Stray
| traci (at) orossy.com |
Healer Feisal had hardly registered the cold body beside him when a blur of violet and gold rushed into
the room. Two Elite Corps, one male and one female, yanked him out of the bed and into the hallway.
Instinct made him struggle to get back inside. "Let me go! I'm a Healer! There's got to be something I
can do. Let me try."
"Be still." Feisal recognized Eamon, the male corpsman, who tilted his voice so he spoke with a
compulsion. Feisal had no choice but to submit. Feisal couldn't even use his dennar, the gift that
allowed him to sense and heal the injuries of others, to see if he could sense anything from the body.
The corpsman blocked that, too. "Give me your hands." Feisal held them out, and Eamon bound his
wrists together with a leather thong. "Sit. Say nothing. Hear nothing."
Feisal sat cross-legged just outside the room with his back against the wall. He stared dully at his
bindings, and because of the compulsion felt not even the faintest impulse to try and free himself.
Voices carried in the rooms and hallway around him. Feisal paid them no attention. Instead, he
watched different legs and feet go in and out of the room. The shiny black boots of the Corps. Brown
boots scuffed and stained with spilt wine that belonged to the tavernkeeper. Bare feet and skinny legs
for the rent boys and girls come to see what the matter was.
And one pair of shoes specially dyed indigo with a dark brown stain on the toe of the left. A Healer,
come too late.
When they'd finished in the room, the corpsmen used one of the Corps' carriages to transport Feisal to
the Infirmary, where they held him in the cramped room that served as his office. Some of the fog in
his mind dissipated enough to let him speak. "What happened?" His voice trembled. He was in familiar
territory, yet accompanied by two of the city's most highly trained guards. "How did that boy die?"
Their only answer was to free his hands and provide a basin and pitcher of water to wash the blood
from his skin. None of it was his, but he didn't feel any relief. The front of his white linen shirt bore
darkening spatters. The cuffs of his sleeves and pants were crusted with drying blood. Feisal felt sick
as he changed into the spare set of clothes he kept, a midnight blue shirt and jacket along with an earth-
brown pair of pants. Eamon took his old clothes. For evidence, Feisal assumed.
Orossy would be worried. Feisal hadn't left his charge at his home alone for so long, and the young
man was headstrong enough that he might try to leave if he thought Feisal wasn't coming back. Feisal
had to go home, soon. He'd promised to keep Orossy safe, and he couldn't do that if he were treated
like a prisoner in his own Infirmary.
This had to be some sort of misunderstanding. He thought back to the tavern. There'd been someone
else in the room. The dead rent boy, the two Corps, and—
--The dim light of the lanterns silhouetted a figure kneeling on the ground beside the rent boy. The
boy's eyes were wide with pain and terror. He couldn't scream, but Feisal's dennar could sense the
agony coursing through the boy's body. The tingle of dennar filled the room. The kneeling man was
using his dennar to hurt the boy on purpose. Feisal cried out and ran toward the man, intent on getting
him to stop. The man looked at him. His face caught the light, and Feisal recognized him. It was—
Memory failed him, no matter how many times he tried to recall the man's face. He paced to hide his
nervousness, wondering what in the Lady's name they were waiting for. The corpsmen stood still and
watched, probably talking to each other mind-to-mind and discussing him. Somehow he'd gotten mixed
up in whatever had killed that rent boy. Trying to think of what he remembered before he'd woken up
didn't help either. He recalled nothing clearly after walking toward Tavern Street to make his rounds.
"Will you tell me what happened?" he asked again. The corpsmen exchanged a glance, but remained
silent. They weren't likely to speak, no matter how much Feisal begged them. They were here as
muscle only. The decisions and investigations into a Healer's activities were left to the Infirmary
Council, who brooked no interference from the city corps.
At an unspoken cue—mind-to-mind message via dennar, Feisal suspected—his escorts led him down
the back hallways of the Infirmary to avoid most of the people. His knees failed him when he realized
where they were going. The corpsmen had to half-carry him through the massive wooden doors and
into the Infirmary's council chamber. Feisal hated this room. He'd had to come here year after year to
stand before the Senior Healers in the hopes that they would promote him from apprentice to
journeyman. They enjoyed sitting up on their dais and looking down to make their apprentices feel
unworthy and insignificant. The council passed all of their judgments here.
The cushions kept for the ninety-three Healers and their twenty-odd apprentices were stacked against
the walls, leaving the center open. The emptiness of the round room made him feel like a rabbit staked
down to attract a hawk.
Or a vulture. Feisal's eyes followed the trail of vines laid out on the mosaic floor to where they ended at
the stairs leading up to the dais. He looked up. Out of the thirteen cushions behind the low oak desk,
twelve were occupied. Director Hadrennyn sat in the middle, skin dark and wrinkled as a walnut shell.
His formal attire, a cerulean blue shirt and jacket embroidered with gold leaves, hung loosely on his
frame as if he'd shrunken since the last time he wore it. Beak-nosed Roggar, the only Healer actually
looking at Feisal, sat at Hadrennyn's left. He, like the remaining Healers, wore the same formal blue
uniform, but with less embroidery. He looked up at Feisal's entrance, setting his face with the smug
expression he always wore.
Feisal managed a feeble mental roll call of the Senior Healers present, five women and seven men. It
should have been obvious who was missing. He just didn't want to believe that the one he needed to see
the most wasn't there.
Rewenna. His mentor. In the Lady's name, where was she? His face flushed in anger. She'd
abandoned him. Twelve years of apprenticeship under her, and she refused to support him when he'd
been accused of something he hadn't done.
Roggar noticed his reaction. He caught Feisal's eye. The side of his mouth quirked up, just enough to
hint, This isn't the end, but I've won for now.
Under the desk, he could just make out Roggar's indigo shoes. One had a familiar dark stain.
Something clicked in Feisal's mind. Roggar had been there, at the tavern. Roggar, who constantly
decried the taverns and their inhabitants.
Bastard. Feisal ached to denounce him. He opened his mouth to cry out, Murderer! Nothing came out.
He meant the words, and fully intended to say them, but when he opened his mouth to speak it felt as
though someone punched him in the gut and knocked all the air from his chest. His throat narrowed,
and all that left his mouth was an awkward little choking sound.
Roggar's mouth twitched. Feisal lunged, but the guards held him fast. Idiots. The Elite Corps were the
faction of Sakkireth's guard trained to handle any situation in mind and body. They were mind-readers
and empaths. So why couldn't they sense the words behind Roggar's smug expression? Why was
Feisal the one on trial?
Feisal got his answer when he tried to batter into Eamon's mind and failed. He and his partner, Brekka,
had their mental barriers up as tightly as possible. They were here as muscle, not to prove the truth.
The Infirmary followed its own rules, with the twelve Senior Healers and the Director as the decision-
making body. The guards, and even Feisal's father, the Lord Governor, would not get involved. Not
even if they knew the judgment was wrong.
The wooden doors rattled and made everyone jump. Feisal realized they were locked from the inside
when the vicious shaking alternated with heavy pounding, and a woman's voice rose clearly above the
noise. "Hadrennyn! Damn you, let me in! That's my apprentice you've got in there!"
Rewenna. Feisal took a deep breath in relief. Thank the Lady, she hadn't forgotten him after all.
The director frowned, but motioned to one of Feisal's captors to open the door. Eamon barely had time
to jump out of the way after he turned the lock. Healer Rewenna, the thirteenth Senior Healer, slammed
the doors wide. Her cerulean skirt flowed behind her as she barreled down the aisle between the chairs
to stand at Feisal's side. "What in the Lady's name do you mean by calling the council without including
your assistant director? I wouldn't have even heard about this little gathering if it weren't for the fact
that one of my nurses saw Feisal in the company of guards and came to fetch me!"
Her dark skin was ruddy with exertion and anger. Still a handsome woman at middle age, still Feisal's
strength and inspiration. Long, black braids kept her hair cleanly from her face, rendering her fury clear
for everyone to see. She didn't look directly at him, but he could sense her dennar questing toward him,
testing to make sure he'd come to no physical harm.
Only old Hadrennyn, used to his former apprentice's bouts of temper, remained unperturbed by
Rewenna's display. "You were not consulted because in this, as with anything concerning an
apprentice, the mentor is considered biased." Thinning silver hair wisped around his head like a misty
waterfall. He clasped his withered hands together and spoke to Rewenna in the same coddling voice he
used to tell his patients devastating news. "Your apprentice has been found guilty of using his dennar to
commit murder."
Rewenna grasped Feisal's shoulder, as much for her support as his. He welcomed her touch as
Hadrennyn consulted a scrap of parchment. He read through the list of dennar-induced injuries they'd
found on the body. "Paralysis. Crushing of the bones in the hands and feet. Suppression of internal
organs."
Rewenna's mouth dropped open. For one long, aching moment, Feisal was terrified that she actually
believed the director. I didn't do this. I swear, he meant to say, but even those few words were denied
him. He couldn't talk. Another compulsion, but one he was sure the corpsmen hadn't placed on him.
Feisal close his eyes to better concentrate on his memories. He remembered sensing the rent boy's pain
and going to his aid. Going up the stairs in the tavern. Opening the door to see—Roggar. Definitely
Roggar bending over the bed. And someone else, no more than a shadow in the room.
The sharpness of Rewenna's nails digging into his skin made him pay attention again. Hadrennyn's
voice droned on. "The prisoner may now be given the chance to speak in defense of his actions."
Feisal took a moment to gather his thoughts. Lady's grace, if only he could remember what happened.
"I went to the tavern—" he began. I felt someone being tortured, he wanted to say, but again, his throat
constricted and he gagged at the words. When he could breathe, he tried again. "I went to the tavern—"
Hadrennyn's wrinkled face grew impatient. "We know you went to the tavern, Feisal. Why?"
Someone was being tortured. By that bastard there. Rewenna held him while he coughed in a vain
attempt to clear his throat. The guards tightened their grip.
Rewenna pounded him on the back. "Dammit, Feisal, what's the matter? Tell them the truth. Tell them
you wouldn't do such a thing!"
"Rewenna," Hadrennyn warned.
I help them. I don't hurt them. It was Roggar. Damn you all, it was Roggar! Again, his intent to
speak was reduced to gagging and choking.
Rewenna grabbed his sleeves and shook him. "What in the Lady's name is wrong with you? Say
something, Feisal!"
He met her agonized expression. I can't, he wanted to say, but couldn't. All he could do was shake his
head. Rewenna's hands dropped lifelessly to her side. He'd never seen such a hurt, terrible look on her
face.
Hadrennyn rapped on the desk to call for attention. "In the absence of any defense of himself, the
council has voted and agreed on Feisal's punishment. His dennar shall be stripped, fully and
completely. If he survives the procedure, all rights and privileges he carries as a Healer are hereby
nullified. He will not leave his home without an escort until it is determined that he is no longer a threat
to the citizens of Sakkireth."
All of the strength left Feisal's limbs, leaving the corpsmen his sole support. The Healers hadn't been
forced to strip dennar in over seventy years. The last man had died. And without his dennar, how in
the Lady's name was he going to be able to help Orossy and the other tavern brats?
Rewenna voiced what he could not. Her voice shook. "No. I won't allow it. There is no proof!"
"There is." Roggar spoke at last. "I found Feisal with the rent boy. My word has been tried by dennar
and found truthful. Should you wish to examine the body yourself, you will be able to sense your
apprentice's dennar upon it."
Feisal groaned in frustration. Every Healer left their own mental signature behind when they used
dennar on a patient. If the Healers had found his marks upon the body, there was nothing he could do
to prove his innocence. It didn't matter that he couldn't remember, or that never would he dream of
using his Healer's gift to harm someone. Worse, Roggar wouldn't have been able to do all of the dennar-
related injuries on Hadrennyn's list. Roggar didn't have the dennar for it. He was skilled at healing
disease, but physical injuries and the healing of them were beyond his capability.
"Why were you there, Roggar?" Rewenna, the wonderful woman, still sought holes in Roggar's story.
"We all know your feelings concerning the taverns and their workers. What made you go down to
Tavern Street last night?"
From Roggar's smile, Feisal knew she'd made a mistake. "I was doing as Feisal asked of me.
Educating the rent boys and girls about how to protect themselves against the diseases common to the
taverns."
Educating them by ensuring they'd never have another customer. Again, the words caught in Feisal's
throat. His accusation emerged as a whimper. He'd told Roggar they needed his help in the taverns
with the diseases. Feisal never once thought the man would actually offer to help, but now Roggar had
the perfect reason to be out at the taverns.
Rewenna spoke again. "Hadrennyn. I won't risk his life. He wouldn't do this." She strode forward and
looked up at her former mentor. "You've known him for years. You've known me for far longer. Do
you think I would nurture a murderer as my apprentice?"
"I think even the Lord Governor's son can be adept at hiding his darker side. Judgment stands,"
Hadrennyn repeated.
"At least wait until his father gets back—"
"And leave a murderer loose in our midst?" He nodded again at Roggar. "Punishment will be rendered
here. Now." He gave her a more patient look. "Healer Rewenna, it is understandable if you do not wish
to be present."
She walked back to Feisal's side. This time, Hadrennyn visibly wilted at her fierce look. "I will stay."
Roggar rose from his seat and took the first step down the dais. "Rewenna." Feisal's voice was hoarse
with fear. Not Roggar. He tried again to reach the minds of the guards, but their minds remained
silent. He couldn't let Roggar touch him. His eyes were dark. Unreadable. And then he dropped from
Feisal's awareness.
Impossible. That was another trick Roggar didn't have. He could block his mind and thoughts as well
as any dennari, but hiding his physical presence so completely was another skill entirely.
Roggar took a second step, and the third. Rewenna watched, still dazed from realizing what must
happen. It must be equally horrible to be in her position, to realize that the apprentice she'd taught for
fourteen years had presumably done something she couldn’t believe.
"Rewenna, please." He had the gut feeling that if Roggar did this, he would die. The procedure was
risky enough that Roggar would be held blameless no matter the result. Any number of tragedies could
happen when forcing one mind upon another. Some were stuck in each other's minds forever. Some
got trapped in their own mind, or trapped their partner. Some killed, or were killed.
Roggar stepped to the mosaic-covered floor, each step sure and determined. Their eyes met. You're
mine, Feisal. And with that unspoken thought came the unmistakable feeling of another dark and
malevolent mind brushing against his. Teasing. Gloating. Using Roggar to get to him.
Lady, I beg of you. Don't let him touch me. I have to get back to Orossy. I promised. Feisal wasn't
one for praying. He'd worked too many miracles with his own hands and mind to ever truly believe in
the Lady of the Earth. Please, please let Rewenna realize that she can't sense Roggar, that something is
wrong. The unwelcome touch in his mind faded, but Roggar drew nearer, picking his way easily
across the pattern of intertwined vines.
The corpsmen held him tight and fast. Feisal closed his eyes, breathing hard, braced for the inevitable.
If Roggar did this, there would be no investigation into his death. Everyone knew the risks, and they
were stripping him anyway. If he died, Orossy would be left alone with no one to protect him.
"Sit down, Roggar. He's my apprentice. I'll do it."
His eyes snapped open to see Rewenna standing in front of him, stiff and protective as a wildcat over
her cub. Over her shoulder he could see Roggar's face flash from disappointment to anger. He craned
his head around to look at Hadrennyn, but the older Healer waved him back to his seat. "It's her right. I
will abide by her wishes."
Rewenna waited until Roggar stalked back to his place on the dais before turning to Feisal. He felt
braver now, knowing his dennar would be stripped by someone he trusted, but he could see the
questions in her eyes. Had she really been deceived all these years? Was her apprentice a murderer?
"Have you nothing to say to defend yourself?" She asked for herself. She wanted to hear Feisal
proclaim his innocence, whether or not the others believed it, just so she could know it was true.
He gave up trying to speak and shook his head. He couldn't even say Roggar's name without choking.
Hurt and disbelief crossed her face. "There's an explanation for this. Tell me that much."
He nodded.
For a moment, her relief mirrored his own. "We'll figure this out. You and me." Her expression
changed to worry. "Your father will kill me if I let anything happen to you."
Lord Maddren was off negotiating a treaty between their people, the Asteri, and their Lycenian
cousins. Rewenna had styled herself his erstwhile protector, though Feisal was twenty-six and fully
independent. Feisal smiled with a bravery he didn't feel. "Do it. I trust you. So would he."
"Is there anything--?"
Anything she could do if he died, she meant. "Tell Neren and Genneste I've left something for them to
take care of, if . . ." He couldn't say it. "Don't let him leave the house."
"I won't. We'll keep him safe, just as you promised." She took a moment to compose herself. This
time she spoke louder so her voice carried the ritual words throughout the round chamber. "So we
encourage our talents to bloom and grow, so there are times like these in which we must dim them to
prevent—" here she stumbled. Tears leaked from her eyes, but she managed to keep her voice even.
"To prevent misuse. As mentor to the accused, it is my duty and my right to strip the dennar from my
apprentice in accordance with Infirmary laws and teachings."
Being shorter, she had to reach up to clasp his face with the gentleness of a Healer's learned touch.
She released her dennar. Threads of it wound through him, setting his body alight with the warm,
familiar tingle. The dennar passed through his head and neck and chest, seeking the well of energy that
supplied his Healer's gift.
The touch there came lightly, as a child stroking the surface of a pond to see the ripples. She pulled,
and for a while Feisal didn't mind. He'd acted as catalyst often enough, offering up his own energies so
others might work longer and harder to save a life.
But then Rewenna reached the bottom of the energy pool, and sought for more.
He jerked. It wasn't pain, not exactly, but she was dragging him past the point where every dennari
was taught not to go lest they induce energy-shock and place their bodies in the state where they could
not renew their own resources without help. Rewenna continued with the skill and determination that
made her such a wonderful, relentless Healer. Every tug colored with the disgust that she was forced to
do this to her own apprentice.
Cold. Feisal shook. He pressed against the guards, but their bodies gave no warmth. Rewenna's
fingers clenched his cheeks. Compared to the rest of him, they felt hot as fire brands searing his skin.
Muscles gave way. He would have fallen if not for his captors. Pain shot through his arms as they
tightened their grip. His breaths came in ragged gasps. Rewenna didn't let go. The council room spun
round and round. Jeering Healers stared at him. The floor seemed alive, with vines twisting and turning
in every direction, ready to curl around smother him.
Feisal closed his eyes as sickness welled within. Rewenna's whispered words cut through his
disorientation. "I'm sorry Feisal." She leeched the last of the dennar out of her apprentice and sealed it
off.
He felt like he'd exhaled, and there was no way to draw a breath. He spasmed, body straining against
his captors, front and back. The world died around him. Heartbeats and warmth, breathing and being.
All of it gone.
Someone gave a harsh, quick sob. "It's done."
Hollow, whispered words, followed by the release of his face. His lips moved to form a name.
"'Rossy." All that mattered was that Orossy was kept safe.
He fainted.
the room. Two Elite Corps, one male and one female, yanked him out of the bed and into the hallway.
Instinct made him struggle to get back inside. "Let me go! I'm a Healer! There's got to be something I
can do. Let me try."
"Be still." Feisal recognized Eamon, the male corpsman, who tilted his voice so he spoke with a
compulsion. Feisal had no choice but to submit. Feisal couldn't even use his dennar, the gift that
allowed him to sense and heal the injuries of others, to see if he could sense anything from the body.
The corpsman blocked that, too. "Give me your hands." Feisal held them out, and Eamon bound his
wrists together with a leather thong. "Sit. Say nothing. Hear nothing."
Feisal sat cross-legged just outside the room with his back against the wall. He stared dully at his
bindings, and because of the compulsion felt not even the faintest impulse to try and free himself.
Voices carried in the rooms and hallway around him. Feisal paid them no attention. Instead, he
watched different legs and feet go in and out of the room. The shiny black boots of the Corps. Brown
boots scuffed and stained with spilt wine that belonged to the tavernkeeper. Bare feet and skinny legs
for the rent boys and girls come to see what the matter was.
And one pair of shoes specially dyed indigo with a dark brown stain on the toe of the left. A Healer,
come too late.
When they'd finished in the room, the corpsmen used one of the Corps' carriages to transport Feisal to
the Infirmary, where they held him in the cramped room that served as his office. Some of the fog in
his mind dissipated enough to let him speak. "What happened?" His voice trembled. He was in familiar
territory, yet accompanied by two of the city's most highly trained guards. "How did that boy die?"
Their only answer was to free his hands and provide a basin and pitcher of water to wash the blood
from his skin. None of it was his, but he didn't feel any relief. The front of his white linen shirt bore
darkening spatters. The cuffs of his sleeves and pants were crusted with drying blood. Feisal felt sick
as he changed into the spare set of clothes he kept, a midnight blue shirt and jacket along with an earth-
brown pair of pants. Eamon took his old clothes. For evidence, Feisal assumed.
Orossy would be worried. Feisal hadn't left his charge at his home alone for so long, and the young
man was headstrong enough that he might try to leave if he thought Feisal wasn't coming back. Feisal
had to go home, soon. He'd promised to keep Orossy safe, and he couldn't do that if he were treated
like a prisoner in his own Infirmary.
This had to be some sort of misunderstanding. He thought back to the tavern. There'd been someone
else in the room. The dead rent boy, the two Corps, and—
--The dim light of the lanterns silhouetted a figure kneeling on the ground beside the rent boy. The
boy's eyes were wide with pain and terror. He couldn't scream, but Feisal's dennar could sense the
agony coursing through the boy's body. The tingle of dennar filled the room. The kneeling man was
using his dennar to hurt the boy on purpose. Feisal cried out and ran toward the man, intent on getting
him to stop. The man looked at him. His face caught the light, and Feisal recognized him. It was—
Memory failed him, no matter how many times he tried to recall the man's face. He paced to hide his
nervousness, wondering what in the Lady's name they were waiting for. The corpsmen stood still and
watched, probably talking to each other mind-to-mind and discussing him. Somehow he'd gotten mixed
up in whatever had killed that rent boy. Trying to think of what he remembered before he'd woken up
didn't help either. He recalled nothing clearly after walking toward Tavern Street to make his rounds.
"Will you tell me what happened?" he asked again. The corpsmen exchanged a glance, but remained
silent. They weren't likely to speak, no matter how much Feisal begged them. They were here as
muscle only. The decisions and investigations into a Healer's activities were left to the Infirmary
Council, who brooked no interference from the city corps.
At an unspoken cue—mind-to-mind message via dennar, Feisal suspected—his escorts led him down
the back hallways of the Infirmary to avoid most of the people. His knees failed him when he realized
where they were going. The corpsmen had to half-carry him through the massive wooden doors and
into the Infirmary's council chamber. Feisal hated this room. He'd had to come here year after year to
stand before the Senior Healers in the hopes that they would promote him from apprentice to
journeyman. They enjoyed sitting up on their dais and looking down to make their apprentices feel
unworthy and insignificant. The council passed all of their judgments here.
The cushions kept for the ninety-three Healers and their twenty-odd apprentices were stacked against
the walls, leaving the center open. The emptiness of the round room made him feel like a rabbit staked
down to attract a hawk.
Or a vulture. Feisal's eyes followed the trail of vines laid out on the mosaic floor to where they ended at
the stairs leading up to the dais. He looked up. Out of the thirteen cushions behind the low oak desk,
twelve were occupied. Director Hadrennyn sat in the middle, skin dark and wrinkled as a walnut shell.
His formal attire, a cerulean blue shirt and jacket embroidered with gold leaves, hung loosely on his
frame as if he'd shrunken since the last time he wore it. Beak-nosed Roggar, the only Healer actually
looking at Feisal, sat at Hadrennyn's left. He, like the remaining Healers, wore the same formal blue
uniform, but with less embroidery. He looked up at Feisal's entrance, setting his face with the smug
expression he always wore.
Feisal managed a feeble mental roll call of the Senior Healers present, five women and seven men. It
should have been obvious who was missing. He just didn't want to believe that the one he needed to see
the most wasn't there.
Rewenna. His mentor. In the Lady's name, where was she? His face flushed in anger. She'd
abandoned him. Twelve years of apprenticeship under her, and she refused to support him when he'd
been accused of something he hadn't done.
Roggar noticed his reaction. He caught Feisal's eye. The side of his mouth quirked up, just enough to
hint, This isn't the end, but I've won for now.
Under the desk, he could just make out Roggar's indigo shoes. One had a familiar dark stain.
Something clicked in Feisal's mind. Roggar had been there, at the tavern. Roggar, who constantly
decried the taverns and their inhabitants.
Bastard. Feisal ached to denounce him. He opened his mouth to cry out, Murderer! Nothing came out.
He meant the words, and fully intended to say them, but when he opened his mouth to speak it felt as
though someone punched him in the gut and knocked all the air from his chest. His throat narrowed,
and all that left his mouth was an awkward little choking sound.
Roggar's mouth twitched. Feisal lunged, but the guards held him fast. Idiots. The Elite Corps were the
faction of Sakkireth's guard trained to handle any situation in mind and body. They were mind-readers
and empaths. So why couldn't they sense the words behind Roggar's smug expression? Why was
Feisal the one on trial?
Feisal got his answer when he tried to batter into Eamon's mind and failed. He and his partner, Brekka,
had their mental barriers up as tightly as possible. They were here as muscle, not to prove the truth.
The Infirmary followed its own rules, with the twelve Senior Healers and the Director as the decision-
making body. The guards, and even Feisal's father, the Lord Governor, would not get involved. Not
even if they knew the judgment was wrong.
The wooden doors rattled and made everyone jump. Feisal realized they were locked from the inside
when the vicious shaking alternated with heavy pounding, and a woman's voice rose clearly above the
noise. "Hadrennyn! Damn you, let me in! That's my apprentice you've got in there!"
Rewenna. Feisal took a deep breath in relief. Thank the Lady, she hadn't forgotten him after all.
The director frowned, but motioned to one of Feisal's captors to open the door. Eamon barely had time
to jump out of the way after he turned the lock. Healer Rewenna, the thirteenth Senior Healer, slammed
the doors wide. Her cerulean skirt flowed behind her as she barreled down the aisle between the chairs
to stand at Feisal's side. "What in the Lady's name do you mean by calling the council without including
your assistant director? I wouldn't have even heard about this little gathering if it weren't for the fact
that one of my nurses saw Feisal in the company of guards and came to fetch me!"
Her dark skin was ruddy with exertion and anger. Still a handsome woman at middle age, still Feisal's
strength and inspiration. Long, black braids kept her hair cleanly from her face, rendering her fury clear
for everyone to see. She didn't look directly at him, but he could sense her dennar questing toward him,
testing to make sure he'd come to no physical harm.
Only old Hadrennyn, used to his former apprentice's bouts of temper, remained unperturbed by
Rewenna's display. "You were not consulted because in this, as with anything concerning an
apprentice, the mentor is considered biased." Thinning silver hair wisped around his head like a misty
waterfall. He clasped his withered hands together and spoke to Rewenna in the same coddling voice he
used to tell his patients devastating news. "Your apprentice has been found guilty of using his dennar to
commit murder."
Rewenna grasped Feisal's shoulder, as much for her support as his. He welcomed her touch as
Hadrennyn consulted a scrap of parchment. He read through the list of dennar-induced injuries they'd
found on the body. "Paralysis. Crushing of the bones in the hands and feet. Suppression of internal
organs."
Rewenna's mouth dropped open. For one long, aching moment, Feisal was terrified that she actually
believed the director. I didn't do this. I swear, he meant to say, but even those few words were denied
him. He couldn't talk. Another compulsion, but one he was sure the corpsmen hadn't placed on him.
Feisal close his eyes to better concentrate on his memories. He remembered sensing the rent boy's pain
and going to his aid. Going up the stairs in the tavern. Opening the door to see—Roggar. Definitely
Roggar bending over the bed. And someone else, no more than a shadow in the room.
The sharpness of Rewenna's nails digging into his skin made him pay attention again. Hadrennyn's
voice droned on. "The prisoner may now be given the chance to speak in defense of his actions."
Feisal took a moment to gather his thoughts. Lady's grace, if only he could remember what happened.
"I went to the tavern—" he began. I felt someone being tortured, he wanted to say, but again, his throat
constricted and he gagged at the words. When he could breathe, he tried again. "I went to the tavern—"
Hadrennyn's wrinkled face grew impatient. "We know you went to the tavern, Feisal. Why?"
Someone was being tortured. By that bastard there. Rewenna held him while he coughed in a vain
attempt to clear his throat. The guards tightened their grip.
Rewenna pounded him on the back. "Dammit, Feisal, what's the matter? Tell them the truth. Tell them
you wouldn't do such a thing!"
"Rewenna," Hadrennyn warned.
I help them. I don't hurt them. It was Roggar. Damn you all, it was Roggar! Again, his intent to
speak was reduced to gagging and choking.
Rewenna grabbed his sleeves and shook him. "What in the Lady's name is wrong with you? Say
something, Feisal!"
He met her agonized expression. I can't, he wanted to say, but couldn't. All he could do was shake his
head. Rewenna's hands dropped lifelessly to her side. He'd never seen such a hurt, terrible look on her
face.
Hadrennyn rapped on the desk to call for attention. "In the absence of any defense of himself, the
council has voted and agreed on Feisal's punishment. His dennar shall be stripped, fully and
completely. If he survives the procedure, all rights and privileges he carries as a Healer are hereby
nullified. He will not leave his home without an escort until it is determined that he is no longer a threat
to the citizens of Sakkireth."
All of the strength left Feisal's limbs, leaving the corpsmen his sole support. The Healers hadn't been
forced to strip dennar in over seventy years. The last man had died. And without his dennar, how in
the Lady's name was he going to be able to help Orossy and the other tavern brats?
Rewenna voiced what he could not. Her voice shook. "No. I won't allow it. There is no proof!"
"There is." Roggar spoke at last. "I found Feisal with the rent boy. My word has been tried by dennar
and found truthful. Should you wish to examine the body yourself, you will be able to sense your
apprentice's dennar upon it."
Feisal groaned in frustration. Every Healer left their own mental signature behind when they used
dennar on a patient. If the Healers had found his marks upon the body, there was nothing he could do
to prove his innocence. It didn't matter that he couldn't remember, or that never would he dream of
using his Healer's gift to harm someone. Worse, Roggar wouldn't have been able to do all of the dennar-
related injuries on Hadrennyn's list. Roggar didn't have the dennar for it. He was skilled at healing
disease, but physical injuries and the healing of them were beyond his capability.
"Why were you there, Roggar?" Rewenna, the wonderful woman, still sought holes in Roggar's story.
"We all know your feelings concerning the taverns and their workers. What made you go down to
Tavern Street last night?"
From Roggar's smile, Feisal knew she'd made a mistake. "I was doing as Feisal asked of me.
Educating the rent boys and girls about how to protect themselves against the diseases common to the
taverns."
Educating them by ensuring they'd never have another customer. Again, the words caught in Feisal's
throat. His accusation emerged as a whimper. He'd told Roggar they needed his help in the taverns
with the diseases. Feisal never once thought the man would actually offer to help, but now Roggar had
the perfect reason to be out at the taverns.
Rewenna spoke again. "Hadrennyn. I won't risk his life. He wouldn't do this." She strode forward and
looked up at her former mentor. "You've known him for years. You've known me for far longer. Do
you think I would nurture a murderer as my apprentice?"
"I think even the Lord Governor's son can be adept at hiding his darker side. Judgment stands,"
Hadrennyn repeated.
"At least wait until his father gets back—"
"And leave a murderer loose in our midst?" He nodded again at Roggar. "Punishment will be rendered
here. Now." He gave her a more patient look. "Healer Rewenna, it is understandable if you do not wish
to be present."
She walked back to Feisal's side. This time, Hadrennyn visibly wilted at her fierce look. "I will stay."
Roggar rose from his seat and took the first step down the dais. "Rewenna." Feisal's voice was hoarse
with fear. Not Roggar. He tried again to reach the minds of the guards, but their minds remained
silent. He couldn't let Roggar touch him. His eyes were dark. Unreadable. And then he dropped from
Feisal's awareness.
Impossible. That was another trick Roggar didn't have. He could block his mind and thoughts as well
as any dennari, but hiding his physical presence so completely was another skill entirely.
Roggar took a second step, and the third. Rewenna watched, still dazed from realizing what must
happen. It must be equally horrible to be in her position, to realize that the apprentice she'd taught for
fourteen years had presumably done something she couldn’t believe.
"Rewenna, please." He had the gut feeling that if Roggar did this, he would die. The procedure was
risky enough that Roggar would be held blameless no matter the result. Any number of tragedies could
happen when forcing one mind upon another. Some were stuck in each other's minds forever. Some
got trapped in their own mind, or trapped their partner. Some killed, or were killed.
Roggar stepped to the mosaic-covered floor, each step sure and determined. Their eyes met. You're
mine, Feisal. And with that unspoken thought came the unmistakable feeling of another dark and
malevolent mind brushing against his. Teasing. Gloating. Using Roggar to get to him.
Lady, I beg of you. Don't let him touch me. I have to get back to Orossy. I promised. Feisal wasn't
one for praying. He'd worked too many miracles with his own hands and mind to ever truly believe in
the Lady of the Earth. Please, please let Rewenna realize that she can't sense Roggar, that something is
wrong. The unwelcome touch in his mind faded, but Roggar drew nearer, picking his way easily
across the pattern of intertwined vines.
The corpsmen held him tight and fast. Feisal closed his eyes, breathing hard, braced for the inevitable.
If Roggar did this, there would be no investigation into his death. Everyone knew the risks, and they
were stripping him anyway. If he died, Orossy would be left alone with no one to protect him.
"Sit down, Roggar. He's my apprentice. I'll do it."
His eyes snapped open to see Rewenna standing in front of him, stiff and protective as a wildcat over
her cub. Over her shoulder he could see Roggar's face flash from disappointment to anger. He craned
his head around to look at Hadrennyn, but the older Healer waved him back to his seat. "It's her right. I
will abide by her wishes."
Rewenna waited until Roggar stalked back to his place on the dais before turning to Feisal. He felt
braver now, knowing his dennar would be stripped by someone he trusted, but he could see the
questions in her eyes. Had she really been deceived all these years? Was her apprentice a murderer?
"Have you nothing to say to defend yourself?" She asked for herself. She wanted to hear Feisal
proclaim his innocence, whether or not the others believed it, just so she could know it was true.
He gave up trying to speak and shook his head. He couldn't even say Roggar's name without choking.
Hurt and disbelief crossed her face. "There's an explanation for this. Tell me that much."
He nodded.
For a moment, her relief mirrored his own. "We'll figure this out. You and me." Her expression
changed to worry. "Your father will kill me if I let anything happen to you."
Lord Maddren was off negotiating a treaty between their people, the Asteri, and their Lycenian
cousins. Rewenna had styled herself his erstwhile protector, though Feisal was twenty-six and fully
independent. Feisal smiled with a bravery he didn't feel. "Do it. I trust you. So would he."
"Is there anything--?"
Anything she could do if he died, she meant. "Tell Neren and Genneste I've left something for them to
take care of, if . . ." He couldn't say it. "Don't let him leave the house."
"I won't. We'll keep him safe, just as you promised." She took a moment to compose herself. This
time she spoke louder so her voice carried the ritual words throughout the round chamber. "So we
encourage our talents to bloom and grow, so there are times like these in which we must dim them to
prevent—" here she stumbled. Tears leaked from her eyes, but she managed to keep her voice even.
"To prevent misuse. As mentor to the accused, it is my duty and my right to strip the dennar from my
apprentice in accordance with Infirmary laws and teachings."
Being shorter, she had to reach up to clasp his face with the gentleness of a Healer's learned touch.
She released her dennar. Threads of it wound through him, setting his body alight with the warm,
familiar tingle. The dennar passed through his head and neck and chest, seeking the well of energy that
supplied his Healer's gift.
The touch there came lightly, as a child stroking the surface of a pond to see the ripples. She pulled,
and for a while Feisal didn't mind. He'd acted as catalyst often enough, offering up his own energies so
others might work longer and harder to save a life.
But then Rewenna reached the bottom of the energy pool, and sought for more.
He jerked. It wasn't pain, not exactly, but she was dragging him past the point where every dennari
was taught not to go lest they induce energy-shock and place their bodies in the state where they could
not renew their own resources without help. Rewenna continued with the skill and determination that
made her such a wonderful, relentless Healer. Every tug colored with the disgust that she was forced to
do this to her own apprentice.
Cold. Feisal shook. He pressed against the guards, but their bodies gave no warmth. Rewenna's
fingers clenched his cheeks. Compared to the rest of him, they felt hot as fire brands searing his skin.
Muscles gave way. He would have fallen if not for his captors. Pain shot through his arms as they
tightened their grip. His breaths came in ragged gasps. Rewenna didn't let go. The council room spun
round and round. Jeering Healers stared at him. The floor seemed alive, with vines twisting and turning
in every direction, ready to curl around smother him.
Feisal closed his eyes as sickness welled within. Rewenna's whispered words cut through his
disorientation. "I'm sorry Feisal." She leeched the last of the dennar out of her apprentice and sealed it
off.
He felt like he'd exhaled, and there was no way to draw a breath. He spasmed, body straining against
his captors, front and back. The world died around him. Heartbeats and warmth, breathing and being.
All of it gone.
Someone gave a harsh, quick sob. "It's done."
Hollow, whispered words, followed by the release of his face. His lips moved to form a name.
"'Rossy." All that mattered was that Orossy was kept safe.
He fainted.