Master (Book 5) Read Online Free PDF Page B

then wringing it out in the basin. The sound of splashing water reminded Cyrus faintly of the ocean when he was on the deck of the ship. Before, on the way to the temple’s site, he had found the sound peaceful. Now it simply made him ill. “I will cleanse you, then you will lie down for a time.” She looked over at Andren. “Lef’tres grass? And honey?”
    “Ah,” Andren said, thinking it over, “Curatio keeps some of both on hand in the Halls of Healing, I believe.”
    “I need it,” Arydni said, running the wet rag over Cyrus’s matted chest hair, cleansing the residue of the salt water sick off him. He sat on the edge of his bed, the discomfort from being bathed by a woman he scarcely knew – who was married to my friend, no less – keeping him frozen in place.
    “Right then,” Andren said after a moment’s hesitation, “I suppose I’ll uh … go and get that, then.” Cyrus met the healer’s gaze and caught his reluctance. “I’ll … be back in just a sparrow’s flight, that’s all.” Andren smiled weakly. “Before you even know I’m gone.”
    “Go on, then,” Arydni said, not looking back at him. “Hurry.”
    Andren stepped sideways toward the door and then backed out of it, as though afraid to take his eyes off of the two of them. He didn’t shut the door, leaving it partially open as his footsteps faded down the corridor toward the stairs. Cyrus could hear them echoing faintly over the sound of Arydni squeezing water out of the rag and into the basin.
    “I believe he still has a little bit of a torch for you,” Cyrus said after the footsteps had faded.
    “I believe he has a burning lust,” Arydni said, looking at him sideways, “and little else in the way of feeling for me at this point.”
    Cyrus coughed. “So …”
    Arydni did not say anything for a moment, moving the rag in a rhythmic pattern up and down his chest. Cyrus could feel the rough cloth against his skin, scrubbing some of the smell off of him. “How have you been since last we met?”
    “I’ve been … busy,” Cyrus said.
    “Oh?” She did not look up. “Doing what? Tell me all your news.”
    Cyrus chewed his lower lip for a fraction of a second. “Are we really going to do this?” Her eyes met his, and he saw the knowing look within them. “This talk of small things, ignoring the large ones?”
    “For just a bit longer, yes, I think,” Arydni whispered.
    Cyrus nodded after a brief pause. “After we parted ways last time in Pharesia, I helped kill the God of Death. Then I fought in a war over the Endless Bridge in Luukessia—ever heard of it?” He waited until she nodded to proceed. “I witnessed that entire land die in the maw of a beast of my own creation—the souls of Mortus’s dead, loosed from a portal in the northern reaches of that place. Only by the sacrifice of his life was my Guildmaster, Alaric Garaunt, able to stop them.” Cyrus felt his face cast into a stiff mask, free of expression. “We never even found his body. It was lost to the sea. In the half year since then, I’ve been helping to build a new home for the Luukessian refugees in the Emerald Fields and trying to build my guild’s fortunes.”
    “These are not small things.” Arydni dabbed the cloth upon his chin. “But I had heard rumors of much of this. You have my deepest sympathies for the loss of your Guildmaster. I shall say a prayer in his name to the Life Giver this very eve.”
    “Thank you,” Cyrus said, resisting the temptation to add anything sarcastic. He sniffed the fresh smell of the water, gradually cleansing the salt from his flesh. “And you? How goes life in the land of the elves in the interval since last we met?”
    “It goes as it has for roughly an age,” Arydni said. “We are at war with the dark elves, and little is happening. Termina is free once more,” she said with a slight smile, “thanks to your efforts in bleeding the dark elves dry in the defense. The King’s army stares across the