"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 bis 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, Kedra, 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.