“I can heal your leg enough that you can walk on it, but you’re chancing your life. If that poison isn’t out of your system, it could still kill you,” he said.
“If it’s my time to die, this is a good night for it. Better that than sit idle while Laeth is killed,” replied Rialla briskly.
“Your choice, lady,” acknowledged the healer in formal tones, as if this were a ritual of some kind.
He placed his hands over her leg and closed his eyes. Rialla’s leg tingled and went numb, so she could no longer feel the touch of his skin against hers. Her heart rate picked up until her pulse raced as if she were running in terror and she gasped for breath.
His hands glowed orange in the shadows of the night, as if lit by some inner fire. She could hear Marri’s gasp but was too distracted to take notice. If he could heal her like this, Tris was definitely not a common magician; everyone knew healing was difficult for wizards.
Tris pulled his hands away, leaving only a half-healed scar on Rialla’s leg, saying, “That’s the best I can do and still leave you enough energy to get out of bed.”
Experimentally, Rialla got up and flexed her knees to put some strain on her thigh muscles. The leg hurt, but it held under her weight. She flashed a quick smile at Tris and turned to Marri. “What do you know about the tower? How is it set up? How many guards are there, and where are they?”
Marri looked for a minute at Rialla’s leg; the angry red scar was invisible behind the tunic that hung to her calves. “Laeth is being held in the top of the tower.” She closed her eyes, as if it would help her envision the tower more clearly. “There are four floors on the tower. The lowest level is underground and contains only weapons and supplies that are not being used. There is usually a guard at the stairs that lead down to the weapons room. Besides him on the main floor there are two or three others. The next floor up is where they question the prisoners. They don’t always station a guard there, but with a prisoner in the tower there are sure to be several.”
Tris grunted and turned to Rialla. “If I get Laeth out of the tower and back here, can you get your horses? You’ll need them to get away.”
“What do you mean, ‘If I get Laeth out’? You aren’t planning to do this all yourself, I hope. Laeth and I can buy horses here, or at the next village. I’ll come with you,” stated Rialla.
The healer shook his head. “It will be easier for me to get Laeth out by myself. That healing has tired you more than you apparently yet realize. If Laeth and I have to run ahead of the chase, you won’t have the stamina to make it.
“The horses are necessary,” he continued. “There are none to spare in the village. Even if there were, Lord Jarroh is not the most reasonable of men and likely would hold the owners responsible even if you steal the beasts. If you try to make it on foot to Riverfall, which is the closest village, the guards will overtake you before you have traveled half a league. The horses are probably going to be more difficult to get out than Laeth is—at least he can climb over the wall.”
Rialla frowned at him. “Why are you doing this?”
The healer gave her an enigmatic smile and replied, “If you wish to, you can ascribe it to a hearty dislike of both Lord Jarroh and Lord Winterseine. Given a chance to annoy either or both, I’ll take a little danger in exchange.”
Rialla had the feeling that it was the best answer she was going to get.
“What can I do?” Marri asked.
“Just what you have done,” replied Tris. “If someone sees you out and about tonight, you’ll be held responsible for Laeth’s escape. That is a crime that holds the death penalty as well, even for nobility. If you would like, you can wait here and see him off, then I’ll get you back in with no one the wiser.”
She looked mutinous but finally nodded her head. Rialla suspected that it was the knowledge that she would be more of a liability than an asset and not any ideas of self-preservation that made Marri agree.
“Do you have any weapons here?” Rialla asked. “The only thing that I brought with me from Sianim was a knife, and that is in Laeth’s rooms in the hold.”
“Anything my lady desires,” he answered grandly as he walked to the flatboard wall.
He touched it gently, and a section moved in just far enough that he could slide it on hidden tracks behind the rest of the wall, revealing a small closet. A packing trunk occupied most of the floor, but the rest of the closet was dedicated to weaponry, most of it projectile weapons.
Rialla shot Tris a look under her eyebrows. “It looks like a poacher’s dream come true. I always thought healers were law-abiding citizens.”
He shrugged. “I haven’t always been a healer. Poaching has become a favored hobby of late. Most of this is useless for combat, but there should be a knife or two and I think that there might even be a sword.”
There was a sword, heavier than Rialla was used to wielding, but it would work. She had to borrow one of Tris’s belts so she could wear the sword sheathed. She struggled with the braided leather before finally wrapping it twice around her waist. The sheath was too high for an easy draw, but she couldn’t afford to be too particular.
She also borrowed a dark-colored tunic and trousers since her slave’s garb was too light-colored to skulk around in effectively. Although everything was too big, a few lengths of rope tied here and there, as well as Tris’s belt, made the outfit workable.
Tris took a wicked-looking staff, as tall as he and studded at both ends with metal points, and pulled the door back into place. Even knowing that it was there, Rialla couldn’t detect any sign of the door once it was closed.
Rialla followed Tris out the door, leaving Marri alone in the bedroom.
The workshop was as busy as the bedroom was spartan. Large windows were cut into the three outer walls, letting in the dim light of the waning moon. All of the wall space not devoted to windows was covered with shelves of various sizes, which were in turn stacked with neatly labeled clay and wooden containers. So many bundles of plants hung from the ceiling that it looked like a jungle, and Tris had to bend his head to avoid the flora.
Once out the door, Tris motioned her behind the cottage where the woods began.
“There’s a path to the hold through here,” he explained shortly.
Rialla concentrated on her footing until they reached the better surface of the path. “How are you going to get Laeth out?”
“Subtlety and a bit of magic,” he replied. “Have you thought about the horses?”
Rialla nodded. “I’ll get them out through the herald’s gate.”
“Without alerting the guards?” he asked.
She smiled at him. “You do your part, let me worry about mine.”
They quit speaking then. Rialla wished she had taken the time to find where their horses were in the stables, but she’d been too intent on maintaining the appearance of a slave.
They reached the wall of the hold before she was ready. It loomed high over their heads, more of Karsten’s improvements. Rialla ran her hands over the freshly cut pale blocks of stone, fingering the edges. The wall was meant to keep back armies, but it was unfinished. Small gaps between the stones made the wall as easy to climb as a ladder. Rialla raised her hands and got a firm grip in preparation to climb.
“Wait,” said Tris in a soft voice that wouldn’t carry to anyone who happened to be on the other side of the wall. “Your red hair makes you too identifiable. Stay a moment, and I’ll take care of it.”
She released her hold on the wall and took a step nearer to the healer. He touched her hair lightly and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he looked closely at her and then nodded. Rialla pulled a strand of her hair to where she could see it, then let the dark-colored mane fall back to her shoulder.
“Illusion,” he said. “Simple, but it will hold for the night.”
Rialla nodded, and began again to climb; Tris chose another section of wall and did the same. On top Rialla noted that the catwalks that were meant to run the entire length of the wall hadn’t yet been built here—making the descent a simple climb down the inner side of the wall.