Death of a Darklord Read Online Free PDF Page B

with Elaine in his arms. He never glanced back or asked again whether Blaine needed help. Blaine had said no. It would never occur to Konrad it might not be true. Blaine levered himself up from the chair, hopping, leaning on the heavy frame. A sharp pain slapped him every time he jarred his injured leg. His arm hurt with a persistent, bone-numbing ache. A crutch with cloth wrapped around the top leaned against the wall. He grabbed it and placed it under his arm. It was his crutch, carved for his height. Monster fighting tended to be hard on a body. As Tereza said, they were all temporarily able-bodied.
    Blaine hobbled out the door. Konrad and Elaine were out of sight down the stairs. He balanced a moment in the empty hallway, letting the pain in his leg subside. It hurt to stand with the leg dangling, but it hurt much more to move. He stood, getting his breath back, preparing himself to hop down the stairs. It had been childish to refuse Konrad’s help. He would pay for it in pain. But it was his pain, his privilege not to accept help from the man who made his sister’s eyes flinch. He doubted Konrad even realized how Elaine felt. Blaine wasn’t sure if that made things worse or better. Probably neither. He balanced at the head of the stairs, one hand tight on the bannister. A deep breath, and he took the first step. The pain flared up his leg like fire. By the time he reached the bottom of the stairs, he would be nauseated, weak, and feeling almost as badly as Elaine. What price, pride? Blaine hopped another step down, gritting his teeth to keep from crying out. He’d make the same choice again. A slow, unreasonable anger had settled in his heart against one Konrad Burn.

    « ^ »
    FOUR

    A strange man sat before the kitchen fire. His hair was white as snow, his face dominated by a yellowish beard and a beaklike nose. He smiled at Elaine, gray eyes gentle.
    Elaine sat in a chair on the other side of the fire. Mala had put another cup of tea in her hands. The cook was a great believer in the restorative powers of tea.
    The man was also sipping tea. A plate of cookies balanced on his knees. It was the treatment any guest would receive, except that most guests would have been seen in the parlor.
    Jonathan stood in the middle of the floor, arms crossed, frowning, staring at the stranger. He stood like a guard. Apparently, the kitchen was good enough for this particular guest.
    Tereza sat at the table with Konrad and Blaine. They were the audience. Whether they were here to see a real live mage or to witness what Jonathan would do in the presence of one was unclear. It was certainly going to be entertaining either way.
    ”I am Gersalius, a wizard. I am told you have some magic of your own, Elaine.”
    She glanced at Jonathan’s scowling face. ”I don’t think of it as magic.”
    The mage settled back in the chair, one hand steadying the plate of cookies.
    ”Then what do you call it?”
    She shrugged. ”Just visions.”
    ”Tell me about these . . . visions,” Gersalius said. Elaine sipped the hot tea, not sure what to say. ”Do you want me to describe them?”
    ”If you like.”
    She narrowed her eyes, trying not to frown. Jonathan was doing enough of that for everyone. But the mage was being . . . frustrating. ”What do you want of me?”
    ”To help you.”
    ”How?”
    ”For someone who has magical abilities, you are very suspicious.”
    Elaine looked down. ”I don’t know what you want me to say.” ”Enough of these word games,”
    Jonathan said. ”Can you help her or not?” He stood over them like a tall, disapproving cloud.
    ”Mr. Ambrose, if Elaine had fallen ill and you had called in a doctor, would you be telling him how to do his job?”
    ”So far, you have done nothing.”
    Gersalius sighed. ”The girl has magic powers. She sparkles to the eye that can see it.”

    ”She has visions; that is all.”
    Gersalius stood, tea and cookies in hand. ”If you insist on arguing with me at every point, I