A Princess of the Chameln Read Online Free PDF Page B

pain. The man laid a hand on her forehead.
    â€œYou are very strong, Dan Aidris,” he said.
    She saw that he was middle-aged and clean shaven, with a long, pale, blunt-featured, almost comical face. His thick yellowish grey hair was cut sharp and square at the level of his jaw bone; his eyes were dark and up-curving.
    â€œI am Jalmar Raiz, Healer,’ he said.
    â€œAm I . . . healed?” she whispered.
    â€œYour wound should heal,” he said.
    â€œHow is Sharn Am Zor?”
    â€œUnharmed. You saved his life.”
    â€œThe swans did it,” she said.
    â€œQuick thinking,” said the healer.
    She moved her head and found that they were quite alone at one end of the Meeting Hall. She had been doctored upon a table covered with featherbeds. The bloody instruments, even the arrow itself, lay upon a side table. At the far end of the hall sat a silent group of villagers, three or four older men and women.
    â€œThe elders . . .” he said quietly.
    â€œI must thank them,” she said. “I have not even thanked you, Master Raiz.”
    â€œDrink a little more,” he said, holding the metal cup to her lips.
    The warm broth gave her strength, made her less light-headed.
    â€œThe court?” she asked. “The hunting party?”
    â€œThey have been summoned. We expect them.”
    He took her wrist between his fingers and sat beside the makeshift bed on a stool, staring at her intently.
    â€œYou were pursued by four men,” he said. “Two mounted, two on foot. Do you know who they were?”
    â€œNo—no—enemies . . . I don’t know!”
    She moved her head from side to side on the pillows, and he held up a long hand to still her restlessness.
    â€œOne of the runners was caught,” he said. “The smith of Musna, the strongest hurler in these parts, felled him with a bolt of wood.”
    â€œIs he . . .?”
    â€œAlive? Certainly. We are holding him.”
    She sighed and it hurt to sigh. The left side of her body was full of aches and stiffness.
    â€œHow will this go on?” asked Jalmar Raiz, with a trace of strong emotion. “You have too much to bear.”
    â€œI am strong. You said so yourself.”
    â€œIt is too much for the mind and the spirit,” he said. “You may never be whole again.”
    â€œWhat should I do?” she asked. “Tell me what I should do, Healer Raiz.”
    â€œLeave the court and the city,” he said shortly. “Save yourself.”
    He stood up and reached for his staff, crisscrossed with white bands, held in place with thorns. He rapped with it on the floor, and they came from nowhere, from the shadows: a young man with flaxen hair and a child-sized creature with a small balding head and thick reptilian skin on its hands . . . a greddle.
    â€œThese are my two sons,” said Jalmar Raiz, “Pinga and Raff.”
    Pinga, the greddle, busied himself clearing the instrument table. The smiling look that he gave Aidris forbade pity. She cried out, “You met the hunt! You gave a scroll to Dan Esher!”
    â€œWe seek justice for the village, Princess,” said the healer.
    He gave her a cool bow and bent to give instruction to the greddle, his deformed child. Aidris felt bereft and desperate now that the healer had withdrawn his attention. She turned her head and found the young man, Raff, sitting at her bedside. He had a likeness to his father, a rather long, smooth face, not at all handsome, and lacking Jalmar’s firmness; his eyes were deep blue, fringed with sandy lashes. His expression was one of wistful sadness; when their eyes met, he turned up one corner of his wide mouth and the sadness was suddenly comical, a shared joke at the state of the world.
    As Pinga carried the healer’s equipment away, Jalmar Raiz was pacing down the hall to summon the village elders.
    â€œDo you follow the Lame God?” asked Aidris.
    â€œHealers often follow