The Silver Mage - Katharine Kerr [51]
“Your armorer deserves honor as well, my prince,” Andariel said.
“He shall have it, then. You must be tired and hungry. My honor goes with you.”
It was the best dismissal he’d ever heard, Rhodorix thought with a grin. They both rose, bowed, and took themselves away. At the door Rhodorix looked back to see the advisers standing up to huddle around the prince, each of them waving one of the pieces of parchment that held the messages.
Rhodorix followed his usual routine, bathhouse first, then back to his chamber. As he came up to the door, he heard Gerro’s voice and a woman giggling in answer. Suspicion flared in his blood like fever. He flung open the door to find Gerro lying half-naked on the bed and Hwilli’s friend Nalla sitting beside him. She held a pot of some sort of salve in one hand, but judging from the disarray of her hair, and from the fact that her tunic was hiked up around her waist, she’d been doing more for Gerro than treating his withered leg.
“You might have knocked,” Nalla said. She handed the salve to Gerontos and grabbed her tunic to pull it down.
“My apologies.” Rhodorix knew his face must have turned scarlet. “I’ll uh just uh go find Hwilli.”
He turned and beat a hasty retreat, slamming the door behind him. Yet despite the blush, he felt gratified that his younger brother had found a woman of his own, partly because he liked seeing Gerontos happy. And he won’t be sniffing around mine this way, he thought.
All too soon, however, things changed.
“hwilli, Nalla, all of you.” Master Jantalaber appeared in the door of the refectory. “I have something important to tell you.”
At their long table the apprentices, male and female both, fell silent as he walked into the room. Jantalaber looked weary that night, his hair uncombed, his eyes heavy-lidded and sad as he looked over his students.
“The prince has made a decision,” the master said. “I don’t agree with it, but he’s the prince. Today the guardsmen brought back messages from Rinbaladelan, begging his aid. Ranadar’s sending all but two of you to Rinbaladelan. Refugees are pouring into the city. Many are wounded. They need healers badly and supplies as well.”
Everyone went tense, glancing at each other.
“Hwilli, you’ll stay with me,” Jantalaber said. “I’ll keep Paraberiel here, too, because he’s been helping me with—well, our project. The rest of you, once you’ve finished your meal, go to your chambers and begin to collect your belongings. In the morning, we’ll load up a wagon with supplies, and you’ll set out with an escort of archers and some of the new horse soldiers.”
Hwilli caught her breath. Would the prince send Rhodorix away? Jantalaber looked at her and smiled, just briefly. When he spoke, he used her own language, that of the Old Ones. Since he was the only person among the People who had ever bothered to learn it, they both knew that no one else would understand.
“Your friend will stay here with you,” Jantalaber said.
Hwilli let out a sigh of sheer relief.
“I decided to keep you here for two reasons beyond our project,” he continued. “You’re the best of my students, and the healers at Rinbaladelan might not treat you as you deserve.”
“My thanks, Master,” Hwilli said, and in this instance nothing poisoned her gratitude.
Jantalaber returned to speaking the language of the People.
“Par, you’ve advanced far enough to teach others. It will be your duty to instruct the archers in binding wounds. Hwilli will show them which herbs are vulneraries and how to prepare them. They need to be capable of healing themselves if something happens to the three of us.”
“As you wish, Master,” Paraberiel said.
“I won’t lie to you all,” Jantalaber continued. “Things are looking very grim. Apparently the Meradan have wits, after all. They’ve simply bypassed Ranadar’s realm and are striking at the heart of the Seven Princedoms.”
Nalla’s face turned white, and she caught the edge of the table so hard that the blood drained from her knuckles as well. Hwilli laid a gentle hand on her friend’s arm.
“The prince