The spell probably accounted for the man's catatonia - and no one had ordered Brodie not to interfere with it. Rendan had, in fact, told him to do “whatever it takes.” He actually had permission, if oblique, to do exactly what he wanted to do.
He smiled again, seeing the perfect revenge for everything Rendan and Master Dark had done to him within reach, for when this man came back to himself again and found he was no longer blocked. . . .
“I just can't Heal him without cracking this thing,” he said aloud to the boy, just on the chance that the child might be a spy for his master. He savored the words as he spoke them. “My goodness, I can't imagine what it could be for, but it's certainly keeping me from doing my job.”
The boy scratched his head, then caught and killed a flea crawling across his forehead. He looked at the wall beyond the Healer incuriously. Brodie smiled again. The child's no more than he seems. No one is going to interfere.
And with that, he set himself to examining the spell-net, energy-pulse by energy-pulse. And found, much sooner than he expected, the point of vulnerability.
The spell was also tied into the man's physical condition, rendering his sense of balance useless and confusing his other senses, so that sight and sound were commingled and impossible to sort out. The man would be seeing speech as well as hearing it, for instance, and hearing color as well as seeing it.
But where the spell touched on the physical, the Healer had a point where his power could affect it. And since the spell was an integrated unit, once a weakness was exploited, the rest could be disintegrated and destroyed from within.
Brodie laughed out loud, formed his power into a bright green stiletto-point, and set to work, chiseling his way into the spell.
Stef froze. Yfandes' eyes were glowing, a deep, angry red that cast a faint red light on the white skin around them. He'd never seen or heard of anything like it; it was a reflection of rage he guessed, and he wasn't sure she even recognized him. He'd seen what those hooves could do-
:Where is he?: growled a female voice, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere.
He couldn't help himself; he gasped and looked wildly around, wondering how anyone had come up on him without him noticing.
:It's me, Bard.: Yfandes stalked stiffly up to him, and shoved his shoulder with her nose, knocking him over sideways. :What happened to Van? Where is he? All I remember is being darted.:
He stared at Yfandes, stunned. She must be Mindspeaking me, but how? I don't have the Gift- “I don't know,” he said aloud. “I - I ran away -”
:I know that, boy,: she snorted, mentally and physically. :Which was exactly what Van told you to do, if you'll exercise your damned memory and stop having a crisis of conscience. And I can speak anyone I choose to, it's one of the abilities Companions try not to use if there's any way around it. Now how much time have you been wasting? Were the bastards still around, or were they gone when you came back here?:
“I - uh - they were gone,” he stammered, clambering to his feet. “But they didn't exactly try to hide their trail -”
He pointed at the trampled snow just beyond her. She swung her head around then turned back to him. :How long?: she demanded again.
“It isn't much past sunset now -” he gulped, and continued bravely, “It was late afternoon when I found you. I thought you were dead. I just sort of -”
:Tyreena's blessed ass, you went into shock, Bard, you've never seen combat, you've never lost a beloved, and you went into thrice-damned shock. You pulled yourself together, which is more than I would have given you credit for being able to do. Now, are you ready to come with me and save him?:
He nodded, unable to speak.
:Then tie off my tail-slump so I don't leave a track for the wolves to follow, and let's get on with it, shall we?: She raised her head, and her eyes continued to glow with that strange crimson light. :I can't Sense him, which probably means they had more than just the dart and he's spellblocked from me. But he's not dead. They couldn't kill him without my knowing.:
Stefen searched what little had been left behind, and found a thong tied to the handle of a broken axe. He approached her flank with trepidation, the thong held out stiffly in front of him.
