Read Online Land of the Burning Sands by Rachel Neumeier - Free Book Online

round, mild face did not seem meant for frowning. Gereint stared back at him in confusion, feeling the internal shift of the
geas
. Was the man angry? He had not meant to do anything to anger Amnachudran… Had he? But it must have been Amnachudran himself who had ordered him tied down… but the man could simply have commanded him to lie down and stay in the bed… Gereint looked away in confusion, feeling weak and somehow ashamed. He
was
weak, but he didn’t understand the shame.
    “How do you feel?” Amnachudran asked. He held up one hand. “How many fingers am I holding up? What’s your name? What’s
my
name?”
    Gereint turned his head back, stared up at him. “I think I could manage… three out of four, maybe.”
    “Which one seems doubtful?”
    “I feel… very odd.”
    The other man laughed, sounding relieved. He was no longer frowning. “Gereint…” he said, and shook his head.
    “Why am I…?” Gereint moved his hands illustratively.
    “You fought us. Very hard.”
    “The
geas
didn’t stop me?”
    “Nothing stopped you. You were out of your mind. I don’t think you recognized me. It was a lesson to me about desperation and the limitations of the
geas
.” Amnachudran produced a small knife and began to cut Gereint loose, very carefully. The knife did not want to cut the soft cloth. If Gereint had made the knife, it would have done a much better job.
    Gereint watched the knife. He watched the other man’s hand working carefully to cut the cloth bonds. He said tentatively, “I was… you were… is my memory right?”
    “I don’t know. What do you think you remember?”
    “Didn’t you have a broken leg? Among other things.”
    “Among other things, yes.” Amnachudran finished cutting Gereint’s hands free and stepped down to the foot of the bed. “My wife is a skilled healer-mage; fortunately she is skilled especially with traumatic injuries. I… um. I’m more of a specialist, myself.” He finished cutting Gereint’s feet free, reached to a table by the bed, and handed Gereint a small hand mirror. The kind a lady would use, with an ornate brass frame and little birds etched in the corners of the glass.
    Gereint took it wonderingly. Looked in it, since that was what his master clearly intended.
    He almost did not recognize the face that looked back at him. Oh, the
face
was the same: The forehead with untidy hair falling across it; the wide cheekbones were the same, the nose, the line of the jaw… but there was no broad circular scar from the branding. Gereint stared hard, not understanding what he was seeing. Or not seeing. There was
nothing there
. He lifted a hand, traced with his thumb the path of the brand. But he had to trace it from memory: He could not find the smooth raised scar by touch. He began to put the mirror down, snatched it back upright and stared again. Tried to speak and found his throat closed—and besides, he had no idea what to say.
    “I’ll be, um. Around,” Amnachudran said quickly. “Come find me when you, um. Feel up to it.” He gestured rather randomly around the room. “There’s food—be sure and eat something. I think the clothing should fit. Um—” He retreated.
    For a little while, Gereint thought he might weep like a child, as Amnachudran had clearly feared. He didn’t, in the end. He ate a piece of bread while standing in front of a full-length mirror, staring at his unmarked face. The
geas
rings still pierced his ankles, but he had known they must. The cords Amnachudran had used to bind him were still woven through those rings. He had known that, too. But the face… Did Amnachudran
know
what he had done?
    The man was clever. And perceptive. And kind, with a depth of honest kindness Gereint had almost come to believe could not truly exist. At least, not for him. Gereint stared at his own face in the mirror and decided that Amnachudran had known
exactly
what he was doing.
    Gereint touched the unblemished skin of his cheek and went to get