By Chance Met Read Online Free PDF Page B

cabinets full of bottles and vials of varying shapes, sizes and color. A rather astringent scent reminiscent of medicaments permeated the air.
    It was a room such as one might find in a hospital or a physician’s residence. It reminded Naeth of the town healer’s examination room back home in Losshen.
    His attention was caught by the sound of feet hastening up a flight of stairs. So he was in a ground floor room then.
    After some time passed, he heard feet descending those same stairs at a brisk pace.
    The footsteps steadily neared.
    “Deity’s blood! How did this happen?’
    Someone was talking, explaining. Something about finding him beaten up and on the brink of being raped. Naeth shuddered as recollection of his misadventure in the alley
    came flooding back.
    So I wasn’t raped? he thought in confusion. But Gardon had pulled down my —
    Naeth thrust the memory aside. Gardon had not succeeded in despoiling him, and that was what mattered. Now if only the pain would go away. It was so hard to think, to make sense of what was happening.
    Fingers quickly spread his shirt open then skimmed over his skin so lightly he scarcely felt their touch. Whoever it was examining him murmured something in a rather peremptory tone but the feather-light touches did not cease. A little while later, he smelled an aromatic odor that reminded him of the hoarhound and feverfew plants that grew in the field behind his family’s house. He recalled the bitter hoarhound brew he and his brothers had perforce imbibed whenever they came down with the sniffles.
    His hair was gently pushed back from his forehead, and a soft damp cloth was dabbed against his temple. It went on to his left cheek and the corner of his mouth. Each time the cloth touched his skin it stung, but the discomfort was soon followed by a cool sensation that lessened the hurt.
    Those must be wounds he’s treating , Naeth fuzzily thought.
    He managed to open his eyes a crack and take a peek at the Deira who tended him.
    He almost fainted again when he recognized the exotic-looking aristocrat from the Vomare. The Herun of Ilmaren, Camrion had said.
    The Herun was holding a gauzy cloth to the mouth of a bottle filled with a clear liquid. After a while, he set the bottle down and resumed his ministrations, tending to Naeth’s chest and shoulders next.
    Movement on his other side alerted Naeth to the second presence in the room. He shifted his gaze and peered at the other Deir. Thick strands of gleaming brown hair fell across his forehead, partially obscuring a pair of dark eyes. He was probably a physician judging from the way he methodically ran his fingers over Naeth’s battered flesh.
    As the Deir bent lower over him, his loose shirt’s neckline dipped and opened to reveal a trail of reddish bruises from his throat to his shoulder. Even in his innocence, Naeth recognized the signs of interrupted coitus.
    “I take it Ashrian is staying the night,” he heard the Herun comment.
    “He’ll have to now,” was the dry reply.
    “I’m sorry for the interruption.”
    “Nothing we can’t address later.”
    Naeth closed his eyes, the mere effort to keep them open even slightly already exhausting. He turned his head sideways, seeking a more comfortable position.
    “What in Aisen is taking you so long, Eiren?” someone complained. “The bed’s grown cold and so have I!”
    Startled, Naeth dared a quick peek. He found he was facing the door. A tousled-haired Deir stood there. He looked rather familiar. The Deir scowled when he saw Reijir.
    “Holy Saints, Rei! Haven’t you had your fill of my company that you must follow me here?” he demanded waspishly.
    It came to Naeth then. The Deir was one of the Herun’s companions from the
    skirmish at the Vomare. Naeth realized he must be the Ashrian spoken of earlier.
    “Oh, stuff it, Ash,” Eiren said as he continued to examine Naeth. “It was my skills Rei came for, not your disreputable company.”
    It was then that Ashrian