“Ah.” She glanced back. “Is it only me that got the impression they do know him, but don’t like him very much.”
“Not just you.”
“How interesting,” she murmured. “I hope this doesn’t mean they won’t bring some of those bands for me.”
They turned a corner and started down the next row. Dannyl looked up and came to a halt as he saw what lay before them.
Stalls filled with books, scrolls and writing implements lined each side of the aisle. He looked from side to side, his eyes drawn to piles of promising old tomes. Suddenly he knew why there had been a slight hint of smugness in Tayend’s tone when suggesting a market visit.
It wasn’t just that he’d suggested something I hadn’t thought of. He knew I’d find this. He’s probably been here already, what with his fondness for silly or exotic trinkets, and he probably guessed that I hadn’t. He felt a pang of fondness for his former lover, but it was followed by a mix of guilt and annoyance that was growing familiar since Tayend had arrived in Arvice. I’m going to have to thank him for this. I wish the prospect didn’t fill me with doubt and dread.
“I may take some time here,” he told Merria apologetically.
She smiled. “I thought you might. It’s fine. Anything you want me to look for?”
CHAPTER 6
A WARNING
As Lorkin paused in his work, he noted that more than half of the beds in the Care Room were occupied, though most of the patients would probably leave once they’d seen Kalia. Nearly every person had the same or similar illness. Even in isolated, remote Sanctuary, people came down with sniffles and coughs each winter. They called it “chill fever”.
The treatment was so trusted and familiar that few questions were asked. Kalia’s examination of those claiming to have the illness was perfunctory, and she rarely needed to explain the cures she handed out.
This was Kalia’s area of expertise. Lorkin was given the task of looking after anyone who came in with other injuries or illness. No sufferer of chill fever ever approached him. If Kalia was occupied, they settled onto a bed and watched her patiently, only occasionally glancing at him in curiosity.
The main cures were a chest rub and a bitter-tasting tea. Children were given sweets to suck if they wouldn’t drink the tea. The sweets were still quite strong and unpleasant, so that only those who truly had the sickness – and whose sense of taste was dulled – could tolerate them. Enough tea and sweets were handed out to last patients a few days. They had to return to be examined again, if they needed more.
It was the first time he’d seen the Traitors so strictly rationing their supplies. He knew that food stores would have to be monitored and controlled in order for the valley’s produce to sustain the people through the winter, but so far he hadn’t seen any tough restrictions coming into effect. They were talked about, however, and anyone seen to be eating more than was considered reasonable was treated with a teasing disapproval, but also an underlying tone of warning.
No magicians had come to the Care Room with chill fever, since they were naturally resistant to illnesses, so Lorkin was surprised to see one of them entering the room, her nose and eyelids a tell-tale shade of red. He turned back to the task of re-bandaging the ulcerated leg of an old man. The man chuckled.
“Thought she was a magician, didn’t you?” he croaked.
Lorkin smiled. “Yes,” he admitted.
“No. Her mother is. Sister is. Grandmother was. She isn’t, but she likes to pretend she is.”
“In the Allied Lands, all magicians have to wear a uniform so everyone knows what they are. It’s illegal to dress as a magician if you are not one.”
The old man smiled thinly. “Oh, they wouldn’t like that here.”
“Because it would make it obvious that not everyone is equal?”
The man snorted. “No, because they don’t like being told what to do.”
Lorkin laughed quietly. He secured the bandage and slipped the old man an extra dose of pain cure. What will I do if we run out of it, and other cures?
He could start to Heal patients, but the timing would not be good. If I’m forced to use my Healing powers it should be for a better reason than because I let us run out of cures.
“Have you ever been to the old viewing rooms high above the city?” the old man asked.
“The ones that were made long before the Traitors discovered the valley?”
“Yes. A friend of yours told me she was going there. Said to tell you.”
Lorkin stared at the old man, then smiled and looked away.
“She did, did she?”
“And I need help getting back to my room.”
Kalia didn’t look suspicious when Lorkin told her the man wanted his help, but she did tell him to return as quickly as possible. Once they had walked a few hundred paces, the old man told Lorkin he was fine to continue on his own, but Lorkin insisted on accompanying him all the way to his room. Only then did Lorkin hurry away to the viewing rooms. He had to climb several stairs to get there, and by the time he arrived at the door to the first room he was breathing heavily.
Once he had passed through the heavy door his exhal ations became billowing clouds of mist. The air was very cold, and he quickly created a magical barrier around himself and warmed the air within it. The room was long and narrow, the only furniture some rough wooden benches stacked up against the back wall. Glassless windows were spaced along the length.
A woman leaned against the window edge, and this time his heart flipped over at the sight of her. Tyvara smiled faintly. He managed to restrain the urge to grin in return.
“Why don’t they fill them in with glass?” Lorkin asked, waving to the openings. “It would be a lot easier to heat the space.”
“We don’t have the materials to make that much glass,” she told him, walking forward to meet him.
“You could bring some up here from the lowlands.”
She shook her head. “It’s not important enough to risk discovery over.”
“Surely you’ve brought materials up here before?”
“A few times. We prefer to find out how to make things ourselves, or do without. We don’t do without much, really.” She beckoned him over to a window. The valley below was now covered in snow, the cliff walls rising stark and grey above the spread of white. “Did Evar tell you that we grow plants in caves lit and heated by stones?”
“No.” He felt his curiosity spark. “Is that also how you protect the animals during winter – keeping them in caves?”
“Yes, though they are mostly fed grain and we will cull some and freeze the meat once it’s cold enough to make ice caves.”
“Ice caves. I would like to see them,” he said wistfully. “But I don’t expect anybody is going to take me on any tours of the caves of Sanctuary for a while.”
She shook her head. “No.” A frown creased her forehead and she looked away. “I’m not supposed to be talking to you.”
“I know. Yet here we are.”
She smiled faintly, then grew serious again.
“Have you seen Evar recently?”
He shook his head. “Have you?”
“Yes. But I am worried about him.”
Lorkin felt a stab of concern. “Why?”
She looked at him, her expression doubtful. But it wasn’t self-doubt, or indecision. She seemed to be weighing up whether to tell him something.
“I have a warning to give you, but I have to be indirect, and I don’t want you interpreting it in other ways.” She glanced around the room, then leaned toward him and lowered her voice despite there being nobody else in the room. “Women may try to lure you into their bed in the next few weeks. Don’t accept any invites – unless you’re absolutely sure they’re not magicians.”