The Magic of Recluce - L. E. Modesitt [217]
I looked at Justen, without words. Finally, I spoke. “White prison. I did what I could, but her soul is twisted into the tightest order-knot within…”
He looked back at me, levelly. “Did you hear me?”
“I did. I did it anyway.”
He shook his head. “She cannot live with those memories.”
“I know that!” I snapped. “Why do you think I restored her old memories? She may not remember anything.”
“How did you do that?” His words were carefully spaced.
“I just did it. It’s like weaving light or energy, except it hurt more, and I didn’t get all the pain, just the memories. The pain’s separate.”
“Order-masters?” began Yelena.
I understood. “Yes. We can talk as we ride, and Tamra needs better care than I can provide.”
Justen looked away from me, not even meeting my eyes. Instead, he rode next to Tamra, talking to her in a low voice. Even when we stopped for a midday break, he barely looked in my direction.
No one else looked in my direction, either, not when they thought I was watching, except when we stopped. Then they would offer, most politely, some fresh travel bread or white cheese or fruit. The yellow cheese supplied by Brettel had served me well, but its limited and bitter taste left much to be desired, and that was a charitable way of putting it. So I appreciated the white cheese and dried apples.
Once back on our mounts, though, everyone kept a comfortable distance from Gairloch and me, as if I were contaminated or something. Hell, they even talked to Justen, and he was a gray wizard. Not even Justen seemed comfortable near me. So I rode quietly, drawing into myself.
How was I any different from Antonin? I had used every power I knew and some I had only guessed at. Was I going to be another gray wizard? Or worse?
LXVI
ONCE AGAIN, I watched the sun rise and the morning unfold from a balcony in Kyphrien. I stood alone in the early morning. This time the winter sun was chill. The cold refreshed me as the brisk wind whipped up from the city, bringing the odor of fresh-baked bread, as well as the odor of goats. Somehow the goats didn’t bother me so much any more, but that might have been the result of an eight-day’s worth of meals centering on roasted, stewed, brazed, and baked goat presented with equally diverse spices and side dishes by the autarch’s chef.
At least the breakfast rolls I had brought up from the mess—staying in the guard mess for any length of time created a profound and drawn-out silence as every single guard seemed to look at me—contained no goat meat.
My balcony was the one next to Krystal’s, with an iron grillwork doorway between the two. Though there was no lock, I had not opened the door since I had yet to see Krystal.
The sub-commander had not been in Kyphrien when we had returned, but, instead, had used the disruption I had created to destroy the remainder of the prefect’s border force. Without the backing of chaos, the young Gallian troops were no match for the Finest, or even for the better local outliers. I hoped that the talkative Shervan had managed to weather the action, though I wasn’t certain I was ready for conversation with him any time soon.
Whether I was really ready for another conversation, the one with Krystal, was another question. Like me, she wasn’t the same person who had left Recluce. Like me, she had forged herself in her own fires into a different kind of steel. I had no doubts that, even with a black staff in my hand, her blade would have proven superior. Then, again, no one was a match for Krystal there, except perhaps Ferrel, and I wondered about that.
Justen had taken Tamra under his wing, as I had hoped, and she had begun to respond. I had only seen them from a distance, but the gray wizard had himself another apprentice. It might do them both good.
Thrap!
I wanted to ignore the knock on the door, but did not, instead walking back inside to the iron-bound red-oak door. The order arrayed on the other side could only have been one person. I lifted the latch.
Justen stood