The Rogue (11 page)

This was Kalia’s area of expertise. Lorkin was given the task of looking after anyone who came in with other injuries or illness. No sufferer of chill fever ever approached him. If Kalia was occupied, they settled onto a bed and watched her patiently, only occasionally glancing at him in curiosity.

The main cures were a chest rub and a bitter-tasting tea. Children were given sweets to suck if they wouldn’t drink the tea. The sweets were still quite strong and unpleasant, so that only those who truly had the sickness – and whose sense of taste was dulled – could tolerate them. Enough tea and sweets were handed out to last patients a few days. They had to return to be examined again, if they needed more.

It was the first time he’d seen the Traitors so strictly rationing their supplies. He knew that food stores would have to be monitored and controlled in order for the valley’s produce to sustain the people through the winter, but so far he hadn’t seen any tough restrictions coming into effect. They were talked about, however, and anyone seen to be eating more than was considered reasonable was treated with a teasing disapproval, but also an underlying tone of warning.

No magicians had come to the Care Room with chill fever, since they were naturally resistant to illnesses, so Lorkin was surprised to see one of them entering the room, her nose and eyelids a tell-tale shade of red. He turned back to the task of re-bandaging the ulcerated leg of an old man. The man chuckled.

“Thought she was a magician, didn’t you?” he croaked.

Lorkin smiled. “Yes,” he admitted.

“No. Her mother is. Sister is. Grandmother was. She isn’t, but she likes to pretend she is.”

“In the Allied Lands, all magicians have to wear a uniform so everyone knows what they are. It’s illegal to dress as a magician if you are not one.”

The old man smiled thinly. “Oh, they wouldn’t like that here.”

“Because it would make it obvious that not everyone is equal?”

The man snorted. “No, because they don’t like being told what to do.”

Lorkin laughed quietly. He secured the bandage and slipped the old man an extra dose of pain cure.
What will I do if we run out of it, and other cures?

He could start to Heal patients, but the timing would not be good.
If I’m forced to use my Healing powers it should be for a better reason than because I let us run out of cures.

“Have you ever been to the old viewing rooms high above the city?” the old man asked.

“The ones that were made long before the Traitors discovered the valley?”

“Yes. A friend of yours told me she was going there. Said to tell you.”

Lorkin stared at the old man, then smiled and looked away.

“She did, did she?”

“And I need help getting back to my room.”

Kalia didn’t look suspicious when Lorkin told her the man wanted his help, but she did tell him to return as quickly as possible. Once they had walked a few hundred paces, the old man told Lorkin he was fine to continue on his own, but Lorkin insisted on accompanying him all the way to his room. Only then did Lorkin hurry away to the viewing rooms. He had to climb several stairs to get there, and by the time he arrived at the door to the first room he was breathing heavily.

Once he had passed through the heavy door his exhal ations became billowing clouds of mist. The air was very cold, and he quickly created a magical barrier around himself and warmed the air within it. The room was long and narrow, the only furniture some rough wooden benches stacked up against the back wall. Glassless windows were spaced along the length.

A woman leaned against the window edge, and this time his heart flipped over at the sight of her. Tyvara smiled faintly. He managed to restrain the urge to grin in return.

“Why don’t they fill them in with glass?” Lorkin asked, waving to the openings. “It would be a lot easier to heat the space.”

“We don’t have the materials to make that much glass,” she told him, walking forward to meet him.

“You could bring some up here from the lowlands.”

She shook her head. “It’s not important enough to risk discovery over.”

“Surely you’ve brought materials up here before?”

“A few times. We prefer to find out how to make things ourselves, or do without. We don’t do without much, really.” She beckoned him over to a window. The valley below was now covered in snow, the cliff walls rising stark and grey above the spread of white. “Did Evar tell you that we grow plants in caves lit and heated by stones?”

“No.” He felt his curiosity spark. “Is that also how you protect the animals during winter – keeping them in caves?”

“Yes, though they are mostly fed grain and we will cull some and freeze the meat once it’s cold enough to make ice caves.”

“Ice caves. I would like to see them,” he said wistfully. “But I don’t expect anybody is going to take me on any tours of the caves of Sanctuary for a while.”

She shook her head. “No.” A frown creased her forehead and she looked away. “I’m not supposed to be talking to you.”

“I know. Yet here we are.”

She smiled faintly, then grew serious again.

“Have you seen Evar recently?”

He shook his head. “Have you?”

“Yes. But I am worried about him.”

Lorkin felt a stab of concern. “Why?”

She looked at him, her expression doubtful. But it wasn’t self-doubt, or indecision. She seemed to be weighing up whether to tell him something.

“I have a warning to give you, but I have to be indirect, and I don’t want you interpreting it in other ways.” She glanced around the room, then leaned toward him and lowered her voice despite there being nobody else in the room. “Women may try to lure you into their bed in the next few weeks. Don’t accept any invites – unless you’re absolutely sure they’re not magicians.”

He stared back at her, fighting the urge to grin.

“Some already have. I didn’t—”

“That’s different,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “This is … they won’t be doing it because they like you. More the opposite.” She looked at him closely, her expression serious. “Will you heed my warning?”

“Of course,” he said, smiling and hoping it looked like one of gratitude rather than glee.
She’s jealous. She wants me all for herself.

“You’re taking it the wrong way,” she told him, her eyes narrowing. “There truly is a risk. What they could be planning can be dangerous. It can kill.”

At that he felt his smug jubilation melt away and his stomach plummeted as he suddenly understood what she was alluding to: Lover’s Death.

“They’re planning to assassinate me?”

She shook her head. “No. That is against the law. But if you accidentally died, particularly in that way …” She let the sentence hang, merely spreading her hands in a helpless gesture. “The punishment is a lot milder.”

He nodded and met her gaze, now able to keep his face straight with no effort. “I will not bed any Traitors until you say I can.”

She rolled her eyes and stepped away toward the door. “It’s only the magicians you have to be wary of, Lorkin. What you do with the rest is not my business. Though it would be appreciated if you did what’s necessary to prevent siring a whole lot of children, because we already have a lot of mouths to feed.” She looked back at him. “I have to go now.”

“And I must get back to the Care Room, too.” He sighed. “Not for love of Kalia’s company, but I suspect this chill fever is going to get much worse.”

She nodded, her eyes warm with approval, but then her expression became sad. “It happens every year. Always kills a few. Usually the old, young, or those who are already weakened by sickness. You had better be ready for that.”

He nodded to show he understood. “Thanks for the warning.” He smiled. “Both of them.”

She smiled in return. Together they headed for the door and the warmth of the stairs beyond. She told him to go first, so that they wouldn’t be seen re-entering the city together. He glanced back once to see her staring far beyond the walls surrounding her, looking both worried and determined. He felt his heart lift again. She had come to see him, defying orders to avoid him. He hoped her defiance wouldn’t be noticed, and that she would search him out again.

“So when is Lord Dorrien setting out for home?” Jonna asked as she gave the wine glasses a last rub with her polishing cloth.

“Tomorrow morning,” Sonea replied. She looked up at her aunt and servant, and caught a strange look on the older woman’s face. “What?”

Jonna shook her head, set the wineglass down and scanned Sonea’s guest room. She moved to the low table where the evening’s meal would be served and began polishing the cutlery. Again. “Nothing important. Just thinking about ways things could have been.”

Sonea sighed and crossed her arms. “Are you still lamenting that I didn’t marry Dorrien?”

Jonna spread her hands in protest. “He is a very nice man.”

Oh, no. Not this again.
“He is,” Sonea agreed. “But if I had married him I’d have moved to the country and you’d have never seen me.”

“Nonsense,” Jonna replied, her eyes flashing with triumph. “The Guild would never have let you out of their sight.”

“Which would have forced Dorrien to stay here, and that would have been a cruel thing to do to him. He doesn’t like the city.”

Jonna shrugged. “He might change his mind when he gets old.”

“That’s a long—”

A knock at the door interrupted Sonea. She abandoned the old argument with relief and sent a little magic to the door latch. It clicked open and the door swung inward to reveal Regin standing outside.

“Black Magician Sonea,” he said. “May I speak with you privately?”

“Lord Regin!” Sonea said, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. “Come in!”

He stepped into the guest room and glanced at Jonna as the woman slipped into Sonea’s bedroom to give them privacy. Then the items on the table caught his eye.

“You’re expecting guests,” he observed. “I had best not linger.” He straightened and met her gaze. “I’m here to tell you that a family matter has arisen that is going to take up much of my time and attention, and since I will not be able to reliably offer you my help in hunting and – more import antly – capturing the Thief Skellin then I feel you will be better served by another assistant.”

Sonea stared at him in dismay. “Oh,” she said. “That’s …” She felt briefly disorientated. What was she going to do without Regin to help her catch Skellin?
I thought our search couldn’t be going any worse.
She shook her head.
I can’t believe this, but I’m going to sorely regret losing Regin’s help.
“That’s a great shame,” she said. “I’ve appreciated your help and wish you were able to continue assisting me. But your family should have first claim on your attention,” she added quickly.

His smile was rather grimace-like. He almost seemed to wince. “They always do.”

“I hope this matter resolves itself quickly and painlessly.”

“I dou— ...” Regin’s voice faded to silence as another knock came from the door. He glanced at it, then turned back to her and inclined his head. “It was a pleasure working with you, Black Magician Sonea. I had best be leaving you to your guests.”

Sonea opened the door again. In the corridor outside, Rothen and Dorrien waited. They saw Regin and curiosity sparked in their gazes as they nodded to him politely.

“Lord Regin,” they murmured.

“Lord Rothen, Lord Dorrien. I am just leaving. Enjoy your meal.” As they stepped back, Regin moved past them. Sonea heard his footsteps in the corridor as he walked away, then her guests came inside and closed the door.

“Any news?” Rothen asked.

Sonea shook her head. “Not of the kind we want. On the contrary, Regin can’t help us any more. A family matter, he says.”

“Oh.” Rothen frowned in dismay.

“That’s what I said. Though in a more formal and verbose manner that included my gratitude and regret, of course.”

“Of course.” Rothen chuckled, but his frown quickly returned. “What will we do without him?”

Dorrien looked from his father to Sonea. “You needed his help that badly?”

“Not so much for the searching,” Rothen replied. “Cery is in a better position to do that. For the actual capture of Skellin.”

Sonea waved them to their seats. Jonna reappeared from the bedroom and raised an eyebrow at Sonea. At Sonea’s nod she left to get the meal that was being prepared for them.

“So it doesn’t have to be Regin. Could
I
take his place?” Dorrien asked, looking from Rothen to Sonea.

Sonea frowned. “You have to get back to your village.”

“Yes, but I could make arrangements and return.” He smiled at her. “There’s a Healer living in another village about half a day’s ride away. We have an agreement that we’ll look after the other’s patients whenever we go to the city.”

“But this could take a lot longer than a few weeks,” Sonea warned.

“You should not leave Alina and the girls for too long either,” Rothen agreed. He turned to Sonea. “I can help when the time comes.”

“No—” Sonea began.

“You don’t know how powerful Skellin is,” Dorrien interrupted, frowning at his father in disapproval. “What if he is stronger than you? You’re not as powerful as Lord Regin. You said so yourself.”

“I’ll be with Sonea.”

“What if you’re not? What if you two are separated?” Dorrien shook his head. “It’s too risky for you, Father.”

Sonea nodded. She didn’t agree with Dorrien’s reasoning, since Rothen wasn’t any less powerful than the average magician, but Rothen was getting old and physically slower, which might be a problem if they had to chase someone.

“You’re not much stronger than me,” Rothen pointed out.

“But I
am
stronger,” Dorrien said. He looked at Sonea, his gaze bright. “Alina and I have been thinking we should move to the city for a while so that Tylia can get used to life here before she joins the University. We intended to at least stay here for the first few months after Tylia starts lessons.” He turned to his father. “I’ve already told Lady Vinara of my plans, though no specific dates as yet. It would not be difficult to move here earlier.”