"I thought so," the valet kept muttering. "I wanted to do that, but the physicians said he should lie flat. I knew better. I am sorry, my lady. I-I mean, your Majesty."

"Yes," Elandra said, holding her father's hand and seeming to barely hear the man's excuses. "What else?" she asked Caelan, then glanced at the valet with a frown of suspicion. "Has he eaten? Has he had any water?"

"No, Majesty. They said-"

"Never mind what they said," she broke in sharply. "Bring broth, just a little. And cool drinking water flavored with the juice of lemons."

"Yes, Majesty."

She glanced at Caelan, who knew he could hesitate no longer. Carefully he unlaced Albain's sleeping shirt and gently probed along the man's ribs. They were spongy, and dark bruising discolored his sides. He groaned and coughed up blood, which Elandra wiped away.

"At least five broken ribs, maybe a cracked hipbone," Caelan said at last. He frowned to himself, trying to remember his old lessons. "One of the ribs has punctured his lung. That is why he coughs blood. There is more damage, but I have not the knowledge to tell you what it is." He met her eyes and told her the truth. "He bleeds inside."

"Can anything be done?"

"Yes, if we had a proper healer. My father could have mended him easily. Agel could do it." Caelan heard the futility of his own words and shook his head. "But we have no one of that-"

"We have you."

He sighed. "Elandra, I am not a healer."

"Your father taught you something. I know he did."

Caelan held out his hands. "I could not learn the healing arts. Yes, I learned severance, severance, which I have explained to you, but I-" which I have explained to you, but I-"

"I know," she said eagerly. "That is why I am so certain you can do it. You must believe in yourself. You must reach deep and find the knowledge that you have. There is a way. There must be a way. I don't know why I feel so sure, but I do. You can do this, if you will but try."

He turned away from her, unwilling to face the pleading in her eyes. Elandra had never begged before, but she was begging him now. The worst thing, however, was that she was right.

He did not want to admit it.

He did not want to pay the price.

"Am I wrong?" she asked, her voice suddenly sounding dull. "Am I mistaken?"

He sighed. "We must all lose our parents at some time. It is part of life."

"Is this his time?" she asked fiercely. "Is it? Or has the darkness reached out to strike him down? When I lived here, the palace was not riddled with shadows and forbidden magic the way it is now. I can feel it crawling everywhere, seeking prey, ready to strike anyone who is unwary. The jinjas jinjas are supposed to sense it, keep it away, but they are clearly failing against what has come here. Everything is breaking down, Caelan. The closer we go to Imperia, the more I think we will find much evil turned loose on our world. The darkness is overtaking us, one by one." are supposed to sense it, keep it away, but they are clearly failing against what has come here. Everything is breaking down, Caelan. The closer we go to Imperia, the more I think we will find much evil turned loose on our world. The darkness is overtaking us, one by one."

"All right," Caelan said, breathing deep against his own fear. She did not know what she asked of him. She did not know what this would cost.

"We need him," Elandra said pa.s.sionately. "Not because he's my father. But because he is a fighter, like you. To his very blood and bone, he is a warrior. His joy is combat. His skills and his goodness come in battle. And he is true to the core. We need men like that to help us. Otherwise, we are lost. And the empire is lost. Everything and everyone we know will be taken."

"I know," Caelan said. For a moment Elandra's voice seemed to blur and become Lea's. He remembered saying that Lea was his conscience. Now it seemed Elandra was too. He was ashamed of his own fear, of his own instinct to save himself at the expense of others.

He gazed down at Albain's pain-wracked face, and felt a wave of compa.s.sion.

Reaching out, he took the man's slack hand from Elandra. It was callused like his, from long hours of wielding a sword. It was big-knuckled and freckled on the back, hairy and weather-chapped. He felt a touch of involuntary sevaisin sevaisin that brought him the man's agony and the squeeze of a lung that would not fill, the heaviness of blood that was drowning him bit by bit. that brought him the man's agony and the squeeze of a lung that would not fill, the heaviness of blood that was drowning him bit by bit.

Caelan gasped and flinched.

Elandra touched his shoulder. "Caelan-"

"Step back," he said grimly, pushing sevaisin sevaisin away long enough to catch his breath. "You must leave us." away long enough to catch his breath. "You must leave us."

"But you might need my help."

He glared at her, fearing that if she protested too much he would lose his nerve and run from here.

She seemed to read his thoughts. Her own face drained of color. "Am I asking too much?" she whispered.

He dared not answer her. "Just go."

Consternation filled her face, but she stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. "I love you," she said and walked away.

"Let no one enter," Caelan called after her. "No matter what you hear, let no one in until I come out."

She cast him one last look over her shoulder, looking afraid, and nodded before she shut the door.

Caelan drew in a deep breath, trying to find his courage while the man beside him sank closer to death with every struggling breath.

There was a way to heal Albain. There was a way to summon the skills that Caelan himself did not possess. But it meant opening himself to that which he most dreaded. It meant becoming that which his father had always wanted him to be.

Had he been alone, Caelan would have put off the moment of decision, but Albain groaned and coughed. There was death in the sound. Caelan could feel his life force seeping away as he held the man's hand.

Bowing his head, Caelan sought sevaisin, sevaisin, and flowed into Albain's agony until it was his own. In turn, he shared his strength with the old man; then he and flowed into Albain's agony until it was his own. In turn, he shared his strength with the old man; then he severed severed the pain, sending it far away. the pain, sending it far away.

It seemed, in his vision, that he stood in a grove of short oak trees, the stunted kind that survived without enough water, unable to grow tall, unwilling to die off. Such groves were common in Im-peria, but Caelan did not believe he was near the city.

Instead, it seemed to be a different kind of place altogether. The wind blew softly, a cold dry wind, and around Caelan there was only silence. He held Albain in his arms, and the old man's body was heavy, slack, and unbalanced-the most awkward kind of burden to carry.

For now, he had done all he could. Albain could not die while he was here, but neither could he go forth and live. They could stay here for eternity, trapped together.

Caelan gazed around him, but there was only emptiness among the trees as they rattled and lost leaves in the wind.

"Beva E'non!" he called, feeling himself choke as he spoke the name. "Beva E'non, I call you! I alone have the right to summon you. Come forth!"

For a long moment nothing happened. Caelan had always been too impatient, and now he tried to make himself still and calm. He must wait, no matter how little he wanted to.

Then a face appeared among the trees, distant from Caelan, lacking any form to go with it. The face was blurred. It wavered, faded away, then returned and became more distinct.

It was Beva's face, stern and unloving. The cold gray eyes gradually grew more animated, more alive, more aware. They focused on Caelan, and recognition filled them.

"My son," Beva's voice said.

I am not your son! Caelan wanted to shout. Instead, he forced back the quarrelsome words. Caelan wanted to shout. Instead, he forced back the quarrelsome words.

"Father," he said.

"You have come, seeking knowledge."

"I have come, to save a life."

"I do not live," Beva said, wavering for a moment. "I do not heal."

"Give me the knowledge," Caelan asked.

Beva stared at him a long, long while. "My knowledge was offered to you when I lived. You refused it."

"I know."

"I gave you many chances, my son. You were my only son, my one hope of living on, of seeing my skills continue. You refused me."

"Yes."

"I am spirit now. I am severed." severed."

"I-I need you." Caelan had to struggle over a lump in his throat to say the words. Since the Choven had told him the truth, he had felt nothing for Beva. Now he had to beg, and it came hard. "I need the knowledge to save this man."

"You refused all knowledge. You were disrobed. You would not be taught."

"Not by the masters of Rieschelhold, no," Caelan said through his teeth.

"Not by me. You refused the purging after the wind spirits mauled you. Would you refuse it again?"

Caelan sank to his knees, unable to hold Albain any longer. The man was growing so heavy. Caelan's arms were trembling from fatigue, or perhaps from fear.

His mouth was too dry. He had to swallow twice before he could answer Beva's question. "I-I will not refuse."

To be purged was to have his mind ripped from him, sifted through by a master healer such as Beva, and replaced. Many who were purged never regained their sanity. Those who survived were forever changed. They became slower of wit, duller of spirit. Beva's intention to purge his own son had been the final straw that drove Caelan to run away from home. He had never forgiven his father for wanting to do such a thing to him, and now Beva's spirit still clung to that same horrifying goal.

"Come closer, Caelan," Beva's spirit said to him.

Caelan tried, but he could not lift Albain from the ground. The old man lay ashen and limp in his arms.

"I can't come to you," Caelan said. "You must come to me."

Beva's face wavered and vanished, only to reappear much closer. Caelan found himself breathing too hard and fast. He could barely maintain severance, severance, yet he knew without control he would be lost. yet he knew without control he would be lost.

"Help this man," Caelan said desperately. "Give me the knowledge to heal him."

"What did I tell you once about severance severance?" Beva asked.

Caelan struggled to think. His wits wanted to flee like rats from water. "You said it is the taking away. You take away disease or injury. You bring the void, and wellness fills it."

"Yes. You remembered well."

"How do I bring wellness to this man?" Caelan asked. He prayed that Beva's spirit would become interested in Albain's injuries, that the old compa.s.sion would take over. Healing others was like an addiction for him. Never had he refused to help anyone. Even if he ultimately lost a patient, it was not for lack of trying.

"Look at this man, Father. Tell me what to do."

"Will you take the purging, my son?"

Caelan sighed. "I said that I would."

"Will you take it now?"

"No. The man must be healed first."

"If you will be purged, I will give you the knowledge you request."

It seemed they had made the bargain twice already, but Caelan nodded again. "Yes. I agree to your terms. We heal this man, and then I am yours."

Beva came even closer until his disembodied face hovered right over Caelan. "I must enter you. You will take my spirit. You will accept me. You will become me."

"Sevaisin," Caelan whispered, dry-mouthed. Caelan whispered, dry-mouthed.

"The way it was intended, not the idle sharing you have done."

Caelan felt the sting of Beva's criticism and sighed. Even his father's spirit had to lecture him about something.

"From birth you were difficult," Beva continued. "You always had to do things your way. I could show you nothing. You resisted training, resisted the ways of harmony. You were too much their their creation, and not enough mine. They gave me my son, but you looked like me, nothing more. You were not me. You had not my abilities. You had not my qualities. You had none of my dreams, none of my direction. You were useless to me! creation, and not enough mine. They gave me my son, but you looked like me, nothing more. You were not me. You had not my abilities. You had not my qualities. You had none of my dreams, none of my direction. You were useless to me!

"I wanted a second child, a second son. But they tricked me again with Lea. What use was a daughter? She could not follow in my footsteps. Your mother never knew the truth, but it ate at me. It was a canker in me, which was rubbed raw every time you disobeyed me. I wanted to leave you in the woods to die, to be taken back to them, them, but I couldn't do it. I wanted you so much. You were my son, my straight-shouldered, beautiful son. I had so much hope for you. Why did you not feel anything for me?" but I couldn't do it. I wanted you so much. You were my son, my straight-shouldered, beautiful son. I had so much hope for you. Why did you not feel anything for me?"

Caelan stared at Beva, feeling the spirit's anguish. His own torment rose in him. For the last time, he tried to make Beva understand. "If you had just let me be myself," he said softly, feeling his eyes sting. "I loved you, Father. I wanted to please you, but I couldn't be something I wasn't."

"But now you have come to me. You have changed," Beva said with satisfaction, as though he had won. "You will be what I want. You will become me, and I shall live on to continue my work."

Caelan bowed his head. That was the price. It had always been the price, even when he had not understood what truly lay beneath their animosity. Now he would pay it. Beva was finally going to win.

Caelan's arms slackened around Albain, and he closed his eyes. He felt a coldness upon his face, like a clammy mist. The coldness filled his body, making him shiver. He fought it a moment, not wanting this, fearing he would never be able to come back, and yet he had promised. It was for Albain. It was for Elandra. He forced away his fear, and let the presence enter, joining with him.

He shuddered once and felt cold and hollow inside. Opening his eyes, he found himself looking down at Albain as though from very far away. His mind grew very clear and detached. He recognized Albain, but the man's ident.i.ty did not matter.

The injuries needed immediate attention. There was much blood pooled around the internal organs.

His hands reached down and down and down until at last they touched Albain. He let the healing pa.s.s through him, restoring the balance and harmony of the body's natural functions. The crushed bones mended. The damaged organs grew stronger. The bruising faded. The blood seeped forth from the tissues.

All the pain and damage left Albain and entered him. His body jerked back in agony, absorbing it, becoming it, conquering it. Then all became still and calm.

Caelan drew breath after a moment, daring to risk the return of that terrible pain. But the pain was gone, already fading as though it had never been. He looked down for Albain, but the man had vanished, and Caelan felt no more contact with him.

Instead, he felt his father entwined around and through him. Rebellion returned, and he wanted to fling his father's presence away. But Beva clung tightly.

"You promised," he whispered through Caelan's mind.

Caelan remembered what honor meant, and he forced his rebellion away. Shivering, he opened himself and let his father take over.