'I'm not sure. How many are there?'
'There's the main entrance off the Lion Road, but they'll be closing that soon. Then there's the Administrative Centre, the Museum, and the Knights' Barracks.'
'I have a friend who was wrongly arrested today.'
The driver tensed. Banouin could feel the rising fear in him. 'You'll want the Prison Building,' he said.
The trap moved on, cutting left through the Remembrance Garden, and under the Arch of Triumph, moving further into the centre of the city. There were not so many people here, and fewer lanterns lit.
Banouin's headache was returning, and he felt a little sick. He considered seeking a vision. He had not used this talent since the dreadful day back in Accia, when he saw the Knights of Stone coming for Appius and his daughter, and knew what they would do. Sweat broke out on his brow, and his stomach tightened. Those without the power would never understand the panic that had swept over him. To sit with living people who were already dead, to watch them smile and laugh, and know that tomorrow they would scream in agony, their lives torn from them. To be filled with power – and yet powerless. Banouin had been consumed by the desire to run, to leave, to put the vision behind him. He had wanted to save himself and his friend.
But Bane was a Rigante, and even the knowledge of certain death could not prevent him from trying to save Appius and Lia. How Banouin envied such courage.
There is the entrance,' said the driver, drawing the pony to a halt some way from the gates. Banouin paid him and stepped down. The driver swung the trap and moved away swiftly.
Banouin walked towards the building. Like all great structures in Stone it was dressed in white marble and decorated with statues. The huge bronze latticed gates were open, and two Knights carrying iron-tipped spears stood guard outside them. Their cloaks were white, indicating they were Guardsmen, the elite who protected Nalademus.
The young Rigante approached the first of the guards. 'I am seeking someone in authority,' he said.
'You wish to name traitors?' asked the man.
'No, sir. My tutor was arrested today, and I wish to speak on his behalf.'
'If he was arrested, then he's a traitor,' said the Knight. 'You wish to speak in defence of a traitor?'
'He is not a traitor, sir. He was falsely accused.'
'Oh, is that right?' said the Knight, with a sneer. 'Well, then. Wait here.' He walked back inside the gates and clanged his spear point against a bronze bell hanging outside the guardhouse. A middle-aged servant emerged from the building, spoke to the guard, then ran towards the main building. Banouin waited patiently. After some time two more Knights appeared, grim-faced men with emotionless eyes.
The first guard approached Banouin. 'These men will take you to where you can make your complaint,' he said.
'Thank you, sir.'
Banouin followed the two Knights along a path of white gravel, and through a tree garden to a side door leading to a narrow corridor. Their footsteps echoed inside the building. They climbed stairs, turning first left, then right, and soon Banouin felt lost within the maze of corridors and rooms. At last they halted before double doors, which the soldiers opened. Beyond the doors was a large room, with high, arched windows. The walls were unadorned, but a beautiful mosaic pattern had been laid upon the floor, a series of interconnected lines of shimmering gold on a field of white. In the centre of the room was a semicircular table, behind which sat a priest. His head was shaved, his beard dyed blood red. He glanced up as the Knights entered, then sat back in his chair, idly fingering the pale grey pendant that hung from his neck.
'You are here to defend a traitor, I understand?' he said, his voice sibilant.
Banouin stood very still, and opened the pathway to his Talent. He could feel the emotions of the Knights on either side of him. Both were enjoying this scene, and waiting for the moment when they would drag him screaming to the cells. Reaching out he touched the mind of the Crimson Priest, and recoiled. His thoughts were of torture and vileness. Banouin was about to speak when he felt the presence of a fourth, unseen man. He focused the Talent. The man was observing the proceedings from behind a velvet curtain. Banouin sensed a cold, calculating mind, and a powerful, magnetic personality. The observer was also in pain, and struggling to deal with it.
'Well, do you have a tongue?' asked the priest at the table.
'I do, sir, but I have to say that I am confused. My understanding was that, following arrest, a suspected man would then face a hearing to decide his guilt or innocence. Yet you, not knowing which arrested man I have come to speak for, have already decided his guilt. How is this so?'
The priest's pale face reddened. 'You dare to question me? Give me your name!'
'I am Banouin the Healer, student to Sencra, who teaches history at the university.'
'I do not like your attitude, Banouin. It lacks respect. To disrespect a priest of Stone is to disrespect Stone itself. That alone is treachery. As to your foul master… His hearing was held two hours ago. He was found guilty and will face the consequences.'
The velvet curtain flickered at the far end of the room, and a huge man, carrying a golden staff and wearing a voluminous red robe moved into sight. The Crimson Priest stood and bowed. Both the guards dipped their heads. Banouin also bowed, but then looked up into the man's swollen face. It was impossibly large, and white hair framed it like a lion's mane. The man moved with great difficulty, pain etched on his features. The Crimson Priest moved away from the chair, and the figure in the red robe eased his enormous weight down upon it.
'You call yourself a healer,' said the newcomer, his voice rumbling like distant thunder. 'What do you heal?'
'I can ease all pains, lord,' Banouin told him, 'and cure many ailments.'
'All pains?'
'Yes, lord.'
'How old are you?'
'Twenty-one, lord.'
'Twenty-one,' repeated the man. 'Where did you learn these wondrous skills? At the university?'
'No, lord. I was born among the Rigante tribe. My mother is a healer, and she taught me the mysteries of herbal lore. And also the gift of diagnosis.'
The huge man winced as he leaned forward, resting his massive forearms on the table. 'And how would you diagnose my condition, Banouin the Healer?'
'You are suffering from anasarca, lord. Your body is swollen with water – a sign that either your heart, liver or kidneys are not functioning as they should. Do you sleep upright now?'
'Yes. I choke if I lie down.'
'Then your heart is weak, lord.'
'Can your… herbs make it stronger?'
'I can heal you within ten days,' said Banouin.
'Ten days? So confident?'
'Yes, lord.'
'What if I were to tell you that, should you fail, I will have your eyes pierced by hot irons, your tongue ripped from your mouth, and your limbs sawn away? Would you still be so confident?'
The words were spoken with chilling relish, and Banouin gazed into the man's cold eyes. 'You have an illness, lord. I can cure it,' he said softly. 'I do not lie. As, indeed, I do not lie when I say that my tutor, Sencra, is no Cultist. Whoever named him as such is the liar. He has spoken to me often about what he regards as the stupidity of the Cultists. And of his admiration for the work you are doing, lord,' lied Banouin smoothly.
'Are you saying that you will heal me only if I release your friend?'
The words hung in the air, and Banouin knew his answer had to be the right one. 'No, lord, I will heal you because I can. What I am saying is that Sencra is innocent.'
'I will look into the matter. What herbs will you need?'
'A small amount of figwort seed, and leaves from a number of flowering plants, including marigold. Also some nettles. And some oil, perfumed with lavender. I shall return with these items tomorrow, and the healing can begin.'
Nalademus pushed himself to his feet. 'My guards will go with you, and you will return with them within the hour. The healing will begin tonight,' he said.
