Trelvigor looked almost human again. Most of the flesh had grown back over his body, though Randall could see some scarring would be permanent, especially the tissue on the face and arms.
Randall continued to lay hands on the unconscious mage, slowly tracing the contours of the body and seeping his magic into the flesh. The healer’s eyes remained closed, but his mind was so in tune with Trelvigor’s body he could almost feel every pain the wizard felt and every ounce of relief Randall’s own magic was bringing to him.
Feeling the pain, and how much less it was now than it had been just days before, Randall realized Trelvigor would be fully healed in a week or less. It was even possible Randall could wake the wizard from his herb-induced sleep in another day or two. Trelvigor’s wounds had been so horrendous when he had first been brought to the healing tower that he had been in a state of oblivious numbness, but for the last several days it had been a mixture of Randall’s brewing that had kept the wizard from waking. Randall didn’t want his patient up and around before the body had been fully healed.
The healer squinted his eyes tighter from the strain of expending his own life force. His own soul was like water dripping slowly from the lip of a well pump, forever splashing into nothingness.
Randall forced himself away from the wizard. He had done enough for the day and mustn’t tire himself further.
The young man plopped into a cushioned chair, closing his eyes. He would rest a few minutes to catch his breath and build his strength, then retire to his own quarters.
A knock came at the door.
It seemed Randall would never get any rest. “Enter.” His voice was soft.
With eyes still closed, the healer heard the door to Trelvigor’s room creak open.
“You about finished with him?” It was Stilp’s voice.
Randall stared up at Belgad’s man. “A few more days. Then he should be nearly as good as before.”
“He wasn’t much good before,” Stilp said, leaning against the door’s frame.
“Then perhaps my healing will bring about an improvement. Is there anything in particular I can do for you today?”
Stilp’s eyes wandered to the sleeping mage. “The boss sent me to check on his wizardliness.” He pointed with his chin at Trelvigor. “He’s looking better.”
“That is a practical judgment for a layman. Trelvigor should be aware of himself within a few days, and he might be able to move within a week of that.”
“When can he talk?”
“A week, maybe less,” Randall said with shifting, restless shoulders, “but we must be careful. His body has been through a terrible trauma, and he has been in a coma for several weeks. There is no telling how he will react upon regaining his senses. Likely he will be stupefied, and it will take him a day or two to become coherent.”
“A week, then?”
“Possibly.”
“Hell, that won’t do. Belgad’ll want a definite answer.”
“I’m sorry I cannot provide one for him, but matters of restoration are often delicate and imprecise.”
“Hell,” Stilp repeated.
“Is there anything else with which I may help you?” Randall asked, trying not to sound too impatient. He could feel the fatigue in his muscles and bones and spirits. He needed rest.
Stilp rubbed at his thigh. “That leg of mine is bothering me again.”
“I’m tired, Stilp. I’ve spent myself on Trelvigor.” The healer waved a hand at the unconscious wizard. “Why don’t you ask one of the other healers?”
“Because I know you’re the best healer in town.” Stilp grinned. “I’m not expecting you to work any magic. The leg’s been cramping a little. I just want you to take a look at it.”
Randall sighed. Some days were like this for a healer, with no rest in sight. What was it his father had told him when he was young? The good are at a disadvantage because they are so often taken advantage of. Randall felt it was true today.
“Let me see the leg.”
Stilp began to roll up his trousers.
***
Spider didn’t mind sneaking around the grounds of the healing tower in the middle of the day; he was dressed to fit in with nearly any crowd in Bond, a fleece shirt over simple breeches. Spider also didn’t mind waiting in the hall outside Randall’s personal quarters, waiting for the hall to empty so he could get to work. Blending in was nothing new to Spider, and came easy to him with his small frame and forgettable drab gray hair. What Spider didn’t like was using a minor spell to unlock the door to Randall’s room. He couldn’t take out locksmithing tools in the middle of the hall in case someone should wander by, but using magic on the door of a known mage, even a healer, wasn’t a smart idea. The consequences could quite literally be alarming, even severe.
Finally seeing he was alone, Spider closed his eyes as he crossed the hall to the door. He placed a hand against the lock and said two words in an ancient language which he did not understand, though he had said them dozens of times in his life.
There was a small flash of light in the palm of his hand, followed by the click of the lock.
Spider waited a second before opening his eyes, then did so with a grin. It had been too easy. Spider figured this Randall Tendbones must be one unsuspecting fellow. He had half-expected to be covered in a sheet of flames or jumped upon by a demon appearing out of the wall. Nothing like that had happened, however, and the short, thin man called Spider found himself feeling somewhat disappointed.
He had a job to do, though, so he brushed his disappointment aside and stepped through the door, making sure to pull it closed behind him. Inside he found the circular room of the healer’s quarters, the desk to the right with its chair and a couple of other chairs to the left. Scattered on top of the desk were papers Spider ignored and a feathered quill sticking out of a glass inkwell.
Spider’s first impression of the room told him little other than he was in an office. He knew he had the right room, though, because Stilp had pointed it out to him.
Knowing he had only as long as Stilp could keep Randall busy in another part of the tower, Spider crossed the room to the back of the desk and pulled open the top drawer. Inside were ground, dark herbs. He sniffed the leaves but didn’t recognize them.
Spider glanced further back in the drawer, saw nothing of interest, and closed it. Another drawer was quickly opened. As he rummaged, it dawned on Spider he didn’t know what to be looking for. Lalo and Stilp had told him to be on the watch for any evidence that could link Randall Tendbones with Kron Darkbow.
Spider grinned. He couldn’t imagine what kind of man would be brave enough to intentionally frustrate Belgad.
Finding nothing in the drawer, Spider closed it and yanked open another. He paused upon discovering a pale silk cloth, something small but bulky wrapped inside. Ever so gently, Spider lifted an edge of the white cloth to see a heavy gold ring with a large, flat facing. Engraved into the facing was a black fist with spikes between the knuckles. The image seemed vaguely familiar, but Spider couldn’t place where he had seen it.
He went back and forth in his mind about whether he should take the ring. It looked like it could be just what Belgad wanted, but on the other hand it looked like something the healer would soon notice missing.
The ring appeared heavy and expensive, as if made of real gold. The only way Spider would be able to tell for sure would be to weigh the item in his hands, and maybe cast a little detection spell.
He reached for the ring. He at least wanted to feel its weight before making a decision on whether to take it.
The tips of his fingers grazed the black fist.
***
Randall was knocked to his knees. A tightness so overpowering it felt as if a spear had struck him stabbed its way into the center of his chest, forcing him to cry out in pain. With his head swimming, the healer didn’t know what was happening. He had never had a heart attack, though he had dealt with many patients who had. The pain those patients had described was what he imagined he was feeling as he gasped for breath.
Stilp stood in shock, his one pant leg still higher than the other. One second the healer had been poking at the back of Stilp’s leg, then without warning Randall had dropped.
“Tendbones!” Stilp knelt beside the healer, putting an arm around the younger man.
Randall’s pain was gone as quickly as it had assaulted him. He opened his eyes to find he could barely see from the tears. He shook his head to clear the waters.
Stilp jumped to his feet and turned toward the door. “I’ll get help.”
“Stop,” Randall managed with a croaky voice.
Belgad’s employee halted and turned back to the young man. Randall was still on his knees but whatever had come over him seemed to have released its grip.
Randall’s eyes were strained as he looked up. “Get me to my room.”
Stilp knelt beside the healer again and place his hands beneath Randall’s arms, lifting him to his feet. “You need help.”
“Just get me to my room.”
Not knowing what to do, Stilp grabbed one of Randall’s elbows and helped him through the door, then down the hall. By the time they reached the door to Randall’s personal quarters, the healer was walking on his own again.
The Kobalan didn’t pause to use a key. He said a couple of ancient words and pulled open the door.
Randall stepped into the room, his eyes darting around. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, he went to his desk and pulled open one of the drawers.
Inside was the silk cloth. On top of it lay the ring.
Randall lifted the gold band and stared at it. “What have you been up to?” His voice was barely above a whisper.
“Is everything all right?” Stilp had remained in the doorway.
Randall wrapped the ring in its cloth and shoved it into a pocket of his healer’s robes. “Everything is fine. I am just overworked.”
Stilp glanced around the room as if expecting to see something or someone, then looked back to Randall. “Are you sure I can’t find you some help?”
“That will be all, Stilp,” Randall said, motioning at the entrance. “If you would, close the door behind you. Your leg is fine. I suggest eating less salt to avoid the cramps.”
***
Stilp and Spider had agreed upon a meeting place. Neither had known what Spider would find in the healer’s room, but they had wanted to make sure they were not followed from the tower.
Stilp found the other at the bar in the back of the Stone Pony tavern. The smoke and dim light at first obscured Spider’s face, but a candle revealed black soot around the edges of the small man’s jaws.
Stilp settled onto a hard stool. “What in hell happened?”
Spider’s hands shook as he brought a mug of ale to his lips. “There’s something not right about that healer.”
Stilp paused long enough to order a drink of his own from the gruff fellow behind the bar. Seconds later he had a mug of ale in his hands and turned his attention back to his compatriot. “What are you talking about? You better not report to Belgad all shook up like this, or he’s likely to skin you from impatience.”
“Did you see the ring?”
Ring? Stilp thought back. No, he had not seen a ring, but Randall had taken something from his desk and placed it in a pocket. “Didn’t see anything.”
Spider took another sip of ale to calm his nerves. “It was in the desk. I picked it up to see if it was real gold.”
Stilp nodded for his companion to continue his tale.
“But the second I touched it,” Spider went on, “it was like ... I don’t know ... something tearing at my soul. I felt myself being pulled into the ring, drawn into it.”
Stilp patted Spider on the shoulder. “Calm yourself, and keep your voice down. We don’t need no attention.”
Spider gulped at his drink, his eyes filled with terror. “It was sheer luck I got away from that ring. It was heavy and I’d barely touched it. It just fell off the edge of my fingers back into the desk. I didn’t wait to see if anything else was going to happen. I ran out of there as fast as I could.”
“Did anyone see you?”
“I don’t think so.”
Stilp took a swig. “Good.”
“That ring was full of low magic.”
Stilp’s face wore confusion. “What the hell is low magic?”
“It’s evil. And that ring, it had a black fist carved on it. I know I’ve seen that somewhere.”
“You mean like a crest?”
Spider turned to his partner and pointed a finger at him. “That’s it. It’s some sort of crest. I just don’t know what country, or if maybe it’s some noble’s.”
Stilp drank and pondered what Spider had revealed. A heavy gold ring bearing a black fist had been found in the desk of Randall Tendbones, and it wasn’t likely a patient had used the ring as payment. Healers at the tower didn’t take payment, though they did accept donations. A ring like Spider described would be too expensive to have been a donation. Stilp was also positive the ring had something to do with the odd attack upon Randall. Perhaps the magic in the ring was tied to the healer?
Stilp set down his drink. “I think you’ve stumbled onto something, Spider. Belgad will want to know.”
“One more drink?” Spider asked, holding up his empty mug. “Before we face the boss?”
“Sure enough.” Stilp grinned and ordered another round. “I mean, why not? Belgad’s footing the bill, right?”