“Quickly, please, gentlemen,” said Durstan, leading the way at a trot.
When we arrived it was to an all-too-familiar scene and my heart grew leaden. Marik was sat up at the head of the bed, his back pressed against the carven headboard and his bony shoulders shaking despite the heaps of blankets and furs that covered him. The look of blank terror in his eyes was one I had hoped never to see again. My worst fears were dispelled in the instant, though, for however deep his fear he retained his fragile hold on sanity. “Maikel, help me!” he cried when he saw me. I was deeply grateful that he had called upon me and not Berys. “It’s back, it’s come back.”
I strode to the bedside, summoning my corona, and put a hand on his shoulder. His hand reached out for me and gripped my arm like a talon.
“What is back, my lord? Are you in pain?” I asked, gently sending my healing power into him.
He shuddered and relaxed enough to breathe. I kept up the flow of healing, trying to soothe his panic, and in a moment he turned to me. Ah, well, I thought, at least the terror in his eyes is focussed now.
“No, no, not pain, it’s the voices.” He let go my arm and grasped his hair in both hands. “I’m hearing those damned voices again. Make them stop!”
Berys sat on the bed on the other side of my master and spoke quietly. “What are they saying, Marik? Can you make out speech?”
I started. Certainly this was a novel approach. It had never occurred to me that the voices might be saying something real.
“But there are so many!” he wailed.
“Try to choose one, any one, just a single voice, and listen to it alone. Can you do that?”
Marik concentrated. I admired him even then, able to think when he was so frightened. I am a creature of loyalty, you see. It can be a terrible handicap.
“There are two that are louder—the rest are only like whispers in another country.”
“Choose one of those two, then,” said Berys calmly. “Concentrate. What is it saying?”
He closed his eyes, frowning. “Something about … recovering … alas for the wound that will not heal—” He opened his eyes. “The two loud voices have gone. What in the Hells am I hearing, Berys?”
“I do not know. Listen longer and perhaps we will learn. Can you hear anything yet?”
“Wait!” interrupted my master. He was showing genuine interest for the first time in many months. I could not help but be pleased. “There’s only one now, but it’s stronger. ‘Did you learn much from the—summoning,’ I think—it’s stopped, but I think it’s waiting for an answer—yes! ‘I answer to both, Kédra, Lanen frequently calls me Akor and does not even realise’—Hellsfire, Berys!” yelled Marik, and Berys and I jumped. My master’s eyes were open and clear and his voice was strong, even though it was shaking with emotion. “Hellsfire, it said Akor! Lanen and Akor! Someone who knows Lanen is talking to that damned silver dragon that almost killed me! I’d have sworn it was dead!”
“Listen! Tell me!” commanded Berys.
Marik, still shaking with fury, closed his eyes again. “It’s talking to someone called Kedra—‘it would not astound me, the Kantri on Kolmar again, it would be a wonder.’ Now it’s stopped—wait—‘I never thought they would be … this is a vast land. We forget how’—something—‘Kolmar is … those who do not seek out the company of the Gedri need never endure it.’ Now it’s gone quiet—wait—‘I will tell Lanen when she wakes—my head hurts’—no, it’s over, it’s gone.”
Marik sat back, shattered, astounded, but no more astounded than I was. Berys, once the first shock was over, appeared calm, but I would swear he was as amazed as we were.
“Be at peace, my friend,” he said to my master. “I fear you are overtired. I will prepare a sleeping draught for you.” He turned then to me. “My thanks, Healer Maikel, but Marik and I will pursue this on our own. It is late, and I think we have all had enough excitement for this night. Go you to your rest, my friend. I will tell you of it in the morning.”
I was about to object when I realised that there was a nimbus around Berys. The faintest of hints, but he was calling his power to him. I had no wish to be struck down again and to waken once more as his willing slave. I bowed. “I trust to your greater knowledge, Magister, and to the strength of your gift. I give ye good night, my lords.”
I trotted off, the obedient servant, and as soon as I was certain I was not observed I rushed back to my own chambers. I am not a vain man and had not for several months gazed into a mirror longer than it took to shave, but now I stared intently at myself, at my eyes.
There was nothing to see. If I had had a glamour cast upon me my eyes would be dimmed, that I might see only what I should. A glamour cast by a lesser Mage would last a few days at most. Berys’s had been in place for nearly two months.
That was not possible. He would have to have renewed it several times, no matter how strong he was.
And why not? I thought to myself bitterly. I had slept in the same shelter as he ever since the deep winter, he could have drugged me or—yes, if he had no principles he could have cast me into the sleep all Healers use for desperately wounded patients, and then sent the glamour upon me like any hedge wizard, any night he chose, as often as he chose. Demons made all such work much simpler.
Glamours are the work of the Rakshi, not of Healers.
Goddess. That smell.
My poor master. I could do nothing to save him from Berys. I was simply not strong enough. And his daughter, that valiant lady I had come to know on the return from the Dragon Isle—what had she to do with all of this?
I stopped in midstep. Sweet Lady. The voices Marik was hearing were real. Who was he listening to? I cursed to myself as I realised I was still too weak, too alone, and I returned to what I was doing. That poor girl, caught up again in Berys’s machinations. My only ray of hope was that the dragon, Akor, had been mentioned. I had seen him bring the Lady Lanen, desperately wounded, back to the camp for healing, and he had threatened Marik with death or worse if he did not take good care of her. The dragon Akor must therefore be in some sense her protector. I could only hope that his protection would be enough to keep her safe.
My loyalty fought against me even as I drew out my small pack from the chest at the foot of the bed and filled it with my other tunic, my small clothes, the few possessions I had with me. Stay, you must stay with him, you took an oath all those years ago and time does not diminish it, my conscience argued as I prepared to flee.
My response to this thought was one that had occurred to me often enough. The man I had taken an oath to was dead indeed. His mind was held together with demon-forged nails and I could do nothing about it. Unless I wanted to become a Raksha-slave myself I had to leave now, before Magister Berys dragged me under his influence again.
All I owned made a small pack indeed. I had little money, but I could always live by my gift. Others did so all their lives. And perhaps I might one day find a way to fight the Archimage of Verfaren, though I held out little hope.
I did not allow myself to consider what else Berys might have done while I was helpless and under his influence.
I habitually left my chambers neat and I made certain there was nothing to show that I had left them not intending to return. I slipped out into the night-filled corridors of the College of Mages.
I made my way swiftly to the main hall, past the open doorway of All Comers, where any who were wounded were welcome, whether they could pay or not. There was no door into that chamber, only an archway, to show the goodwill of the College to all men and the willingness of Healers to serve.
To reach All Corners, you had to pass through the main doors.
What could let in could let out.
Marik
Berys left me to my thoughts for only a few moments before he was back, carrying two mugs of hot chélan. “So. The voices are real,” I said, surprised at the smell of what he had brought. “Some sleeping draught.”
“Ah, but I want you awake,
” said Berys, smiling. “Did you recognise the voices you heard?”
“Hells’ sake, Berys,” I snarled, “it’s not like overhearing a conversation in the next room. These were voices in my head.”
“The phenomenon is called Farspeech. I thought it was mere legend, but here you are just recovered from madness with it in full bloom. I want to know how you have managed it.”
I shuddered. “Tonight before you came, it was—I felt as though I had gone mad again. I heard voices all the time then. Talking, talking, they wouldn’t leave me alone no matter how I screamed. You can’t know how it was, Berys. I had no peace, they were always there—but it was worse when they left me alone. Then there was only—no, I can’t.”
“What precisely happened to you, Marik?” he asked, staring intently at me. “You have not been strong enough to tell me before, but somehow I think it will not be beyond your powers now.” When I shook my head and gulped the chélan, he said “Come, Marik. All is past, the damage done is healed now. The best thing you can do to reestablish your strength is to tell someone all about it, with all the details. Leave nothing out. Come, my friend, speak to me.”
I had indeed recovered enough now to be wary of his concern. Berys had never been concerned for another except as that other affected him and his plans, and he was no one’s friend and never had been. Still, his offer was tempting. I could feel my mind returning, both it and I were stronger every day, and it would be a relief to speak of it once and have done. Besides, I had been out of my mind for a long time, and Berys has ways of learning things. For all I knew he was testing my trust.
“Caderan and I fought them, two of the dragons, a silver one and one of dark bronze. The silver one was Akor, the Guardian, the one that had brought Lanen for healing and had stolen her away when I tried to give her to one of the Lords of Hell.” I shivered at the memory. “It came through the wall, Berys. The damn things are tremendously strong. I’d wager its head was as long as I am tall, and the rest of it in proportion. It wouldn’t fit in a house.”
“That was some time before the final battle, Marik. Come, man, face it. Leave nothing out of your account. You and Caderan were fighting the two dragons.”
“Yes. They spat fire at us but Caderan’s spells kept us safe, and the beasts could not reach within the cast circle to touch us. I used the Ring of Seven Circles to fight them—the first five had nearly done for the silver one—when another one we never noticed roared down at us from the sky. Caderan killed it, but its body fell full on him and crushed him. I flung the sixth circle at the bronze one and wounded him, but before I could get the last one off Lanen knocked me down. She bore no weapon, so Caderan’s spells of protection could not stop her. In my fury I tried to kill her with the last of the Seven Circles, but I had forgot it was proof only against the dragons. I then tried to send forth the last circle to kill the silver one when I heard—they—oh Hells, Berys.” I was breathing as though I had run a race, the terror of that moment alive in my mind. “They—I heard screaming, as from a distance, and suddenly it was in my head. I can’t recall if I sent off the last circle in the end or not. I think so, but I’m not sure. I couldn’t get them out of my head, they cut me off from my body and cast me loose in the darkness. I wandered lost, dismal, only coming back every now and then to a voice or a time.”
A few scattered images returned to me. “I—all I remember after is something about a charm Caderan had cast. He had warned me about it, said over and over how deadly it was, so I’d make sure he survived. I’ve no idea why we didn’t all die—either Caderan was lying or they found the charm and destroyed it somehow.”
I turned away from Berys’s face. “I seemed to remember Lanen’s voice speaking to me in that darkness, but that’s not possible.” I shivered. “I imagined all kinds of things in my dreams.”
“After that I knew only Maikel, now and then, speaking words I did not understand, feeding me something that tasted like nothing I’d had ever known, the ripest pear, the sweetest apricot—oh Hells’ teeth!” I swore then, for I had only that moment realised. “Damn it! He gave me lan fruit, didn’t he?”
“If he hadn’t you’d have died, you wouldn’t eat anything else. Be at peace, Marik, there were still plenty for each of us, and your Steward has sold yours for an obscene amount of silver. I have eaten some and sold some of mine.”
I stared at him. I had never dreamed he would be so wasteful: but then, he never did know the value of things. “If I didn’t know better—I swear, Berys, you look younger.” I peered at him in the dim light.
“That does not matter now.” He frowned, rubbed his chin, and began to pace the room. “I believe your story, Marik, but on the face of it, it is impossible. What they did to you would only work if you had the gift of Farspeech in the first place”—he frowned at me—“which apparently you do, but how did they know that? Unless …” He started muttering. I heard only phrases—“but why should they—only if …” Suddenly he looked up and stared at me across the room, and his face blossomed into a smile that would terrify strong men.
“Lords of all the Hells,” he said in an awed, delighted voice. “They have sown the seeds of their own destruction. The balance will call for it.” He stared at me, his eyes boring into mine from ten feet away. “Marik, had you ever had any idea that you might have Farspeech?”
“Of course not. I have only ever heard of it in children’s tales,” I replied. “Would that it had stayed there.”
“Oh, no, Marik my friend, no, no, we have been given a great gift. The power of Farspeech has never been truly understood.” His face changed, slowly, and he came to look remarkably like one of the demons I had seen him conjure. “You were forced into this power, but at some level they must have known you possessed it. That means that at least one of them has it, and if you are hearing more than one voice—”
“It seems like hundreds of whispers, sometimes,” I said.
“Then it is likely they all have it.” He laughed suddenly, a plain laugh, full of delight. “Ah, Marik, we have them now!” He grinned and walked slowly towards me. “For if you can hear, if they have forced you to hear, even one of them, then we have them.” He leaned over me, his too-brilliant eyes not a handspan from mine, his breathing short and quick. “Can you speak as well?”
“Back off, Berys,” I snarled. “Why in all the Hells do you care?”
“Do this for me, Marik. For us. Try to speak to them.”
“And how should I do that?”
“Can you hear any voices now?”
“Berys, I don’t want to—”
“I don’t care what you want! Listen! Can you hear any voices?”
His voice demanded obedience, though I swore I’d get him back for this. “There is one soft one, a long way away. I can’t tell what it’s saying at all.”
“Listen closer. Can you make out the words?”
I closed my eyes. “No, nothing. I can tell someone is speaking, that’s all.”
“Try to say something.”
“How?” I demanded.
“I have no idea. Just try it.”
I tried thinking at the voice, but I felt and heard nothing. “It’s useless, Berys. Nothing. Nothing at all.”
“Perhaps you can only hear, then.” He moved back with a sigh. “Still, it is a great deal better than nothing.”
“Whatever you say. My head hurts like fury, you bastard. Fix it.”
He laughed, loud and long, as the pain went away and I grew sleepy once again. “Are you content now?” I asked.
“Content, Marik? Yes, I am content. You are saner than you have been since you left Kolmar, and this gift that has been forced upon you will be the undoing of every dragon ever spawned. Think of it, Marik, dream of it. The hurt they have done you will prove their death. Sleep with that in mind, and dream of power untold.”
I was too weary to care. I lay down and slept like the dead.
Lanen
We woke to a sunny morning. The rain had
moved off at last, thank the Lady, and it was a little warmer than it had been. If I used my imagination I could almost smell a hint of spring in the air, but that didn’t make me feel any better.
In truth I was really beginning to worry. There were far too many things happening to me that I could not explain. It was not simply the voices, though they were bad enough. For the last week I had had a constant headache, and for the last few days my lower back had been aching as well. I was just over my blood time for this moon, and that had been so light and short as almost not to have happened at all, but all the symptoms had stayed with me, the aches and the bloating. I rose that morning sick to my stomach and sore all over, with a burning desire to find a healer as quickly as possible.
However dreadful I was feeling, though, Rella was as bad. When we woke that morning in the cramped way station, she cried out and cursed when she tried to stand. I knew better by then than to offer to help, but I did it anyway and was snarled at for my pains. She hobbled out the door and we all sat talking quietly, pretending that we couldn’t hear her gasp of pain as she pulled herself upright When we heard her stomp off towards the horses we all went out to help, carrying the saddles and tack. We managed to give the poor creatures a bit of a brush before we saddled them, though they were all in a shocking state. Looking around, I realised that the four of us weren’t a lot better.
Rella was first packed and mounted, despite her pain, and we all hurried to join her. To break our fast we ate as we rode, cheese with hard edges and a few last crumbs of travellers cakes—made with oats and wouldn’t go stale, but sweet Lady they were dry—and followed Rella’s promise of Kaibar. I often had to ride with my eyes closed to keep out the light, for it made my head hurt worse.
We smelled sweet water long before we saw anything, and heard the rush and tumble of the river through the bare branches as we rounded a last stand of trees. The Kai was before us, and there to the west still some miles away across the plain we saw the tall white buildings and the red rooftops of Kaibar. We were at the gates just after noon. Jamie, Varien and I were all for stopping at the first inn we saw, but Rella dragged us deeper into the city and nearer the river, to an inn called the Three Kings.
The Lesser Kindred Page 20