Camber the Heretic (36 page)

“
Are you all right?
”

“I will be.” Camber took a deep breath and shook his head. “God, the
bitterness!
That our own people should do this to him!”

“Aye. And if he doesn't master it, that bitterness can kill him—just as surely as if he'd bled to death in that alley.”

“Is there anything we can do?”

Rhys shrugged and shook his head. “I don't know. He's not likely to listen to much of anything I have to say, after what I did to him the night Cinhil died. Oh, I blocked the specific memory, but I wasn't able to block all the emotion that went with our little scene. There's resentment there, even if he doesn't remember precisely why. You're no better choice—too much of an authority figure. Besides, you're not a Healer.”

“What, then?”

“A second opinion, I think. Not Oriel. Oh, he's a competent enough Healer, with a lot of potential, but he doesn't have the experience, or the grand overview, the way we do—though it's times like this that I almost wish
we
didn't, either.”

“Amen to that!”

“I think—Queron,” Rhys said, after a thoughtful pause. “Or maybe Dom Emrys would be even better. Tavis must have studied with Emrys at some time. Most Healers do. Maybe Emrys can get through. If we get a message off tonight, they should be here by tomorrow noon. I don't think we should wait any longer than that, though. He could go critical on us at any time, and I don't mean physically.”

“I agree,” Camber said. He started to turn toward the door, then paused.

“Is it all right to leave him alone for now, do you think?”

Rhys touched a hand to Tavis's forehead and probed lightly, then nodded and turned toward the sleeping Javan.

“I think he should sleep until morning. Javan, too.” He held his hand a little way from Javan's forehead, then shrugged. “I'll be damned if I can figure out those shields of his, though. Cinhil must have understood a great deal more than we gave him credit for.”

He peered closely at Javan, then tucked the blanket more securely around him.

“Poor little fellow. He's really had a hard day. We'll let him sleep where he is, for now. Come on. I want to get those messages off to Emrys and Queron.”

But when they had gone out of the room, and the door had closed, a young raven head was raised cautiously from its rest against the high-backed chair.

C
HAPTER
F
IFTEEN

I will not be ashamed to defend a friend; neither will I hide myself from him
.

—Ecclesiasticus 22:25

Blinking sleepily in the candlelight, Javan peered around the room, confirming that he was now alone with Tavis. Other than that, he did not move for several minutes. He wanted to make certain they would not come back.

He wondered what they had been talking about, while they had thought him asleep. He
had
been asleep for a little while, but he had awakened while they worked with Tavis. He remembered hearing Evaine and Joram leave the room, and then something about a child, Evaine's child, who was going to be a Healer.

He sat up at that and tried to remember more, recalling a long period of silence and then a strange conversation between the two men, Healer and bishop.

Our people
, Bishop Alister had said.
Our people did this to him!
And then they had worried about whether Tavis would be able to master the bitterness.

Our people.… Did they mean Deryni? Javan wondered. Had Deryni done this to Tavis?

O monstrous thought! If Deryni had done this to his friend, maybe the lords regent were right. The Deryni
were
evil! And those who had done this to Tavis must be punished!

He sat there brooding for several minutes, imagining in his mind all the possible tortures suitable for Deryni who attacked people in alleys and cut off their hands, then glanced back at his friend.

Rhys had said something about Tavis not listening to him, because Rhys had done something to Tavis the night his father died. What was it now? Rhys had
blocked the specific memory
, but he had not been able to block all the emotion. And Rhys had mentioned a scene, and the fact that Tavis resented him.
What had happened that night?

Brow furrowing in concentration, Javan sat up straighter and tried to think back to that night. So much had happened since then that things were a little hazy, but he remembered that Rhys had come to see them after supper and had
given them all a physick against colds!
—even the squires.

By all the saints, could that have been more than a physick? He remembered that he had gotten very sleepy very quickly, and his brothers, too. And yet, Rhys had said that his father had ordered it. Why would his father have wanted them to sleep so well?

Or, had his father even known? Maybe Rhys had lied!

He shuddered at that thought and tried to find a motive, but he could not. He had not been harmed, had he? If Rhys had intended to poison them, it had not worked.

He scratched his head and rubbed his eyes and tried to go over it again. He was getting confused. Somehow, Rhys was apparently involved in some strange goings-on, but he didn't seem to have hurt anyone. Yet Tavis didn't trust him anymore, and Rhys knew it, and Rhys had alluded to something he had done to Tavis, the night his father had died. And Javan's memory of that night wasn't very clear, either.

Then there was that final comment, just before Rhys and Bishop Alister had left the room—what was it, about shields? And he had said something about Javan's father understanding more than they thought.

What were shields? And what had his father known that Rhys and Alister hadn't expected?

He shook his head at that, then glanced at Tavis and slid off the chair to his feet. The Healer seemed to be resting peacefully enough, pale but relaxed, but Javan wondered whether it was safe to let him sleep on, with Rhys saying those kinds of things. Maybe Tavis should be told. If Rhys was trying to hurt Tavis, was it right to let him continue doing whatever it was he was doing, especially with Tavis injured and helpless?

He moved closer to the bed and stared at Tavis's face, finally reaching out cautiously to touch the Healer's hand. When Tavis did not move, Javan pulled his chair closer, then settled down in it and took Tavis's hand again. For a long time he stared at the sleeping man, holding the hand and trying, the way he had seen Tavis do so often for him, to will strength into his friend. After a while, he started to doze, and finally came back with a start to realize that Tavis was looking at him.

“Tavis?” he whispered.

The hand squeezed his weakly, and the swollen lips parted in a dazed smile.

“My prince,” Tavis breathed. “How did you get here?”

“They think I'm asleep,” Javan replied confidentially, scooting forward in his chair and leaning closer to the Healer's head. “They said you'd sleep 'til morning, too. Why didn't you?”

For a moment, Tavis's eyes unfocused as he apparently searched for an answer to that question, but then he glanced at their two joined hands, back at the boy's face.

“Didn't you call me, my prince? I—remember, I was far, far away—” His glance flicked away from Javan's momentarily. “—And I thought you were lost, but then I thought I heard you call my name, and I knew I must come back.”

Awed, Javan returned the Healer's gaze, hardly daring to believe what he seemed to be suggesting.

“You—heard me call?”

“Aye.”

“But I—I only called you with my mind,” he whispered. “I tried to give you strength, the way you do for me. It was a childish dream—I thought.…”

“A—childish dream,” Tavis repeated haltingly.

Without thinking, he started to reach out to Javan with his left hand, only to be reminded by the tug of binding cloths that the arm was caught in place—and why. In numb fascination, his eyes were drawn to the blanket shrouding his arm and the chairback which supported it. Almost without will of his own, he started to pull his hand free of Javan's to draw the blanket away.

“No,” Javan whispered, holding his hand even tighter. “Don't look. I have to ask you something. It's important.”

“More important than what has happened?”

“I don't know.” Javan's gaze flicked down to their joined hands, then back to the Healer's pain-taut face. “Tavis, what did Lord Rhys do to you the night my father died?”

Dazedly, Tavis stared at the boy. Slowly his lips parted, his hand tightening convulsively on Javan's.

“What—makes you think Rhys did anything to me, Javan?”

“He said he did,” Javan whispered. “He thought I was asleep, but I was only pretending. He said he—‘blocked the specific memory,' but he wasn't able to block something else—the emotion, I think it was. He says that you resent him because of it, but you don't remember why.”

Tavis's brow furrowed as he tried to fathom that. “He blocked my memory? I don't understand. I remember that he came to your quarters that night and that he gave all three of you a physick—your brother had been sick all week.”

“That's right,” Javan agreed. “And my brothers and I fell asleep almost immediately. The next thing I knew, Lord Jebediah was waking us up, and the regents were there to tell us that Father was dead. You were still asleep, and you didn't want to wake up.”

“Aye, I do remember that. I don't recall much of that night, quite frankly, but I'd never given it much thought.” He looked carefully at Javan. “You think that Rhys was responsible?”

Javan shrugged. “He said he did something. He thought I was asleep. He thought only Bishop Alister was listening. Why would he say that to Bishop Alister, if it weren't true?”

“I don't know,” Tavis said, shaking his head in pained frustration. “I can't imagine what he's talking about—God, I'm too drugged to think clearly!”

“What's the matter? Can't you keep your shields in place?”

Startled, Tavis stared at Javan again, surprise momentarily driving much of the pain from his expression. “What do you know about shields?”

“Well, I—Rhys said that I have them, and he can't figure out why.” The boy swallowed, taken aback by his friend's reaction. “He said—he said that my father must have understood a good deal more than they gave him credit for—whoever
they
are. What did he mean? What did my father understand, and what are these shields that Rhys says I have?”

“I wonder,” Tavis murmured. Slowly he disentangled his hand from Javan's and reached up toward the boy's face. Javan was puzzled, but he leaned closer so that Tavis could reach him.

“Sweet
Jesu
, my head hurts!” Tavis whispered haltingly. “Try to let yourself relax, as if I were going to work a Healing on you. This isn't that difficult a function. I should be able to do it—and the fact that I'm talking about it means I'm terrified I won't be able to. But let's try.”

Obediently Javan closed his eyes and let himself think of nothing, feeling almost immediately the soothing sensation he had come to associate with Tavis's touch. He nodded, relaxing even further, then came back with a start as the Healer removed his hand. Tavis looked relieved as he flexed and relaxed the fingers of his right hand.

“Well, at least I'm not going to be totally useless to you,” he said softly. “That was excellent, considering my present state. Now let's try something else. I want you to pretend that I'm not Tavis, that I'm someone else—say, Rhys—and I'm going to—try to make you go to sleep. Use your imagination, now, and try to stop me.”

“All right.”

Again, Tavis reached toward the boy's forehead, meeting a stony gaze where, before, there had been warmth. Javan steeled himself, almost fancying he could see Rhys's face superimposed over Tavis's in his concentration.

But this time, there was no soothing intrusion of peaceful relaxation—only the hard, returned stare of grey eyes against pale blue ones. Tavis could not keep up the effort for very long, but it was long enough to tell him what he wanted to know. With a deep sigh, he withdrew his hand and let it fall slack on his chest.

“Congratulations, you have shields,” Tavis whispered, “though I couldn't begin to tell you how you got them. I never saw a human with shields before. Did you feel anything, when I was trying to read you?”

Javan shook his head. “No. You told me to try to keep you away.”

“And you didn't feel anything?”

“Nothing. Should I have?”

“Damned if I know,” Tavis whispered. “You shouldn't have shields to begin with. Since you do, I haven't the slightest idea whether you should be able to feel pressure against them. If you were Deryni, I could give you some answers. But you're not. Damned if I know what you are.”

Taken aback, Javan swallowed heavily and then covered Tavis's hand in his again.

“Is—is there something wrong with me?” he asked in a very small voice.

Tavis, in the midst of shifting his position in the bed, turned his attention back to Javan with a start.

“Wrong? Goodness, no, I don't think so. In fact, if Rhys
did
do something to me, maybe you can help me find out what it was. Not now, of course. In any case, I don't think he'll be able to make you do anything you don't want to do.”

“Or you either!” Javan whispered fiercely. “Oh, Tavis, he's afraid you're going to have a hard time a-adjusting to what's happened to you, so he's bringing in some other Healers to help him.”

“Other Healers?” Tavis whispered, chilled.

Javan nodded. “Aye. Two Doms—Dom Emrys and Dom Qu-Queron, I think he said.”

Tavis whistled softly under his breath. “Emrys and Queron, eh? High-powered Healers, for the likes of me. Emrys was my teacher for a little while, and I've heard of Queron.”