“That just might be the story of your life,” replied Lhadoraak.
At least, until I run out of ways. Not wanting to voice that, Beltur merely said, “Possibly. We’ll have to see.”
“Well,” replied Lhadoraak, “we need to get Taelya to bed. Good night.”
“Good night,” replied Beltur and Jessyla, almost simultaneously.
They didn’t say anything more until they were in their bedchamber with the door closed.
“I think Lhadoraak respects you a lot, but he’s also just a bit scared,” said Jessyla.
“Of me?”
“Of you. You saved him when no one else could have. You killed four powerful white mages during the invasion, and two of the most powerful mages in Spidlar when they tried to kill you, and you healed Taelya when no one else could.”
What Jessyla said was undeniable, but … “I don’t like it that a friend is scared of me.”
“Power always frightens people,” Jessyla said. “You just have to show that only those who want to harm you or those you love need to fear you. You’ll find a way. You always have.”
“So have you.”
“That’s a compliment I don’t deserve, but I’ll take it.” She leaned forward and brushed his cheek with her lips.
LVI
By the time Beltur left Barrynt’s stable on fourday morning, the sky held a greenish haze, and the air was noticeably warmer, with a light wind coming from the northeast, suggesting to Beltur that a northeaster just might be on the way. He’d barely hung up his coat and scarf in the healing house when Elisa appeared.
“Healer Herrara requests you in the surgery, ser.”
“Thank you.” Beltur followed the healer-in-training. Even before he stepped through the door into the surgery, he could sense the wound chaos. He could also hear the moaning.
A man was stretched out on the table, talking, with moans in between phrases. “… didn’t do anything … didn’t … plaques just turned up right…”
Herrara looked up for a moment. “He was beaten and left by the back door of the Traders’ Bowl. He’s got frostburn in places, but except for his hands, he’s not that badly hurt.” Beltur looked at the man’s hands, but one was a swollen mass, and the other wasn’t much better. As he moved closer, he could see that the end of one little finger seemed barely connected.
“I’m going to have to splint his hands—the fingers that I can try to save.”
“Don’t take any fingers…”
“We’ll do the best we can.” Herrara looked to Beltur. “I need you to immobilize his hand while I splint the individual fingers. Then we’ll wrap the hand with a support…”
Beltur listened intently, then followed Herrara’s instructions, beginning with the more badly injured right hand, and then the slightly less injured left hand. Despite Herrara’s deftness and skill, more than a glass passed before both hands were splinted.
Although the man had stopped moaning, Beltur could sense his pain, as well as the wound chaos dotted throughout his hands.
“You’re going to be here for a while,” declared Herrara as she stepped back. “Your hands will likely throb all the time. Healer Beltur is going to do his best to remove the worst of the wound chaos. In time, that might help.”
“Bastards … crippled me.”
“That’s what happens when you play plaques for high stakes with strangers.”
“The City Patrol—”
“I’ve already told them. The men you said you played with left Axalt before dawn.”
“Bastards … all of them…”
Until that moment, Beltur hadn’t realized fully what had happened to the man … and most likely why. He repressed a shudder.
“That may be,” said Herrara, “but it doesn’t say much for your choice in selecting those you played with.” She nodded to Beltur.
“I’m going to reduce some of the chaos.” The worst of it, anyway. There were so many spots that removing them all would have created too much heat in the man’s battered hands.
The man frowned. “Remove chaos? Haven’t been around any white mages.”
“Wound chaos,” said Beltur.
“If he doesn’t,” added Herrara, “you could lose your hands entirely.”
The man shuddered, then winced.
Herrara turned to Elisa. “Once the mage-healer is done, take him to a vacant room.”
“Mage-healer?”
“There aren’t many. You’re fortunate.” Herrara’s voice was coolly pleasant.
Beltur could tell that she wasn’t especially pleased, but he just stepped forward. “Don’t move your hands.”
“If I could do anything with ’em…”
Beltur concentrated on removing the ugliest of the yellowish-red spots. None were that large, but there were enough that removing close to a score took a good quint, largely because Beltur paused after each one. When he finished, he said, “I never heard your name.”
“Klaznyt.”
Beltur smiled pleasantly, but not warmly as he looked directly at the bleary-eyed man. “Can you tell me honestly that you didn’t cheat at plaques, Klaznyt?”
“No more … OOOHH … than Grassyr did … less than … weasel Choraan…”
Beltur turned to Elisa. “I’m done. You can take him to a room.” Then he looked back to Klaznyt. “You won’t be able to do anything with those hands for quite a while. I’d be very pleasant to Elisa and everyone else.” He smiled politely again, then left the surgery. Playing plaques for silvers was dangerous enough, Beltur suspected, but to try to cheat at it could clearly be deadly.
But then, what you did in leaving Elparta had also been dangerous. Except you didn’t have many choices. But had Klaznyt? Beltur doubted if he’d ever know.
Beltur walked back to Herrara’s study, where he looked at the older healer. “You weren’t too happy with Klaznyt.”
“Were you?”
“No.”
“It’s one thing when someone gets hurt loading, or sliding under a wagon … or if it’s an innocent child … but cheating at plaques, playing with those who do…” Herrara shook her head.
“Does that happen often?”
“No. Most of the time, people like him disappear or end up being found somewhere when the winter snows melt.”
“Is there anything else you’d like me to do first?”
“Just check on everyone and see that there’s no hidden wound chaos. You can catch that sooner than I can. Sooner than any healer I’ve known.” Herrara paused. “You’ve been working with your consort, haven’t you? She feels more like a mage than a healer.”
“She is a mage. She always felt that she was. She just didn’t know how to use order.”
“What made you able to show her?”
“All the mistakes I made, and those who helped me recover from them.”
“That’s not the whole truth.”
“It’s close enough.”
Herrara smiled wryly. “That feels close enough. Go look in on Wurfael and the others.”
Beltur nodded, then left the study and made his way to Wurfael’s chamber.
The former timberman was sitting on the side of the bed, his crutches up against the bed beside him. He looked at Beltur, then swallowed. “Ser mage … I’m sorry … I had no idea…”
“That’s all right, Wurfael. I’ve likely been a bit hard on you. It’s just … well … I think you can do more than you think you can.”
“I’ll try, ser.”
“I know you will. Now … let’s look at that leg.”
Beltur could find no sign of new wound chaos, and he smiled at Wurfael. “It’s definitely healing well. I’ll see you later.”
“Yes, ser.”
Beltur left and began his visits to the rest of those injured, but the remainder of the day was much quieter than the beginning.
He was still thinking about Klaznyt and Wurfael—and even Poldaark—when he walked into the cot a little after fourth glass and hung his
coat and scarf above the bench by the door.
“The women are in the kitchen,” said Lhadoraak, rising from the bench in front of the hearth. “They said it was too crowded with me in there. How was your day?”
“For a day at the healing house, it went well enough. What about you?”
“I visited Rhodos and got the names of the cabinetmakers he knew in Axalt. There were three others. I saw all three. I might get some work in the spring. There’s a fellow in south town who would like me to help when he starts building a mill there in the spring. I stopped by the Council building. I’m supposed to meet with a Councilor Naerkaal on sixday at fourth glass.”
“He’s the mage on the Axalt Council.”
“That’s what the Council clerk told me when I asked who was in charge of mages.”
“I didn’t do that,” Beltur admitted. “It might have been because I had a position with both Jorhan and the healing house.” After a moment, he added, “Then it might be that I haven’t had the best fortune in dealing with mages and councils.”
“I don’t have your skills, Beltur.”
“You also don’t have my history. I’m sure you’ll get along fine with Naerkaal.” Beltur hoped so, even though he wished Lhadoraak hadn’t presented himself to the Council.
“Axalt seems like a very ordered place.”
“From what I’ve experienced and seen so far, it very much is.”
“You sound doubtful.”
“I’m just wary … or cautious. Elparta seemed very ordered to me, at least until Waensyn got to Cohndar.”
“There aren’t very many blacks in Axalt, the clerk said—only a handful. Not many healers, either.”
“Herrara said that there were only about ten she knew of. With what they pay, I can see why there aren’t many.”
“Do you think you’ll stay here?” asked Lhadoraak.
“We haven’t even thought about it,” Beltur replied. “Jorhan’s just got the smithy working, and we should be able to make a decent living here come spring and summer. I’ve already had to leave two lands, and I’m not all that interested in moving again.”
“You’ve got a nice place here.” Lhadoraak glanced around.
“Better than we’d hoped for.” Much better … but that was Johlana’s doing.
“I’d like to think we could do that.” The blond mage shrugged. “We’ll just have to see. We’re certainly not going anywhere until the snows let up.”
“Things will get better in spring.” Beltur smiled as Jessyla walked out from the kitchen.
LVII
The northeaster that Beltur had anticipated arrived before dawn on fiveday, and Jorhan sent Frankyr to tell Beltur that he wasn’t about to struggle through the driving snow to get to the smithy. No such message arrived from Herrara for Jessyla, but Beltur still headed out, right after she left, to deal with Barrynt’s stable and the horses.
He did saddle Slowpoke and ride him around the square and the center of Axalt, if very carefully, after which he used Slowpoke to carry water to the cot to refill the cistern, where Lhadoraak helped and used order to remove any traces of chaos. After riding back to the stable, Beltur groomed Slowpoke and rubbed him down, a process that the big gelding enjoyed—as much for the attention as anything.
After walking back to the cot, Beltur gave Taelya another lesson, including different exercises in magery, while Lhadoraak went outside and shoveled the snow off the walks.
Lhadoraak finished shoveling, and Beltur had just completed his instructionals with Taelya when there was a rap on the door.
“Who could that be?” Beltur frowned as he neared the door and opened it to find Rohan standing outside.
The older man immediately spoke. “I’ve been patient … I leased the cot to you and your consort. Everyone has friends who visit, but visiting and moving in are two different matters.”
Patient? Beltur barely managed not to snap that word back at Rohan. Instead, he stepped outside into the snow, closing the door behind himself. “Lhadoraak and his consort and child only arrived on oneday afternoon—”
“Do they intend to live here forever? Were you deceiving me when you said it would only be you and your consort?”
“We didn’t know that the Traders’ Council of Spidlar was exiling every mage that the head mage doesn’t like. Lhadoraak lost almost everything. He’s looking for a position, and he has several prospects.”
“In the middle of winter? That’s a likely story.”
“It happens to be true,” Beltur pointed out. “Why else would a black mage leave everything behind in winter?”
“I can’t say as I see that Axalt needs that many more black mages.”
Beltur had the definite feeling that Rohan wasn’t listening … or that he had something else in mind.
“I didn’t expect to have two families in my cot.”
“Neither did we. Neither did Lhadoraak. None of us can plan on the unexpected.”
“Do you just expect me to stand here and take it?”
Beltur repressed both anger and a sigh. Instead, he eased two silvers from his belt wallet and extended them to the landlord. “This is extra rent for the rest of the season, if it takes that long, for them to find a place of their own.”
“Just until then. Not a day longer. I’ll bring it before the Council. I will.” With that, Rohan turned and walked back through the heavy snow to his own house.
Beltur shook his head, then opened the door and stepped into the cot, shaking off the snow that had coated his shoulders.
“What was that all about?” asked Lhadoraak from where he stood by the padded bench.
“My paying him the last of the rent until spring,” replied Beltur, not wanting to say more. Lhadoraak had more than enough to worry about.
“Is there a problem?”
“Not now.” Not until spring, anyway.
Jessyla didn’t arrive back at the cot until two quints past fourth glass.
“I must have brushed off a bushel of snow on the front stoop,” she said as she hung her coat on the last available coat peg.
“How was your day?” asked Beltur as he crossed the front room to join her.
“Quiet.” She turned and headed toward the kitchen. “I need to get these boots off. Somehow, I got a lot of snow in them.”
Beltur could sense a certain concern, but said nothing as he followed her into the kitchen and then into the bedchamber, closing the door behind them.
Jessyla sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off her boots. Some snow flew from her boots and trousers, but not that much. She looked at Beltur. “One of the councilors came to see Herrara today. One visits the healing house once a week. Herrara told me that they alternate.”
“That had to be Naerkaal.” said Beltur.
“Whatever he said, she didn’t look happy. She didn’t say anything to me about why, though. She just told me to be careful going home. She’s thoughtful that way. I still worry.”
Beltur frowned. “I don’t think we’ve done anything to upset anyone. Maybe it didn’t have anything to do with us.” Trying to change the subject, he asked, “How is Klaznyt—the man with the smashed hands?”
“He was very polite. Not happy, but polite. I managed to remove a little of the wound chaos.” Jessyla offered a pleased smile.
“You did? That’s wonderful!” Beltur couldn’t help but smile broadly. “Did Herrara notice?”
“She did. She was surprised. Then she said she probably shouldn’t be, that we kept surprising her. I had the feeling that there was more, but I couldn’t actually sense it. The bits were likely too tiny. You might have to remove them tomorrow.”
“I knew you’d be able to do it. Before long you’ll sense the smaller bits as well.”
“Not as well as you can.”
“You’re just starting.”
She looked into his eyes. “Beltur … I’ve always been able to sense. How well I do hasn’t changed. What I can do with what I sense has improved. It will
continue to get better. How well I sense will not.”
The complete honesty in her response stopped Beltur cold for a long moment.
She added softly, “That’s not your fault. We are what we are. You’ve already given me what was first denied.”
“You gave me everything I’ve become,” he returned. “Everything.”
She stepped back. “I just told you the obvious.”
“Except it wasn’t obvious to me or to Uncle.” He smiled, but that faded as he remembered Rohan. “We may have another problem.” He went on to tell her.
“We have a little time to think about that. Does he really want to anger three mages?”
“It’s not about three mages,” Beltur replied, acknowledging that Jessyla was indeed a black mage. “It’s about what the Council of Axalt might say … or decide. We’ve already seen how strict the Council is. That’s good for some things, but I worry about how they might deal with Lhadoraak if they discover Taelya’s a white.”
“She’s seven. Why under the Stars would they want to make life harder for a girl that young?”
“Why did Wyath want to kill Uncle? Why did Cohndar and Waensyn want me dead? Why did the Council decide to exile Lhadoraak?”
Jessyla sighed. “People are so stupid.”
“No. They just want things the way they want them. They don’t much care about what happens to other people, and that makes it hard on everyone else.”
“Do you really think the Council of Axalt would be that cruel?”
“I hope not. But it could happen. That’s why I cautioned Lhadoraak and Tulya not to say anything about Taelya. The longer we’re here, and the more people trust us, the less likely the Council is to get upset about what they discover. Don’t you think Herrara wants us to stay?”
“I’m sure she does … but she looked worried.”
“I’ll see if she says anything tomorrow.”
Jessyla stood. “We ought to join the others, don’t you think?”
“In a moment.” He wrapped his arms around her.
LVIII
The snow was still falling heavily on sixday morning when Beltur left for Barrynt’s stable, and was still coming down when he made his way through the knee-deep whiteness to the healing house. After stamping the snow off his boots and brushing it from his coat and trousers at the door, Beltur stepped inside, where he hung his coat and scarf. Then he walked along the chilly hall to Herrara’s study.
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