Author's Note: I know Eleni (George's mother; Myles' wife) would be about seventy by now if I'd stuck to Tamora Pierce's aging, but I've departed from the chronology for her. She's now somewhere in the mid- to late fifties, having had George at the age of seventeen ("we marry as young as fifteen here in the city" - George, In The Hand of the Goddess) and so being twenty-four years older than Alanna, who's in the early thirties. (I may have mucked her age up too!). Sorry about this - my reasons will become apparent later! (Yes, I know it's shameless bait to make you wait for the next chapter, but what's the matter with shameless and obvious? ;)



Chapter Ten



"Please can you show us to the healers?" asked a tall woman - the men-at-arms hesitated to give her the title of 'lady' - whom they did not recognise, chestnut hair streaked with iron-grey and with the unmistakable accent of the Lower City, although her soft and pretty voice made it an asset rather than a liability. With her were two men, one tall and well-built, a few silver threads in his rich chestnut hair and bearing a remarkable likeness to the woman; the other short and plump with rumpled hose and a doublet that looked as if he had slept in it. He the men-at-arms recognised, but the other was a stranger. All were pale, their faces drawn as though they had worried and ridden through the night.

"Surely, my lady, my lords. Follow me."

All three followed the man-at-arms along corridors and up stairs. He left them outside a stout oak door.

Lady Eleni of Olau knocked and opened. Followed by her son and husband, she entered the chamber in which her stepdaughter and daughter-in-law lay.

"Myles! Eleni! George! I'm so glad to see you!" cried Duke Baird. "I only wish there were better news."

Their faces fell. "She's no better, then?" asked George, biting his lip.

"No better. In fact, she's weakening dangerously."

"Can't you do anything?"

"No. It's not an illness, it's her Gift draining her life force. Which it has been doing for nearly a week, so it has all her strength. And with that strength..." he shrugged and sighed a little "...it's rejecting my Gift. It's rejecting Neal's Gift, and all the Gifts of all my healers. It has her strength of will, even without any strength of body."

"May I?" asked Eleni, moving towards the high bed. Kneeling, she touched her daughter-in-law's sleeping face. Eleni's Gift left her hands as pale-blue fire, moving along the knight's body. The men stood together, watching, waiting, strong George, gentle Myles, worried Duke Baird. All waiting for one old city healing woman. All waiting for the inevitable verdict.

"I see..." she murmured, more to herself than to the others. "I see. Yes, yes, that fits. What about herself... all right. Yes..."

Eleni realised that she was waiting for somebody to ask what she was talking about. She gave herself a mental shake and silent chiding - you mustn't be so proud! - , then straightened and turned.

"I think I can see a way through."

If she had said that she saw pink and purple Carthaki elephants on the roof, they wouldn't have reacted as violently. Amused, the healer looked along the men, reading their emotions as clearly as if they were written in a scroll. Myles was so proud for his wife, confident of healing when all others had failed, and full of renewed hope for his daughter. George was struggling with relief so sharp it was painful, trying not to build up his feeble hopes too much, trying not to believe too much that his wife might be saved. And Baird, the poor Chief Healer, wrestling between his relief that his friend and patient might not die and his proprietorial pique that the miracle came, not from him, nor from his corps of healers, but from an old woman from the Lower City.

"Well?" he asked at last, less sharply than she had expected although more than her actions had merited. "What? I thought we had tried everything."

"Everything, yes, apart from the risky and downright dangerous. But there are risks which must be taken, dangers which must be faced. This, I think is one of them."

"Well?" asked Baird again.

"I will join with her." Simple words enough, yet all three faces fell from hope to astonished, disappointed incredulity. She raised a hand. "Wait! Hear me out. I told you it was folly... but if all else fails her, folly must be given a chance."

Kel and Neal sat in the history classroom, wondering whom they would have for the lesson. Sir Myles, as far as Neal the omniscient knew, remained closeted with his wife, with Baron George of Pirates' Swoop and with his unconscious daughter. None of the Mithran priests who taught the other subjects were equal to the task of teaching twenty lively second-years a subject about which they knew nothing. Tkaa the basilisk, who would have been an ideal choice, had gone to Carthak for a meeting (where he had been since the beginning of the year). So the pages wrangled and bet and clustered around Neal for news. He was holding court about the healers, enjoying the audience, when a light tenor voice spoke from the desk.

"I came to replace Sir Myles with his assertation that you were an excellent class. I am beginning to revise my estimate."

The boys and Kel looked at each other, puzzled. Only Neal laughed, and translated:

"Sit down, shut up and be good, he says."

"When I want you to speak, Nealan," and oh, the sarcasm in that smooth and musical voice! "I will invite you to do so. At the moment, I would rather you went to your places and listened." He stopped, and waited until all the pages were sitting quietly before he spoke again.

"This is a lesson of history, not current affairs - although much that is interesting and will become the history of the future is now current. But for now I ask you to remember that history involves people and the Lady Knight who is news today and will be history tomorrow is a very dear friend to many in the palace.

"Enough! Today we will look at the abortive peace talks in Carthak in the last year of the reign of Emperor Ozorne, or the Emperor Mage. I myself, along with Dean Harailt of Aili, Sir Alanna of Pirate's Swoop - the King's Champion" he paused, blinked and swallowed, but carried on with only a slight catch in his voice "Duke Gareth of Naxen, Gareth the Younger of Naxen and a few others formed the Tortallen delegation. Delegations were also sent from Tusaine, Galla and Tyra. During the first few talks, things were going absolutely swimmingly. The swift healing of the Emperor's treasured birds by Veralidaine Sarrasri" - some dirty-minded boy giggled and was silenced with a freezing glare from the substitute teacher's dark eyes - " was of great service to the smooth running of the talks for that time, but soon things broke down in a spectacular fashion. Does anyone know which issues proved to be so contentious? Nobody else? All right, Nealan, go ahead."

"Um, sir..." Kel had never seen Neal lost for words before! "Perhaps if you used shorter words, some of the others might understand the question."

"You are pert, Nealan. Answer the question!"

"Fishing rights. And... and... oh! I knew this! Oh yes, the sudden vital clause introduced to the treaty. Saying that Kaddar, the heir, was to marry Princess Kalasin, then ten, or else no treaty."

"How does he remember all that?" whispered someone, unfriendlily. He learnt too late that Numair Salmalín had extremely sharp hearing.

"If you, Quinden, were to apply yourself to your studies with the enthusiasm which Nealan demonstrates, I am morally certain that you would soon be enabled to acquit yourself with equal, if not greater honour."

A babble of talk, of course, revolving about 'yer what!?' and 'he's a fine one to talk about morals!'

"SILENCE!" roared the mage and the shocked class were silent. They listened with growing interest as he detailed the breakdown of the talks and the omens betokening the imminent fall of the Carthaki Empire. Then Master Salmalín got onto the escape from Carthak of the Tortallen delegation and hit a quandrary. He decided to follow with such of his experience as was necessary.

"The Emperor, as we later learnt, had kidnapped Miss Sarrasri. But at that time, he was asserting that she had taken up with the slave underground and was encouraging a rebellion. I volunteered to return in search of her." His eyes swept the class, daring them to giggle or enquire further. A hand went up. Here we go, thought the mage, as he gestured to the hand's owner, one Merric of Hollyrose.

"Yes?"

"Didn't you say that you were carrying important information about the slave underground yourself? How did that get to Tortall?"

"It.. It was taken by Sir Alanna..." and with that flood of memory, the mage's iron self-control snapped. He buried his face in his hands and wept.