Shigmur and Zhanee spun in their saddles. The war-second was the first to regain his composure. "Our apologies for disturbing you, holy one. We seek a boon."
"I am on Retreat," he said. The words weighed like stones on Alemar's hope. "What do you need of me?"
Shigmur nodded toward Alemar. "It is best for him to explain."
The Hab-no-ken shifted his glance. Alemar had not seen eyes with suchextra depth since the last time he had seen Obo. The man was about fifty, though that was hard to tell for certain. The desert wore out bodies early. If his green robes – the first of that color Alemar had seen in Zyraii – seemed incongruous, so did the kindness of his face. Alemar had never thought to see that emotion so firmly set in any Zyraii countenance. He was reminded of Rictane, Lord Dran's old stablemaster, who had worn that look at his own wake.
"My…son needs a healer. I don't know what to do for him. I need your help."
"You have a strange accent," the Hab-no-ken said. "Where are you from?"
"Cilendrodel."
"Yet you wear the robes of a Po-no-pha. What tribe?"
"The T'lil. T'krt clan."
"Our war-leader adopted him by rite ofniutap," Shigmur explained.
"Indeed?" The healer seemed increasingly intrigued. Alemar had the unnerving sensation that the man was looking not so much at him as through him. "This son – did you bring him from Cilendrodel?"
"He is also mine by virtue ofniutap."
"Yet when you speak of him, I see a woman in your mind, and a forest."
Alemar jumped.
"Be at peace, Po-no-pha," the healer said reassuringly. "We will have plenty of time to talk." He jumped nimbly down the boulders and lit on a spot between the mounted men. "My name is Gast. As I said, I am on Retreat, and ordinarily I would refuse your summons. But it is not every day I find a man who can see a Hab-no-ken when a Hab-no-ken does not wish to be seen. My rituals can be broken. Let us see what is wrong with this boy of yours."
XXV
OBO FOUNDALEMAR BY THE GRAVESIDE. The boy was kneeling in the forest mulch, gaze locked on the recently turned earth. If he had heard the old wizard approach, he did not show it. Obo remained back among the foliage of the trees, too caught in his own sorrow to offer any words of consolation.
The heavy, bitter shroud of failure settled on his shoulders. Intellectually, Obo knew he was not the cause of Lerina's death, but it was not easy to believe that in his heart. Though Alemar would never say it aloud, Obo could hear the questionWhy, if you could save my father, couldn't you save my mother? It would do no good to remind his young ward that sorcery was not a chosen skill, but the development of talents one might, or might not, be born with, and that Obo, like all wizards, was limited in what types of magic he could perform. That excuse would not change what had happened.
Alemar was virtually a man now, at his full height, strong and black-haired like his father. He had the short but lithe physique so prevalent among the House of Olendim. A fine boy – a fine man. To see him so bereaved dried out Obo's throat, made his arms shudder with pent-up anger at the fates. Of all the trials Alemar could have faced, the death of his mother was the worst. Obo had seldom seen a parent and child more emotionally close. It would be a long time before he recovered.
Elenya had already accepted the tragedy. She was hard, that one, full of her mother's spice and her father's stubbornness. Though she had loved Lerina as deeply as her brother, Obo knew Elenya would find a vent for her outrage – she would blame the world. Alemar would keep it inside, find a way to blame himself. He would have to be watched.
Obo found his own hope in that fact. If he could help the boy through this, that would partially make up for his unsuccessful attempt to help Lerina. Alemar, along with his twin, had shown the marks of the Dragonslayer's power more than any of the dynasty. More than that, he was a good person, of the kind Obo had seen far too seldom within the royal family in Elandris. Obo would not let so much human and sorcerous potential be warped by grief.
The wizard heard a subtle rustling in the dead leaves at the base of the tree next to the grave. At first, Obo could barely make out the tiny, manlike shapes, then they walked into the light. He stayed very still, watching the rythni as they came to Alemar and touched him lightly on the knee. The young man's trance broke. He lifted one of the fairy creatures in his palm.
Obo heard the rythni speak in a shrill, singsong voice. Alemar answered briefly, in the same language.
Obo smiled, and stopped worrying so deeply. The boy had his sister, his grandfather, Lord Dran and his household – too many who cared for his well-being to let him slide into permanent melancholy. And if these were not enough, the rythni would be there, with their laughter and music, special allies that few other humans in Cilendrodel could claim.
Obo watched for a few more moments, then slipped quietly away. The wizard had one pressing task yet to perform, a duty that he would have given a great deal to avoid. He felt very old. He wanted to put it off. But there was no way around it. Hewould have to know.
Obo found parchment and pen, and prepared the letter that would take the news to Elandris.
XXVI
"HOW IS HE?"ALEMAR ASKEDas he dismounted. He and his companions looked as if they had spent the entire day on a forced gallop. Elenya couldn't help but gawk at the outlandish stranger in green, from the weathered hat to the scraggly beard. Her brother had to repeat the question before she answered.
"He's in pain, but alive."
Gast stared equally hard at Elenya as he handed his reins to her. "Yetem, my brother," Alemar said, then introduced the healer.
Gast shook his head in amazement. "You must have played the Bu very strangely in your last life to have been reincarnated in a body like this."
Alemar was already hurrying toward the tent. Gast followed.
Elenya stood, flabbergasted, then turned to Shigmur and Zhanee. The war-second chuckled and said, "He is Hab-no-ken," as if that explained everything.
Elenya hurried to deal with the animals, wishing she could unload the chore on a wife, but grooming and husbandry were male tasks. She corralled them, threw out feed, and jogged back to the tent.
When she ducked under the flap, complete silence greeted her. Omi, Peyri, Meyr, and Sesheer stood in a huddle near the purdah; Alemar waited alone on the opposite side. The priest knelt in the center, cradling Rol's head in his palms. Gast's eyes had glazed over. Rol, lying prone and naked, glanced drowsily at Elenya. After a few twitches and moans, he fell asleep.
Elenya's amulet gave out a dull warning. She and Alemar exchanged glances. She hardly needed the hints. She could smell sorcery at work.
Where was his talisman? How was he focusing his power?
The healer returned quietly to alertness. He stood up, laying Rol's head carefully back on its pillow. "I'll need your assistance," he told the twins.
"Certainly," Alemar said. "How may we help?"
"The technique I must use will create some pain. Even in his sleep, he may thrash. It could endanger his life. Station yourselves at his shoulders and knees, and be ready to hold him down should it be necessary."
They took up their positions, Alemar at his foster son's head. Gast began breathing in an exact, slow-paced rhythm, his hands limp against the skin of the boy's lower right abdomen.
Elenya stared. It seemed as though Gast had not moved at all, but something was odd. Eventually, she realized what it was. The tips of the healer's fingers had disappeared into Rol's body. The boy stirred, and the twins held him firm. By this time Gast's fingers had sunk in to their entire length.
She saw the Hab-no-ken began to manipulate Rol's abdomen, searching by touch for the root of the illness. Then his limbs began to shake. His breathing lost its rhythm. Her amulet began to flicker.
He's losing it, she thought. His spell is breaking up. She saw Gast lick his lips. He had gone pale, and looked much older than a few moments before.