The Commanding Stone Part 29

"You don't understand! I need my medicines, but I can't make them here! I lost it all at the Watchtowers! I told you I needed my pack! Why didn't you listen?" She was screaming at him now, but the words were so slurred from her weeping that it was hard for him to understand them.

He could hear the footsteps of others approaching, and quickly created a spell of sleep. The magic washed over Elaysen, and she slumped as the tension left her body, falling into a deep slumber.

Two servants appeared in the doorway. "What happened? We heard screaming," said one.

"She's ill," said Gerin. "I made her sleep, but I need to get her to her rooms and have someone watch over her." He picked her up, careful to cradle her head against his chest. She felt painfully thin and light.

"You," he said to the female servant. "Come with me."

Gerin carried Elaysen to her rooms in one of the women's halls. He placed her on her bed and told the servant to fetch food and water for her. "When she wakes, make sure she eats and drinks."

"Yes, my lord. What if she's still sick?"

"Fetch me if you can, or the closest available wizard if I'm occupied. I need to return to the Hammdras." He squeezed Elaysen's hand and kissed her forehead. She did not stir.

What's happened to her? he wondered as he made his way to the wall. She was scarcely the same woman he had met in her father's house on that long ago day in Almaris.

What medicine was it she needed? And why? She'd never spoken of it before, never hinted there was something she required. Kirin knows what's happening with her, and this time he's going to tell me, by the G.o.ds. This isn't right! I want to help her!

The Warden of Healing was not in the gate tower when he arrived. Nor were any of the other wizards. "Where's everyone gone?" Gerin asked Balandrick.

"They're all off on the wall somewhere, Your Majesty, relaying instructions," the captain said. "Apparently, Khazuzili figured out something else that might work against the demons and they're telling everyone what to do."

"Do you remember what it was?"

Balan shrugged. "I have no idea, Your Majesty. Some magical thing with an unp.r.o.nounceable name. I swear, I have no idea how you remember what all your spells are called, let alone how to use them." His eyes widened and he snapped his fingers. "Bouncing Rings of Barley, or something like that. I think that's close."

"Binding Rings of Barados," said Gerin. "But that requires andraleirazi to bind the spirits," he murmurred to himself. "How is he going to use that on demons that can fly?"

"See, that's what I mean. How in Shayphim's name can you say that? It sounds like you're talking with your mouth full of rocks."

"Andraleirazi is a kind of dust infused with power that can create prisons of magic, for want of a better term. It's used to hold beings of spirit, but that's usually when the spirits have been summoned by a wizard-the Binding Rings keep the spirit from escaping."

"You wizards should just name everything in Kelarin and be done with it, instead of 'gobbledegook spell' this and 'blah blah spell' that. It gives a man a headache."

"Not my decision to make, Balan. You'll have to take it up with the Archmage."

Hollin and a female wizard named Nenyal Fey appeared on the roof from the tower stair.

"What's this I hear about using the Binding Rings of Barados against the demons?" Gerin asked them.

"Our ill.u.s.trious captain has misunderstood what he heard," said Nenyal, with a smile at Balandrick.

Balan held up his hands. "I was only trying to repeat what I heard and absolutely did not comprehend. I can't be held responsible if you wizards speak in gibberish half the time."

"The spell that Warden Khazuzili is teaching us works like the Binding Rings but does not use andraleirazi," said Nenyal. "He adapted another spell whose name now escapes me-"

"See!" said Balandrick. "I'm not the only one!"

"The Warden believes it will have the same effect on the demons as the Word of Reflection. It will sever the link that holds them here, but uses far less power than a Word."

"Will one of you teach me the spell?" asked Gerin.

"I will," said Nenyal. "Come, let's go inside. All of this sun is hurting my eyes."

The Warden's spell was relatively complex, but Gerin was able to learn it in less than an hour. When Nenyal was certain that he had a grasp of its nuances, they returned to the roof of the tower.

Nearly a dozen people had arrived in their absence. The Lord Commander and the Archmage were there, as well as Khazuzili and several other Wardens and high ministers.

Gerin spied Kirin looking through an embrasure at the enemy camp. He moved to the Warden's side and placed his hand on Kirin's shoulder.

"We need to talk about Elaysen," he said. "About what's happening to her."

"Gerin, please. She asked me specifically not to speak of this with you."

"I found her weeping uncontrollably in the Varsae Sandrova," he said angrily. "She was going on and on about her lost medicines and how she can't find what she needs here. I had to make her sleep so I could get her off the floor and take her to her rooms. Something is very wrong with her, Warden, and I need to know what it is."

Kirin's expression darkened. He stared off at nothing while he considered Gerin's demand.

"All right, I'll tell you. Her condition is worsening, and while there's nothing you can do for her, I do feel you should know what's happening."

"Is it something that can kill her?" he asked.

"Not directly, no. She has a disease of the mind, Gerin. Without her medicines, she becomes easily agitated and withdrawn. Her perceptions of the world become skewed, growing dark and menacing. I've seen some of them firsthand, as have you. In Almaris she said it's called Woman's Sadness."

Gerin had never heard of it. "Can you treat it? Isn't there anything we can do with our magic?"

"I've tried everything I can think of, but this particular affliction needs a more physical remedy. Unfortunately for all of us, the plants she needs to make her medicines are not native to these lands, and I don't have anything that can be subst.i.tuted. Believe me, she and I have tried with the medicinal plants and herbs we have here, and nothing has helped. A few have even made things worse."

"You said it wasn't directly fatal. What did you mean by that?"

"The disease itself won't kill her, but it can drive someone to suicide. From what you've told me, she's taken a sudden and alarming downturn, which is why I decided to break my promise and share this with you. We all need to take care that she does not harm herself. Is someone watching her now?"

Gerin felt a great weight of helplessness settle on his chest. "Yes. I left a servant with orders to see that she eats when she awakens."

"Good. But we'll need to send additional instructions. She probably should not be left alone until her condition improves."

"Can it improve without her medicines?"

He shrugged. "Perhaps for a time. Even now her moods wax and wane, though the swings are sudden and extreme."

"What else can we do for her?"

"Get her back to Almaris so she can get the medicines we need. Other than that, there is little to be done other than ensuring she doesn't harm herself."

Gerin looked through the embrasure at the Havalqa. Several of their siege engines were almost complete. "Easier said than done with an army between us and the only way out of here."

The cloud-cloaked sun was near to setting behind the western rim of the valley. "I've never been in a war before," said Kirin. "Oh, in my travels I've come across the aftermath of many battles-camps of wounded soldiers, or the common folk displaced by the clashing of armies, banished from their homes to wander in a daze, wondering how they will rebuild their lives. I've found the victims of outlaws and brigands, sometimes alive, sometimes not, but in my long life this is the first I've experienced this kind of conflict directly. I confess, I thought I would find something exciting about it, something exhilarating, but after seeing what those demons did to the men of the Sunrise Guard, I realize there is nothing to enjoy in war and battle. It's abhorrent, a contest of atrocities."

"But there is something worthy in war," said Balandrick. "Yes, war is about death, but even more so, it's about victory. About vanquishing your enemy and proving your valor in the face of the very horrors you've witnessed for the first time. War is of course filled with blood and pain and death, but there is a purpose to it as well. It's a means for a man to take measure of himself and discover whether or not he is wanting."

"I would prefer to take my measure in other ways, thank you," said the Warden.

"Which is why you're not a soldier. I am not a wizard, so I do not profess to understand what it is you do, and so I would never think to disparage what I don't comprehend. But by the same token you are not a soldier, and likewise should not condemn it."

"Whether I choose to be a soldier or not, good captain, the fault with your comparison is that I am caught in a conflict of warriors not of my choice, and it seems my mettle will be tested in battle whether I desire it or not."

"True. My craft is inexact, and has a strong penchant for engulfing those who want no part in it. But to me, that's another reason to fight even harder-to protect those caught in a conflict through no fault of their own."

"The philosopher soldier has returned," said Hollin. "I was wondering when you would show your intellect again, Balan. I do believe it's as keen as your sword."

"I worry that may mean my sword is in dire need of sharpening."

Elaysen awoke slowly, her mind drifting up from the dense, dark sea of sleep that had taken her. Where was she? Still too tired to open her eyes-they resolutely refused to obey her command-she cast about with her hands to take note of her surroundings.

She was on a bed beneath a thin blanket. But how? The last thing she recalled was going to the Varsae Sandrova to see if there was something, anything, that might help her. Fueled by a heart-racing panic that she would die if she did not find something quickly to help her quell the storm that had swept across her thoughts, she'd dashed through the enormous library. She went to the room where she and Kirin had spent hours searching for spells that might help her, or alternatives to the herb-lore that she'd refined over the years in Almaris. She tried to concentrate on the first few volumes she examined, but her mind would not calm, and she knew-she knew-there was nothing to find. There was no hope. She was lost. Her hands trembled with anxiety; she found it impossible to sit still. If she remained in one place, the flood of panic would rise up and drown her. She remembered collapsing, crying...Gerin's voice...and then- Her heart hammered suddenly when she heard a knock on the door.

"Who's there?" she said. With a heaving breath she at last mustered the strength to open her eyes and sit up. She was in her rooms in the women's hall. But again, how had she come here? She could not remember.

"Peylo Ossren, my lady," said a woman from the far side of the door.

She did not recognize either the name or the voice. Had that wh.o.r.e Nyene sent someone to kill her? How did I get to my rooms? Where was Gerin?

Then she remembered him finding her in the library. The horror of that memory struck her like a physical blow. He saw me like this and now he's left me, fled into the arms of that knife-wielding wh.o.r.e. Oh, by the One G.o.d! I've lost him, lost him, lost him...

"My lady, I was commanded to see that you eat and drink when you awoke," said Peylo Ossren. "May I come in?"

"No!" she shouted. "Stay away! I know who you are! I know who sent you!"

She scrambled out of bed and looked for a weapon. She needed to defend herself. She found a straight, long-bladed knife that Gerin had given her after they'd left the Watchtowers. She held it in front of her, the point aimed at the door as if the wood itself were somehow threatening her.

"My lady, please!" Peylo Ossren's voice was full of alarm. "King Gerin commanded me himself."

So much was lost to her. How long had it been since she'd seen her father? He would know how to comfort her. He always did, even when the Woman's Sadness-an idiotic name, as she had known men to suffer from the same affliction-had been at its worst. He told her that her mother suffered from it as well, and had devised several medicines that helped balance the volatility of her moods and confusion in her mind. Elaysen had taken what her mother started and honed it to a potent medicine: urlo, both leaf and root, the leaves dried and crushed to powder, the root kept moist and sliced into slivers, both placed in water over a fire until the water came to a raging boil; then morlenga juice, crushed pollur seeds, illned stems, a drop of tumarri oil, and ground teer leaves were added. The mixture was kept over the fire until it thickened to a paste. It was then removed from the fire, cooled, and the paste spooned into jars. A dab of paste the size of the tip of her little finger, applied to the back of the tongue each morning, kept the Woman's Sadness at bay.

But now she had none of her medicine and no ingredients with which to make more. What was wrong with these blasted lands that they didn't have such ordinary plants and herbs?

Or did they? Was Kirin lying to her, trying to keep her from getting well? Why would he do such a thing?

Was it easier for Gerin to break off his feelings for her if he could see her sick, know the truth of her illness? He saw me in the library! He knows! He knows!

A cry escaped her lips; a tear slid down her cheek. She dropped the knife and buried her face in her hands.

The door opened. A gray-haired woman entered. "My lady, what is wrong?"

If the woman was there to kill her, an a.s.sa.s.sin sent by that wh.o.r.e Nyene, Elaysen no longer cared. All was lost. Her world had become nothing but despair, swallowed in darkness.

"I am no lady," she said. She lowered her hands to the blanket and stared at them vacantly.

The woman knelt by her bed. "I'll fetch the wizards."

"No! No. I don't need them. There's nothing they can do for me. We've already tried."

"Then you will at least take some food. I sent Rella an age ago, but that girl is forever getting distracted. Please stay calm, my lady. I'll be back soon." She gave Elaysen's hand a rea.s.suring squeeze, then left.

"I am no lady," Elaysen whispered after Peylo Ossren had gone.

What would happen to her now? She could not return home to her father, to her medicines, with an army on the doorstep of Hethnost. She could find no solace here, or healing. There was only despair. She yearned for Gerin, wanted him as she had wanted no other, but he was so unattainable he might as well have been on the far side of death.

She picked up her knife and a lamp, rose from her bed and left her room. No one saw her. No one stopped her.

"There you are!"

Elaysen walked down the meandering flagstone path that led to the statue Death of a Son. The garden in which the statue was located was long and narrow, filled with old trees. The bushes and flowers were wild, almost overgrown, in contrast to the careful cultivation of the larger gardens within the fortress, as if this particular place had been neglected or forgotten. Forgotten, the way Gerin has forgotten me, she thought as she approached the bench where Zaephos was seated.

He did not look at her. He kept his gaze upon the statue, his brow furrowed, a mark of concentration she had rarely seen upon his face. Despite herself, she followed his gaze to the statue: the anguished father carrying the limp corpse of his son. She hated it-hated the sorrow it evoked in her, the sense of the inevitability and cruelty of death. It seemed almost to celebrate death with its terrible, aching beauty, and that was something she could not abide.

"I find myself strangely drawn to this work," said Zaephos, still without looking at her. "It is a keen representation of mortality." Finally, he looked at her. "Are you well, Elaysen?"

"I need my medicines," she said. "You have to help me."

"Have you spoken to the wizards?"

"Yes! Their spells can't help, and they don't have the ingredients I need. You have to help me. Use your power to make me well, or at least make the things I require to help myself."

"I'm sorry, Elaysen, but I cannot. I am not a healer, and my power is not such that I can conjure what you ask."

"Liar!" she screamed suddenly. If Zaephos was startled, he did not show it. His expression was as impa.s.sive as ever. "You've been lying to us all along! I know you have the power to help us! Why are you refusing? You could get rid of the Havalqa with a snap of your fingers! Why won't you? Are you secretly in league with them?"

"I am in league with all who oppose the Adversary, whoever they may be," he said in his infuriatingly calm voice.

"So if Hethnost falls to them, will you be spared? Have you made arrangements for your life? Have you sold us out to them?" It was so obvious now. His refusal to help them at the Watchtowers, his refusal here...

He was working with their enemy.

"I have made no arrangements with them, Elaysen. I have no need to. They oppose the Adversary in their own way. They need nothing from me."

"That's the real reason you don't fear death from them. Because they won't hurt you! I never believed you when you said you had stranded yourself here in the mortal realm without a means of defending yourself. I see I was right. You made deals with our enemies to keep yourself safe."

"I never said I was defenseless. I said that to use my powers would destroy you as well as your enemies. I could eradicate the army outside these walls, but I would also destroy Hethnost utterly."

"But you would destroy your mortal form as well, if what you say is true."

"Yes. This body would perish if I were to release divine power here. Without the restrictions imposed upon me by this mortal body, my power is even greater-but then other laws bind me."

"What other laws?"

"I cannot deliberately kill. When I appeared to Gerin and your father, I did not possess a mortal body-they saw only a vision of what I wanted them to see, a perception bound within their thoughts. When I interact with this world in that manner, I am forbidden to kill. I can manipulate another to do my bidding if I desired, but I cannot directly stretch forth my hand and cause harm. It is an inviolable law of Creation. The servants of the Adversary are bound by the same laws."