The Sorcerer's Equal (The Telepath and the Sorcerer Book 3) Page 2

  Once they stood on the street, he said, “His organs are damaged beyond his blood’s ability to heal itself.”

  “So…what does that mean?” Velsa twisted her left hand practically out of its socket, trying to keep from crying.

  “He’ll have a few days. Maybe a week if Rovi tends to him well. Or we can turn him into a zombie, but…you know the consequences of that.”

  “He’ll be…dependent on magic to live?” Velsa didn’t really know the consequences; she just knew being a zombie was unpleasant.

  “A necromancer’s spells will be required to keep him fresh and healthy. He will never want to live far from a necromancer. And, I don’t make zombies without some assurance that you have the means to pay for the spells. No one wants an impoverished zombie shambling around.”

  “Oh,” Velsa said, her voice cracking. Dalaran sounded almost flippant, which made things worse.

  Down the narrow road of the magical district, from each building hung signs with the symbols for different magical arts: a skull for necromancy, a bottle for the potions shop, a face that was ugly on one side and lovely on the other for shape-shifting. Dalaran opened the door beneath the symbol that always represented telepathic healing: a swan with lifted wings.

  Inside, Velsa drunk in the sharp but comforting aroma of herbs. Dalaran led her past the tiny waiting room, through a curtain. There were ten rooms in the back for patients, each one small and cozy, with tiny bells and chimes hung in open windows with the belief that music sped up healing.

  Rovi stepped into the hall, giving Velsa the gentle eyes of someone attending a funeral. “I’m sorry, dear,” she told Velsa, pointing her through the door.

  The floor wavered under Velsa’s feet as she rushed past them. Grau was in bed, his color ghastly pale. But he was awake. She had not met his eyes in two days.

  She hurried to take his hand. It had warmed a little when Morgnar first wrapped his scales around Grau’s wounds, but had since gone very cold again. Velsa placed a palm on his forehead. He wasn’t clammy or sweaty, and she felt sure he ought to be—it was like his body had given up on doing anything properly.

  Dalaran started to follow them in, but Rovi caught his arm.

  “Dalaran—let them have a moment alone,” she said.

  Velsa shut her eyes, staving off the wave of grief.

  Grau clutched her hand. “It’s okay,” he whispered.

  Dalaran shuffled his feet, as if he wanted to say something, but then he left, and the door shut behind them both.

  She forced her eyes open again. The small room didn’t look like a place to die; the wooden walls and floors gave it warmth, with cheerful print curtains and a vase of flowers in the window. The spring air was fresh. An open cabinet held various bottles, and some tools and a few bloody cloths sat on a folding work table. Velsa tried not to look at the blood.

  “Don’t cry, little marsh toad.” Grau rubbed her cheek, as if she had tears. “I meant what I said. I’ll become a Fanarlem.”

  “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

  “Don’t I? Don’t I know every inch of you? It’s not such a bad life, is it?”

  “It’s not so bad because you can protect me.” She shut her eyes. “But if we’re both Fanarlem, no one will protect us.”

  “Protect us from what? This is silly. You’re telepathic and I’m a sorcerer. We can protect each other. Yes, I’m well aware, other people are not that kind to Fanarlem. But who cares? We’ll take your diamonds and build our house, deep in the woods. Get a few animals. Here and there, we’ll go into town to trade, and if people aren’t nice, well, we’ll be gone soon enough.”

  “But—I don’t want you to be a Fanarlem.” A fierce, unbidden frown was starting to pull at her lips. “I—I like how warm you are. Warm and real and strong…”

  “Well, it sounds like I’m about to leave behind a nice, strong, manly corpse, whether we like it or not, so if you only like me for my body…”

  “Of course not, but—I guess I just can’t believe—“ She was terrified of the grief pressing in on her. This feeling would tear her apart, if she let it. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

  For a moment, he clutched her hand in silence.

  “I’m scared too,” he said. “One minute—we were escaping. And everything was fine. And the next minute—” He shook his head. “If I think too hard, I’ll realize that I’ve lost everything except you. But—”

  He looked at her gently, and slipped an arm around her waist, nudging her like he wanted her to lay down beside him. She moved carefully, keeping an inch of space between her body and his chest so she wouldn’t agitate his wounds, but settling her face against his shoulder.

  He stroked her hair. “I can still imagine our future. I know it’s a very difficult adjustment, to change bodies; I’ve flipped through those books on Fanarlem you got at the library.”

  “Very difficult,” she agreed. “Not everyone survives it. Their souls refuse the bodies.”

  “That won’t happen to me. I have so many reasons to stay. And I can see our happiness, too. We’ll be very happy again, on the other side of it all. I’ll always be a sorcerer, no matter what happens to me. I’ll draw heat from the earth and keep you warm.”

  She shut her eyes. It was easier, when she thought of it like that—the far side of suffering, when the tears had long since been shed.

  “I was thinking—about Sorla,” she said. “Maybe we should claim that she is our adopted daughter. We would have to say that we’re older, but that isn’t a bad idea. Some of the people here haven’t been that friendly.”

  “You think we’re responsible enough to be parents?”

  “I feel like I’m a million years old sometimes. Besides, you know we’d hardly be parents. Sorla can take care of herself. But we could all use that sense of stability.”

  “Would she call you ‘Ma’? I don’t know if I could handle that.”

  “No. Not Ma like a hick.”

  “Now I see how you really think of me.”

  She ignored him. “She could call me Meirin.” That was the elegant, Atlantean name for a mother.

  “Meirin and Feirin? Is she going to start eating fruit with a tiny fork, too?” He arched a brow at her.

  She smiled like she didn’t feel torn apart inside. If he only had a few days to live…

  Where can I get a good Fanarlem body? A perfect Fanarlem body?

  She couldn’t imagine any Fanarlem body in the world was good enough for Grau.

  The door creaked open and Dalaran walked in. He didn’t seem concerned that he might be interrupting a tender moment. Velsa sat up, smoothing her hair straight. Dalaran was unabashedly checking out her legs. She yanked her cloak around her.

  “There is one other option,” he said. “If you have the guts to take a risk.”

  Chapter 2

  “High up on the rocky crags of the mountain…” Dalaran lifted a hand, obviously savoring a moment of drama. “…in a cold gray castle, lives the Keeper of the Dead.”

  “Ohhh,” Velsa said. “Someone in town told us about him already. They said he might help Kessily.”

  Dalaran looked briefly annoyed that they already knew about the Keeper of the Dead, and then he pressed on. “For over a century now, he has dwelt alone there, bearing the burden of ownership of the sacred crystal, Dor-Irin, through which every soul passes on their way to the spirit world. They say he feels them—every soul—every moment—and that if he closes his eyes, he can even see them in the moment of their death.”

  “This is all fascinating,” Grau said, with obvious impatience.

  “Sometimes, he preserves the bodies of the people who die—with their permission,” Dalaran said. “And because he preserves them at the very moment of their death, they remain fresh and can be used for healing purposes. If we had some blood and healthy organs from a really nice corpse, we could give them to you.”

  “Ugh. This is very unpleasant no matter how we handle it,” Grau
said. “So how do we reach him?”

  “You’ll have to go to him. Well, not you, you’re a mess. I suppose you would, Miss Doll.” Dalaran nodded at Velsa. “That’s probably for the best. He might not be so mean to a lady.”

  “Is he mean?” Velsa felt as if Dalaran might be teasing or exaggerating some of this, but it was hard to say how much. Ruven did say he was reluctant to grant favors.

  “I wouldn’t call him nice. And I’m not sure what he’ll charge.”

  “I have some money,” Velsa said. Plenty of it, in the form of diamonds, gold, rubies and jade. She didn’t want to admit how much or where it was, in case someone decided to crack her open while she was sleeping.

  “Hard to say if that will tempt him. He might ask for something more interesting.”

  “I don’t know what I have that’s interesting,” Velsa said, unless they were going down the well-trodden path no Fanarlem concubine ever seemed to escape.

  “He likes magic more than anything,” Dalaran said.

  Grau opened his mouth, about to protest, but she gave him a sharp glance. “It’s worth a try,” she said. “To save your body. We have to try. It’s easy enough to make a Fanarlem out of you.”

  Grau, with a wince of pain, shifted position to fish his crystal from his pocket. “Take this, then,” he said. “In case you need a little jolt of sorcery. And—worst case—trade it to him.”

  When she touched the crystal, she saw everything in the room shimmer for a moment, showing her all the threads of magic that she could potentially harness. The sight never failed to thrill her, although it faded after a moment. The crystal was like an extension of Grau, always close to his hand. “Worst case,” she agreed. “He can’t possibly need your little crystal if he already has one of the sacred crystals.”

  “You’ll need this.” With tweezers, Dalaran picked up one of the bloody cloths that sat on a nearby work table and jammed it into an empty jar. The Keeper will use this to sense which body will be most compatible.”

  Velsa and Grau said goodbye; it had to be brief so she wouldn’t cry in front of Dalaran.

  “I should go with you, shouldn’t I?” Kessily asked. “If Grau dies, no one will be able to get the bird spirit out of me.”

  Velsa fidgeted with her cloak. “Kessily—I should be honest. I’m not sure Grau can do anything about the bird spirit. I mean, maybe he can. It’s difficult magic, though. You probably should ask the Keeper of the Dead for help, in any case.”

  Kessily wrapped her wings around her body. “I see.”

  “I’m sorry. When we first rescued you, I was just so eager to fix things. But I’ve since realized how hard it is to shape-shift.”

  “The Keeper it is, then,” Kessily said.

  “Sorla, do you mind staying behind to keep Feirin company?” Velsa spoke pointedly, hoping Sorla would get the idea that Grau had agreed to ‘adopt’ her.

  “Feirin?” Sorla giggled.

  “Just because we’ve left the Atlantean province doesn’t mean we can’t continue to be respectable,” Velsa said.

  “Of course.” Sorla swished her skirt, walking to the door. It was hard to believe Sorla had ever been an obedient slave who called her ‘miss’ and walked behind her. She seemed so spirited now, although Velsa had no doubt whatever pain she’d lived through in her past would haunt her eventually.

  Dalaran motioned for them to come down a narrow lane to the back alley. A pail of food waste was rotting in the sun nearby, a horse was drinking from a trough, and a few privies stood in a row behind the shops and inn. Kessily lifted a wing to press her cloak to her nose.

  “I’ll take you to see him,” Dalaran said. “For a fee.”

  “A fee?” Velsa was reluctant to part with any of her jewels. “I don’t think we need you to take us to see him. Morgnar is still here. I’m sure he would fly us there.”

  “Well—you could at least do me one favor, in exchange for me giving you this information and for lending my magic to your husband’s aid. I know you have a bit of money.”

  “What is the fee?” Kessily asked, her voice sharp.

  “Ask the Keeper for five grams of new moon dust.”

  “What is that?”

  “It enhances magical powers.”

  Kessily’s chin jutted forward stubbornly. “How expensive is this stuff? What have you done to help Grau? I thought Rovi was healing him. It seems to me like you’re just trying to get something out of Velsa when she’s vulnerable.”

  The wyvern seemed a little concerned by Kessily’s harsh tone, and started flying around her head, staring at Dalaran with unblinking eyes. Dalaran waved Tomato away.

  “If you want to find a place within this town, you should offer something when you’re asking for help,” Dalaran said.

  “We’ll see what we can do,” Kessily snapped. “Where does the Keeper live?”

  “See up there?” He pointed to the distance, where the ridge of a low, forested mountain split into a pass, rising above the city to the north. “He lives on the west side of the gap, where those rocks are. And if Morgnar doesn’t want to take you, you know where to find me.” Dalaran shrugged.

  Velsa wondered if he could sense the jewels she was carrying, the way Grau could sense natural objects. Dalaran was, after all, a sorcerer too, even if necromancers had different skills than elemental sorcerers. She bowed quickly, taking leave of him.

  “Thank you for standing up to him like that,” she told Kessily.

  “Of course,” Kessily said. “If I was worrying over a dying loved one, he’s the last thing I’d want to deal with. I won’t forget that you saved me from Kalan.”

  “You were the one who piloted the boat, so we’re already even.”

  “Well,” Kessily said, growing much quieter. “I’m going to need you, in the future, if I can’t figure out how to get my hands back…”

  Velsa hadn’t thought much of Kessily’s position; she was so worried over Grau. But stepping outside her own troubles for a moment, it must be terrifying to arrive in a new country with people you barely knew, and no ability to fend for yourself. “Don’t worry,” Velsa said. “We’ll help each other.”

  The dragon was resting his head on the ground so he reminded her of a huge cat napping in the sun, light catching the gleam of his scales. The crowds had now cleared away, although passerby looked at him with awe and some mothers had brought small children out to see him.

  “Look,” a woman was telling a child who looked barely old enough to speak. “If there’s a war you might never see one again.”

  Can I ask one more favor of you, Morgnar? Velsa ventured hopefully.

  I must hurry home soon, to report to my queen.

  I understand! But…Grau will die, unless I can beg a favor of the Keeper of the Dead, up on the mountain.

  He lifted his head, tilting it as his eyes followed her approach. He seemed receptive, so she explained the situation.

  I can bring you there, Morgnar said, but I can’t help you convince the Keeper of the Dead. Dragons don’t meddle in the affairs of people, unless they are a direct threat to us.

  Oh, I never expected you to help me convince him, Velsa said. All I need is a ride. Thank you. She put his arms around his neck. I owe you so much. I hoped to know you better.

  We already know each other as well as we need to, the dragon said, with affection, so Velsa had to assume this statement didn’t sound offensive to dragons.

  I’m sure you’ll be fine here, Morgnar continued. There are many Daramons. He sounded weary. Which was no surprise. Three dragons came to Nalim Ima, and he was the only survivor.

  Can I ask you something? Velsa walked a little closer.

  You may. I may or may not answer.

  I just want to know why you fight for the Miralem. Why you’d risk your lives, if there aren’t many dragons left. Grau said that dragons agreed to be tamed to survive after all the other magical beasts were killed.

  We fight because we aren’t afraid of death, Mor
gnar said. We have already produced the next generation. Our eggs take two hundred years to hatch. All that matters now is to protect those eggs and the Queen, so it doesn’t matter if the rest of us die…but I still grieve, that I will never share stories or hunts with my loved ones again.

  The Queen? Are dragons like bees? Velsa briefly envisioned a hive of dragons.

  You have quite an imagination. Don’t let anyone try to sell you dragon honey, there is no such thing, I’m afraid. Morgnar bared his teeth in a sort of smile. I trust you will be well here, but I will hold your sadness at our parting to my heart. It is very human of you, but also very dear.

  I’ll just be sad not to share stories with you anymore. Velsa and Morgnar had talked a lot on the flight. The conversation helped both of them to shove aside their grief—or at least, she hoped it did. She didn’t always understand Morgnar’s mind, but he seemed to have no judgment of human affairs. He didn’t care that Velsa was a concubine or artificially made.

  Maybe when the war is over you can come to Drai and see the cave of eggs. He sounded proud, as if this was the greatest sight in all the world. I will tell the dragon queen to give you a warm welcome.

  I’d love to, Velsa replied. This did sound quite glamorous. Too bad Drai was hundreds of miles away.

  “Did he agree?” Kessily asked.

  “Oh—yes. Sorry,” Velsa said. Kessily looked ever so slightly perturbed, and Velsa couldn’t blame her. Telepathic conversation didn’t seem quite fair.

  A fairly short flight brought them to the mountain. The stone castle came into clear view, perched atop a forbidding rocky outcropping, surrounded by evergreens. Velsa was awfully glad they didn’t have to come on foot.

  Suddenly, Morgnar’s body dropped lower, and Velsa’s stomach flipped.

  She clutched the ridge on his back where she was perched. “What’s wrong?” she cried with her mind and voice at once.

  Protection spells in the air above the castle. I’ll have to drop you off a ways down the path.

  “Figures,” Velsa muttered, and then related this to Kessily.

  Morgnar found a clearing on the surface of another rock where he could land. The castle now loomed a distance away.