A Magic King (28 page)

"True. But then the world is changing. Our neighbors grow stronger on every border. Where before they occupied themselves with basic survival, now we see definite kingdoms or colonies such as the Tarveen. These others see our rich lands, our fat cows, and happy people. Without any military force, they will pick at our borders, eating away at the kingdom bit by bit until, like the diseased scavengers they are, they gnaw at the very walls of our homes."

The image was so vivid it threw the room into a horror-stricken silence. For her part, Jane mentally reviewed her arguments, wishing she could speak as well as Daken, but still determined to do her best. She silently prepared her statements about violence benefiting no one, about how they shouldn't fear outsiders just because they were different. Instead, the Elven Lord should try to negotiate trade arrangements, create formal lines of communications starting with peace ambassadors.

She prepared all of that, only to sit on the edge of her seat in shock when she never got the chance to speak. Ginsen spoke before anyone else had the opportunity to venture an opinion.

"King Daken, we were not unaware of the difficulties your lands face. We knew of your coming and of the purpose of your mission. Unfortunately, we have been unable to come to an agreement on the appropriate action. Therefore, we will table this matter until the day after tomorrow when you will attend a private meeting of the Council. We will debate this issue then, giving you the opportunity to refute our arguments."

Daken nodded, his face very grave. "Every day, more of my people die at the hands of the Tarveen. It is my hope that I may help the Council reach a swift decision on my behalf."

Ginsen nodded. "We too are committed to reaching a swift decision. In the meantime, may the Father bless and keep your people in His mighty hand."

Daken bowed again to each of the Council members and then withdrew, his expression one of polite respect and no more. Watching his stiffly formal departure, Jane was amazed at how different he seemed from the passionate warrior who had paced her room like a caged beast. She saw no resemblance in this stately King to the gentle lover who had touched her so briefly in the inn or even the teasing healer and friend who had brought her to Bosuny.

The Daken she'd seen this afternoon was King Daken, a man she didn't know at all. It was an extremely depressing thought given that King Daken was the only one she'd see from now on.

* * *

Kyree was right. The line of petitioners didn't end until very late in the evening. By that time, Jane kept herself awake by will power alone. When it was done, she barely made it back to her room before falling into a restless sleep filled with fitful starts and bizarre dreams.

She woke with a fever.

She hated fevers. They always made her throw up, and she started doing that almost before she opened her eyes.

"Damn stupid time to get sick," she muttered as she stumbled back to her bed. Then she happened to catch sight of Steve's worried expression.

"It's all right," she said in her halting Common. "It's just a cold. Probably from wandering through woods at night. I'll be fine after I get a little rest." She started to drift off to sleep, but then reopened her eyes. Just as she suspected, Steve was slipping out of her apartment.

"Steve," she croaked.

He stopped, one foot out the door. Then slowly he shut the door and returned to her bedside.

"It's just a cold. I don't have any immunity to your diseases and this is the body's way of getting it." She laughed weakly at her joke, but when she stopped, Steve didn't look the least bit reassured. "I'll be fine."

He shook his head, his pale eyes huge in his small face.

"Wait until this afternoon," she said. "Then we'll see."

He didn't respond.

"I'm going to take a nap now." Her eyes drifted closed. "But I want you to promise me something first." It took herculean willpower, but she managed to drag her eyelids open again. "Don't get a healer. And certainly don't get Daken. It'll just make things much harder."

The boy looked unconvinced.

"I mean it, Steve. I'm the Keeper of Knowledge. I know best. I don't want Daken here. Not unless I'm dying, and maybe not... even... then."

She slept.

* * *

She woke just before dinner. Steve looked like he hadn't left her side all day. She smiled warmly at him, feeling much stronger. Her headache remained, and that meant she still had a fever, but at least she wasn't throwing up. In fact, she almost felt hungry, and that was a good sign.

"Cheer up, Stevie old boy. I'm feeling great. Definitely on the mend." Then she stopped talking because she'd sat up too fast, and her head was spinning like a DVD. "I need to eat. I'm faint with hunger."

She got up and dressed as quickly as possible given how weak she felt. Then she ran a brush through her hair. It wasn't until she set down the brush that she noticed.

She'd always taken a secret pride in her thick, copper-colored curls, even when they were cut short. It was her one abiding vanity that stayed with her through fat times and dumpy-looking clothes. At least she had her hair.

Until now. She felt her knees go weak as she stared at the thick mat of hair now in her brush. Running her fingers through her head, she felt more strands pull free. Her hair was falling out.

She quickly listed her symptoms—persistent headaches, nausea and vomiting, dizzy spells, fatigue, and now hair loss. She was horribly afraid she knew what that meant, but just in case, she scanned Dr. Beavesly's memories. He had some awareness of the new strains of colds and flu that plagued the population. Perhaps she had one of those less threatening diseases.

No such luck. Dr. Beavesly's memories focused primarily on one horrible disease—radiation poisoning. Through him, she got to see it all from the first pale moments of fatigue through the horrifying, bitter end.

There was no doubt in her mind. She was dying of radiation poisoning.

She stared at the brush and mentally kicked herself for her stupidity. The rest of the population had mutated so they thrived on the radiation. It was the source of their magic. But she was from an earlier time. A time when radiation was lethal.

Her head spun; her breathing grew rapid and shallow. Steve was by her side in an instant, but she waved him away, unable to soothe a frightened boy when she was so close to panic herself.

"But why?" she cried out loud.

Her mother used to say everything happened for a reason. What was the reason in this? She accepted that she'd been thrown forward in time. Maybe she even saw some logic, some purpose to the act. As Kyree said, she was uniquely qualified to bring knowledge, prosperity, and most of all peace to this new world. But not if she was about to die a slow, lingering death of radiation poisoning. It wasn't fair!

She spun out of the bathroom, ignoring a fresh assault of dizziness. Her mother was wrong. This was a random universe. A universe where you made your own way despite the precariousness of random events.

Very well. She was dying. And would continue to die unless she found a way to mutate like the rest of the population. She bit her lip, suddenly finding a new priority.

She would find a way to mutate. The Old Ones did it. She could too. Because nothing, not Ginsen, not Daken, not even the absurdity of a random world would keep her from helping the people of this new Earth. No matter what the cost, she would make sure they didn't destroy themselves like the idiots from her own time.

Her first thought was to run to Daken, but she quickly pushed the thought aside. Whatever else his feelings may be, he cared for her. Knowing she was dying would only cause needless pain. Sure he could probably cure her now. Failing another option, she would turn to him.

But the problem wouldn't go away after just one healing. The radiation was everywhere. She would need weekly, if not daily treatments. Daken couldn't hang around just to heal her. Perhaps she'd hire a court healer. Someone to give her daily health treatments.

Jane took a deep breath and stood up. At least she still had some time. She needed to explore any other options with the one man with a vested interest in her continuing health—Kyree. She would talk to him.

The wizard, like most everyone else, was at dinner. Although she thought she felt well enough to eat, the smells that assaulted her senses as she entered the main dining hall were almost too much. She staggered against a wave of nausea, grateful for Steve's supporting arm.

How could this come on so fast? She'd felt just fine a few days before. Except for the headaches. True, she'd never really felt like eating since coming to this time. Jane sighed. She supposed if she thought about it, the symptoms were there long before today.

Jane spotted Kyree right away. His dark, imposing figure stood out at center table as he sat regally next to the Elven Lord. Her empty seat was to his left. She scanned the room briefly for Daken. He was no where to be seen. Just as well. She looked dreadful, and she didn't want Daken to see her like this. It was a ridiculous vanity, she knew, but hers nonetheless.

Jane waved Steve away to his table. Then she slid along the edge of the room toward her seat. She spoke briefly to a few people who stopped her on the way. She also intercepted more than a few speculative looks.

She could almost hear the buzz going through the room. The Oracle was ill. Was it a mortal illness? Was she a fake? Had the Father cursed her for daring to assume the Keeper's position when she wasn't the true one?

Jane forced her face into a smile, trying to look really healthy when she felt like she wanted to throw up and pass out, not necessarily in that order. Finally, she made it to her seat.

She caught Kyree's attention immediately. "Jane! I heard you were unwell, but I did not think—"

"I'll be fine. Really. Just a little overtired." She lied for everyone else's benefit. Then she directed her next comment to Kyree. "I thought I might discuss something with you after dinner."

"Are you hungry? Do you want—"

"No!"

Despite her refusal, the Dwarven member of the Council presented her with a platter of what might have been very good beef stroganoff. She looked down, determined to make an effort, but the sight nearly undid her.

"No," she said tightly, pushing the plate away. "I'm not hungry at all."

Kyree's eyes narrowed, and she knew he was assessing her health with as much accuracy as any doctor. Suddenly he was all smiles. "Well, I'm finished here. If you all will please excuse us..." He nodded to the people at the table, then quickly escorted Jane out a side door.

She took deep, supporting breaths of the cool, clean air. "Thank you, Kyree."

"Tell me what is the matter. You don't look well."

She managed a weak grin that grew stronger the further they moved away from the nauseating smells of the dining room. "I'm not dying yet, but I did want to discuss something with you."

"By all means." He continued to lead her past the central buildings to one of the more removed classroom sites. He brought her into his laboratory and guided her to a chair.

The room was relatively small by modern laboratory standards, about the size of a small classroom, but what space there was, he used to great effect. It was like entering the set of The Wacky Professor Enjoys Halloween. Side by side with wires, magnets, and something that looked like a bunsen burner were dripping candles, pentacles, and odd-looking crystals. One whole wall contained books, some with modern library covers, others encased in locked leather. In another corner, she saw evil witchcraft-type paraphernalia including a dead rodent and a container of something like blood.

"Does this stuff really work?" she asked.

"What stuff?" he asked, as he lighted lamps throughout the room with a flick of his wrist.

She turned slowly. She'd meant all of it, but she decided to start with specifics. Finally, she gestured to the witchcraft corner. "The pentacle, crystals, the dead thing over there—"

Kyree shrugged, his voice casual. "Most of what the people call magic is actually a way to focus the mind. In truth, the rocks and gold and dead things are unimportant except in how they trigger the mage's mind. Didn't you feel that when you and King Daken shared your communication spell?"

Jane thought back to those first moments with Daken. This wasn't the first time she'd tried to understand exactly what happened when Daken cut the piece of gut and released all those strange firefly-like things into her bloodstream.

"Mostly, I felt disoriented."

"That's to be expected. It is a powerful spell and no doubt King Daken, as a healer, accomplished most of the tuning."

"I don't understand."

Kyree wandered about his lab, collecting various things, dropping them into the pockets of his robe. He placed a few books on the shelf. Watching him, Jane realized he seemed on edge, not nervous as much as keyed up. It was distinctly odd for someone of Kyree's self-possession.

"The communication spell," he continued, "attuned your minds, his and yours, together."

"But he cut my hand. Something entered my bloodstream."

Kyree nodded. "That spell contains a temporary chemical reaction that relaxes your defenses, allowing you and King Daken to imprint on one another." He turned to face her, his black eyes intense to emphasize his words. "A mutual attraction is a typical side effect of such a spell."