“About your healing?”
Olio’s face whitened. “How could you p-p-possibly know?”
“We are dealing with great magic, your Highness. Often those who practice it suffer the consequences. Some of those magickers I’ve assigned to assist you in the healing complain of exactly the same thing. The dreams always end badly, in grief and failure.”
“Yes, yes. That’s how it is.”
“And the drink would not help,” Edaytor added quietly.
Olio ran his fingers through his hair. The throbbing in his head had eased, but was still there. “I swear, Edaytor, it is not the drink.”
“Whether it is the drink or the magic, you cannot continue like this.”
“B-b-but all the sick! What will they do?”
“Heal themselves, as they often do. When we started the clinic, we were to treat only the dying, and only those dying from misfortune, not infirmity. I know you have been treating every child who comes to us.”
“I can’t b-b-bear to see them suffer.”
“We all suffer, your Highness. Ultimately it is our lot in life. But if you continue to help all who are brought to us, then I fear a time will come when you will not be able to help any, not even those in direst need of your healing power.”
Olio sighed. “You are right. I did not recognize m-m-myself this morning. And the dreams are getting worse. They always end with ...” He could not finish.
“End with what, your Highness?”
Olio shook his head. “It does not m-m-matter.” He tried smiling again. “I p—p—promise to look after m-m-myself, Edaytor. I will rest. I will get m-m—more sleep.”
“I think more than sleep is needed,” Edaytor warned him. “You must not attempt any healing for a while. You need to stop using the Key of the Heart.”
“Stop using it? You can’t be serious.”
“I have never been more serious. It is the source of your nightmares and discomfort.”
“B-b-but I can’t stop, Edaytor. You know that.”
“For a while only. Just long enough for you to recoup your strength.”
“How long will that take?”
“You are young. I do not think it will take long. But when you are well enough to resume the healing, it must be as we first agreed: to help only those in mortal peril.”
“This is hard of you.”
“Only those in mortal peril,” Edaytor said more sternly.
Olio nodded wearily. “Very well, m-m-my friend. As you say. You have m-m-my word.”
“I do not need your word, your Highness.” Edaytor went to the prince and put a hand on his shoulder. “I trust you.”
Jes Prado stretched his body, wincing at the pain as muscles locked. “But it is better,” he groaned between grinding teeth. He even acknowledged to himself that a lot of the fat he had accumulated as a farmer in the Arran Valley had disappeared from his frame. He was harder and leaner now than he had been since he had fought in the Slaver War many, many years before.
He slumped back into a chair and started clenching and unclenching his fists. There was almost no pain there at all anymore. He had been practicing with a sword ever since his worst injuries had been treated by the queen’s own surgeon, Dr. Trion. A funny old cutter, Prado thought, but he knows his stuff. I wish I’d had someone like that in my mercenary company in the old days.
He stood up again and dressed slowly. The queen had given him a new set of clothes to replace those torn to pieces during his adventure in the summer. He remembered with a grimace how he had kidnapped Prince Lynan from under the noses of his companions, then was stopped at the last minute from safely delivering him to another mercenary captain called Rendle. And he remembered Rendle’s fury at his failure, and how cruelly Rendle had treated him after that with physical punishment and constant threats to his life. And he remembered the long, dangerous, and exhausting escape from Rendle’s clutches in the far northern kingdom of Haxus all the way back to Kendra, when he had arrived at Areava’s palace more dead than alive.
Rendle, you bitch’s son. I will find you one day and gut you while you still breathe.
One day soon, he reminded himself, if the young queen agreed to his plan. But how to convince her to give him an army? The problem had worried at him since his arrival in Kendra, but over the last few days a plan had slowly coalesced in his mind. There was a way, but it had to be explained to the right people and in the right way.
He went to the window. From his small room in one corner of the palace he could look down on the Royal Guards’ training arena. Soldiers were practicing their sword skills under the careful eye of their new constable, Dejanus.
I never thought I’d ever see anyone bigger than the old constable, Prado admitted to himself. Kumul against Dejanus. Now that would be something to see.
He looked on the training guards with an envious eye. If he could have fifty of them, he would march straight into Rendle’s camp and butcher his whole company. But no, that would be asking for too much.
His plan would work well enough, though. He would still get Rendle in the end.
But first Lynan, he reminded himself. Lynan was the key to the whole thing. The thought struck him as morbidly funny. Imagine that useless whelp playing a role in helping him exact his revenge against Rendle. He realized then it was also right that Lynan should be at the center of the design. After all, everything had started with him all those months ago. He wondered if he should let the prince live long enough to see Rendle die. It would not hurt to have a royal prisoner—no matter how out of favor—should things go awry.
Yes, he thought. Maybe I’ll let the prince live for a while. A little while.
Chapter 3
“The best strategy is clear,” Kumul said. He was walking with a slow determined pace around the campfire and the small group gathered around it. In the flickering light his huge size and gray head made him look like something out of ancient legend. Gudon and Ager followed him with their eyes, while Korigan stared straight into the fire. Kumul’s hands were behind his back, his head down in thought. “We raise an army here in the east of the Oceans of Grass. We are close to the Algonka Pass, and through there to Haxus and Hume. We can keep an eye on our enemies, and do not have so far to travel when we are ready to move.”
Queen Korigan’s gaze did not waver from the flames. “No. That is not the best way.”
Kumul stopped his striding and looked at her. She was young, not much older than Lynan, but Kumul could tell by the way she carried herself that she was already an experienced warrior. She had a commanding, even haughty presence that sometimes reminded him of Areava. When he had first met her, he had noted the ragged sword scar on her left arm, new enough still to be bright against her golden skin. But, for all that, she did not have his experience in warfare.
“We have both fought in many battles,” he said to her. “Oh, yes, I can tell. But how many wars have you fought?”
“I was fifteen when I slew my first warrior,” she said defiantly.
Kumul nodded. “Fighting Haxus or Grenda Lear will not be the same. I have fought against Haxus, and for Grenda Lear, almost my whole life. I know them. I am telling you we need to stay close to their borders; when it is time to move against one or the other, we must move quickly.”
“No,” Korigan repeated.