Cold Magics (35 page)

Henry said something to his knights and joined Thomas by the castle door. “What’s up?”

“How bad is Charles?” asked Thomas, his voice low.

“Bad,” said Henry.

“Not expected to live, bad?”

“Aye.”

“If he dies it will destroy Eileen,” said Thomas. “And the lords will come after us.”

“Both true,” said Henry. “What do you want to do?”

“Heal him,” said Thomas. “Who’s with him now?”

“A few friends. A healer. He has no relatives here.”

“Can you get them out?”

“I can,” said Henry. “Sir Lawrence.”

“Lord Henry?”

“Would you come with us, please?”

“Aye, Lord Henry.”

The knights’ laughter faded as the walls of the castle closed around them. Henry led them through the castle to the family apartments.

“Charles is here?” asked Thomas, surprised.

“No,” said Henry. “But chances are John is.”

A few more turns brought them to Lord John’s door. Henry knocked, waited a moment, knocked again. The door opened and a man in John’s livery looked out at them. “May I help you, Lord Henry?”

“I’m here to speak to my brother,” said Henry. “I assume he’s here?”

“He isn’t,” said the man. “He attends Lord Charles.”

“I see,” said Henry. “Thank you.”

He turned on his heel and led them back down the way they had come. “This makes things a bit more difficult,” said Henry. “I had hoped to have him summon all the lords to him on some pretext or other. It would have cleared the room.”

“And now?”

“And now we go visit and come up with something else.”

He led them through the castle to an outer building on the far side. Like Baron Goshawk’s residence, it looked to have started life as a warehouse. Now, it was divided into a dozen apartments. Charles’s was on the ground floor, the door closed. Henry knocked at it, then pushed it open and stepped in before anyone could answer.

One the other side of the door was a small parlour. Lord James and three others from the brawl were talking quietly among themselves. They rose the moment they spotted Thomas. James stepped in their way, addressing Henry. “He isn’t welcome here.”

“Unfortunate,” said Henry. “Move.”

James glared at him, and for a moment Thomas was afraid they were going to have another brawl right there. Instead, James stepped aside. Henry led Thomas through the inner door and into the bedchamber. Thomas stayed close on his heels. The curtains were drawn, leaving the room gloomy and dark, though a fire burned in the fireplace. Thomas’s eyes slowly adjusted until he could make out the people inside.

Charles was on the bed, loosely wrapped in sheets. Lord John was seated in the room’s only chair. Another man—a healer, at a guess—leaned over Charles’s gasping body, gently changing the bandage. To Thomas’s horror, the inquisitor was standing behind the healer, looking over his shoulder.

“Brother,” said John. “Come to pay last respects to Lord Charles?”

“Not necessarily,” said Henry. “I would rather hold out some hope. And why are you here, Inquisitor Alphonse?”

“To learn what happened,” said the inquisitor. “When I learned that young Thomas there had been in a brawl, I thought it best to look into the matter.” He smiled at Thomas. “And what brings you here?”

“The same as Lord Henry,” said Thomas, wondering how to get the two men out of the room before Charles died.

“What did happen at the brawl, Thomas?” asked the inquisitor, coming closer. “How did you defeat Charles?”

“I didn’t,” said Thomas. “Eileen did.”

The inquisitor looked surprised. “Really? A girl? And how did she manage that?”

“Skill.”

“How is Charles?” Henry asked the healer. “Will he live?”

“No,” said the healer, putting the last of the bandages in place.

“Is there more you can do?”

“There is not,” said the healer. “Save to keep him comfortable.”

“He is comfortable from the look of him,” said Henry. “But I do recall several others injured from this morning’s events. Perhaps you could see to them, then return.” Henry turned to the inquisitor. “And since I doubt you will get any answers here, why don’t you join him?”

The inquisitor looked from Henry to Thomas. “What is going to happen here?”

“A man is going to live or die,” said Henry. “We’ll let you know which.”

The inquisitor kept his eyes on Thomas, and made no sign of moving. “I would like to know why you think it important that I not be here.”

“I would like to know who it was that tried to attack me in the woods,” said Henry. “Pity neither of us will ever find out, isn’t it? Good day, inquisitor.”

“You may go, inquisitor,” said Lord John, rising and taking the priest’s elbow. “I will keep an eye on Charles and make certain nothing untoward happens.”

The inquisitor looked doubtful, but allowed John to lead him from the room. At last, the inquisitor was out the door and Lord John was closing it behind him. “And what,” he asked, when he drew the bolt, “do you think you’re doing?” He looked at Thomas, already kneeling on the bed beside Charles, undoing the bandages. Lord John reached out to stop him. “That will kill him, you know.”

“He’s already dying,” said Henry. “This won’t make a difference. How much are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” said Thomas. “I’ve got to keep him from dying, but I can’t heal him all the way.”

“I can always stab him again,” said Henry. “Of course, having to fetch my rapier might complicate things.”

“What are you two talking about?” asked John, still standing at the door.

“Saving Charles’s life,” said Henry. “Why are you here?”

“Sitting death watch,” said John. “He was one of mine, after all.”

“Then why wasn’t he on a leash?” Henry demanded. “These three were supposed to be kept out of things. Why did you let him go after Eileen?”

“I didn’t,” said John. “It’s something he and I are going to discuss, if he ever regains consciousness.”

Thomas peeled off the last of the bandages. The wound was small, between two of the ribs. As Thomas watched, a bubble formed in the blood oozing out of the wound.

“Lung,” said Thomas aloud. “Should have set him sitting up.”

“The healer didn’t see much point,” said John.

“Got to do it now,” said Thomas. “Have to keep the lung from filling more.”

“Why?”

Thomas ignored the question. “Henry?”

Together, Henry and Thomas sat Charles up. Blood spilled from the wound as they manoeuvred him. Henry piled the pillows high behind the young man’s back while Thomas held Charles in place, keeping him at arm’s length to avoid getting blood on his clothes. At last, Charles was propped into position. Thomas took a deep breath and laid his hands on the wound.

“What is he doing?” demanded John.

“Healing,” said Henry. “Be quiet.”

Thomas began repeating the words that had healed George at the standing stones and Lionel and Eileen in the Residence, willing the magic into Charles’s body. He kept his eyes locked on the wound, watching for some sign of change. The white light that only Thomas could see began to pour from his hands, moving deep into Charles’s body. For what felt like a very long time, Thomas could only see the light disappearing into the lord. Blood kept oozing from the puncture in between his ribs, air bubbles kept coming out to the surface.

Charles took a sudden, deep breath, and let it out in a long, slow sigh. No air bubble came from the wound. Thomas kept up the quiet chant, kept willing the magic forth until he saw the white light shining through the blood. He pulled his hands away and sat back, watching. Charles’s colour was better, and his breathing slow and even. He could almost have been asleep.

“Well?” asked John. “Did it work?”

“I don’t know,” said Thomas. “I’ve never half-healed someone before.”

“The wound’s not bubbling anymore,” said Henry, “and he’s breathing easier.”

“Now what?”

“Now we cover him back up, I wash my hands, and we get out of here,” said Thomas, reaching for the wet wad of cloth and the bandages. He pushed things back in place and tied them as tight as he could. Charles’s breathing hitched and John leaned forward, pushing Thomas aside.

“Charles. Can you hear me?”

Charles’s eyes blinked a few times, his gaze not landing on anything. “Charles,” repeated John. “What happened to you?”

From the door to the room, Thomas could suddenly hear voices raised in argument. He stepped away from Charles’s bed toward the stand where the pitcher and basin stood. There was already bloody water in the basin. Thomas opened the window and threw it out, then poured more, rubbing hard against his flesh to force the blood from his skin. He looked for a towel, found one and dried himself on it, leaving streaks of red on the cloth.

There was a shout from outside the door, then a dozen raised voices. Lawrence’s voice rang above the rest, stridently ordering whoever he was facing to step back.

“Are you done, Thomas?” asked Henry.

“Aye.”

“Then let’s get out of here.”

Henry strode to the door, Thomas following on his heels. Lord John stayed where he was, his eyes on Charles, trying to make the other man focus. Henry pulled the door open and found himself right against Sir Lawrence’s back. “What is going on out here?” Henry demanded loudly enough to carry over the shouting mob. Lawrence stepped to the side and Henry moved forward into the small parlour. “Well?”

A dozen of the lords stood in front of them. Cormac stepped to the front, his arm in a sling. “Your man would not let us pass,” he said. “We came to see our friend and he said we could not.”

“Well, now you can,” said Henry. “But only a few at a time. Don’t wear him out.”

“From what I hear,” said Cormac, “there isn’t enough left of him to wear.”

“Then you heard wrong,” said Henry. “Go visit your friend. Come on, Thomas.”

Henry started across the room, Thomas on his heels and Lawrence bringing up the rear. Cormac stepped in front of Thomas the moment he was out of the bedroom. “You and I. We have things to discuss.”

“Get out of my way, Cormac.”

“Lord Cormac.”

“Get out of my way. Cormac.”

Cormac stepped closer, nearly nose to nose with Thomas. “I should have you flogged like the peasant you are.”

“Pity you can’t,” said Henry. “Now step aside, or I’ll have Lawrence break the other one.”

Cormac glared at Henry, but stepped to the side. Henry led Thomas and Lawrence out of the apartment, the hall, and the building.

“Well, that went well,” said Henry, when they reached the courtyard.

“I’ll believe that when I see Charles walking around,” said Thomas, increasing his pace as the cold seeped under his coat and cloak. The expected shakes were beginning, and Henry kept close beside him, obviously ready to offer support should Thomas collapse.

“So will I,” said Henry. “I was trying to be encouraging.”

“You weren’t succeeding,” said Thomas. “Now what?”

“I’ll take you back to your tower,” said Henry. “Healing wipes you out, as I recall, and I’d like you feeling fully yourself by the banquet.”

“What banquet?”

“The one honouring Father Roberts’s visit, of course.”

“Ah.” said Thomas. “I really don’t want to attend that.”

“Too bad,” said Henry. “I need you there.”

“Why?”

“Because people need to see whose side you’re on.”

18

Thomas watched yet another knight whose village had been overrun by the enemy rise and give a toast of welcome to Father Roberts. Thomas, in his place at the table with Sir Lawrence and the other knights, didn’t bother to listen. He practically knew the content already.

Welcome to Father Roberts; praise Lord Henry for arriving home safely; praise Duke Antonius for sending him, when the reinforcements arrive we shall crush the enemy
. Thomas thought.
Pity we don’t even know how many of the enemy there are.

Thomas let his eyes wander around the room yet again, and once more they landed at the table where Father Roberts sat amidst the high-ranking members of the local clergy, plus a baron or two. He had not come alone, but his companion was seated further back in the room. The inquisitor had been relegated to a spot at the merchants’ table. It made Thomas spitefully happy even though he knew that, had it not been for the events of the last few days, he and his friends would be there with him.

He pulled his gaze away from the priests and raised his glass with everyone else as the knight finished his speech. Across the table from him, Eileen raised her glass and took a small sip under the watchful eye of Lady Prellham on her right.

Eileen and George were dressed in the same finery they had worn at the first banquet, but for some reason seemed much less comfortable. George looked sullen and Thomas could sense the anger at the lords smouldering in him. Every time someone addressed George as “Sir,” George looked ready to forcibly stop their mouths. Eileen looked haunted and tired, and having Rose standing behind her, doing her best to act attentive and trying hard not to shift from foot to foot, was not helping. Eileen had protested the idea of having Rose stand behind her and wait on her at the table, even as she sat down to dinner. Lady Prellham, however, was not to be moved. A lady-in-waiting waited, and Rose would wait on Eileen until dinner was finished. To Thomas’s surprise, Eileen acquiesced without much of an argument.

Thomas’s eyes sought out the table of young nobles. They were drinking far more than anyone else, at intervals that suggested they had made a game of the speeches. Thomas noticed sips every time the words “duke,” “lord,” and “knight” were uttered, and glasses emptied when the word “enemy” was said. Several of the young men were looking rather the worse for wear.

Some of them spotted him looking, and cast none-too-friendly glances in his direction. He returned them with an added dose of contempt. Part of him hoped at least one would challenge him to a duel; he longed to run one of them through on his blade.

Is this what I’ve become?
The sheriff of Laketown, months ago, had suggested Thomas had the bearing of a professional killer. Thomas remembered the shock the words had given him. But now, here he sat contemplating murder.