I watched him carefully as I spoke; he was still hunched, half sitting, against the far wall, hugging the blanket around him.

“It wasn’t until much later that Bryn came to a little stream and, remembering the cup, took it out to get himself a drink. But strangely, when he drew the goblet from his cloak, it was already full with clear water. He set it on the ground, wondering much, and before he could stop it, his horse bent down its neck and took a long drink. Stranger still, no matter how deep the beast drank, the cup of Isha remained full to the brim. There seemed to be no ill effect on the horse; still, Bryn himself did not use the cup, but dipped his hands into the stream and quenched his thirst that way. For, he reasoned, a dumb animal must be pure of heart, for it knows no different, but plainly this cup is deeply enchanted and must be meant for the greatest man on earth, and I am but a lowly traveler. How could I be worthy enough to drink from such a magical vessel?”

The boy moved one hand; his fingers made a weak semblance of the sign used to ward off evil. I’d seen it sometimes, when travelers passed through, but never before directed at myself.

“I’m no sorceress,” I said. “I’m a healer; and I’m here to help you get better. That might be hard for you to believe, but it’s the truth. I don’t lie. There’s no reason to be afraid of me, or of Father Brien. We mean you no harm.”

The boy coughed, and tried to moisten his lips with a parched tongue.

“Playing games,” he managed, and the bitterness of his slurred speech was shocking. “Cat and mouse. Why not just finish me off?”

He had to force the words out, and I could hardly understand him. Still, the fact that he spoke at all was something.

“Does it take so long to learn I won’t talk? Just finish it, damn you.”

This seemed to exhaust him, and he lay back on the bed, staring up at nothing, the blanket still clutched around him. I chose my words carefully.

“It’s men that play games,” I said, “and men that did this to you. But I’m not asking you to tell any secrets, or do anything but get well. This is no cup of Isha; drink from it and you get only what your body needs. Anyway, it was one of my brothers that rescued you, and I helped him. Why would I want to harm you, after that?”

He turned his head slightly then, and his look was dismissive.

“One of your brothers,” he said. “How many of them do you have?”

“Six.”

“Six,” he echoed scornfully. “Six killers. Six demons from hell. But how could you understand? You’re a girl.”

His tone held both venom and fear. I wondered how Father Brien had managed thus far; perhaps the herbs had kept the boy cooperative and docile, so that what he needed could be done without dispute.