He remembered seeing tears in Northam’s eyes on more than one occasion. The old primate had a strong empathy for those who suffered.
Not so wise, perhaps, Powl thought. But a good man. And suddenly he wondered if he himself was either wise or good.
He heard hurried footsteps outside, and someone knocked on his door.
“Yes, what is it?”
The priest from the hospice entered, opened his mouth to say something, but then saw the books strewn all over the room.
“What is it?” Powl repeated testily.
“Your Grace, you wanted to know when next Prince Olio came to the hospice. He is there now, and treating one of the patients.”
“Which patient?”
“A young man who was beaten in a robbery two days ago. He is dying.”
Powl scowled. He did not want to be bothered with this right now, but knew it might be days or even weeks before the prince visited the hospice again.
“Was the prelate with him?”
The priest shook his head. “But his Highness said he would wait for him before starting the healing. Your Grace, I have to get back. Will you come with me?”
“I will come with you,” Powl said.
Olio stood over the unconscious man. He could not believe someone could have been bashed so badly and still be alive. The nose was broken, the eyes swollen and black, one cheek fractured, the jaw broken. Olio lifted the sheet and saw that one rib was ridging the skin at an odd angle. The man breathed in spasms, which meant another rib had probably pierced a lung.
Olio stood back, peered out the room’s window. Come on, Edaytor, where are you? This one is dying; he needs us.
He noticed that the Key of the Heart was warm against his skin. He took it out from underneath his shirt and held it in his left hand. He reached out to the battered man with his right hand, but pulled back before he touched him.
Wait for the prelate, you fool, he told himself. You’re not strong enough for this.
He looked out the window again. There was a pool of light on the street. Olio saw a drunk sitting in the street, a flask of wine in one hand and an oil lamp in the other. If he doesn’t go home soon, Olio thought, his lamp will run out and he’ll never find his way back.
That was what had happened to this patient, he realized. The lamp of his life was sputtering out, and he was so deep into the darkness he could not find his way out. Not without help, anyway.
“B—b-but quickly, Edaytor, or even we m-m-may not be able to help him. Even I can’t b-b-bring p-p-people b-b-back from the dead.”
He was still grasping the Key in his left hand, and it started to tingle.
Is it possible? Can I do it alone?
He reached out again. His right hand rested lightly on the man’s forehead. Almost instantly, Olio felt the rush of power from the Key through his body and into the man. Olio was so surprised he jerked back, breathing hard. How could this be possible? He remembered Edaytor telling him that some magickal items—especially items of great power—took time to attune themselves to their owners. Perhaps the Key had finally done that with him. After all, he knew his mother had been able to wield it without any assistance from a magicker.
He placed his hand on the patient again, and this time let the power flow through him. He became aware that the air around him was charged with a flickering blue energy, like miniature lightning, which whipped out, disappeared, and whipped out again.
Suddenly it was done. Of its own volition, his right hand dropped from the young man and hung limp by his side. He could not help the groan of exhaustion that escaped his lips. He let go of the Key, now cold, and used both hands to grip the side of the patient’s bed to stop himself from falling over. He looked up and saw that there was still a feint remnant of the blue energy. It surrounded his body like a soft mist. A few moments later it was gone, too.
The patient’s eyes flickered open, stared at Olio in confusion. “Who are you?” he croaked.
Olio patted his shoulder. “A friend,” he said. “How are you feeling?” Olio could not see any sign on his face of the beating he had received.
“Tired. Never been this tired before.”
“Then close your eyes. Sleep. When you awake again, you will be able to go home.”
“Where am I?”
“Don’t worry about that now. Just sleep.”
Olio could see the patient wanted to ask more questions, but his eyes shut despite his efforts to keep them open and he fell asleep almost instantly.
Olio quietly left the room. If he had looked one more time out of the window, he would have seen that the drunk and his lamp were gone.
Dejanus, too, was sleeping peacefully. And naked except for his boots. Hrelth was afraid to wake him. It occurred to him he could slip his knife between the giant’s ribs and be rid of him. He was a cruel master, nothing like Kumul who had treated him firmly but with respect.
But Hrelth would do no such thing. He had lost his courage years ago, fighting for Usharna during the Slaver
War. It was not the only thing he had lost in that bloody conflict. His own brother had died while standing right next to Hrelth in the spear line, an arrow through his eye. He wished he could forget. Maybe, if he did, he would remember what courage was like, and then he would stick Dejanus good and proper.
The constable snorted, and Hrelth jumped in the air. His feet made only the slightest noise when they hit the floor, but it was enough. Dejanus had swung out of bed with one lithe movement, pulling a dagger out of his boot at the same time. The effect was spoiled somewhat when he kept on swinging and fell on his side. Maybe I could have knifed him after all, Hrelth thought, and cocked his head to look at him straight.
“Your Constableness? Are you all right?” He saw the empty wine flagon on the bed. “You’ve been drinking.”
Dejanus growled and lifted himself into a sitting position. “What do you want, you gutter rat?”
“You said you wanted me to tell you when Prince Olio came to the hospice. I just saw him there.”
“What was he doing?”
Hrelth swallowed. If there was one thing that scared him more than Dejanus, it was magic. But Dejanus was here, and the magic was out there.
“He was using the Key of the Heart, my lord.”
Dejanus blinked. “You saw that?”
“Yes. Through a window. It was dark in the room, and suddenly it was filled with a strange blue light. I saw Olio.”
“Was Prelate Edaytor Fanhow with him?”
“I did not see him.”
Dejanus stood up unsteadily and reached for Hrelth’s shirt. Hrelth stepped back instinctively. Dejanus growled and reached forward again. This time Hrelth let himself be captured. Dejanus pulled him so close Hrelth could smell the wine on his stale breath, and something else as well.
“Are you sure the magicker was not with him?”
Hrelth nodded.
Dejanus looked at him for a minute, and Hrelth wondered if the constable was going to kill him for waking him up. Instead Dejanus just pushed him away. Hrelth stopped when he slammed into a wall, his head hitting it with a loud thump.
“Wait outside,” Dejanus ordered. “I’ll get dressed and you can take me to the hospice.”
Hrelth did not wait for the giant to change his mind. He ran out of the room and downstairs. When he got outside of the Lost Sailor Tavern, he wanted to keep on running, but he knew what Dejanus would do to him if he ran out now. Feeling miserable, he found his lamp and held it close to him in the cold night.
Edaytor arrived at the hospice out of breath, his face covered in a fine sheen of sweat. Olio was waiting for him in the kitchen, sitting behind a large wooden table.