Karal sagged down into a chair, depression overcoming him. "It's never going to be untangled," he said bluntly. "And I'm not sure it's worth the effort to try. Even if you manage to convince the Heralds, even if by some miracle you manage to convince everyone else, you'll never convince Jarim. It would be better for everyone if I just go home and let Solaris send another envoy in my place."
"Jarim would win," Talia replied. "Why should you let him?"
"Why shouldn't I?" he countered. "I wasn't particularly effective before he started all this, and you know that's true. Even if you convinced everyone that I'm the innocent victim of Jarim's prejudice, you'll never persuade them that I have a copper's worth of sense. I'm too young; I'm young enough to be the child of anyone sitting at that table, except maybe Elspeth, and I wouldn't bet on that. No one there trusts me. I'm too young to have any experience, too young to let my emotions take second place to my reason."
She didn't immediately reply as she went about the room lighting lamps and candles, and he closed his eyes for a moment. "Herald Talia—Sun-priest—we might as well both admit it. I am doing neither Karse nor the Alliance any good here. I might as well go home and let someone who is competent, experienced, and new take over."
She turned then, and looked at him with a solemn expression on her face, a single curl of reddish-brown hair falling over one eye. "Have you been recalled?" she asked, the candle clasped in both hands.
"Well, no," he admitted. "But—"
"Does Solaris speak for Vkandis, or not?" she persisted.
"Well, yes—but—"
"And don't you think after all this that if Vkandis perceived your presence here as detrimental to Karse you would have been recalled by now?" she continued mercilessly. "It's not as if Altra couldn't convey your recall papers from Solaris immediately if that was called for. Given the situation here, there is every reason to bring you back—unless there is a more compelling reason that Solaris and Vkandis are not ready to reveal to leave you here."
When he didn't reply, she fixed him with a sharp glare. "Well?" she prompted.
He gulped, and shrugged. "I suppose so, but—"
"No 'buts,'" she said, sternly, with more authority concentrated in her tiny figure than in a hundred generals he had seen. "As a Sun-priest, I can vouch for all of that, and so can you. There is a reason why Vkandis wants you here and no one else. We may not know what it is, but there is certainly a reason."
Then I wish He'd tell me what it is. "That's fine in theory," he replied, "but just at the moment it doesn't seem to me that anyone in Haven wants me here. How am I supposed to get anything done when most of the Grand Council thinks I'm working for the Imperials, and at least one envoy wants to murder me?"
She made a grimace of distaste and walked over to the door to replace the candle in its holder. "That, I must admit, I have no answer for," she said, with her back to him. "But I think you should at least absent yourself from the Palace for a few days, and stay away from meetings. Say that you're sick—or I will. I'll tell Selenay that you've been so overcome with shock at Jarim's accusations that you've collapsed." She turned back, and surveyed him with a critical eye. "From the look of you, I won't be telling that big of a lie. Much more stress and you're going to be the youngest man I know with a bleeding stomach. You're well on the way to it; you haven't been eating or sleeping well, have you?"
He stared at her. "No!" he blurted, "but how did you—"
"I am the one with the Gift of Empathy," she reminded him, "And I've been associating with Healers for most of my life. I think you ought to see if An'desha and Firesong can take you in again. I'll have the Healers send you over some medicines. Better yet, I'll send one of the Healers there in person."
He scowled, and she laughed.
"Oh, don't look at me like that," she said. "The teas and potions for stress and a rebelling stomach are probably some of the best things you'll have ever tasted in your life. They have to be; otherwise people who are under stress wouldn't drink them, and people with bad stomachs wouldn't be able to keep them down. Go pack," she concluded. "Pack enough for about a week, and I'll go find An'desha and see if there's room in that ekele for a third person."
She turned and started toward the door when another knock stopped her dead in her tracks.
"Karal?" came the quiet voice from the other side of the wooden door. "It's An'desha and Natoli. We're here to help you, if you want."
Talia opened the door so quickly that she left An'desha standing there with his hand still raised for another knock, Natoli fidgeting beside him.
"In," she ordered; both of them obeyed instantly, and she shut the door behind them.
Natoli spoke before either Talia or Karal could say anything, her words pouring out in a rush. "You didn't come to the Rose and we were both worried about you because you've been looking like death and we came back here to find out if you were all right and have you heard what they're saying about you? They're—"
"Saying that I'm an Imperial spy and that I'm responsible for just about everything bad that's happened since I arrive yes, I know," he interrupted, and sagged down in his chair again, one hand rubbing his stinging eyes. "Some people have probably even decided that I brought the mage-storms with me by now. Or that I was somehow to blame for Ancar being born."
"You're not far wrong. There've been some Heralds prating a lot of nonsense, and not even Father can talk any sense into them," Natoli said grimly, looking at Talia with a challenging expression, as if daring her to do something.
Karal was a little amazed at her audacity—a simple student, challenging the Queen's Own herald? And not even a Heraldic student at that?
"I'm doing what I can, but it's going to take some time," Talia replied, and smiled thinly. "I'm beginning to understand what Herald Savil was supposed to have gone through over Vanyel when he was first Chosen. Like Vanyel after Tylendel died, Karal seems to be getting the blame for things that happened before he was born. It's going to be interesting."
Natoli gave an unladylike snort, while An'desha just looked bewildered.
"Meanwhile," Talia continued, turning to An'desha, "I'd like to get him out of the Palace for a while so that people can calm down, and I would like to see that he gets some rest before his stomach begins to bleed from all the strain he's going through. Can you and Firesong take him in again?"
"I was going to offer just that," An'desha replied, "Firesong's been off on some project of his own anyway, so he'll gets lots of peace and quiet at our ekele. Are you going claim he's collapsed with shock and stress?"
"That was the general idea," Talia told him. "And if I can get a Healer to confirm that, it will simply add to the story."
"Will you please stop talking about me as if I'm not here"' Karal asked plaintively, looking from one to the other.
An'desha patted his shoulder and looked down at him with speculation, as if there were a number of ideas going around inside his head and he was just weighing them all to determine which one might be the best. "Sorry, my friend," he apologized, then took a closer look at him. "You look like you've been dragged at the heels of a horse across the Dhorisha Plains," he said, with a frown. "Herald Talia, please have a real Healer attend us as soon as we get to the ekele, would you?"
Karal stared in surprise; that didn't sound like the diffident young Shin'a'in he knew. That sounded more like someone who took it as given that he was Talia's equal.
She nodded just as if she accepted his status, too, and slipped out the door before Karal had a chance to object. "You stay here with Natoli; I think I can manage to pack for you," the young Shin'a'in continued sternly. "Anything I forget, you can borrow from me. If I have anything to say about it, you won't need anything but a bed shirt for two or three days anyway."
As An'desha disappeared into his bedchamber before he could object to that, Karal looked at Natoli with a face full of woe.
"Don't I get any choice in any of this?" he asked.
He got no sympathy f
rom her.
"No," she said flatly. "You don't. You've done your best, and you've gotten into a mess you can't do anything about. You're tired to death, you're sick with strain, and your judgment is not good right now. We're going to take over and let you rest, so you might as well relax and enjoy it."
Be careful what you ask for, he thought, as the memory of his earlier wishes flashed into his mind. You might get it.
An'desha and Natoli took Karal and his bag across Companion's Field, trailed anxiously by every Companion there. Florian led the parade, which under other circumstances might have been hilariously funny. A hard frost was forming; the stiff blades of grass crackled underfoot, and their breath hung in frosty clouds in the still, cold air. Behind them followed dozens more "clouds," the silent, white forms of the Companions. They weren't being herded; An'desha would have recognized that behavior. They were worried about Karal, and although he was no Empath, their concern was strong enough it made itself palpable even to him.
The Healer was waiting for them just inside when they reached the ekele, her eyes closed as she breathed in the faint, sweet perfume of some of Firesong's night-blooming flowers. "Thank you for letting me come here. I know this is just a more sophisticated version of a forcing-house," she said to An'desha as they entered through Firesong's clever double door that kept cold drafts out. "But this place always, seems the epitome of magic to me."
"You could build one of these yourself, with one of our steam boilers and pipes to send hot water through the room to heat it," Natoli told her matter-of-factly.
"You could not have plants this large and healthy in a matter of weeks without the magic, however," An'desha countered firmly, standing up for his discipline. "Here is your patient, lady Healer—" He pushed Karal to the front, as his friend seemed inclined to lag back, trying to avoid attention.
The Healer took Karal's wrist, put her free hand under his chin so that he could not look away from her eyes, and frowned as she stared into his face. "One would think you were a much older man—or a Herald—the way you have abused yourself. Come, child," she continued, although Karal was not a great deal younger than she. "I think you should be put straight to bed."
"I am very glad to hear you say that," An'desha told her, relieved. "Follow me, please."
Before long, Karal was indeed in bed, dosed with several potions from the Healer's bag, and blinking sleepily. An'desha had his instructions and a line of bottles of more of the same stuff with which to ensure that Karal remained in his bed and permitted his poor abused insides to heal. The Healer, who never had given her name, also left a list of what Karal was and was not permitted to eat.
"We can't do this for long," the Healer said warningly to both An'desha and Natoli. "These herbs in this row are powerful and dangerous, and they shouldn't be used for more than a week. However, I do not think that he will need to be forced to rest for more than a few days. After that, these other potions, these brews, and good, soothing foods should effect the rest of the cure."
"Provided we can keep Jarim from turning all our work into nothing," Natoli muttered. The Healer looked at her without comprehension.
"Never mind, she's just thinking out loud," An'desha told the Healer. "Thank you, we're very grateful."
"Well, I'm grateful that Herald Talia caught him before he had a real bleeding stomach," the Healer said cheerfully. "That's ten times harder to cure. Good night to you!"
After the young woman had gone off into the night, Natoli turned to An'desha with discontent written all over her intelligent face. "All my life I've heard about how the Healers can cure almost anything that's not congenital," she said. "I've heard how they can piece shattered bone together, how they can make wounds close before your very eyes!"
"So?" An'desha asked, heading back toward the stairs and the living area of the ekele.
"So why didn't she do something?" Natoli demanded as she followed. "All she did was look at him, put him to bed, make him drink a couple of messes of leaves, and that was it! He's been looking like grim death for days, and he doesn't look much better now, so why didn't she wave her hands around or whatever it is they do and make him well without all this resting and drinking teas?"
An'desha paused on the staircase and looked down at her, trying to think of an analogy for her. "Would you build one of your big steam engines just to convey a few pots of tea to the Grand Council Chamber all day?"
"No, of course not; that's what pages are for," she replied impatiently. "What does that have to do with Healing?"
"There is no point in this Healer using a great deal of energy—energy that comes from within her by the way—just to perform a task that her herbs and minerals will accomplish, particularly not when Karal's life is not in any danger." He raised an eyebrow and Natoli flushed; he figured he might as well not bother to point out that Talia could well have asked for an Herbalist-Healer rather than one who relied completely on her powers. "She is simply using her resources logically. You would scarcely thank her for exhausting herself over Karal if—oh, say later tonight the Rose were to burn down and she would be unable to help some of your friends who were burned, because she had no energy left. It's a matter of proper use of resources, my friend, and not any slight intended toward Karal." He looked back over Natoli's head, into the darkness beyond the garden windows, and smiled. "Of all of the many kinds of people who may have been deceived by Jarim's foolish accusations, you may rely on it that no Healer picked by Lady Talia will be one of them."
He looked back down at Natoli, who grimaced. "I suppose I'm jumping at shadows," she said reluctantly. "And I keep forgetting that Healers are supposed to work differently than you mages."
"Not quite; you are used to seeing the Masters and Adepts at work," An'desha interrupted, as he resumed his climb, with Natoli just behind him. "Journeymen and Apprentices—and what are called 'hedge-wizards' and 'earth-witches'—also rely entirely on their own reserves of energy, unless they are extremely sensitive to the currents of energy about them. Even then, they cannot use either the great leylines or the nodes where the lines meet. Only Masters can use the former, and Adepts can use both. But there are many, many mages who do their work very effectively with no more power than what lies within them."
Natoli shook her head in frustration; An'desha turned to face her again as she stepped up into the gathering room of the ekele. "It all obeys rules," he chided her. "It is all perfectly logical. Do not be the equivalent of a Firesong, who refuses to believe that the energies of magic cannot obey rules and logic. It is no more illogical to say that one must be born with the ability to become an Adept than it is to say that one must be born with the ability to become a sculptor or an artificer."
"That isn't logical either," Natoli replied with irritation. "All people should be born equal."
He laughed at her. "Now it is you who are being illogical, assuming that because the natural world does not follow what you perceive to be the regular pacings of the world of numbers, the natural world should be discarded!"
She didn't reply, but he heard her muttering under her breath, and it was probably not very complimentary. He didn't mind; in fact, he rather enjoyed teasing Natoli, who he felt was far too serious for her own good.
Not unlike myself, in some ways. He ignored the mutters and went back to the room that had once been "his," which had been Karal's temporary refuge once before.
Karal was still awake, but even to An'desha's inexperienced eyes he was fighting a losing battle against the potions the Healer had given him. "You should sleep," An'desha said, sitting down beside the Shin'a'in-style pallet that lay on the floor. Natoli knelt next to him.
"I 'spose I should." Karal yawned hugely, and blinked. "Funny. I wanted to get sick, 'cause then I could just—stay in bed—and—"
"Well, you are sick and you will stay in bed and do what you're told," Natoli said severely. "There is no point in trying to fight it."
He smiled, a smile of unexpected, childlike sweetness. "I won't,"
he replied. "Just wanted to say—thank you."
"You're welcome," An'desha told him, as Natoli patted his hand. "Now sleep."
To prevent any more attempts at conversation, he extinguished the lamp with a thought, and got up, leaving Karal and Natoli alone in the faint light coming from the lamp in the hall.
He went down to the garden again, leaving her to find her own way out. She and Karal had not had much privacy to be together for the past several weeks, and he thought it was about time that they had a chance for a word or two before Karal couldn't fight the drugs anymore.
I'll give them a better chance later, he promised himself.
As for him—he had some ideas that might be helpful, but he also needed some privacy to put them to the test. The primary one was that he should try something he had not attempted since Falconsbane leaped from his body as it lay dying.
He waited, watching the fountain, until Natoli descended the staircase again, wrapped in her cloak. She didn't notice him, and he didn't interrupt her introspection as she let herself out quietly. Then he let the falling water lull him until he was in that half-aware state in which it was easy to slip into a trance.
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