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long?"
Rhys chuckled mirthlessly. "Am I that transparent? No, I'm not worried about Evaine
or about myself or Joram."
"But you're worried about me."
"Not exactly that, either. It's the whole procedure, and the delicate coordination required
of all four of us. Singularly, we've all done more difficult things before. God knows, some of
the healings I've worked have been . . . awesome. But somehow, this is different. And
you're not as strong as you should be. I wish we could have done this sooner."
"Well, there's no help for that," Camber murmured. "But come. I haven't looked at that
scroll in months. Refresh my memory, in as much detail as you can. We'll both be far less
anxious if we occupy our minds while we wait."
With a little sigh of resignation, Rhys reached his nearer hand across the space between
his chair and Camber's, laying his fingers on the other's bare wrist. Camber closed his eyes
and took a deep breath, let it out slowly. He could hear Rhys's shallow breathing at his
side.
As they had done so many times before, they forged the master link between them a
deep, peaceful stillness rippled only faintly by the disorder locked away in a corner of
Camber's mind. The bond was maintained for some little while, as Rhys opened the
channels of memory and let his information flow into the consciousness of his friend and
mentor. When it was done, and the two had blinked back to the present, Rhys looked a
little sheepish. Camber tried a reassuring smile, but it did not quite succeed.
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"That was fine," he said, patting Rhys's hand before rising to move restlessly to the
fireplace. "It's always good to confirm that at least one's own memories aren't slipping."
"And his memories?"
Camber rested his hands on the mantel ridge and laid his forehead against the cool stone
between them. "Is it that obvious?"
"Yes."
"I'm sorry."
"There's no need to be. Your head hurts again, doesn't it?"
"A little. No, a lot. How long before Evaine and Joram... ?"
"Soon. Is there anything I can do to ease "
A slight knock sounded on the heavy outer door, and both men froze and glanced at each
other. The knock was repeated. Instantly, Camber sat down and pulled a blanket over his
lap, laying his head against the back of the chair and closing his eyes. Rhys, when he was
certain that Camber was settled convincingly, crossed to the door.
"Who's there?"
"Father Joram," came the reply. "On official business."
Rhys shot the bolt and yanked the door open. Joram stood directly before the opening,
his cowl pulled close about his golden head and shrouding his face in shadow. At his elbow
and a pace behind stood what appeared to be another, younger monk, cowled head bowed
and hands tucked piously inside the voluminous sleeves of a Michaeline habit. Had Rhys
not known better, he would never have guessed that the monk was, in fact, his wife.
He looked at Joram, very much aware, since Camber had pointed it out, that Dualta was
on guard at the end of the corridor. As much for his own mind's calming as to set the stage
for Dualta's belief, he spoke a little louder than was necessary, and with a little more
formality than he might otherwise have used.
"Father Joram, I wasn't expecting you. The vicar general is resting."
Joram did not even blink. "I hope we won't disturb him too much, Rhys. The father
general asked to see this monk. It's a minor matter of discipline, which should not tax him
unduly."
Rhys glanced inside, as though confirming that the vicar general was, indeed, expecting
the visitors, then stood aside to let them pass. As he closed the door, he saw that Dualta
had turned his back and resumed a normal guard stance. That detail, at least, seemed to be
taken care of.
But there decorum ended. No sooner had Rhys slipped the bolt back in place than he was
treated to the sight of his wife, cowl slipping back from tightly bound hair, dashing to
embrace a white-faced man who nearly staggered with the exuberance of her greeting.
Husband and brother watched indulgently for several seconds and then, as if by mutual [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]