“Well he’s not here now.” Venick handed over the sword.
“Itisheavy.”
She gave a practice swing. Her form was terrible, but Venick only said, “You’re a natural.”
“I was trained in medicine.” She gave the sword another swing, this time with a little more force. “I told my father that if I couldn’t go to battle with a weapon then I would go another way. I serve our army as a healer.”
Venick had a sudden vision of the first time he’d seen Harmon: bound in chains, hair in her face, her comrades set in a line behind her. Venick met her eye and knew she was remembering the same.
She lowered the sword. “I never thanked you for saving me.”
“I don’t deserve your thanks.”
“You didn’t have to do what you did that day. I owe you my life price.”
“Harmon.” Venick faltered. “I don’t want your life price.”
She handed back the sword. Her gaze was steady, the air between them somehow different. Her expression turned mischievous. “If I came home knowing how to spar, our soldiers would have kittens.”
Venick laughed.
???
The Elder’s castle was built like a shell, all the rooms spiraling inward.
As Harmon led the way inside Venick gazed up, feeling dwarfed by the high ceilings, the huge doorways. The air here was stiff, the windows thrown open as if to tempt a breeze, or perhaps to air the halls of that musky, earthy smell. Though servants could be seen sweeping the corridors, it seemed to make little difference. The ground was dusted with soil and gritty sand, no doubt drug in by the endless stream of men and animals, pigs and dogs and the occasional small monkey, screaming in the rafters.
“You can choose three men to join you,” Harmon had told Venick outside the city. Her face had reflected sandy red shadows. Overhead loomed the gates of Parith, which were mountainously tall, yet so narrow that two horses could scarcely pass through them abreast. “The rest of your army will wait for your return.”
When Venick chose Dourin and Lin Lill, Harmon had shot him a look. “That’s only two. And I said men.”
“What does it matter if they’re men?”
“The Elder likes things done a certain way. He’ll be offended if custom isn’t followed. Can you at least choose one man?”
“I would be happy to fill the role,” said the healer Erol. “I have always wanted to see this city.” He had glanced at Dourin when he’d said it, and the two of them had eyed each other with a tension Venick hadn’t understood.
But Venick had been slow.
Traegar liked to experiment, Dourin had explained.He was good with potions and remedies—and also poisons. He met another healer who shared his interests. They became work partners and close friends.
Know it?Erol had said of Traegar’s book.Hell. I wrote it. Or half of it. But Traegar didn’t mention that, did he?
Venick blinked.Oh.
“Well?” Harmon prompted.
“Dourin?” The elf threw Venick a swift look. A tiny nod. “Alright,” Venick agreed. Three fighters and a healer. His father would have approved. “Erol, you’ll be my third.”
If the land outside Parith was a dry desert, the inside was a paradise. Everywhere there was greenery: high palms and creeping vines, pungent gardens and fountains of lilies. The buildings themselves were mostly sandstone, the doorways and windows carved with an intricacy that made Venick wish for a magnifying glass. He’d never seen such a city, not in the lowlands, not in the elflands. Parith was busy, colorful and rich. Its wealth oozed out of its pores.
“What do you suppose our chances are if they decide to kill us?” Dourin asked as they’d marched up the hill towards the Elder’s palace, eyeing the archers on the roofs.
“Not great,” Venick admitted.
“Encouraging.”
“There might be a way to escape, if it came to that.”
