Sincerely sorry for the delay. I have found a beta and have fixed the previous chapters before starting on the fourth chapter
I've also had a really busy two weeks.
This is only a flashback chapter and a little shorter because I like my cliff-hangers.
"A real friend is one who walks in when the rest of the world walks out."
Chapter 4: A Helping Hand
Arram woke to darkness. His mind felt addled with sleep but surprisingly no pain. Involuntarily, his hands jerked to his chest to find bandages and he realized that he lay in a comfortable bed. His dark eyes tried to see in the dark but he could only make out smudges of darker black in what-ever room he was in.
Runes in invisible Gift covered the walls, making wards that prevented unwanted entry, though not of the power Arram could produce. Unfortunately, it made a ghost light, that didn't actually make light he could see by. There was something familiar about the color.
The… weeks in Ozorne's dungeons were mercifully blurred and foggy, the canceling of his Gift having a greater affect on him that he had realized. He hadn't a chance to analyze it after he had escaped but now his Gift had settled back into place with a painful throbbing. It was not like when he had used his entire Gift, which he had done a few times when he was younger, causing dizziness and nausea. More, it was like as if a cut had been made or something perhaps torn and then repaired with no attempt made at dulling the pain.
The severing and fixing of the Gift had affected his mind as well. He remembered his escape in fractured memories, fragments only up to the point where he had obliterated… He cringed against that thought, that blurry memory. The recollection was harsh and raw, pulling at his ethics, making him pitifully aware of his situation. He was being forced to push his boundaries of what he thought was right and wrong; bending his morals as his life was threatened. His death count was already up to three, never minding the unseen deaths in the cave in.
How far would he go? Would he lose his core self in his desperation to live? Would death be preferable?
Carefully, he tried to rise. He would rather than then think of disturbing thoughts. Agony pierced his ribs and he froze gritting his teeth. It was difficult to not shout but somehow he managed. Harshly, Arram swung his legs over the edge of the bed, noting that his feet were bare and were feeling like hardwood. His eyes had adjusted slightly to the room's darkness but he still could not see more than three feet in front of him.
When the door opened on the far side of the room, spilling real light into his prison, Arram realized who the grey colored Gift belonged to. Had it really taken his mind this long to recognize his mentor's Gift? Perhaps his experiences had taken more of a toll then he had realized.
"Arram, are you a fool?" hissed Lindhall when he saw him half out of the bed. He slammed the door close behind him and deposited the things he was carrying on the door-side table before hurrying to Arram's side. "You don't try to move when you have four cracked ribs, a back that is just barely mending and enough bruises to make a knight proud!"
Lindhall pushed his student back down on the bed, but was careful not to disrupt the wounds on his back. Arram's mentor looked exhausted: Black bags hung under his eyes and a fugitive look had entered them. Arram was in too much shock seeing his teacher that he just let Lindhall press him back on the double bed. None of this made any sense. Wasn't he exiled and accused of treason? So what was his esteemed teacher doing tending to his wounds? This train of mind led to several unhappy conclusions about what he was actually doing here.
He shied away from the idea that Lindhall was harboring a fugitive. He couldn't let it kindle a hope that wouldn't be true. Rather, he let himself be distracted by the bundle his former teacher had dropped by the door; Salves, more bandages and several jars looked to be the reason a strong spicy smell had entered the room.
Lindhall actually looked a lot better than he had seen at first glance: his robes were clean and unsoiled, his hair was carefully combed back to look presentable. Had Lindhall been in some meeting?
"Lindhall," he managed to whisper, "what are you doing?"
Lindhall paused, his eyes darting at Arram's and then away. His hand hesitated over checking his former student's chest injuries before stoutly continuing. "I am helping a friend." He said, saying each word carefully, as if each had been weighed and measured before leaving his lips. His eyes met Arram's eyes for the first time. "I… am… helping…a…friend." He seemed to say it the second time as if trying to make the black-robe convinced this was his own choice.
"You shouldn't be doing this." Arram croaked, throat parched," The emperor would have you skinned in seconds if he knew."
Lindhall turned and walked towards the supplies he had set down. He spoke as his hands rummaged among the objects.
"The emperor is mad." The words were very quietly spoken. "He should have known better than to have accused you of attacking him out of nothing but a desire for power. I know you better then that." A conviction was in the last part, enough to warm Arram's heart with hope. He hadn't lost everything.
The room was exactly as Arram remembered it; cluttered, smelling of animals, books spilled open on the desk by single shuttered window. Light sheets were on the double bed, a thicker one by the foot of the bed only to be used when Carthak got unusually cold. Not that that would bother Lindhall, he was from the north and was more used to it then Arram himself.
His mentor strolled across the room and poured food into the little dish in the turtle cage that stood near the wardrobe. Arram had last seen the turtle in Lindhall's study back in the more academic part of the University.
"You brought him here?" Asked the black-robe, watching Lindhall. "Wouldn't he be more comfortable in your study?"
"I needed an excuse to come in here so often, did I not?" murmured Lindhall. He dusted off his hands and studied his former student. Arram looked bad. The wounds had been bleeding heavily when he had managed to get him to his rooms to study him. They had looked horrible, his back raw and his fingers all out of shape.
The explosion he had heard of later. Killing three and injuring others, had taken even more out of the young man and yet he had some how staggered to through the University to reach him, evading all detection. If not for that odd flickere of Arram's gift outside in the courtyard, he wouldn't have even known he was there.
Arram still looked terrible. His eyes almost looked blood red from all the strained vessels in his eyes. Deep bags and healing scratches on his dark face gave the appearance of an animal attack if you didn't note the sharpness of each gash. Most of them had closed but the scabs made it look worse. The salves he had brought should be enough to speed the healing if measured correctly. It was difficult to get his hands on enough ointment without actually stealing it. You could only tell a healer too many times that a student of yours got bitten by some animal or another.
"I need to check your wounds," he told his student briskly, deciding that reminiscing on problems would help no one. There existed enough problems in the world to have a man spend several lifetimes trying to think of them all.
As he examined Arram's back wound wounds, he felt a stirring of anger and some well-hidden guilt. Had he not believed Ozorne when he had accused the young mage in the first place? A man he had helped personally train. Such was Ozorne's velvet tongue. Almost the entire university had turned against Arram- as far as Lindhall knew, he was the only one to believe his innocence- and every noble within hearing distance had already envied Arram's status to even care if the black-robe was falsely accused. Only when he had entered his rooms- a senn-night ago- had he really begun thinking about the accusations. Arram power-hungry? Arram eagerly attacking the emperor of Carthak, owner of one of the largest armies in the world? A man who had displayed reluctance to having even train as a war-mage?
Shocking, suicidal and stupid. None of which described Arram even remotely. Better words to describe him were forgetful, scattered and bookish. This is what had driven him to pull the fugitive to his rooms, not any drive to turn him into Ozorne alive. He had been careful to not knock any of his boney limbs against the walls and tend to the man's wounds.
He carefully pulled the bandages from Arram's back, wincing when he heard Arram pull in a pained breath from the yanked skin for as careful as Lindhall was, the bandage had stuck rather hard to his student's back. The skin revealed was an angry red with some sporadic bleeding. Even with the healers' potions, it would take time for it to heal fully and even then Arram would have scars that would, at least grow less noticeable over time.
"Arram I don't know how to get you out of Carthak. All the ports are being watched and outgoing vessels searched inch by inch. There is no spell either of us can cast that would be unnoticed and swift enough for you to get away; and Ozorne has sent your information to all the neighboring monarchs." Lindhall spread more balm over the bleeding skin. Arram sat silent for a moment, long enough for Lindhall to wonder if he had retreated into his own mind rather then face his fate in the mortal realms.
"Lindhall," he said at last, "has anyone disturbed my room?"
"They tried," admitted Lindhall, "but your wards are too carefully made and powered to keep out even the most determined intruder. The emperor has even offered a reward for any who can make it in. I couldn't make a ward like that. You always did surpass me in terms of power in that area." Arram let out a weak chuckle though there was some doubt.
"You did not offer them your bracelet?" asked Arram, "Doesn't Ozorne know of it?"
"No on both counts. I never did believe him, Arram, Mithros witness." Lindhall hoped that little lie would slide past Arram but he needn't have worried. Arram always took things at face value. Well, maybe before. Lindhall was not so sure now.
Arram was getting excited, his experiment. It was possibly the only way out of Carthak without Emperor Ozorne finding out. If no one had gotten into his rooms, then nobody would know of it. You would only detect it if you were looking for it specifically and as far as he knew he was the only person that had made the attempt recently was Louren of Tyra, who had tried it sixty-seven years ago. His research had truly been invaluable in gaining all the calculations he had needed in the beginning. Hours of calculations had been saved because of Louren's meticulous notes.
"Lindhall, you need to get my research out of my rooms. If no one knows of it then it will be perhaps the only way out Carthak with any chance of success." It only worried Arram that he had never tested it. So much could go wrong in a rushed spell, especially one such as complex as this.
Lindhall frowned, worry creasing his brow. "Arram, what is this experiment? Its time you told me, even if it was the only way for you to get out of Carthak. Is it the reason the emperor accused you of treason?"
Arram shook his head. The thought of his boyhood friend falsely accusing him still burned and he still had no idea why. "No, Lindhall. That caught me by as much surprise as you. And I promise," He said, looking his teacher square in the eye, "if you get my research to me, I will tell you exactly what it is." Lindhall still hesitated but finally gave.
"Let no one in." He said sternly, "if someone comes in without you sensing my gift craft a veil at the very least. I don't want to return to you having revealed your self within the short space of time I will be gone." He carefully arranged the supplies and said, "but first I will tend to the rest of your wounds. Whatever this spell is, you will need your full strength nevertheless." Arram did not try to dissuade him. His escape route would test his endurance to the utmost and he needed to have all his strength with him.
The warmth of the salves sank through his muscles, relaxing knotted tension that had resided there for the last… well for as long as Ozorne had held him. When Lindhall finally left, his thoughts crowded back in on him. It was very possible that Lindhall did not know that Arram had killed outside his rooms. Otherwise, it was doubtful he would have gotten the help he had received up to this point. He couldn't tell him of course. The trust his mentor had given him was precious and he couldn't afford to alienate the only person willing to give him help.
Ozorne was sure to find him if he stayed here for very much longer. He didn't even know if he was pushing it by staying here even one more day. If his experiment worked, he would surely get across the sea to one of the other countries. However, what would happen once he reached there? If Lindhall was right, every kingdom had his name on their list of wanted criminals. He couldn't offer his services to any of them. Trya was out of the question any way. It was his birthplace and the first place the emperor was sure to look.
He had no skill outside of the Gift that would help him anywhere. It would be useless in anything but small, controlled amounts since Ozorne would be able to track him through it. He had his odd hobbies, results of much reading of all different subjects. But he doubted they would be any help unless he was willing to sink to a street entertainer for work.
The sense of Lindhall's Gift filtered back into his senses. Moments later, the man himself entered with arms full of Arram's personal research. Everything was written in a personal code that the black-robe had personally invented. "Arram, I can't make heads or tails of this." Frustration made his tone exasperated. "What exactly is this supposed to do for you?"
"Careful, careful! Do you know how many hours it took to get it to this stage?" Arram tried to take the work from his teacher but Lindhall ignored his reaching. He could be insufferable when it came to making Arram take care of himself.
"Arram," snapped Lindhall in annoyance, "I am older then you by decades. I know how to be careful with fragile information." He put most of it down on the bedside table, gingerly, so not to muss the paper. "How many papers do you have here? It feels more then it looks."
"I used heavier paper." explained Arram, "Much safer and it has a better absorption of the ink." he spoke as he carefully riffled through the papers, trying not to feel his broken fingers as he did so. Maybe it had been a mistake to use the thicker paper, though he hadn't been planning on breaking his fingers so close to the completion of his work.
How long he had toiled over this experiment! Checking and rechecking every calculation and tirelessly testing every little breakthrough as he made them. The librarian had not even bothered to look up anymore when he had entered, too used to Arram's presence over the long weeks.
"My student," said Lindhall, giving into his impatience, "How do you plan to leave Carthak?"
Arram grinned at him, feeling more of his old self then he had in a long while, "Not long, haven't you guessed yet Lindhall? I'm going to fly."