Dave Smeds: The Sorcery Within

She checked for observers before venturing into the ocean. The current dug away sand from beneath her feet, but she kept her balance. She set the basket on her head as the water deepened. The tide was near its lowest ebb, allowing her to wade the entire way, though she had to hold her breath for the final distance.

She emerged soaked, but the basket stayed dry, and the other items were sealed. Gratefully she lowered the basket to the sand, dropped the satchel, and entered the cave.

He lived.

He opened his eyes, and she saw recognition there, though he didn't attempt to speak. Without preamble, she uncorked one of the flasks and brought it to his lips. He drank one sip only, waited for it to flow down his throat, then sipped again. He stopped after a few swallows, but Lerina left the cork out, patient.

"Thou art the queen of all women," he said softly.

Something in the way he used the High Speech told her it was his native language. Of all the lands where the Calinin had ruled, only the Elandri used the pure form. Lerina knew it from her childhood tutors, though she, like most Cilendri, tended to use the lower form.

"You're a smuggler," she said.

He nodded, and gestured for more water. She gave it to him.

"What were you after in Cilendrodel?"

"Silk."

Of course. "How did you get through the Dragon's blockade?"

"I swam under it."

He seemed serious. She scoffed. "I suppose you intend to swim back with bolts of silk tied to your belt, through the reef?"

He smiled, tilting his head seaward. "My ship is out there. A boat was waiting for me, but I'm afraid I've missed it."

"What happened to you?"

"I was ambushed by Dragon's men in Eruth."

"Is there any way to contact your people?"

"No. I can't reach the rendezvous point like this. If I live, the boat will be there next month, or the one after."

Talking appeared to exhaust him. She let him have more water, then retrieved the other supplies from the beach. When she returned, he had lost consciousness.

She examined his wounds briefly. Withdrawing a rag from the basket, she applied antiseptic to the gash in his scalp.

He groaned, and woke up.

"The oeikani don't like this either," she said. "But it's the strongest there is, and you need it. It numbs after a while."

"I wouldn't have guessed you were a healer."

"My lord's stablemaster made me learn everything about caring for my animal. I know how to clean and stitch wounds."

"Who are you?"

"I am Lerina Elb-Aratule. My father is head gamekeeper of Garthmorron Hold."

"Thy presence honors me."

She started to retort but considered his condition. Certainly her father was worth the pride, but perhaps she had spoken too vainly, as her elders frequently accused.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"Call me Ethmurl," he said.

"Is that your name?"

"Does it matter?"

She shrugged. "I suppose you have your reasons."

He allowed her to finish working on his head. The injury there was not critical, but Lerina needed to compose herself before she could face the prospect of the more serious spots. As long as they weren't bleeding, she would postpone it momentarily.

"I'm afraid this will leave a scar," she said.

"I know."

"Why haven't you bled to death yet?"

He coughed. "A spell cast upon me slows my blood loss."

She looked at him oddly. "I'm going to get my thread."

He didn't wince as the needle went in. By that time it must have been only a small agony on top of many large ones, she imagined. He fainted before she completed stitching but she guessed that this was fatigue, and wondered how he could remain awake even for the short periods he managed. She moved to his chest. The cloth had adhered to the open flesh, despite the dunking in the ocean he must have taken in order to reach the islet. She had to peel it carefully free.

She sucked in her breath. The stabbing had been worse than she thought. He shouldn't be alive. She cleaned the long gash that ran along his ribs and got out the needle again. He woke at the first stroke.

"I'm sorry."

"No, it's not your fault. You have a gentle touch." Still, tears welled in his eyes.

"I've never seen wounds this size stop bleeding by themselves. I've heard of this spell you mentioned. It's beyond the reach of most magicians. The kings of the Calinin nations pay dearly for the service."

"You're well educated."

"I can read and write. Don't change the subject. The spell we're talking about is even harder to maintain from a distance – how is it that your life is worth so much?"

"I'm the king of Elandris."

She tugged the thread harder than she had to. "You have a great deal of nerve for someone whose life is being saved."

He lost the smile. He said evenly, "Lerina, it's best that you don't know who I am, for both our sakes." His expression softened. "I don't mean to seem ungrateful. I'd rather my enemies not know how I died."

She started. "What about the spell?"

"Spells can only do so much. You can only do so much."

"You aren't going to die," she said strongly. "And you don't believe it either, or you wouldn't have lasted this long."

"I came here to die." Abruptly, he contorted in pain. Lerina hesitated.

"Am I doing this wrong?"

"No, it comes and goes." His eyelids sealed shut. Quickly Lerina crawled to the basket and withdrew a small vial. She placed it directly in front of his nostrils and uncorked it.

"Breathe this," she said.

He obeyed. Within moments, he slumped. He would sleep for several hours. She recapped the vial and put it away. She had wanted to get more food and water into him before she did that, not to mention her reluctance to move him by herself to get at the wound in his back, but perhaps it was better this way.

She had stitched and bandaged all of his injuries by midday, but he still rested tranquilly. She created an acceptable bed out of sand with some of the blankets she'd brought, to which she gingerly moved him. She also removed his weapons and the remnants of his upper-body clothing, and swabbed away the crusted blood from his skin. For the first time, she was able to tell what he actually looked like. He was younger than she had guessed – no more than thirty. He was short of stature, but lean and powerful, black-haired, deeply tanned. She stroked his beard idly. His face contained a peace that hid when he was awake. He was a handsome man.

Who was he? The king of Elandris? King Pranter, she knew, had reigned for almost fifty years and was now over eighty years of age. His son was middle-aged. Yet whoever Ethmurl might be, he was important.

She checked his pulse, found it stable, and covered him with a blanket. Would he die and leave her with the mystery? She went outside. The tide was higher, leaving a sliver of beach between herself and the limit of the strongest breakers. The noise from the reef almost drowned her thoughts as she stared southward, toward Elandris.

Later she returned to the cave and lay down beside her patient. What did it matter who he was? She put the question away and dozed off.

The chill of late afternoon fog violated her slumber. A mass of formidable grey billows boiled slightly offshore, preparing to envelop the coast.

Ethmurl was watching her. She felt it and turned his way. He shook.

"You have a fever," she said, touching his neck. It was damp.

"Yes."

"I have to go. The fog will be in soon. You should let me bring back help."

"They would hang me. I killed one of your countrymen."

She remembered the townsmen at the hold. "Did he deserve it?"

He seemed surprised by the question. "Yes."

"Then that may save you," she said.

He smiled kindly. "You are young, after all. I was beginning to wonder."