“About that leg—”

“I know. I’m worried, too,” Gerontos said. “Paraberiel suggested I go talk with his master in the craft,”

“I’ll go with you. You’d best take that walking stick.”

Gerontos turned on him, his face bright with rage, but he caught himself. For a moment he stared at the ground.

“True spoken,” he said at last. “Hand it to me, will you?” Rhodorix gave him the stick, then picked up the basket with the two crystals. While he himself could understand much of what the people said, Gerontos still knew only a few words.

They walked slowly down the long corridors leading to the herbroom, where the door stood partway open. Rhodorix could hear talk inside. When he peered around the open door, he saw Hwilli, her master, and the Mountain woman Vela. They were discussing building something they had in mind—as if any of us can build anything, he thought, as if any of us will live that long! “Hola?” he called out. “Hwilli, may we come in?”

“Of course.” It was Jantalaber who answered him. “Have you brought us your brother?”

“I have. Come on, Gerro.”

Jantalaber helped Gerontos hoist himself up onto a marble-topped table then knelt in front of him. He ran his hands along the withered leg, shook his head, tapped it here and there with a thoughtful forefinger, and finally prodded the muscles along the calf. He stood up with another shake of his head.

“This doesn’t look good,” the healer said into the white crystal. “I’m sorry, lad, but the bone was smashed, not broken cleanly. The muscles aren’t adhering properly, and the long bone has healed just ever so slightly off center.”

“I see.” Gerontos said emotionlessly. “Well, my thanks, anyway, for everything you’ve done for me.” He glanced Rhodorix’s way. “Will you help me get back to our chamber?”

“Of course.” Rhodorix made his voice as cheerful as he could manage. “Looks like you’re marked for an archer now.”

Gerontos shrugged. From his mask of an expression, it was impossible to tell what he might be thinking.

“Hwilli?” Jantalaber said. “You may go back with them, if you’d like. You should tell your man your good news.”

“What’s this?” Rhodorix turned to her, but her smile told him before she could speak. “You’re with child?”

“Yes, I am.” She was holding her head high, on the edge of defiance even in her happiness. “Are you glad of it?”

“Very glad!” Rhodorix held out his hand to her.

She took it and smiled at him sideways, abruptly shy. He gave her a chaste kiss on the forehead in deference to the presence of her master. A man needs to know that something of him will live after him, Rhodorix thought, but that’s a bit gloomy to be telling her.