Magda nodded and hurried to follow after him.

For the first time since Baraccus died, Magda didn’t feel totally alone. She had someone who believed her, who took her seriously, someone who was going to help her.

Chapter 55

On the stone bridge that spanned the vast chasm before the Keep, two women crossing, near the short stone wall on the opposite side, spotted Merritt and momentarily froze in their tracks. Both were in long gray dresses and both had short hair. One was a couple of years older than Magda, while the other appeared old enough to be the first woman’s mother. Magda saw blood on the younger woman’s dress. Both threaded their way through the throngs coming and going from the Keep to intercept Merritt.

“Mary, what’s the matter,” Merritt asked the younger of the two as she grabbed one of his hands. The older woman stood behind, expectantly wringing her own hands.

The younger woman’s face was tearstained and she was in obvious distress. “It’s James—he’s been hurt. Hurt bad.”

“Hurt?” Merritt asked, clearly alarmed. “How? What happened? How badly is he hurt?”

“He was working on an assignment from the council to make a sword of some sort.” She had to pause to choke back a sob. “James never talked much about the work he does, so I don’t know a great deal about it. But earlier this afternoon there was some kind of an accident down in the lower regions. Three of the men with him were killed outright by a massive explosion. Two others standing farther back were hurt but not seriously. James is in a bad way, though. He was closer and breathed in the inferno. They say it burned his lungs. He can’t breathe. He’s hurt bad, Merritt.”

As she fell against him, sobbing, she clutched his black shirt in both fists. “What will I do if he dies, Merritt? What will I do?”

“It had something to do with magic gone wrong,” the older woman added when the first succumbed to her tears, hoping that somehow the information might help him.

Merritt cast Magda a look as he circled an arm around Mary’s shoulders. His big hand gently held the woman’s head to his chest as she wept.

Magda knew what the look meant. Yet more men had just died and others had been hurt in a futile attempt to make the key to the boxes of Orden.

“Are they healing him?” Merritt asked. “Are there gifted working to heal him?”

“No. He wouldn’t let them,” Mary sobbed, barely getting the words out.

“What? Why not?”

The older woman placed a hand on his forearm. “James is asking for you, Merritt.”

“But why? Why won’t he let the gifted help him?”