Heirs of the Enemy (48 page)

“The drawing that you brought to me earlier is in the kitchens. Go and retrieve it. Take it to every healer in the city and collect as much of the kioji herb as you can. Hurry back with it.”

The soldier nodded and ran down the stairs. Baron Stikman sighed heavily and continued downward to return to his office. One level above him, Bonnay wandered the corridors. Seeing no one moving about, she knocked on one of the doors. Someone called for her to enter, and she opened the door and stepped into a suite.

“Can you tell me where to find Baron Stikman?”

“You are on the wrong level, lass,” smiled the old man. “The baron’s office is four levels down.”

“Four levels?” frowned Bonnay. “Oh, goodness. I was at his office and they told me that he was up three levels. I must pay more attention. I need to go down one. I am sorry to have disturbed you.”

Bonnay backed out of the room and closed the door. She returned to the stairwell and went down one level. Again the corridors were empty, so she knocked on a door. A distant voice called for her to enter, and she opened the door. The sitting room was empty, but she heard voices coming from the sleeping chamber. She crossed the room and entered the sleeping chamber to find the Royal Sorcerer standing over a very pale man who appeared to be sleeping. The third man in the room turned towards her, and she almost dropped the package she was carrying. She had heard stories of elves with pointy ears and large eyes, but she had never seen one. Bonnay froze in the doorway, her mouth hanging open speechlessly. Sigrid turned around and stared at the woman.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry,” stammered the woman. “I did not mean to intrude. I was looking for Baron Stikman to give him this kioji.”

The elf’s eyes grew even wider, and he stepped quickly towards the woman. Bonnay let out a shriek, dropped the package, and scrambled to flee. As she backed into the sitting room, she tripped and fell to the floor. Zalaharic scooped up the package while Sigfrid rushed to the woman’s side. A soldier appeared in the doorway of the suite with his sword drawn.

“Go fetch Baron Stikman,” ordered the Royal Sorcerer. “We have a problem up here.” Sigfrid knelt next to Bonnay. “Are you all right?”

Zalaharic had taken the package and retreated far into the sleeping chamber. Bonnay stared at the empty doorway and nodded.

“I am fine. I just tripped. I will go and leave you alone.”

“You will do nothing of the kind,” Sigfrid said with a smile as he rose and extended a hand to the woman. “Come sit on the couch and tell me where you found the kioji.”

A look of confusion clouded Bonnay’s face, but she took the magician’s hand and stood up. “I went to the healing shops and bought as much as I could. I was supposed to deliver it to Baron Stikman. I guess I got lost.”

“The baron just left here. He will be back in a minute or two. Are you sure that you are all right?”

Bonnay merely nodded, her eyes glancing at the two doorways visible to her. Suddenly, Baron Stikman filled one of the doors, a soldier right behind him. The baron, seeing that the situation was under control, turned to the soldier.

“I want the guard doubled on this floor. At no times will any sentry post be vacated again. See to it.”

The soldier moved off at a run, and the baron entered the sitting room. He stared at the woman for a moment and then sighed heavily.

“You are Baron Ohmson’s daughter, are you not?”

She nodded. “I am Bonnay. I am here to study. Did I do something wrong, Baron Stikman?”

The baron didn’t answer right away. He looked at the Royal Sorcerer questioningly. Sigfrid nodded glumly towards the sleeping chamber. The baron returned his gaze to the young woman.

“You did nothing wrong,” stated Baron Stikman, “but your presence on this level complicates things a bit. I am going to have your belongings brought up here. I will assign one of the suites on this level as your own. You will not be allowed to leave for a while.”

“You are making me a prisoner?”

“I would prefer to call you a special guest,” countered the baron. “You will want for nothing. Your meals will be brought up, and anything else you require. You merely have to ask for it.”

“But the libraries,” Bonnay protested. “I came here to study.”

“I will have servants run books up and down the stairs all day if that is what it takes to make you happy, but you are forbidden to leave this level.”

“May I ask why?” frowned the Zaroccan woman.

“You may ask what you wish,” frowned the baron, “but you will not get an answer.”

“My father will be livid with this treatment of me,” warned Bonnay.

“The king will deal with Baron Ohmson when he arrives. I am sure that he will understand what we are doing and why. Again, you have done nothing wrong, and I apologize for putting you through this, but it is vital that you remain here. I hope that you can come to accept that and make the best of it.”

Another soldier appeared in the doorway, and the baron extended his hand to Bonnay. She reluctantly allowed herself to be led out of the suite. Sigfrid sighed as the confrontation came to an end. He closed the door to the hallway and returned to the prince’s sleeping chamber. As he closed that door, he found the elven healer applying the leeches to the prince’s body.

“I presume that we have enough of the kioji?” Sigfrid asked.

“More than enough. Let’s prepare to do battle.”

“What can I do?” asked Sigfrid.

“Monitor the prince as you have been doing,” replied Zalaharic. “Expect to see heightened levels of activity in the veins, but if the blood flow alters substantially, notify me. You may have to be loud or forceful as my mind will be focused inside of the prince. As soon as you draw me out, get some of that tea behind me into the prince. One cup should be enough at first.”

Sigfrid glanced at the pot of tea and nodded. “I am ready.”

Zalaharic inhaled sharply and stepped forward. He placed his hands on the prince and closed his eyes. Sigfrid watched closely, but there was little to be seen. For hours, Zalaharic remained motionless. The fairies switched places several times, and the leeches grew fat with blood. What the Royal Sorcerer did notice that was different were the veins. They had started throbbing irregularly about an hour into the session, but it did not last long. By the time another hour had passed, the veins actually started to disappear. He worried at first that they might be sucking too much blood out of the prince, but he was not concerned enough to drag the elf out of his spell. After six hours, Zalaharic moved back without prompting from the Royal Sorcerer. Again his eyes were mere white orbs, and the elf moved away like a blind man, his hands searching for a chair. Sigfrid moved quickly and guided the elf. Zalaharic collapsed into the chair and closed his eyes.

“Are you all right?” Sigfrid asked softly.

“I am fine,” came a weak response. “It was an amazing experience. Remind me to tell you of it when I wake.”

“I will get you to a bed,” offered Sigfrid.

“I will stay here,” the elf replied stubbornly. “Get some tea into him now. One cup immediately and another in an hour. Also remove the fairies and let them rest.”

“But he will awaken,” cautioned Sigfrid as he administered the tea.

“As he should. It is not wise to keep him unconscious all of the time. His brain needs to exercise, and he deserves an explanation of what we are doing to him. Keep the explanation brief, though. I do not want to upset him.”

Sigfrid got the tea into the prince and then began removing the leeches. By the time he was done, the elf was fast asleep. Sigfrid dismissed the fairies, but warned them to stay nearby and out of sight. He then pulled a chair close to the bed opposite the elf so he could watch the prince and Zalaharic at the same time. After a few minutes, the sorcerer’s eyes grew heavy and he drifted off to sleep.

“Who are you? Where am I?”

The words drifted through Sigfrid’s sleeping mind, and he awoke startled. He opened his eyes and stared into the face of Prince Harold. The prince was on his side, and he appeared to be quite awake. Sigfrid sat up immediately.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like I have slept for a long time,” answered the prince. “Who are you?”

“I am called Sigfrid,” answered the Royal Sorcerer. “I am one of the healers who was promised to you. How long have you been awake?”

“I just woke up,” replied the prince.

Sigfrid rose and wondered how long he had slept. He remembered that he was supposed to administer a second cup of tea one hour after the first, but he had lost all sense of time.

“I will get you a cup of tea.”

Sigfrid walked around the bed and poured a cup of tea. He felt the pot and noticed that it was lukewarm. He sighed anxiously. When he turned towards the bed, the prince rolled over to face him. Harold’s eyes grew large when he saw Zalaharic sleeping in the chair. He bolted upright, and his face contorted with fear.

“That is an elf! Get him out of here! I will not have elves in my presence! Get him out!”

Sigfrid froze, unsure of how to react. The shouting woke Zalaharic. The elf opened his eyes and saw the prince trembling in fear. He sighed with displeasure as he rose to his feet and walked out of the room. Sigfrid stood unmoving as the elf closed the door behind him. With an anxious sigh, he moved close to the bed and handed the prince the cup of tea.

“Drink that,” he snapped.

The prince’s hands were shaking, but he took the cup with both hands and drank it down quickly. “I am fearful of elves. I do not want him back in this room.”

Sigfrid was angry at first, but the anger was tempered somewhat when he realized that the prince’s reaction was not much different from the reactions most of his countrymen would have had. Tales of elves told around the campfire were meant to scare people, and they were always exaggerated. He reached out and took the cup from the prince and returned it to the table. He moved back to the patient and began examining his skin. The prince made no effort to hinder him.

“You haven’t told me where I am,” Prince Harold said softly.

“No, I haven’t,” Sigfrid responded. “What does it matter?”

“I suppose that it doesn’t matter,” replied the prince, “but the elf makes me curious. Not many of them stray away from Elfwoods.”

“Have you ever even seen an elf?” Sigfrid asked sharply.

“Once or twice,” the prince replied cautiously. “Why are you angry with me?”

“Why are you afraid of elves?”

“They are nasty creatures. We lock up their children so that the mothers do not eat them. I cannot believe that you treat that one so casually. Are you not afraid of him?”

“You are a fool,” snapped Sigfrid. “A fool listening to the tales of other fools. You lock up the elven children so that their parents do not try to escape the slavery that the empire subjects them to. Who put such nonsense into your head?”

Sigfrid glared at the prince, but he was astonished when Harold’s complexion turned red with embarrassment. For just a moment the deathly pale skin flushed, and it made the prince appear almost human instead of looking like some sickly ghost.

“My mother,” the prince said with embarrassment. “She told me those stories when I was a child. Are they not true?”

“They are not true. Look at your skin and tell me what you see.”

Prince Harold held one arm before him and stared at it. A frown of puzzlement creased his brow, and he brought the other arm before him and examined it.

“The red blotches are lessened. Am I cured?”

“Your treatment is only beginning,” Sigfrid replied tersely, “but it is also over.”

“I don’t understand. If the marks are going away, you must have more power than any other mage in the land. Everyone has tried to cure me and failed. If you can make these marks go away, why won’t you finish the task?”

“I am known as the greatest mage within hundreds of leagues around here,” answered Sigfrid, “but I could no more lessen your blotches than you could.”

“I am confused. If you did not heal me, how has this happened?”

“That elf,” scowled Sigfrid, “the one you just told me not to let back into this room? He just spent an entire day slaving over your worthless body. He hasn’t had a bite to eat, nor a moment’s rest before he collapsed in that chair. He was so exhausted by the ordeal that he was incapable of making his way to a decent bed, yet you were so quick to dismiss him. I don’t know why he wasted his time.”

Sigfrid turned and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. He saw Zalaharic stretched out on the couch in the sitting room and approached him.

“I apologize to you,” Sigfrid said sincerely. “I cannot imagine the stupidity of some people.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Zalaharic smiled. “As for the prince, I have witnessed such an attitude before. It is generally born out of ignorance, but sometimes the hatred is so deep that it can never be healed.”

“What did you find inside him?”

“The disease inside the prince is insidious. I have never seen anything like it. It has a life of its own, and it sees me as an invader. Whenever I tried to heal the prince, it attacked me, seeking to claim my life as well as the life of the prince.”

“Is that possible? Can it actually harm you?”

“Most certainly. When I enter the prince’s body, I am opening up my own to him. His disease is so invasive that it is everywhere at once. It tries to surround me and cut me off so that I cannot withdraw. It is hungry for a fresh body as the prince’s is wasting away and soon will expire. Make no mistake about it; a killer is loose inside the prince, and it is a worthy opponent. It will take all of our combined powers to root out the disease and conquer it.”

 
“You are going to continue to heal him?” Sigfrid asked with surprise. “Even after the way he treated you?”

“Is there any doubt that he needs healing?”

“No, but…”

“Do you know of anyone else who can heal him?”

“Certainly not.”

“There are many reasons to heal the prince, Sigfrid,” smiled Zalaharic. “Not the least among those is the right of Ertakans to have a just ruler. I will do what I can for Prince Harold, and pray that he will be just and wise should he ascend to the throne.”