyes showed as crescents of white. For an instant, the fit relaxed and he howled out a single, unrecognizable syllable.

Eduin stood, breathing heavily, watching as his friend twitched on the carpet. He was so angry, he could not bring himself to place a cushion beneath Saravio’s head.

Let the nine-fathered
ombredin
thrash himself into bruises,
he thought furiously.
Just so long as he comes out of it and sees reason.

But what if Saravio did not
come out of it?
What if he persisted in seeing poor Romilla as the incarnation of Naotalba? What if he obeyed her command to
join her?
What then?

Then, Eduin decided as he stormed out of the room, he himself would have to find a way to control the girl. But without Saravio’s mediating influence, he would be once again naked against his old compulsions.

Ah, what was the use of it? He had spent the better part of his life trying to anticipate
what might happen next.
The old proverb rose to his thoughts.

Who was laughing now?

Eduin sank down against the far wall and covered his face with his hands. Of course, the gods were laughing at him. The truth he had been hiding from himself was that his control over Saravio was a joke, a figment. Saravio was daily slipping into his own delusional world, seeing only what he wanted to see. The man who had rescued Eduin from the Thendara gutters, who had once been a Tower-trained
laranzu,
was long gone. Once Eduin had reached Saravio in the depths of his madness by entering the other man’s mind. He still flinched from the memory of that contact, the psychic storms, the nightmare visions, the first meeting with Naotalba. He never wanted to do it again and now the fear took root in his mind that in the end, he might have to enter Saravio’s mind to restore him to enough sanity to control his talent.

Eduin was not yet ready to take that step. It might not be necessary, he told himself. Saravio might improve on his own in the safety and comfort of Kirella. Regular meals, a warm bed at night, rest—these might do much to heal an injured brain. And if not . . .

Eduin would deal with that necessity when the time came. The first time, he had been taken off guard, unprepared. Next time, if there were a next time, he’d know what to expect. He would be ready.

Once the fit had passed, Saravio lapsed into a sleep so profound that he did not rouse even when Eduin lifted him gently onto the bed. Eduin paced the length of the chambers before settling down to his exercises again. He practiced a little on Saravio, monitoring his channels.

Saravio was still unconscious when, late in the afternoon, they had another visitor. At Eduin’s call, the door swung open to admit the court physician. At his heels came a young servant carrying a large leather satchel, presumably medical supplies. A pair of guards stood just outside the door.

“Rodrigo Halloran, at your service,” the physician said, inclining his head to show that he need not bow to any ordinary man, let alone some nameless ruffians the Lord had taken a momentary liking to.

“May I be of assistance?” Eduin asked.

“It is rather
I
who have been dispatched to render assistance to
you
. His Lordship is greatly concerned regarding the health of his guests, and it is by his order I am here to examine the patient. I understand your brother has not eaten or left his room all day.”

There was no point in protest, not with the guards right there. Eduin stepped back, gesturing with one arm to the chamber where Saravio lay.

“He sleeps within. Pray, do not disturb his rest.”

“I will determine what is best for the patient,” the physician said.

Eduin stood in the doorway while the physician conducted his examination. For a man without Tower training, he was remarkably knowledgeable in the way he studied Saravio’s breathing, rolled back his eyelids, tested the firmness of his skin and his reflexes, as well as his responses to stimulation. He even loosened the fastenings on Saravio’s robe and placed one ear against his chest, then straightened up and felt for the pulses at his neck and wrist.

“Quite unwell,” the physician muttered, shaking his head. To Eduin he said, “Your friend has unwisely exerted himself beyond his capacities. I suspect an apoplexy of the brain, although I cannot determine its extent until he regains consciousness. You must prepare yourself for a period of prolonged convalescence. The most prudent course is to bring him to my own quarters, where I may provide the best supervision.” He turned toward the door, clearly meaning to summon the guards to carry Saravio away that very moment.

“He is very well where he is, I assure you,” Eduin broke in. “I am perfectly capable of tending him, and I—”

“You cannot realize the seriousness of the situation! You have no medical training!”

With an effort, Eduin spoke calmly. “I have been his companion these many months and I am familiar with his condition. This is not the first such episode, nor will it be the last. A little rest will see him right again.”

“I will not be responsible!”

“Of course, you are not, and I will be happy to inform His Lordship that you have done everything possible. We are grateful for your attentions, but really there is no need to trouble you further.” Eduin moved to the door and opened it. He ushered the still-protesting physician and his assistant into the corridor.

Eduin waited until the footsteps of the guards had died away before returning to Saravio’s chamber. He bent over the unconscious man and for a moment, could not recognize him as the same who had befriended him on the streets of Thendara. He wasn’t sure Saravio’s own mother would have known him, with the stubble of silver covering his skull, the deep hollows around his eyes, the gaunt lines of cheekbone and jaw, the bitten lips. And this was the man upon whose fragile sanity all depended.

What, by all the gods men knew and those they had forgotten, had he gotten himself into?

S
aravio had still not awakened that evening. Eduin waited as long as he dared before venturing into the public areas. Luck was with him, for there was no formal dinner that night; Lord Brynon kept to his quarters.

The next morning, Eduin wandered down to the kitchen, just as he had in his years at Arilinn. Here he felt more at ease than at any moment since arriving at Kirella. The cook, a pleasant-faced woman with a Dalereuth accent, offered him freshly brewed
jaco
and the last of the yesterday’s bread with a little honey.

The cook bustled about, ordering the day’s meals and supervising the scullery maids to be sure they chopped the onions finely enough and sanded the cookpots clean. Eduin sat in a corner, sipping the hot
jaco
and listening to the scullery maids talk. One girl spoke of her fears for two of her brothers, conscripted for foot-soldiers. Another replied with the story of border raids by Isoldir forces disguised as bandits, yet another of the broken betrothal between Romilla and the Isoldir heir, which the cook insisted had never happened and if it had, it had involved her grandmother, not the girl herself, and therefore could not be the cause of all this trouble, no matter what ignorant gossip said. Eduin returned to his rooms with the added news that Lord Brynon would dine that night with a select few of the court, including the miraculous Sandoval.

The cook happily set aside a meal for Eduin to take up to Saravio, packets of meat pies and a ramekin of baked custard, still warm and fragrant.

“For as much as he’s done, saving the young lad’s life as we’ve heard, he deserves a rest. Half the busybodies in Kirella will be after a sight of him. And there’s the young
damisela,
” the woman’s ruddy features turned somber and she bit down on her lower lip. “There, I’ve said too much already. You just take that pudding up to your friend and see he eats it up.”

Eduin doubted that Saravio would be awake enough to eat the custard, and he was right. For the moment, Eduin let his friend rest, hoping that a period of quiet would restore him.

Afternoon wore on, and still Saravio slept. The dinner hour loomed closer with each passing hour. Eduin became increasingly anxious. He dared not appear alone at Lord Brynon’s table.

In the end, Eduin decided that he must brave Lord Brynon’s displeasure, even appearing without Saravio. Trouble would certainly follow if he did not come at all. This evening, only a small group of courtiers dined with their lord. Eduin was placed at the main table, two seats down from Lord Brynon himself and opposite the court physician, who made little effort at a civil greeting. Romilla sat beside her father. She wore her customary white, the dress of a young noblewoman, funereal rather than spritely against the hollowness of her features. Only when her gaze met Eduin’s did her expression take on a hint of animation. She laid one pale hand on her father’s, and he bent to listen to her whisper.

“Where is your brother?” Lord Brynon asked, once the roast haunch of beef had been carved and the bread and stewed roots passed around. “I hope he is not taken ill. We had hoped to thank him properly for his services. My daughter, in particular, has a number of questions for him.”

It could have been worse, Eduin thought. At least, Lord Brynon’s tone was still cordial. He had not yet run out of patience. Best of all, the girl was clearly interested.

“Sandoval the Blessed would be exceedingly grateful for your concern, were he able to receive it,” Eduin said. He kept his voice low and meek. “He has become aware of a terrible danger that even now draws nigh upon this fair land. He is communing with the gods, for without their intervention, great harm will soon be upon us.”

Aillard’s brow furrowed, darkening his eyes. He did not look like a man who would ordinarily give credence to
communing with the gods.
Yet his son would surely have died without Saravio’s intervention. Aillard was enough of a soldier to know that no merely human medicine could have saved anyone with such an injury. Beside him, his advisers exchanged glances.

“It is just as I told you, is it not, Papa?” Romilla spoke up. “Last night, my dreams . . . The time of fire is coming, and soon it will engulf us all. Then darkness will stretch all across the land. What will happen then, I cannot foresee, but the very thought chills me to the soul.”

“My dear child,” Lord Brynon responded, placing his hand over hers, “your concern for the welfare of Kirella does you credit. These are desperate times indeed. The world is full of evil, and we have our share of enemies. Do not trouble yourself. War and statecraft are better left to . . . to those older and wiser, skilled in such matters.”

Eduin noticed that he did not say,
left to men,
for in Aillard lands, women held full and equal rank. Someday, Romilla would make those decisions, if she lived that long. Aillard trod a delicate line between his responsibilities as Regent and the need to train his daughter to eventually assume them.

Romilla was clearly aware of this, for she lifted her chin. Her voice dropped in pitch so that she sounded like a mature woman, rather than an impetuous child. “Certainly, Kirella is in need of all the wise counsel that can be gathered. But some day this will be
my
kingdom. I have the right to hear this counsel and judge for myself.”