The Silver Mage - Katharine Kerr [36]
“That yellow stuff must contain a powerful herb,” Rhodorix said one evening.
“Powerful, yes, but we make it from mead and the seeds of a red flower, not from an herb,” Hwilli said. “I can’t give it to him constantly, though. If you use too much of it, patients come to crave it. Then when you tell them they can’t have it anymore, they weep and rage and carry on like madmen.”
“Dangerous stuff, then.”
“A great many things here are.”
“Was that a warning?”
“Of a sort, perhaps.”
“About yourself?”
“What? Hardly!” She smiled at him, then let the smile fade. “I meant the Meradan, the white savages as you call them. They’re bound to attack us, sooner or later.”
“Now that’s true spoken, alas. With a cadvridoc like Ranadarix commanding us, we’ll beat them off again.”
“We can hope so.” Her voice wavered.
“You’re frightened, aren’t you?” Rhodorix walked over to her.
“Of course! Any sane person would be frightened.”
“Well, true spoken. Fortunately, men like my brother and I were born insane.” He grinned at her. “So we’ll protect you. Ranadar’s men are just as crazed as we are.”
“I’ll hope so.”
“Are any of them mad for you?”
Hwilli blushed.
“I’ll wager they are,” he went on. “May I escort you back to your chamber?”
“You may not.” She drew herself up like a great lady. “I’m going to join Master Jantalaber in the herbroom.”
“Then I’ll escort you there, if you’ll allow me.”
She wavered, looking away, glancing back at him, then shook her head. “It wouldn’t be seemly.” She thrust the white crystal toward his hands.
Reflexively he took it. With her head held high, she hurried out of the chamber. With a yawn, Gerontos woke and propped himself up on one elbow.
“Huh!” Gerontos said. “You never stop hunting, do you?”
“Why not? We’ll be here the rest of our lives.” Rhodorix walked over to him. “I thought you were asleep.”
“Awake enough to hear you chattering away.” Gerontos lay down again. “How long will we live, once the fighting comes our way? From the things Andariel’s been telling you—”
“True enough, it doesn’t look good.” Rhodorix paused to pull over a chair. “But once these men can fight from horseback, we’ll have better odds. They’re cursed good with bows, Gerro. Andariel set their armsmasters to making javelins. He was talking about some kind of bow that they can learn to aim and loose from the saddle. That’ll give the Meradan somewhat new to worry about.”
“And give us some hope. Good. Huh, I wonder if Hwilli has a sister?” Gerro smiled at him. “Or at least, a friend who’s from our kind of people, a lass who’d favor a weaponmaster’s brother.”
“I’ll ask her. It’ll be somewhat new to talk about besides your gimpy leg.”
At first Hwilli doubted that Rhodorix was courting her, not in the midst of the beautiful women of the People. Why would he want her, so plain and awkward? The other women knew how to smile in a wicked way and say witty things, how to hold their hands just so and how to look at a man they fancied slantwise with just the right amount of invitation. She felt so sure that she’d look ridiculous that she never tried to imitate them. Yet Rhodorix spoke only to her, he smiled only at her, he kept asking to escort her places and giving her compliments.
“Of course he’s interested,” Nalla told her. “Doesn’t he follow you around?”
“Well, he does, but—”
“But what? If naught else, he’s a man of your people, and he’s new to our country. He’s not used to us like you are.” Nalla laid a hand over her ear. “I’ll wager he thinks we’re all very strange and ugly.”
Wrapped in her envy as she was, Hwilli had never considered that possibility before.
“Ask him,” Nalla went on, grinning. “But if he says yes, he does think so, then don’t tell me.”
They were walking together on their way to the herbroom, where Master Jantalaber taught groups of students every afternoon. When they arrived, they