Unleashed Fury (BloodRunes: Book 1) (19 page)

“It's a pleasure to formally meet you, Lord
Farthen,” she said as he took her hand and kissed it with obvious
flirtation. “Though we've never spoken, I've heard quite a bit
about you.”

“The pleasure is mine,” he answered and got
straight to business. “I hope now that we have met, that we'll have
a long future of association between us.” He dismissed the girl
with a nod and a slap on her rump. Then he turned his full
attention to Jezebel. “How much talent do you have?” he asked her
bluntly.

Jezebel stared at him, taken aback by this
direct question. She took a moment to weigh the pros and cons of
telling him this information, and decided on a vague half-truth. “I
have a fair amount with some additional training. Why?”

He nodded, apparently pleased, and continued.
“That is what I had heard about you as well. Your talent is why you
will be a perfect addition to the project. What I'm about to tell
you is to be kept in the strictest confidence whether you decide to
join us or not, understood?” She nodded her consent and made a
motion for him to get on with it. “Well,” he said with growing
excitement, “through an excavation of one of the ruins, we have
come into possession of an ancient text.”

“We?”

He ignored her question. “We've spent months
studying it, and have finally managed to translate a good portion.”
He paused for dramatic effect. Jezebel stared at him,
expressionless. He looked disappointed in her lack of enthusiasm
and she congratulated herself on her patience, payback for his
ignoring her. “We've discovered one of the spell books that somehow
managed to survive the book burnings. And now that we have
translated it, we have access to several spells that were
previously thought to have been lost forever.”

Jezebel couldn't contain her excitement at
this bit of information, though she tried. “What kind of
spells?”

Lord Farthen smiled now that he had caught
her attention, showing pointed canines. “The first few were
trivial,” he waved a hand unceremoniously, “but there is one that
we have yet to try. It involves the use of the forgotten
runes.”

“Runes? You mean like bloodrunes?”

“Indeed.”

“Blood-magic!” Jezebel exclaimed with feigned
outrage. “What makes you think that I would support anything that
has to do with a forbidden art?”

Lord Farthen simply smiled at her again,
unfazed. “You are not the only one with an informant network, love.
And not everything you do is done behind tightly enough closed
doors.” The last was said in a warning tone, and Jezebel took heed.
She wondered how much this man actually could have found out.
Perhaps she would have to hold off on that reward for Devon, and
instead have a chat with him about his secrecy. Lord Farthen wasn't
finished, however, and he went on, “And besides, you want a Council
seat, and I can help you get it. We both know that times are
changing; we can only benefit from getting a head start on our
peers.”

Not that she was expecting an honest answer,
but she asked the question that burned in her mind anyway. “How
exactly will I be doing you a favor by you sharing this information
with me?”

She was surprised to get one that seemed
sincere. “Why Jezebel, with you on the Council, you can speak out
in support of the ancient rituals and perhaps reinstate things. I
think we both know that our fine new King will be amiable to this
suggestion, and with his Council nudging him towards legalizing the
use of blood-magic...I'm sure you can find an angle to properly
convince him. And since part of what we want from you in return is
the use of your talent to perform a trial of these runes,” he
paused again, “well, let's just say that you'll be more motivated
to want it to be legalized.”

Jezebel wasn't sure that she enjoyed the
bluntness of this man. Getting involved in something like this
could ruin her if it got out before she was able to convince the
King to change the law. However, she always had her father to get
her out of any trouble she got in, and besides, who would dare do
anything to
her
? “I find it hard to believe that I could
convince the whole Council to go against established rules,” she
told him, fishing for information, though she was quite sure of her
abilities.

“Oh, I have faith in you,” was all he
said.

Jezebel caught a hint of something that he
wasn't saying. “And if I refuse?” she asked.

“Then this conversation never happened.” This
time there was an unveiled threat behind words.

“Very well,” she said after a pause. “I
accept your invitation and look forward to further communications
with you on the subject.”

Lord Farthen smiled broadly, reminding her of
a weasel, and he answered, “Good! I've already given orders that
the text would be copied for you and it will be arriving to you
shortly.” He held out his hands in an apologetic manner. “It's
protocol that it go through certain channels to reach you or else I
would have entrusted the book to you personally. However, this,” he
said handing her a bit of parchment, “is the key to reading the
text, and this I can give to you directly. I also look forward to
our continued acquaintance, and will enjoy hearing all about your
successes both in this matter and in the political field.”

She found it slightly obnoxious that he had
been so sure of her acceptance, but much too intrigued to take it
back out of spite. They exchanged a few pleasantries while they ate
the food that the servants had brought for them before Jezebel took
her leave of him. She was eager to get home to read this new book
and begin formulating her plans for it.

When she arrived, Devon was waiting for her
in the library, a large wrapped package in his hand. She took it
from him greedily, and tore it open. She shooed him out of the
room, and then set the book reverently on the table before taking a
seat beside it. She ran her hands over the cover, delighting in the
soft feel of the leather bindings, and carefully cracked it open.
She had a split second of puzzlement as she started reading about
horse-breeding, before catching herself and digging the bit of
parchment out of the hidden pocket in her dress. The parchment was
a single word in the old language, a command of power, and Jezebel
read it aloud. The bit of parchment spontaneously combusted, and
the words on the page in front of her shimmered and rearranged
themselves to a new pattern. “The ancient art of blood-magic,” it
read, “was first used by...”

CHAPTER 13

Layna sat in front of the fireplace, prodding
at the thick concoction that Mila had been adding odd ingredients
to all morning. “What exactly is this going to be?”

Mila chuckled at her and answered, “It’s a
plaster for setting broken bones, specifically for the little boy
who will be coming in to have his broken leg set after breaking it
underneath a wagon wheel.”

“Are you a seer now too?” Layna asked
incredulously, causing the woman to laugh again.

“Hardly, child. But I do make it my business
to know what’s going on.”

Layna sighed. Mila was a pleasure to be
around, and she had a wealth of knowledge stemming from years of
research and experimenting. Despite her old age, she was as witty
and sharp as ever, and could still remember every ingredient to any
potion or poultice she had to mix up. But she was cryptic. Layna
found it difficult to get a straight answer out of the healer. Most
of the time she would make Layna guess what ingredients she thought
should be added to a potion before telling her what it really was
supposed to be. At least Layna was improving her own knowledge, and
the guessing game had become slightly less frustrating as she
learned what each of the individual ingredients was for.

Layna had been learning a lot about the world
in general during her stay with Mila. She had never realized how
sheltered she had been in a noble household – even with all the
rumors of what really went on there – and before that at her
family's isolated farm. Her troubles now seemed minuscule compared
to what some of the patients who came through here had to deal with
on a daily basis. Many could not afford to pay Mila conventionally
for her services, and Mila ended up with all manner of unusual
substitutes for her fee. She was happy to accept whatever form of
payment they were able to make; even, in one case, a song by a
traveling minstrel who had nothing else to offer. Mila had accepted
it as though it was the most valuable gift he could have given her,
and the healing inside had matched the healing of his body when he
left.

Contrary to Layna's former belief, Mila
actually did have talent, and she used it without reservation for
any that traditional medicine wouldn't help. How Mila had managed
to hide the fact that she healed with talent from detection, or
learned how to use it in the first place, was one of those secrets
she refused to share with Layna. Even without the use of her
talent, Mila was able to fix almost any ill, and made it her
mission to heal anyone and everyone who needed it.

It was more than could be said for the temple
healers. They had healing talent for sure, but were much stingier
in their use of it. Like most things, it cost a small fortune to
have them use talent to heal you, so again only the nobles could
afford it. Layna had seen one of the temple healers performing on a
Miracle Day, and it was incredible what they could do. She had seen
them cure a man of the final stages of the plague, right before her
eyes. His lesions had visibly shrunk to nothing, and his grey
pallor had disappeared. By the time he left, he looked as though he
had never been afflicted.
If they would just offer that to
everyone, imagine the suffering they could end!
But they
didn't. They had free clinics that would use the type of healing
Mila did, but they were nowhere near her proficiency, and without a
steep fee, talent was never an option no matter how dire the
situation.

A knock sounded at the door, and Layna
hurried to answer before Mila could lift her stiff body out of her
chair. Layna opened it, and was surprised to see the woodsman –
Charles - carrying a small boy. The boy's eyes were red and swollen
from crying and he was whimpering softly.

“Move aside, young lady,” ordered Charles
gruffly.

Layna complied, holding the door so he could
carefully maneuver the boy in without bumping his leg. He carried
the boy to the bed next to Mila's chair and set him down gently,
brushing a stray blond hair off his forehead.

“There you are laddy, Mila here'll take real
good care of you, don't you worry one little bit.”

“That's right,” said Mila comfortingly.
“You'll be back to frolicking about in no time.” She handed him a
steaming mug. “Here, drink this.” At the boy's hesitation she
added, “It's a simple sleeping potion so that you won't feel it as
we set your leg.” He took it from her and sipped it carefully, with
a look that said he was expecting it to be disgusting. His eyes
brightened as he tasted the sweet liquid, and he gulped it down.
Soon he was sleeping soundly, looking peaceful despite his leg,
which seemed to be lying at an odd angle.

“His leg's all puckeroo,” Charles informed
them needlessly.

Mila pulled back the boy’s pant leg, and felt
around at the bone. “Hmmm, good good,” she mumbled to herself.
Suddenly, with an audible snap, she popped the bone back into
place. She held out a hand to Layna, who offered her a rag after
dipping it in the plaster they had just made up. With expert hands,
Mila wrapped the rag around his leg, and held her hand out to Layna
again. They repeated this process to create a cast for the boy so
that his bone could heal.

When the cast was in place, Mila held her
hand above his leg for a few moments, and Layna knew she was
beginning the healing process by creating webs with her talent. She
wouldn’t heal the whole thing, as doing so would require a great
deal of strength to actually grow new tissue. It would also result
in needless pain to the boy, whose body would have a harder time
adjusting to it being healed so quickly. In short order, Mila had
finished, and she pulled the covers up tight around the sleeping
boy. He snuggled into them, a peaceful smile playing on his
sleeping face.

“Don't know how to thank you,” the woodsman
said brusquely to Mila.

“It's nothing, Charles; you would do the same
for me.”

“Hmph,” he grunted in reply. He then asked,
“Do you mind if I let him sleep here a bit? I've gotta be someone's
factotum, and then I'll come back to fetch him?”

“That would be fine.”

The woodsman nodded his thanks as he stepped
out. “He's a little strange, don't you think?” Layna commented to
Mila as soon as Charles had left.

The woman looked at her sharply. “You'd best
hold your tongue when speaking ill of others. Poor Charles can come
off a bit strange, but he is one of the noblest men I’ve ever met
and he has his reasons. His life hasn’t all been pleasant. You
should be careful to reserve judgment until you understand the
reasons behind people’s seemingly odd actions. More often than not,
first impressions are false impressions.” She paused, and her tone
took on a lighter note. “Though he does sometimes practice a bit of
epeolatry.” She winked at Layna, who shook her head and wrinkled
her nose, having no more idea what Mila had just called him than
she did when talking to the man himself. “I think most of it is an
act to keep people from asking questions,” Mila added as an
afterthought.

“What happened to him?” Layna asked, curious
to know the whole story despite her embarrassment.

“It's not my place to tell you,” Mila
answered with a shrug. “If ever he decides you should know, you
will. Until then, just keep in mind that you have no idea what has
happened in anyone's life but your own.”