even for an hour. But the boy was obviously unwell. Long since resigned to his apprentice's delicate constitution, Iveg pushed a book away from Jaric's stained fingers and said, "Go outside. Sit in the sun for awhile. Perhaps a break and some fresh air will clear your head."
Jaric rose obediently. Careful not to trip, he caught the doorframe with evident unsteadiness. Aware the boy resented coddling, Iveg stayed by the copy table, his droopy hound's features lined with worry. "If you want, I'll send for a healer."
Jaric shook his head. "No need. I feel a little faint, that's all." And he passed quickly into the hall, fearful if he delayed longer his legs might fail him.
His boots echoed unexpectedly on stone. The carpets had been rolled aside, and a serving maid knelt industriously beside a bucket brimming with suds. She peered into Jaric's face as he approached.
"You going ta puke?" She gestured, and her sodden brush spattered soap against his shins. "If so, go elsewhere, d'ya mind?"
Jaric eyed the plump flesh which quivered beneath her blouse and said nothing. Dizzy though he was, nothing ailed his stomach. Accustomed to taunts, he crossed the puddle left by her scrubbing and marked unsteady footprints the length of the corridor.
"Kor," yelled the woman at his back. "Ya messed my clean floor with yer blighty feet, ya daisy."
With a grimace, Jaric caught the latch of the postern. The woman's insults failed to provoke. He was wise enough to understand she intended no malice. The fact he was small and awkward with weapons did not make him any less a scholar; if some women felt his dark eyes and fine hands should have been paired with more manly attributes, he refused to cloud what gifts he did possess with bitterness over his shortcomings. All the same, he longed to slam the door as he let himself out. Yet even so slight a rejoinder proved beyond his strength.
Shaken by sudden vertigo, Jaric barely managed to avoid being struck by the heavy iron-bossed panel as it swung shut. He stumbled down the steps into sunlight. The apothecary's herb gardens were snugly tucked in a courtyard between the outer battlements and the west keep. Jaric often came there in times of trouble. Today light-headedness transformed the gravel paths into a shimmer of glare, and the close high walls buckled crazily before his eyes. He felt inexplicably menaced. The rich scent of poppies seemed to choke him. Disoriented, Jaric sat gasping on the bottom stair. Sun-warmed stone shocked his flesh like a brand, yet he continued to shake with chills. He frowned. Lank mouse-colored hair fringed his wrists as he rested his head in his hands. What was the matter with him?
His cheeks tingled. The sage brush by his knee rippled as though stirred by current. Then his vision blurred and slid sickeningly into darkness.
Afraid he might faint, Jaric chafed his arms, unaware his nails gouged flesh. Though immersed in the heat of midsummer noon, cold clamped like a fist in his chest. He could not breathe. Trapped in a morass of confusion, he felt a compulsion rise up to smother his will. Desperate with panic, he resisted.
"Mercy!" The plea emerged as a pinched croak. Aware the force he wrestled was another's, Jaric tried again. "Let me be. I am blameless!"
But no quarter was granted. The alien power gained intensity, stripping away his identity like flame-seared wax. Words died on his tongue. He felt himself falling, not into the familiar fragrance of sage leaves, but into icy, limitless space. Another reality flooded his inward eye, carved into ruthless focus. Like a scene viewed through a ship's glass, Jaric saw a promontory exposed to a thunderous clamor of surf. A vibrant red-headed man crouched against the rocks. His face contorted with hatred toward a second man, a gale-whipped figure with silver hair and ragged blood-stained clothes. Had Jaric been able to move, he would have shivered. But the image held him frozen as the second stranger raised his head.
Jaric rose obediently. Careful not to trip, he caught the doorframe with evident unsteadiness. Aware the boy resented coddling, Iveg stayed by the copy table, his droopy hound's features lined with worry. "If you want, I'll send for a healer."
Jaric shook his head. "No need. I feel a little faint, that's all." And he passed quickly into the hall, fearful if he delayed longer his legs might fail him.
His boots echoed unexpectedly on stone. The carpets had been rolled aside, and a serving maid knelt industriously beside a bucket brimming with suds. She peered into Jaric's face as he approached.
"You going ta puke?" She gestured, and her sodden brush spattered soap against his shins. "If so, go elsewhere, d'ya mind?"
Jaric eyed the plump flesh which quivered beneath her blouse and said nothing. Dizzy though he was, nothing ailed his stomach. Accustomed to taunts, he crossed the puddle left by her scrubbing and marked unsteady footprints the length of the corridor.
"Kor," yelled the woman at his back. "Ya messed my clean floor with yer blighty feet, ya daisy."
With a grimace, Jaric caught the latch of the postern. The woman's insults failed to provoke. He was wise enough to understand she intended no malice. The fact he was small and awkward with weapons did not make him any less a scholar; if some women felt his dark eyes and fine hands should have been paired with more manly attributes, he refused to cloud what gifts he did possess with bitterness over his shortcomings. All the same, he longed to slam the door as he let himself out. Yet even so slight a rejoinder proved beyond his strength.
Shaken by sudden vertigo, Jaric barely managed to avoid being struck by the heavy iron-bossed panel as it swung shut. He stumbled down the steps into sunlight. The apothecary's herb gardens were snugly tucked in a courtyard between the outer battlements and the west keep. Jaric often came there in times of trouble. Today light-headedness transformed the gravel paths into a shimmer of glare, and the close high walls buckled crazily before his eyes. He felt inexplicably menaced. The rich scent of poppies seemed to choke him. Disoriented, Jaric sat gasping on the bottom stair. Sun-warmed stone shocked his flesh like a brand, yet he continued to shake with chills. He frowned. Lank mouse-colored hair fringed his wrists as he rested his head in his hands. What was the matter with him?
His cheeks tingled. The sage brush by his knee rippled as though stirred by current. Then his vision blurred and slid sickeningly into darkness.
Afraid he might faint, Jaric chafed his arms, unaware his nails gouged flesh. Though immersed in the heat of midsummer noon, cold clamped like a fist in his chest. He could not breathe. Trapped in a morass of confusion, he felt a compulsion rise up to smother his will. Desperate with panic, he resisted.
"Mercy!" The plea emerged as a pinched croak. Aware the force he wrestled was another's, Jaric tried again. "Let me be. I am blameless!"
But no quarter was granted. The alien power gained intensity, stripping away his identity like flame-seared wax. Words died on his tongue. He felt himself falling, not into the familiar fragrance of sage leaves, but into icy, limitless space. Another reality flooded his inward eye, carved into ruthless focus. Like a scene viewed through a ship's glass, Jaric saw a promontory exposed to a thunderous clamor of surf. A vibrant red-headed man crouched against the rocks. His face contorted with hatred toward a second man, a gale-whipped figure with silver hair and ragged blood-stained clothes. Had Jaric been able to move, he would have shivered. But the image held him frozen as the second stranger raised his head.
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