"It is as you have said," he told her, taking the long wooden spoon from her hand and slowly stirring the large cauldron of salve that heated over the low fire in the Healers' Stillroom. The mixture required constant stirring if it was not to burn.
"I went to Dargainon's bedside he is not so ill as Andoreniel, and the Healers think he could recover. But all the Healing spells I know will not heal this plague."
"I don't understand it," Idalia said in frustration. "A Healing spell will heal almost anything. It is almost as if there's something else we need to do first and I just can't figure out what it is, though every one of us has done every form of divination there is to try to find out."
"It is very much like the time that Petariel was wounded by the Shadowed Elf poison, when we did not yet know what it was," Jermayan said. "The Healers treated the poison, to no effect, not realizing they must Banish the Taint from the wound with a powerful spell before their drugs would work."
"Then there is something here we must figure out how to banish," Idalia said. "But what and how?"
* * * * *
THE cordial was ready first the salve would take the longest, as it must cool and set and as the Elven Healers began the preparations for the next batch. Idalia prepared to charge the cordial. Once it had been infused with her power, she could transfer it to the bottles from which it could be administered to the plague's victims.
But before she could begin, Volcilintra came rushing into the chamber, so wildly agitated she did not even pause upon the threshold and wait to be noticed as Elven good manners required.
"Idalia! It is the King! Andoreniel wakes!"
* * * * *
AS if they were both children, Idalia raced after Volcilintra until they reached Andoreniel's bedchamber. Nelirtil and another Elven Healer were with him.
But in contrast to the last time she had come here, hours before, Andoreniel lay propped up on several pillows, drinking from a cup that Nelirtil held to his lips. He still looked neat death, but now his dark eyes were open and aware.
"Idalia," he whispered, as she entered. "I owe you… more than my life."
"Don't talk," Idalia said instantly. "You need all your strength to heal."
She hoped that what she was seeing was healing in truth, and not the last surge of strength that sometimes came before death. But Volcilintra surely had enough experience with plague by now to tell the difference.
"He began to improve almost at once," Volcilintra said, drawing her aside. "He fell into a natural sleep for the first time in days, and now, by the grace of Leaf and Star, he wakes."
"I'm making more medicine as fast as I can," Idalia said. "You will soon be able to treat everyone here. I have given the recipes to the Healers. All three remedies need to be charged with the Wild Magic, but Kellen has Wildmages at Halacira. I am sure he will send some."
"Perhaps it would be better if you remained," Volcilintra said, sounding truly alarmed.
"Be sure that I will remain as long as I can. And that we will not leave you without a way to fight this thing," Idalia answered grimly.
* * * * *
JERMAYAN was waiting for her in the outer chamber, his expression a mixture of hope and wariness.
"It is true," Idalia said, answering his unvoiced question. "It seems that my remedies are Healing Andoreniel or at least they allow him to rally. But they will do nothing against the Quick Plague, if it comes. And there must be Wildmages here to make and charge the medicines and we cannot be everywhere at once!" Her shoulders drooped.
"Yet you are here now and as you told Volcilintra, Kellen will send Wildmages from Halacira to stay with Andoreniel, and to prepare enough of the salve and cordial to treat all of Sentarshadeen. It is little enough, but it is what can be done, and we must not scorn to do a thing simply because it seems inadequate. We are not given to know what action will turn the tide of battle, as Master Belesharon has told me many times. Now let us go and charge the medicines you have already prepared, and then Ancaladar and I will fly back to Halacira and tell Kellen what we now know. It is, you must admit, good news."
Idalia nodded grudgingly. Good news as far as it went, but all Healers knew that so many things could go wrong when a patient was ill.
Chapter Thirteen
To Redeem an Ancient Pledge
JERMAYAN RETURNED TO Halacira at dawn, because Ancaladar had simply refused to fly without a good meal and a night's sleep for both of them. And in fact, there was wisdom in the dragon's stubbornness, for Jermayan's news, while grave, was not so urgent that he must wear himself and Ancaladar to the bone delivering it, and it was always possible in fact, likely that something would happen soon that would require all of their strength and endurance.
He had made a wide circling pass over the land below as he approached Halacira, at least partly to search for creatures of the Shadow who might have escaped the recent battle. He saw no signs of any such, but he did see Keirasti's troop. They were still four days away from Halacira, but moving in good order. When they came nearer, they would find trail-wands, directing them to the new bridge. They waved and saluted as he passed over them, and Ancaladar flew on.
The camp below him was already awake. He could hear the sound of axes in the forest, and the thin whine of a sawmill. Artenel's artificers had indeed been busy in the scant days since the battle.
He landed in the grove it, at least, had remained untouched, though elsewhere the forest had been much scarred by the removal of trees and walked down to the camp. By now there was a wide smooth path cut into the snow from the grove to the camp; the whole area around Halacira was taking on the look of a well-tenanted campsite.
Kellen came up to meet him.
"The news from Sentarshadeen is better than it might be," Jermayan said at once. "Idalia's medicines have had some good effect on Andoreniel's condition. But he remains very weak. She asks that you send Wildmages to Sentarshadeen."
Kellen thought a moment, then nodded. "I can do that. One can go with you and Ancaladar immediately. I can send another two with the wagons we need supplies, and Sentarshadeen has to supply us, or we're going to starve. I have hunting parties out now, but they're not having a lot of luck. But three is all I can spare."
"The city is well-provisioned," Jermayan said. "And three Wildmages should answer the city's needs."
"I'll ask for volunteers, then," Kellen said. "But come and have breakfast. I've got a lot to tell you. None of it really makes pleasant hearing, but at least it doesn't involve immediate disaster… "
* * * * *
VESTAKIA stood silently in a thicket to the side of the trail, watching the two Knights pass. She was certain that Kellen and Jermayan had marked her presence, but her hood was pulled down low over her face, and she was turned away. Obviously she did not wish to be Seen, as the Elves thought of it, so Jermayan would not "see" her, and as for Kellen…
He did his best to ignore her whenever he possibly could.
She knew the reason for it. No one could know about Mageprice better than a Wildmage's daughter, who owed her very life to the paying of a hard Mageprice. But sometimes it still hurt. Nevertheless, she owed it to Kellen to make the paying of his Mageprice as easy for him as she possibly could.
Because she loved him.
When they were gone, she tucked her cloak up around her and followed the trail back up to Ancaladar's clearing. She had a basket over her shoulder, and a sharp knife on her belt; the reason she was out in the forest, should anyone ask, was to do what she could to gather extra fodder for the horses and oxen; the tender inner bark of trees, the softest shoots of the greenneedle trees, even the buried grasses beneath the snow, if she found a place where she could dig down that far.
But she had really come to talk to Ancaladar.
Last night the dreams that let her see into her father's mind had been more terrible and vivid than ever before. He was not only unhappy, but afraid. What could frighten a Demon?
She needed to talk about it to someone, to try to understand what she'd learned. But Cilarnen knew even less than she did about Them and after what he had seen at Nerendale, she thought it would be cruel to make him think about Them any more than he had to.
Ancaladar might know what she needed. He was old, and wise, and he had always been a good friend to her. He hated Them as she did, but he was not shocked by Them.
She reached the clearing.
Ancaladar was curled up, his head tucked under one wing. His saddle, neatly placed in its blue carrying-bag of waxed silk canvas, was hung from a tree-branch, out of the way of the worst of the snow and damp.
He raised his head at her approach. His great golden eyes flashed with pleasure.