Storm Warning

'And I bloody well don't know who it is,' she agreed. 'So I want you and the rest of the foreigners out of here and into the Herald's Wing. Or better yet, I'll move you in with An'desha and Firesong, if they'll take you. Firesong got at least five of those things all by himself.'

He looked up at her as she stood, and he felt his lower lip starting to quiver, his eyes starting to burn. 'What about—' he began.

'Ulrich's in the best of hands, Karal,' Talia said gently. 'It's too soon to tell—but he is an old man, and we both know that he's been overworking, putting himself under a lot of strain.'

He nodded and looked quickly down at his hands, before Kerowyn could see the tears starting to form in his eyes again.

Kerowyn left, but Talia stayed, so that when he began to sob again, this time quietly, she was there to hold him.

Talia stayed with him for the rest of the day—later in the afternoon Kerowyn returned with her hand-picked crew of tough-looking mercenaries from her own Company, packed up everything in the suite, and carried it out—off to Firesong and An'desha's ekele, she said. Karal stifled his tears when they came in; he just didn't want to cry in front of these hardened soldiers. They'd think he was being childish; surely they'd look on him with contempt.

But one of the toughest-looking turned in the middle of the packing when Karal saw them carrying out some things of Ulrich's and choked back a sob. The man put down the robes he had draped over his arm and dropped down onto his heels in front of Karal's chair.

'Don' be 'shamed t'be a-grievin', boy,' the man said, patting his hand awkwardly, his speech slow and so thickly accented that Karal barely understood him. 'This kind'o thing don' get any nor easier e'en for the likes o' we. Gie yer tears t' a man who deserves 'em, an' take ye no shame i' the weepin', aye? Sure, an' we won' think th' less o'ye.'

He stood up, as soon as Karal nodded numbly, and picked up his burden again. Karal just let the tears flow, then, and ignored all the comings and goings until the sun set, and the now-empty room filled with darkness.

'Do you want to go to the Healers' Collegium to wait, Karal?' Talia asked gently. 'Or would you rather wait here?'

There was nothing for him here; the rooms held not even the scent of incense from Ulrich's robes—not that he could smell much after all the raw-nosed sniffling. 'I'd like to go to Healers', I think,' he said thickly. 'If I won't be in the way.'

'Of course you won't be,' Talia replied warmly. She offered him her hand. 'Come on, I'll take you there.'

Somewhere he lost track of the walk, or else it was all swallowed up in misery. The next thing he knew, he was sitting down again, in another room, this one full of well-worn, ancient benches. The whole place had a sad air of waiting about it, interminable waiting. Talia was walking toward him as he looked up, suddenly aware of his surroundings again; she must have left him here without his noticing.

'There's no change, Karal,' she said, and bit her lip. 'I won't lie to you; you'd know it if I did. That's not a good sign. He hasn't even regained consciousness.'

He nodded; she rested her hand on his shoulder.

'I'll stay with you if you want me to,' she offered, and he knew that she meant it.

Just as he knew that she had much more important things to deal with than one boy's pain. Thanks to Florian, he knew what she was now, and how important she was. He knew that eventually he would be touched and grateful that she had given him so much of her time today, but right now, there was room for nothing but grief.

'You have to go,' he told her. 'I—I understand. I'll manage.'

She searched his eyes for a moment. 'You do understand, don't you?' she asked, wonder coloring her voice. 'Thank you for that, Karal. If you can't bear it, send for me.'

He nodded, and she walked off quickly, but with a slight limp. He watched her go, then turned his thoughts inward.

He prayed, even though he wasn't quite certain what to pray for. It would be no kindness to Ulrich to force him to live, if living meant he was trapped in a helpless body that held nothing but pain. Those blades were long— long enough to have pierced through the chest and damaged the spine. Perhaps that was why Ulrich had not awakened....

He tried to remember what Ulrich had taught him—that Vkandis was neither some cosmic accountant, who weighed and measured a man before deciding if he lived or died, nor was He a grand torturer, inflicting punishment