Chasing the Prophecy
Page 110
Could Galloran really have found a way to win? The notion seemed impossible, but he was no fool, and Rachel had sensed no uncertainty behind his words.
The lock to her room rattled, and the door opened. Turning away from the window, Rachel beheld an old crone in a drab, hooded robe. A huge mole bulged near the corner of her eye. She appeared mildly surprised to find Rachel on her feet. A pair of uniformed guards stood behind her. “You woke early,” the woman said, her voice tremulous with age. “How do you feel?”
Wanting to appear worse off than she felt, Rachel rubbed one temple. “Sore and dizzy. I wanted fresh air.”
“You should lie down,” the woman encouraged. She waved the guards back, and they shut the door.
Clutching her side and taking small steps, Rachel crossed to the bed. “I remember your hands,” Rachel said truthfully. The knuckles were red and swollen, the nails dark and sharp like claws. “You’ve been tending me.”
“I have,” the woman replied. “You have rested fitfully. If you need more of the potion, I can provide it.”
“I think I’ve slept long enough,” Rachel said, sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed.
The woman tottered close and rested a palm against Rachel’s forehead. Then the crone felt her cheeks, and her neck, and ran her fingertips from the back of her head down her spine. “More potion does not appear necessary. You have mostly recovered. It would be better for you to rest on your own.”
“What is your name?” Rachel asked.
“Zuza,” the woman replied with a small nod.
Can you hear me, Zuza? Rachel asked forcefully.
The woman hesitated. I hear you, child.
I thought Maldor got rid of everyone with Edomic talent.
He spares a few of us as he sees fit. My ability is small. I make myself useful.
You’re a healer?
Yes.
“Maldor wants to train me,” Rachel whispered.
“I am aware,” Zuza replied.
Where does he keep the torivors? Rachel wondered. She studied the old woman for a response, her eyes and mind straining.
What do you care about torivors?
Rachel could sense no answer peripheral to the reply. She pushed to uncover hidden thoughts. I need to speak with them.
The old woman made a sound that was half laugh, half croak. You would do well to keep away.
Do you love Maldor? Rachel questioned.
I love that he no longer tortures me, Zuza answered. I love that he lets me live. I help him recover when he is overspent.
Rachel nodded. I must speak with the torivors. I have my reasons.
Zuza gave a derisive snort. You must still be addled by the potion. You should lie down.
Where are they kept? Rachel repeated.
Can you not feel them, child? Their power is muted by their prison, but not entirely contained.
Rachel searched with her mind. Zuza was right! As Rachel concentrated, she could vaguely sense them near, but it was hard to get a sense of direction. Are they all around us?
The woman shook her head. You need much more experience before attempting to consort with the darklings. Put them far from your thoughts. If you continue to please him, Maldor will doubtless introduce you to them in time.
Rachel closed her eyes, actively trying to identify where she felt the lurkers. Below her. Not directly below. She pointed a finger. Opening her eyes, she saw that she was pointing downward, away from the window.
Zuza looked where Rachel was pointing. More or less.
Not far down, Rachel conveyed. Not down in the dungeons. Not too far from here.
Maldor likes to keep his pets close, Zuza explained. You are also near his quarters. You are better off near him than in the dungeons, you have my word on that. “You should get back in bed.”
“I’ve slept long enough.”
“Maybe you should consume more potion, sleep through another day. The additional respite may not be necessary, but it might do you some good. Tomorrow will not be pleasant out there.” Zuza inclined her head toward the window.
How tight is his hold on the torivors? Rachel asked.
Tight enough, Zuza responded.
I need your robes, Rachel conveyed.
No, Zuza told her firmly. Do not make me call the guards.
Rachel sighed and lowered her head. “Maybe I’ll have some of your potion after all.”
“Very prudent, my dear,” Zuza approved. She tottered over to the pitcher and poured the pungent fluid into a cup.
Rachel scooted back into bed. As Zuza shuffled toward her, Rachel issued an Edomic suggestion for the old woman to drink, pushing as hard as she dared. Zuza raised the cup to her lips and began swallowing. Rachel repeated the suggestion every few seconds. The old woman’s eyes grew wide with panic, but she kept drinking, thin streams of fluid running down the sides of her chin.
Rachel rolled out of bed and took the nearly empty cup from Zuza, and she forcefully suggested that she sleep. The old woman sagged so suddenly that Rachel dropped the cup and nearly dropped Zuza as well. With an effort Rachel scooped the woman up and dumped her on the bed.
Rachel stripped off the woman’s robes and arranged the covers so that Zuza could not be seen, reducing her to a vaguely humanoid lump. Rachel stashed her own clothes behind the bed and dressed in the hooded robes. She pulled the cowl as far forward as it would go, tucked her hands back into the sleeves, and tried to mimic Zuza’s hunched stance.
With Edomic words on her lips, Rachel rapped on the door. The lock clicked and the door opened. Rachel did not dare look the guards in the eyes. Instead, she shuffled from the room, head bowed, eyes on their boots.
“Back to sleep again?” one of the guards inquired, poking his head into the room.
Rachel nodded and gave an indistinct grunt.
“Off to your quarters, then,” another guard said, prodding Rachel.
“Why did you cover her head?” a third guard asked, stepping into the room.
Rachel shrugged with attempted nonchalance. There had been three guards, not two, waiting in the hall. The one who had entered the room was about to discover Zuza beneath the covers. One of the remaining guards held the keys. In Edomic, Rachel suggested that the guard hand her the keys, and then followed that up by suggesting the guards enter the room. She motioned through the doorway for emphasis.
The guard passed her the keys, and both strode through the doorway as if the idea had been their own. They paused after a few steps, but it was too late. Rachel hauled the heavy door shut.
Banging and yelling ensued. The protests were audible, but the iron door muffled the worst of the noise. Anyone happening by would hear the faint commotion, but thankfully the protests were not carrying very far. The noise was less than ideal. She knew a command to induce sleep, but it only worked well if the subject was unaware and unoccupied. And she doubted whether she could have held control of all three guards for long enough to coax them into drinking the sleeping potion.
The lock to her room rattled, and the door opened. Turning away from the window, Rachel beheld an old crone in a drab, hooded robe. A huge mole bulged near the corner of her eye. She appeared mildly surprised to find Rachel on her feet. A pair of uniformed guards stood behind her. “You woke early,” the woman said, her voice tremulous with age. “How do you feel?”
Wanting to appear worse off than she felt, Rachel rubbed one temple. “Sore and dizzy. I wanted fresh air.”
“You should lie down,” the woman encouraged. She waved the guards back, and they shut the door.
Clutching her side and taking small steps, Rachel crossed to the bed. “I remember your hands,” Rachel said truthfully. The knuckles were red and swollen, the nails dark and sharp like claws. “You’ve been tending me.”
“I have,” the woman replied. “You have rested fitfully. If you need more of the potion, I can provide it.”
“I think I’ve slept long enough,” Rachel said, sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed.
The woman tottered close and rested a palm against Rachel’s forehead. Then the crone felt her cheeks, and her neck, and ran her fingertips from the back of her head down her spine. “More potion does not appear necessary. You have mostly recovered. It would be better for you to rest on your own.”
“What is your name?” Rachel asked.
“Zuza,” the woman replied with a small nod.
Can you hear me, Zuza? Rachel asked forcefully.
The woman hesitated. I hear you, child.
I thought Maldor got rid of everyone with Edomic talent.
He spares a few of us as he sees fit. My ability is small. I make myself useful.
You’re a healer?
Yes.
“Maldor wants to train me,” Rachel whispered.
“I am aware,” Zuza replied.
Where does he keep the torivors? Rachel wondered. She studied the old woman for a response, her eyes and mind straining.
What do you care about torivors?
Rachel could sense no answer peripheral to the reply. She pushed to uncover hidden thoughts. I need to speak with them.
The old woman made a sound that was half laugh, half croak. You would do well to keep away.
Do you love Maldor? Rachel questioned.
I love that he no longer tortures me, Zuza answered. I love that he lets me live. I help him recover when he is overspent.
Rachel nodded. I must speak with the torivors. I have my reasons.
Zuza gave a derisive snort. You must still be addled by the potion. You should lie down.
Where are they kept? Rachel repeated.
Can you not feel them, child? Their power is muted by their prison, but not entirely contained.
Rachel searched with her mind. Zuza was right! As Rachel concentrated, she could vaguely sense them near, but it was hard to get a sense of direction. Are they all around us?
The woman shook her head. You need much more experience before attempting to consort with the darklings. Put them far from your thoughts. If you continue to please him, Maldor will doubtless introduce you to them in time.
Rachel closed her eyes, actively trying to identify where she felt the lurkers. Below her. Not directly below. She pointed a finger. Opening her eyes, she saw that she was pointing downward, away from the window.
Zuza looked where Rachel was pointing. More or less.
Not far down, Rachel conveyed. Not down in the dungeons. Not too far from here.
Maldor likes to keep his pets close, Zuza explained. You are also near his quarters. You are better off near him than in the dungeons, you have my word on that. “You should get back in bed.”
“I’ve slept long enough.”
“Maybe you should consume more potion, sleep through another day. The additional respite may not be necessary, but it might do you some good. Tomorrow will not be pleasant out there.” Zuza inclined her head toward the window.
How tight is his hold on the torivors? Rachel asked.
Tight enough, Zuza responded.
I need your robes, Rachel conveyed.
No, Zuza told her firmly. Do not make me call the guards.
Rachel sighed and lowered her head. “Maybe I’ll have some of your potion after all.”
“Very prudent, my dear,” Zuza approved. She tottered over to the pitcher and poured the pungent fluid into a cup.
Rachel scooted back into bed. As Zuza shuffled toward her, Rachel issued an Edomic suggestion for the old woman to drink, pushing as hard as she dared. Zuza raised the cup to her lips and began swallowing. Rachel repeated the suggestion every few seconds. The old woman’s eyes grew wide with panic, but she kept drinking, thin streams of fluid running down the sides of her chin.
Rachel rolled out of bed and took the nearly empty cup from Zuza, and she forcefully suggested that she sleep. The old woman sagged so suddenly that Rachel dropped the cup and nearly dropped Zuza as well. With an effort Rachel scooped the woman up and dumped her on the bed.
Rachel stripped off the woman’s robes and arranged the covers so that Zuza could not be seen, reducing her to a vaguely humanoid lump. Rachel stashed her own clothes behind the bed and dressed in the hooded robes. She pulled the cowl as far forward as it would go, tucked her hands back into the sleeves, and tried to mimic Zuza’s hunched stance.
With Edomic words on her lips, Rachel rapped on the door. The lock clicked and the door opened. Rachel did not dare look the guards in the eyes. Instead, she shuffled from the room, head bowed, eyes on their boots.
“Back to sleep again?” one of the guards inquired, poking his head into the room.
Rachel nodded and gave an indistinct grunt.
“Off to your quarters, then,” another guard said, prodding Rachel.
“Why did you cover her head?” a third guard asked, stepping into the room.
Rachel shrugged with attempted nonchalance. There had been three guards, not two, waiting in the hall. The one who had entered the room was about to discover Zuza beneath the covers. One of the remaining guards held the keys. In Edomic, Rachel suggested that the guard hand her the keys, and then followed that up by suggesting the guards enter the room. She motioned through the doorway for emphasis.
The guard passed her the keys, and both strode through the doorway as if the idea had been their own. They paused after a few steps, but it was too late. Rachel hauled the heavy door shut.
Banging and yelling ensued. The protests were audible, but the iron door muffled the worst of the noise. Anyone happening by would hear the faint commotion, but thankfully the protests were not carrying very far. The noise was less than ideal. She knew a command to induce sleep, but it only worked well if the subject was unaware and unoccupied. And she doubted whether she could have held control of all three guards for long enough to coax them into drinking the sleeping potion.
