“A face hid from everyone.” With that conclusion Guinalle retreated carefully down the regular paths of rhythmic incantation and led Pered away from the trackless mire of grief, confusion and anticipation. “Ilkehan’s death has caused more chaos among the Elietimm than kicking over an ant heap.”
Pered opened his eyes, and rubbed at stiffness in his neck. “As you say, my lady.” He winced ruefully. “I feel as if I’ve spent half a day bent over a copy desk.”
“That’s a fair comparison of the concentration required.” Guinalle gestured to her array of cures, their bottles arranged by height and colour. “If you’ve a headache, I can mix you a draught.” It was a shame she had no tincture to still the trembling she felt in her own wits.
“I’ll be fine, thank you all the same.” Pered stood rubbing his neck, eyes inward looking. “That was a remarkable experience, even more so than last time.”
“Guinalle!” Temar’s voice startled them both and they turned to see him beckoning her impatiently to the door.
“In a moment.” Guinalle dismissed Temar with a flap of her hand. “When we have the leisure, you should learn a little Artifice. I believe you could become quite an adept.”
“It’s a shame I didn’t think of learning such skills before.” Pered didn’t bother hiding his bitterness. “Then I might be of some use here.”
“You can be of use to me and to Naldeth, if you’ve a mind to it,” Guinalle said with sudden inspiration. “Ostrin be thanked, his wound is beginning to heal and he has youth and strength to support him while it does.” She spoke in low, confidential tones, gathering up fresh dressings, a pot of salve and a small bottle of dark brown glass from the trestle table. “What he lacks is the will to live. He believes he has failed his calling, his teachers, Parrail and every other unfortunate lost to the pirates.”
“He’s woken?” Pered was visibly taken aback.
“Barely, but I have the arts to hear his thoughts.” Guinalle had to bite her lip at the recollection. She really must get a good night’s sleep as soon as possible. Being with Pered was tempting her to weakness as well; his open friendliness disarmed more people than her, after all.
Pered shook his head vehemently. “Their blood’s on Muredarch’s hands, not Naldeth’s.”
“I cannot convince him of that,” sighed Guinalle. She led the way carefully through the pallets to a bed at the back of the hut.
Pered followed. “What do you want me to do?”
“Talk to him. He can hear you despite his pain and the medicine dulling his senses.” Guinalle laid a hand on Pered’s arm. “Remind him of all there is to live for. Love, beauty, friendship, honesty striving against all that is false.”
“Can’t you do that with some Artifice?” asked Pered, curious.
“Not till I have convinced myself.” Guinalle froze and snatched her hand away, unsure if she’d spoken or merely thought that frank admission. Pered’s instinctive hug of sympathy startled her still further and she pulled herself abruptly back. “That would be an abuse of my powers, with him so vulnerable.” He was vulnerable, not her. She couldn’t afford to be. Guinalle looked down at Naldeth who lay asleep, wearing only a creased linen shirt, long enough to preserve his modesty. “Hold this.”
Pered took the dressings and the salve and Guinalle sensed his instinctive sympathy as he watched her carefully remove the bandages from the mage’s stump. That was another distraction she could do without, she thought crossly. It must be some consequence of the rude shaking she’d been given by those undisciplined Elietimm.
“That looks a lot neater,” Pered said bracingly.
Guinalle looked closely at the lines of stitches black against the white skin. “We had to cut the bone at mid thigh so as to have enough skin to sew together.” She gently wiped away dark encrustation. “That’s no bad thing since it meant all the torn flesh that might have mortified was safely taken off. There’s no hint of rot and the wound is knitting nicely.” She gave Pered a meaningful look and nodded at the mage, his face not relaxed in sleep but unnaturally still.
“He’s enough leg left to take a prop, if he prefers that to a crutch.” Pered’s voice was warm with encouragement but he looked anxiously at her.
Guinalle smiled her approval and smoothed fresh salve over the wound. The mage’s whole body tensed beneath her light touch and she saw Pered cringe in sympathy. Yes, she decided, he was a good choice to help the wounded and, unlike her, he wouldn’t be battered by Naldeth’s constant, unconscious self-reproaches. She took a breath and renewed her defences once more. She really must get some untroubled sleep.
“Why’s that salve blue?” Pered asked abruptly.
“It’s made from woad; it stems bleeding.” Guinalle re-dressed the wound with deft fingers. “A most useful plant, even if preparing it does raise the most appalling stink.” She tied off the ends of the bandage briskly. “Sieur D’Alsennin needs me, Master Mage. Pered is here to watch the wounded while I’m occupied, so he’ll have your dose ready for you when you need it.” She put her arms around Naldeth with impersonal efficiency and lifted him more comfortably against his pillows before gently lifting the dressing on his arm to assess the healing sore beneath. “When the pain rouses him, make him take a spoonful of this. We don’t want his torment setting his elemental powers running loose. Arimelin grant most of the others will continue to sleep and those that wake should be content to wait awhile but if anyone is in great distress, come and get me. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
She won a grin from Pered but Naldeth lay stony faced as before. Guinalle hid her own misgivings beneath a bland face and left the hut quickly. She’d achieved something at least; setting Pered a task to keep his mind off whatever peril Shiv might be facing. If only the artist’s vivid appreciation of the life all around him could turn Naldeth from the despondency cutting deeper than the bone saw she’d used on him. As she thought that, some pang she wasn’t prepared to identify left her stomach a little hollow.
“What’s the matter?” Temar asked sharply as she reached the door of the hut.
Guinalle lifted her chin to meet his challenge. “I’m concerned for my patients, Naldeth in particular.”
“Oh.” Temar looked sheepish. “How is he? Has he woken yet?”
“Not to speak with any clarity but Artifice tells me he’s wearied by pain and distress,” Guinalle said tightly, ignoring the treacherous thought that the same could be said of herself. What had she been thinking of, betraying her own melancholy like that? There was no comparison. She had a sacred obligation to give her life purpose; to use her skills and learning for the benefit of others.
“Would you like some bread?” Usara appeared with a handful of the long twists of dough the mercenaries were wont to cook over their fires.
“Thank you.” Guinalle wondered when she’d stop missing the fine white loaves she’d been used to. Now that really was a pointless regret, she thought with asperity, worthy of those undisciplined Elietimm women.
“You’re entirely welcome.” Usara smiled at her, eyes warm with affection.
Guinalle dropped her gaze and tore a piece off the coarse bread. No matter how fond Usara seemed at present, the mage would return to Hadrumal when this strife was ended, she reminded herself. She would return to her life in Kellarin, meagre as it was. Letting go of lamentations over bread was one thing; risking heartbreak for the chance that Usara might help ease her sorrows was entirely too much to hazard. She’d sought paltry solace in Temar’s arms, with all his familiar deficiencies as a suitor and against her better judgement, only to have him make his disdain plain. She wasn’t going to lay herself open to such weakness again. But how it would ease all her sorrows to have the support of a love such as Shiv and Pered shared. Oh, this is ridiculous, she scolded herself silently. Get yourself in hand!