Master (Book 5) Read Online Free PDF Page A

Vara, still expressionless, watching him as he faded away.

Chapter 3
    Cyrus reappeared in the foyer of Sanctuary, the stone walls fading into view around him. The smell of the wide hearth burning across the room filled his nose. Light streamed in from the circular, stained-glass window above the mighty doors, which were open, sunlight flooding the room.
    “Davidon?” The voice that greeted him was an old, dry one, filled with sound of age. Cyrus turned his head to see Belkan Stillhet standing just a few feet away, sword in hand. Martaina Proelius was at his side, her brown hair colored by the flecks of light from the stained glass window’s shine. “What the blazes are you doing?” Belkan’s eyebrow twitched. “And where’s your armor?”
    “Left it on the boat,” Cyrus said with a watery cough. “I’m sure someone will bring it back to me when they’re done.”
    “I’m beginning to see how you’ve gone through three swords in four years,” the old armorer said, his leather armor creaking as he turned to look at the force of guards huddled around him. A hundred of them stood in a rough circle, spears pointed at the center—at him and Andren, splayed upon the great seal carved into the middle of the foyer.
    Andren slipped an arm around his chest and helped Cyrus to his feet. “How goes the defense of Sanctuary, Belkan?” Cyrus asked, sniffling. He could feel water run down his nose and onto his lip as he got to his feet.
    “Better than it looks like your expedition treated you,” Belkan replied.
    Martaina Proelius stared at Cyrus with undisguised disgust. “You smell like you draped yourself in seaweed and sunned yourself in a desert for a week.” She sniffed. “And then vomited all over the place.”
    Cyrus gave it a pause before nodding. “Sounds about right.”
    There was a sound as loud as a thunderclap from the entry to the Great Hall, and Cyrus turned to see Larana Stillhet standing in the door, staring at him, a pot of stew fallen to her feet. Liquid spilled out, darkening the stone as it spread in a puddle. Her hands were over her mouth as she stared at Cyrus then turned and ran back into the Great Hall, disappearing behind the wall.
    Cyrus looked down at himself. “I look that bad, huh?”
    “I’ve seen more lively-looking corpses,” Belkan opined.
    “Which is no great coincidence, since I was one of those only a few minutes ago,” Cyrus said. “Absent the liveliness.”
    “He needs rest,” Andren said, and his voice took on an aura of urgency. “He’s at a high risk of developing a great malady of the chest.”
    “I believe Curatio called it lung sickness,” Cyrus said, bringing up a wad of something with a racking cough. “Pneumonia, I think it is?”
    Andren shot him a look of irritation. “Whether you know its name or not, it will kill you all the same. You need to be taken to bed, immediately, and we should get one of those ‘natural’ healers in here, the ones that practice without magic, only herbs and such.”
    Belkan exchanged a look with Martaina, whose tanned face wore a look of greatest amusement. “By oddest coincidence,” Belkan said, bringing his lined face back around to look at Cyrus, “one of those has already showed up, looking for you.”
    “For me?” Cyrus asked, a little dumbstruck. The taste of salt was still strong on his tongue, mingling with the bile.
    “Indeed,” Belkan said.
    “Why would a natural healer be looking for me?” Cyrus asked, taking up a little of his own weight.
    “Because I so missed the sight of you shirtless before me that I could not wait another minute to come rushing to your side,” came an amused voice from the stairs. Cyrus turned to see a woman standing there, dark hair falling around her shoulders, which were bare, as they had been when last he had seen her. The rest of her upper body was fairly covered, which was not how it had been when last his eyes had graced her.
    “Arydni, High Priestess of Vidara,” Cyrus