An empty pony trap came clattering by. Banouin shouted to the driver, asking if the trap was for hire. The man drew rein. 'Where did you want to go?' he asked.
'The Crimson Temple.'
'Climb in, young sir,' the driver told him.
'Are you insane?' whispered Maro, grabbing Banouin's arm.
'I must speak up for Sencra,' he said.
Maro shook his head. 'My father said you Rigante were courageous to the point of madness. Now I see he was right.'
'I am not courageous, Maro. All my life I have been a coward. But this I must do.'
'You must be very fond of the old man.'
'Not even that - though I like him well enough.'
'Well, why then?' asked Maro, confused.
'Because it is right to do so,' said Banouin. 'If they take him for the burning, and I do not speak, it will be as if I lit the torch myself. You understand?'
'You can't save him, my friend.'
'It is not about saving him. It is about saving me,' said Banouin, climbing into the rear seat of the pony trap.
The driver cracked his whip and the trap moved out along the avenue.
Banouin leaned back against the cushioned seat and watched as the city of Stone slid slowly by him. Crowds were moving along the avenue, seeking places to dine before attending the many theatres, and scores of pony traps and carriages flowed by, filled, for the most part, with expensively dressed nobles. Huge lanterns, set on iron posts, were being lit in the main thoroughfares, smaller lights being hung from ropes and wires in the side streets.
Stone at night was like a gleaming jewel. But the beauty of it was lost on the young Rigante. He sat silently in the carriage, his heart heavy.
'Which of the Temple entrances did you require?' asked the driver.
'I'm not sure. How many are there?'
'There's the main entrance off the Lion Road, but they'll be closing that soon. Then there's the Administrative Centre, the Museum, and the Knights' Barracks.'
'I have a friend who was wrongly arrested today.'
The driver tensed. Banouin could feel the rising fear in him. 'You'll want the Prison Building,' he said.
The trap moved on, cutting left through the Remembrance Garden, and under the Arch of Triumph, moving further into the centre of the city. There were not so many people here, and fewer lanterns lit.
Banouin's headache was returning, and he felt a little sick. He considered seeking a vision. He had not used this talent since the dreadful day back in Accia, when he saw the Knights of Stone coming for Appius and his daughter, and knew what they would do. Sweat broke out on his brow, and his stomach tightened. Those without the power would never understand the panic that had swept over him. To sit with living people who were already dead, to watch them smile and laugh, and know that tomorrow they would scream in agony, their lives torn from them. To be filled with power - and yet powerless. Banouin had been consumed by the desire to run, to leave, to put the vision behind him. He had wanted to save himself and his friend.
But Bane was a Rigante, and even the knowledge of certain death could not prevent him from trying to save Appius and Lia. How Banouin envied such courage.
There is the entrance,' said the driver, drawing the pony to a halt some way from the gates. Banouin paid him and stepped down. The driver swung the trap and moved away swiftly.
Banouin walked towards the building. Like all great structures in Stone it was dressed in white marble and decorated with statues. The huge bronze latticed gates were open, and two Knights carrying iron-tipped spears stood guard outside them. Their cloaks were white, indicating they were Guardsmen, the elite who protected Nalademus.
The young Rigante approached the first of the guards. 'I am seeking someone in authority,' he said.
'You wish to name traitors?' asked the man.
'No, sir. My tutor was arrested today, and I wish to speak on his behalf.'
'If he was arrested, then he's a traitor,' said the Knight. 'You wish to speak in defence of a traitor?'
'He is not a traitor, sir. He was falsely accused.'
'Oh, is that right?' said the Knight, with a sneer. 'Well, then. Wait here.' He walked back inside the gates and clanged his spear point against a bronze bell hanging outside the guardhouse. A middle-aged servant emerged from the building, spoke to the guard, then ran towards the main building. Banouin waited patiently. After some time two more Knights appeared, grim-faced men with emotionless eyes.
The first guard approached Banouin. 'These men will take you to where you can make your complaint,' he said.
'Thank you, sir.'
Banouin followed the two Knights along a path of white gravel, and through a tree garden to a side door leading to a narrow corridor. Their footsteps echoed inside the building. They climbed stairs, turning first left, then right, and soon Banouin felt lost within the maze of corridors and rooms. At last they halted before double doors, which the soldiers opened. Beyond the doors was a large room, with high, arched windows. The walls were unadorned, but a beautiful mosaic pattern had been laid upon the floor, a series of interconnected lines of shimmering gold on a field of white. In the centre of the room was a semicircular table, behind which sat a priest. His head was shaved, his beard dyed blood red. He glanced up as the Knights entered, then sat back in his chair, idly fingering the pale grey pendant that hung from his neck.
'You are here to defend a traitor, I understand?' he said, his voice sibilant.
Banouin stood very still, and opened the pathway to his Talent. He could feel the emotions of the Knights on either side of him. Both were enjoying this scene, and waiting for the moment when they would drag him screaming to the cells. Reaching out he touched the mind of the Crimson Priest, and recoiled. His thoughts were of torture and vileness. Banouin was about to speak when he felt the presence of a fourth, unseen man. He focused the Talent. The man was observing the proceedings from behind a velvet curtain. Banouin sensed a cold, calculating mind, and a powerful, magnetic personality. The observer was also in pain, and struggling to deal with it.
'Well, do you have a tongue?' asked the priest at the table.
'I do, sir, but I have to say that I am confused. My understanding was that, following arrest, a suspected man would then face a hearing to decide his guilt or innocence. Yet you, not knowing which arrested man I have come to speak for, have already decided his guilt. How is this so?'
The priest's pale face reddened. 'You dare to question me? Give me your name!'
'I am Banouin the Healer, student to Sencra, who teaches history at the university.'
'I do not like your attitude, Banouin. It lacks respect. To disrespect a priest of Stone is to disrespect Stone itself. That alone is treachery. As to your foul master . . . His hearing was held two hours ago. He was found guilty and will face the consequences.'
The velvet curtain flickered at the far end of the room, and a huge man, carrying a golden staff and wearing a voluminous red robe moved into sight. The Crimson Priest stood and bowed. Both the guards dipped their heads. Banouin also bowed, but then looked up into the man's swollen face. It was impossibly large, and white hair framed it like a lion's mane. The man moved with great difficulty, pain etched on his features. The Crimson Priest moved away from the chair, and the figure in the red robe eased his enormous weight down upon it.
'You call yourself a healer,' said the newcomer, his voice rumbling like distant thunder. 'What do you heal?'
'I can ease all pains, lord,' Banouin told him, 'and cure many ailments.'
'All pains?'
'Yes, lord.'
'How old are you?'
'Twenty-one, lord.'
'Twenty-one,' repeated the man. 'Where did you learn these wondrous skills? At the university?'
'No, lord. I was born among the Rigante tribe. My mother is a healer, and she taught me the mysteries of herbal lore. And also the gift of diagnosis.'
The huge man winced as he leaned forward, resting his massive forearms on t
he table. 'And how would you diagnose my condition, Banouin the Healer?'
'You are suffering from anasarca, lord. Your body is swollen with water - a sign that either your heart, liver or kidneys are not functioning as they should. Do you sleep upright now?'
'Yes. I choke if I lie down.'
'Then your heart is weak, lord.'
'Can your . . . herbs make it stronger?'
'I can heal you within ten days,' said Banouin.
'Ten days? So confident?'
'Yes, lord.'
'What if I were to tell you that, should you fail, I will have your eyes pierced by hot irons, your tongue ripped from your mouth, and your limbs sawn away? Would you still be so confident?'
The words were spoken with chilling relish, and Banouin gazed into the man's cold eyes. 'You have an illness, lord. I can cure it,' he said softly. 'I do not lie. As, indeed, I do not lie when I say that my tutor, Sencra, is no Cultist. Whoever named him as such is the liar. He has spoken to me often about what he regards as the stupidity of the Cultists. And of his admiration for the work you are doing, lord,' lied Banouin smoothly.
'Are you saying that you will heal me only if I release your friend?'
The words hung in the air, and Banouin knew his answer had to be the right one. 'No, lord, I will heal you because I can. What I am saying is that Sencra is innocent.'
'I will look into the matter. What herbs will you need?'
'A small amount of figwort seed, and leaves from a number of flowering plants, including marigold. Also some nettles. And some oil, perfumed with lavender. I shall return with these items tomorrow, and the healing can begin.'
Nalademus pushed himself to his feet. 'My guards will go with you, and you will return with them within the hour. The healing will begin tonight,' he said.
Just under two hours later Banouin was ushered into the lavish private apartments of Nalademus, the Stone elder. Velvet curtains hung over the windows, and ornaments of gold and silver adorned the many shelves and tables. The couches were all covered with richly embroidered silk, and even the lanterns glinted with gold.
Nalademus was sitting propped up on a couch, cushions all around him. In the lantern light his face had a waxy sheen. He had removed his crimson robe, and the bare flesh of his shoulders seemed impossibly stretched and swollen.
Banouin placed his medicine pack on a table.
'Did you obtain all you needed?' asked Nalademus.
'Yes, lord. Though the apothecary was terrified to see Knights of Stone at his door.'
'Terror has its uses,' said the sick man. The two guards positioned themselves by the door, and stood silently. 'You mentioned figwort earlier,' said Nalademus. 'I take it you mean to use the seed.'
'Yes, lord. It will help your heart.'
'I understand the seed is a deadly poison.'
'Indeed it is,' agreed Banouin. 'A little too much and the patient dies. I will not use too much.'
Nalademus's head sagged back on the cushion. 'What I told you about hot irons was no idle threat. You understand this?'
'I understand. Now what you must understand is that I need you to relax. Your body is under great stress, and that is not helping your heart. What have your own surgeons prescribed?'
'I have been bled constantly, and I have swallowed several gallons of noxious potions. Now you will prepare me another.'
Banouin mixed some ground seeds with powdered camomile and elder flower, then added it to a goblet of water. This he passed to Nalademus. The Stone elder drained it in a single swallow. 'Lean your head back on the cushion,' said Banouin, 'and close your eyes.' Nalademus did so. Banouin took hold of his right arm. The flesh was clammy and hot. Closing his eyes Banouin gathered his Talent, then let it flow within the stricken body. The heart, as he had feared, was not strong, and the kidneys were on the point of collapse. He waited for the digitalis to begin its work. This would have an immediate twofold action, as Vorna had explained to him years before. The heart contractions would be strengthened, the beat slowed. This meant increased power to the muscle, and a longer period of relaxation between beats. With Nalademus there would also be a third advantage. Pressure from a stronger heart would force more blood into his fading kidneys, aiding the diuretic effect. This alone, however, would not save Nalademus. In normal circumstances, even with the aid of digitalis he would be dead within weeks.
Still holding onto the man's arm Banouin strengthened the kidneys, and directed energy into the liver, which was also in the first stages of terminal disease.
'I feel it working,' whispered Nalademus. 'There is not so much pain. You have done well.'
'I need you to lie upon the floor, lord,' said Banouin.
'I will not be able to breathe.'
'Yes you will. Your heart is stronger now. But I have to help move the water that is flooding your muscle tissue.' This was a lie. It was important, however, for Nalademus to believe that the healing was the result of physical medicine and natural practices. Banouin had no wish for his power to be recognized.
He helped Nalademus to stretch out on a thick rug, and placed a cushion under his head. Then he began a series of smooth massaging strokes on the man's chest, shoulders and arms. Lastly he placed his hands on the Stone elder's temples, and gently pressed his fingers to the skin. Nalademus closed his eyes and his breathing deepened.
Banouin rose to his feet and stretched his aching back. Then he called the guards to assist him in helping Nalademus to his feet and through to the bedroom. Nalademus lay down. 'It feels so good to stretch out on a bed,' he said. 'I have been sleeping in chairs for weeks.'
'Do not overstretch yourself tomorrow, lord. You are stronger, but your kidneys will need time to heal.'
'I feel better than I have in months, Banouin. But I will heed what you say.'
'I also think, lord, that I should stay close for the next few days. There may be a relapse.'
Nalademus smiled. 'I have a room prepared for you.' With a grunt he sat up and walked through a narrow doorway. Banouin waited, and after a while the Stone elder returned. 'By the Stone,' he said. 'I've not pissed like that in five years.'
Banouin forced a smile. 'You will find that the action is repeated a great deal over the next few days, lord. There is a great amount of liquid to be expelled.'
Nalademus sat down on the bed. 'This has been a fortunate day for me, young man. It has also proved fortunate for your tutor, Sencra. I did re-examine the evidence, and he will be released forthwith.'
'Thank you, lord. That is most kind of you.'
'My kindness is legendary,' said Nalademus coldly. 'Now my guards will show you to your rooms.'
Lanterns had been lit in the suite of rooms assigned to him, and Banouin stood in the doorway and marvelled at the opulence of the interior. A magnificent fresco had been painted around the main room: a vineyard scene with leaves and grapes. The vines seemed to be growing out of the walls, and the grapes looked good enough to pluck from the plaster. The furniture was elegantly crafted, and the rugs below his feet were woven silk.
Banouin stepped inside and the guards pulled shut the door. There was no fireplace in the main room, but warm air was circulating up through two metal grilles in the floor and the temperature was comfortable, despite the open doors leading to the balcony.
He strolled outside, and found himself overlooking the Knights' Barracks, and the bronze gates through which he had walked with some trepidation earlier. Alone at last, Banouin allowed himself to relax. His hands began to tremble. There was a curved seat on the balcony and he sank gratefully into it. Doubts assailed him. He was pleased that Sencra had been freed, and felt a small pride in his achievement. Against that, however, was the knowledge that he was in the process of saving a monster. It had been hard to touch the swollen flesh of Nalademus. Evil emanated from the man, like a seeping, invisible mist, corrupting as it touched. Banouin shivered and walked back into the warmth of the room.
The tables and shelves contained many small ornaments
, mostly porcelain figures and objects of coloured glass. Banouin stared at them for a moment. These, he realized, were personal items, gathered by a man - or woman - who took pleasure in the delicate beauty of the pieces. He moved to a closet at the far wall and opened it. The shelves and hooks within were bare, but, unnoticed in a corner, a single sandal lay against the wall. Moving around the suite he opened all the drawers, and found not a solitary item in any of them. Whoever had dwelt here had left in a great hurry, not even bothering to pack the beautiful porcelain. Perhaps they will return for it, he thought.
Someone tapped at the outer door. Banouin walked through the apartment. A young man was waiting outside, bearing a silver tray on which was a selection of cooked meats and vegetables, and a jug of water. The servant bowed his head and entered the suite, laying the tray upon a lacquered table.
'Who dwelt here before me?' asked Banouin. The servant bowed again, and Banouin saw fear in his eyes. Then the young man hurried away. 'Thank you,' Banouin called after him.
Moments later there was another knock at the door. This time it was two older servants. One was carrying folded clothes, the other a copper bucket filled with hot water. Banouin saw that the clothes were his own. The first servant laid the clothing in the empty closet, then withdrew. The second moved through the suite to a room Banouin had not noticed, behind a panelled door. He followed the servant, and watched him pour the hot water into a tub shaped like a giant shell. Other servants entered the room, each carrying buckets. Within minutes the shell tub was three-quarters full. The first servant returned, carrying fresh towels, and a small phial of perfume, which he added to the water. Then they all withdrew. Not one spoke a word.
Banouin removed his tunic and sandals and climbed into the tub. The water rose around him, the sweet perfume filling his nostrils. The feeling was exquisite. Splashing water to his face and hair he lay back, remaining in the bath until the water cooled. As he climbed out his foot touched something in the base of the tub. Reaching down his finger hooked into a ring of metal. He tugged it. Immediately the water began to bubble down the exposed hole. In panic he struggled to replace the plug, frightened that he was flooding the apartments below. He could hear water splashing from outside the tub room window. Moving to it he glanced out. An exit pipe protruded from the wall, the water gushing to the ground below. Banouin smiled, returned to the tub and pulled the plug once more, then ran back to the window, leaned out, and watched the water flow away. For some reason this small activity lifted his spirits and he returned to the main room and ate the food left for him. Weariness was heavy upon him and he went into the bedroom. The bed was of gilded wood, but curiously the mattress was slightly overlarge, jutting over the wooden frame. He lay down upon it, and immediately his anxiety returned. Sitting up swiftly he realized that something had touched his Talent. He lay back once more and honed his concentration.