The Ambassador’s Mission

“The older, the better. And…” Dannyl paused to consider how to phrase what he wanted to say. “While I’d like to fill the gaps in my knowledge of Sachakan history, I’m also interested in anything that might fill some of the gaps in Kryalian history as well.”

“You have gaps?” Kirota’s eyebrows rose again. “But then, don’t we all?” He smiled, the lines on his thin face deepening and making Dannyl realise the man was older than he’d first guessed. “Perhaps you can help me fill some of the gaps in ours as well, Ambassador Dannyl.”

Dannyl nodded. “I’ll do what I can.”

As Achati looked around the room, perhaps to check if he’d neglected to introduce anyone yet, Dannyl realised that, despite being surrounded by black magicians, he felt perfectly at ease. These were men of power and influence, and he’d had plenty of dealings with such men in the past. Perhaps this role should not be much harder than it was in Elyne. Not that that one was easy. And it seems black magic is no obstacle to having scholarly interests, too. He felt a tingle of anticipation, thinking of the records he might stumble upon in these private libraries Achati had mentioned. Then he felt a twinge of guilt and sadness. It would have been good to share the discoveries with Tayend. But I’m not sure he’d be that interested now. And for all that these men seem friendly, he is safer back in Kyralia.

The crowd outside the Northside Hospice was smaller than usual. Pale faces turned toward the carriage, eyes bright with hope but expressions guarded. As the vehicle turned and passed between the gates, Sonea sighed.

When the hospices had first opened, hordes of sick had gathered outside the doors, along with those hopeful of seeing the legendary slum magician, former exile and defender of Kyralia. Those not intimidated by her black robes had surrounded her, begging or babbling, making it difficult to get inside the hospice and do the work she needed to do. She could not bring herself to push them away with magic. Other Healers had experienced similar problems, as the sick not yet admitted to the hospice, or their families, begged and pleaded for help.

So enclosed carriageways had been built beside the hospices, with guards to man the gates, and a side entrance. They allowed Healers to arrive and get from carriage to hospice without being harassed.

Sonea waited until the guards called out to indicate all was clear, then climbed out of the carriage. As she turned to smile in thanks, the two guards bowed. She heard the side door to the hospice open.

“… and it’s about time – oh!”

Sonea turned to see Healer Ollia staring at her in horror.

“Sorry, er, Black Magician Sonea. I was… we were…”

“It’s I who should be apologising.” Sonea smiled. “I’m late. Or rather, Healer Draven is. His mother has fallen ill, suddenly, so I’m stepping in for him.” She stepped aside and nodded to the carriage. “Go on. You must be tired.”

“Um. Thank you.” Flushed, Ollia hurried past and climbed into the vehicle.

Turning away, Sonea entered the hospice. A large room full of supplies with a central area of seating for exhausted Healers and helpers formed a sanctuary of privacy between the carriageway entrance and the public rooms. A young woman in green robes was sitting in one of the chairs, the edge of her mouth quirked up in a wry smile.

“Good evening, Black Magician Sonea,” Nikea said.

“Healer Nikea,” Sonea replied. She liked Nikea. The young Healer had first volunteered to help in the hospice not long after joining the Guild, and discovered a love of both healing and helping people. Her parents were servants for a family of one of the less powerful Houses. “Looks quiet here tonight.”

“More or less.” Nikea shrugged. “Did I hear right? You’re replacing Healer Draven?”

“Yes.”

Nikea rose. “Then I had better let Adrea know you’re here.”

“I’ll come with you.”

Sonea followed her through the door to the main part of the hospice, locking it behind her with magic. As they walked down the corridor, she listened to the sounds escaping the treatment rooms. Rasping breathing told her there was a patient with respiratory problems in one room, and groans from another doorway told of a painful condition. All rooms, as always, were occupied – some with both patient and the two family members that were allowed to stay with and help tend to them.

There were too few Healers willing to work in the hospices to treat the multitudes of sick visiting them, and between them they did not have enough power to meet the demand. But if all of the Healers of the Guild were made to work at them daily there still would not be enough. Sonea had known she would have to run these places with a limited supply of Healing power.

So they treated Healing power like a rare and powerful medicine. Only those people who would not survive without it were Healed with magic. The rest were treated with medicine and surgery.