The Exile and the Sorcerer (34 page)

Tevi was curled on the bed, her face knotted in agony.

“Tevi, what’s wrong?” Jemeryl rushed to her side.

“My head hurts,” Tevi hissed through clenched teeth.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“No, you won’t. When did this start?”

“I was practising walking. Things were starting to spin. I thought I could manage, but—”

“But you pushed it too far.” Jemeryl finished the sentence for her. “You should have called me.”

“I’m sorry.”

Jemeryl’s initial alarm gave way to anger. There was no need for Tevi to start acting like one of the stupid villagers. Why had the warrior not called when she started feeling unwell? Why hide in her room? It was unlikely that any damage had been done, although Tevi was clearly in pain. Her face was bloodless pale; her aura, distorted.

As she took in the details, Jemeryl’s mood softened to exasperation.
Maybe it’s my fault,
she told herself.
There’s something about me that makes the ungifted act like frightened idiots when I’m around
. She just wished she knew what it was. In the meantime, Tevi needed her help.

“Roll over and lie face down,” Jemeryl ordered. Once Tevi had obeyed, she sat beside her on the bed.

The muscles of Tevi’s neck and shoulders were snarled like twisted rope. Deftly, Jemeryl began to massage away the tension. At the same time, she worked on Tevi’s aura. As a sorcerer, Jemeryl could see the series of tiny vortexes littering Tevi’s astral projection. They disrupted the flow of life energies. In time, they would fade of their own accord, but reversing the spin would speed the process. Relaxing the cramped muscles and raising the blood flow would prevent their return.

Within minutes, she could tell that the pain in Tevi’s head was easing. The hard cords in Tevi’s neck softened, although the tightness in her shoulders was proving more stubborn. It would be easier if Tevi removed her thick jerkin. Jemeryl was about to ask, but stopped. Suddenly, her hands were very aware of the touch of Tevi’s skin—the texture and the warmth.

Jemeryl’s gaze travelled the length of the body lying motionless on the bed. She finished staring at the back of Tevi’s head. There was an overwhelming temptation to run her hands though Tevi’s hair, to take hold of her shoulder, turn her over and look into her eyes. It was so easy for Jemeryl to fantasise the act of then kissing Tevi, slowly and very thoroughly, and imagine the feel of Tevi’s arms tightening around her. Jemeryl’s hands started to move before she had a chance to think, but then she mastered her emotions.

From Tevi’s reaction the night before, it was easy to guess what the outcome would be. Jemeryl suppressed her groan of despair. Iralin had given her a job—one she had to succeed at. She dare not risk further alienating the woman she was obliged to accompany. After a second’s pause, Jemeryl continued to massage Tevi’s shoulders, but with her hands outside the jerkin, breaking the contact with Tevi’s skin.

“How do you feel?” Jemeryl asked once the last of the vortexes had disappeared.

“Better. The pain has gone.” Tevi’s voice was muffled.

“Will you come and sit in the parlour?”

“I’d rather lie here a while.”

“Do you want me to stay with you?”

“No.”

The answer was faint but unmistakable. Jemeryl got off the bed and walked to the door. “All right. But in future, call me when you don’t feel well.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

Before leaving the room, Jemeryl stopped for one last look at her patient. Tevi had not moved. Her face was buried in the pillow, preventing any eye contact. Jemeryl shut the door and went to her seat by the fire. The faint noise she made woke Ruff briefly. The bear snorted and rolled over before falling back asleep.

The room was very quiet. With only the animals’ slumbering presence for company, Jemeryl sat for a long time staring into the flames. Her heart was pounding. Her hands ached from the memory of touching Tevi. In despair, she thought,
Oh, gods, I’ve really fallen for her
. Her emotions were totally out of control.

And Tevi was not interested. She was making it very obvious, taking every chance to put literal as well as metaphorical distance between them. Jemeryl could guess why.

Many of the ungifted were uncomfortable around sorcerers. Few would be willing to have one as a friend, let alone as a lover. Tevi had shown no sign of being bothered by Jemeryl’s status.
Until she saw me
, Jemeryl thought.
Or, rather, until she saw how I was looking at her.
Tevi’s tolerance of sorcerers apparently did not extend that far. It was not merely that Tevi did not return the feelings. She was running scared.
Does she think sorcerers can’t take no as an answer
?

Of course, there was one definite area where Jemeryl could not accept a no. Whether Tevi agreed or not, she had to go on the quest for the chalice. Tevi’s agreement would make it less unpleasant, but either way, it was going to be unbearably miserable, spending months in Tevi’s company with her close at hand but out of reach.
Did Iralin know what she was condemning me to?
Jemeryl’s lips twisted into a bitter grimace.
Probably not. It’s just one of those things.

*

When she heard the door close, Tevi rolled onto her back and flung an arm over her eyes, but she could not block out memories of the hay barn or the contemptuous voices. What would her mother say to see her now? Would Red be able to overcome her disgust long enough to laugh at the bad joke?

Tevi clenched her jaw. She should have called her grandmother’s bluff back on Storenseg. Even if she had lost the gamble, it would have been honest. She could have been true to herself, but like a coward, she had accepted the option to run. She had been running ever since. She had fled from Cayell and now she wanted to escape again. However, Tevi knew in her heart that it was the most pointless form of flight. She was trying to run away from herself.

“What else can I do?”

She was not handling things well. Her behaviour had been nothing short of rude in rebuffing Jemeryl’s friendship. She had snubbed the offer of help on the quest, but even if the search for the chalice had been in earnest, she could not have risked Jemeryl’s company. She liked the sorcerer far more than was safe, far more than could be hidden. It could not be long before she did or said something to give herself away. She knew that she had annoyed Jemeryl. The knowledge hurt; she did not want Jemeryl to think badly of her.

The honourable course would be to face things squarely, to go to Jemeryl, tell her the whole sordid truth, and accept what might come of it. But what would Jemeryl do? As the Coven representative in the area, Jemeryl was responsible for maintaining law and order. Would she, in her official role, feel obliged to report to the mercenary guild masters? How would it feel to have Jemeryl look at her with loathing?

I can’t do it.
It was an admission of cowardice. Tevi hated herself.

Tevi got to her feet and walked to the window. The shutters had been in place all day. She shoved them open, venting her anger by using far more force than necessary. Night had fallen. The moon was rising in the eastern sky, floating above the mountains. To Tevi’s newly rebuilt eyes, its gentle light burned like the blast of a furnace. Fumbling blindly, Tevi refastened the shutters and collapsed on the bed.

The only option was to get away as soon as possible, and keep moving, but there was no chance of doing it immediately. She must wait until her eyes were stronger. Until then, she would have to guard her words and actions. When she could withstand daylight, she would go. But she did not want to. The thought of staying with Jemeryl was appallingly tempting. Tevi could hardly believe how much she craved it. The memory of Jemeryl’s hands touching her neck washed over her with painful intensity. Tevi’s self-control deserted her. Hot tears escaped from under her eyelids as she sobbed.

The next day’s research did not produce the name of even one candidate for Abrak. By evening, Jemeryl was becoming dejected. Tevi contrived to be both more sociable and less friendly. She would engage in conversation, but her words were cold and guarded. Tension permeated the castle. The bears were irritable, and even Klara’s stream of sarcasm dried up; only the squirrels were unaffected.

Affairs improved slightly on the following day. Tevi’s eyes were less sensitive, which improved her mood. Her greeting at breakfast was warmer. Jemeryl wondered if this was a cue to stay and chat, but as soon as the meal was finished, Tevi disappeared into her room. She returned after a few seconds, carrying her sword.

“I need to do some exercises.”

“Promise you’ll stop if you get a headache?”

Tevi nodded sheepishly and moved to the largest clear space in the parlour. Her sword began to trace swift patterns, moving in set routines of feint, parry, and riposte.

Clearly, Tevi was not ready to talk. Jemeryl was about to leave when an idea struck her.

“That doesn’t look much fun,” she said casually.

Tevi glanced over her shoulder. “It isn’t, but it’s the only way I have to keep the muscles in my sword arm in shape.”

“If you want, I could conjure a phantom opponent.”

“A phantom opponent?”

“An illusion to spar with.”

“Um...thanks, but I wouldn’t want to waste your time.” Despite her words, Tevi was clearly intrigued.

“It’s no trouble. It will only take a minute to set up. Everything I need is in the hall.”

Tevi looked uncertain, but then nodded. “If you don’t mind.”

Jemeryl reduced the great hall to a soft twilight that would not hurt delicate eyes. While Tevi wandered around, bemused by the strange artefacts, Jemeryl drew a twisting chalk pattern on the floor. A grey humanoid shape formed above it, sword in hand. Once it was ready, she called Tevi over.

“I don’t know enough weapon craft to make it a serious opponent, but it should be more fun than waving a sword at thin air.”

“Oh, no, it’s...er...” Tevi ground to a dumbfounded halt. “What do I do?”

“Just attack. It will stop when you move away.”

Tevi tentatively jabbed at the phantom’s midriff. The figure responded instantly, and a shower of sparks fell as the two blades clashed. Tevi swung her sword across in a more purposeful attack. The phantom dodged and then struck out with its own weapon, forcing Tevi to parry.

She stepped back and looked at Jemeryl quizzically. “Before I go on, how dangerous is it?”

Jemeryl grinned. “Don’t worry. I’m not about to see my work fixing your eyes go to waste. The sword will tingle, but that’s all.”

Tevi returned to the attack. Tempting though it was to stay and watch, the phantom did not need Jemeryl’s presence, and leaving might be wiser, but then something caught her attention. She focused in intently on the timing of the two swords.

After several minutes of sparring, Tevi stood back, breathing heavily, with a hand pressed against her forehead.

“Are you all right?”

“Just giddy. The room spins when I move, but it doesn’t make me feel sick anymore.”

“Good.” Jemeryl paused, unsure how her discovery would be received. “You know, I don’t think you’re completely ungifted.”

“Pardon?”

“You’ve got a trace of a paranormal ability.”

“I’ve what?”

“Nothing too conspicuous. I’m sure that nobody else would have noticed. But it’s my phantom, so I knew what it was going to do, and I could tell you were getting ready to parry its blow before it moved. I’d say your second-dimensional time sense warned you.” The surprise on Tevi’s face made Jemeryl laugh. “Time exists in two dimensions. Nearly everyone can perceive the first, although a few can’t—a bit like being blind or deaf. They appear mad to the rest of us. For them, everything happens without order, cause, or effect.”

“And the second dimension?”

“It’s used for fortune telling and the like. Fortunately, it isn’t well developed in me.”

“Why fortunately? It sounds like a good thing.”

“It’s more trouble than it’s worth. If you see time in two dimensions, the future is as fixed as the past. Keovan was a rare sorcerer who was fully aware of two-dimensional time and still able to cope with other people.”

“Wasn’t he the one who founded the Coven?”

“No. His apprentices did after his death. Keovan couldn’t have started the Protectorate. He was too overwhelmed by the ultimate futility of everything.”

“The Protectorate doesn’t seem futile to me.”

“Nothing can last forever. One day, the Protectorate will fall. Four centuries of peace have produced a tenfold increase in the region’s population. There are now over fifty million citizens. When the Protectorate goes, most will die, one way or another. And if I were permanently conscious that all the good I could achieve would only make for a bigger catastrophe at the end, I’d be as paralysed as Keovan.”

“But you think I have this sense?”

“Nothing like enough to cause problems. I’d guess it’s working a fraction of a second into the future and only giving you critical information, such as where your enemy is about to strike.”