The Kingless Land - Ed Greenwood [42]
Four pairs of eyes met, sharing a little fear. No one cheered… but no one hastened to draw their hand back, either.
5
Spells and Secrets
Hawkril watched the healer's hands touch his ribs and realized he'd been holding his breath until he could do so no longer. He let it out in a long, shuddering sigh, just as the icy and yet somehow warm tingling began to wash out from his ribs, spreading slowly…
"Ohhh," he moaned, at the sheer pleasure of feeling all pain swept away. "Sargh, but it's good to be free of that!"
The armaragor breathed deeply, truly free of hurting, and after a moment looked down at the graying head bent over him and asked, "So why is it that mages hurl lightnings and bring castles crashing down and walk away all nonchalant… and healers die if they heal too much?"
"Healing comes from within. The Three grant the gift to a rare few," Sarasper growled, without looking up. His hands were trembling slightly. "Wizards take power from other enchantments to do their work."
"Oh? So who cast the first enchantment that a wizard drew on?"
"Ah," said Craer from where he sat against the wall, "now that question is one that sets priests at each other's throats, in proper earnest! They all claim it was their own of the Three… and there are even wizards who revere this or that elder mage for giving his life to fashion an enchantment that all other wizards could draw on."
He turned his head to look along the wall at the Lady of Jewels and asked a question that was almost a challenge. "Do your books say anything different?"
Embra gave him a bitter smile that faded quickly from her face. "So many different things that I can believe none of them." She let her head fall back against the wall she was leaning on, and sighed.
Craer's eyes narrowed. "When did you start to feel worn out?"
She shrugged. "Not long ago."
Her eyes closed. The procurer watched her for a moment and then stirred himself to reach the healer. Touching Sarasper's shoulder, he pointed at the sorceress.
The healer looked at Embra's face and nodded slowly. "I'm almost done here. The organs within were well torn, beyond the power of your potion, but this warrior is a right bear."
He glanced up at Hawkril and said gruffly, "Now just lie still, for once, until I'm done with the lady. The longer you lie quiet, the swifter the healing finds every last little ache."
Sarasper did not wait for a reply but rose and crossed the chamber with the stiffness and unsteadiness of one who has seen many years-but also with the haste of a warrior scrambling about in a battle. He came to a clumsy collision with the wall beside the sorceress, grunted in pain, and laid the backs of his fingers against Embra's cheek.
She opened her eyes for just a moment, then leaned her weight against his hand, seeming to fall into full slumber. Sarasper frowned.
"There are spells upon her," he told the other men.
"Her own-or some dark work of the Silvertree mages, I wonder?"
"All my magic is gone," Embra murmured, against his hand. "These two broke the bindings set by my father's command, earlier this night. I know nothing of what these spells may be."
"Your father never ordered spells laid on you to keep you young, or… change your beauty?"
A faint smile touched Embra's lips. "No," she told the healer, her eyes still closed. "All you see is mine own."
"They're the work of Silvertree's pet mages, no doubt," Hawkril growled.
"Then I'll break them," Sarasper said.
"You can do that?" the armaragor asked, rolling up onto one elbow to get a better look. He was in time to see Embra's body jump under the healer's hands, like a horse kicked awake, and begin to shudder uncontrollably. She arched her back, her eyes opened to show only whites, and then closed again as she sagged, suddenly as limp as an empty cloak.
The armaragor could hear the chatter of her teeth as Sarasper put his arms