He flipped a tuft of his horse’s mane to the other side of her neck. Best nae to linger on it. What difference could one kiss make in the long run? “So,” Hamish squeaked before clearing his throat and trying again to fill the quiet with idle noise. “You’re a healer?”
Darshan chuckled, a wicked sound that conjured visions of secret spells woven in the darkness. “Repairing that man’s jaw gave it away, did it?” He grinned warmly. “I am indeed. Most Udynean nobles have some rudimentary knowledge in that area, enough to have an innate healing ability. It keeps us from being poisoned so easily.”
“Poisoned?” Hamish latched onto that morsel of new information, desperate for anything that would keep his mind off the man’s lips. “That’s a common occurrence in Udynea?” He had thought Nora had been attempting to fool him when she mentioned something similar all those years ago. I guess I was the daft one there.
Darshan rocked his head from side to side. “Not at the moment. There are a great deal more recreations to occupy the mind, but it becomes fashionable every now and then. New mixtures are concocted and those lower in the ranks are always looking to ascend by way of permanent elimination of the upper nobility.”
Hamish frowned. Disputes amongst the nobility in Tirglas generally involved whole clans feuding. Eliminating those higher up was often a cause of battles, not the end. Clearly, the people had no loyalty for their leaders. “Have you ever been—”
“No,” Darshan replied before Hamish could finish asking. “Any poisons that make it as far as the palace do not have a habit of bypassing my father’s personal guard. But he likes to ensure all his children are capable of defending themselves.”
Hamish nodded. Whilst it was harder to grasp the idea of deliberately poisoning an enemy, being able to defend against an attack was an easier concept. His whole life, from the moment he could wield a weapon, had been forged around the idea that history could one day repeat itself and he would be forced to defend the castle, or even become the only one left like in the old tales his mother always spoke of.
“Wait a minute,” he mumbled, his thoughts circling back to what the ambassador had said earlier. He nudged his mare closer to Darshan. “If you can mend bone and clear poison from your blood, then why are you so dependent on those?” He indicated the man’s glasses with the twirl of a finger.
Seemingly taken aback, Darshan pushed his glasses further up his narrow, hook-like nose. “Well, it is not that simple. I can heal, yes, but I am no healer.”
“The difference being?” He could understand there being a difference if magic wasn’t involved. Hamish had long since been brought up on the idea that cloistered spellsters were only allowed to leave their cloisters to work healing magic, and only then during epidemics or wars. During ordinary times, most people had to make do with medicine men and sawbones. “I thought magic could do anything?” Hamish would often have his ear bent with feats performed by spellsters in other lands.
Darshan turned his attention towards the view of the harbour.
Hamish slumped into his saddle. Clearly, he wasn’t going to get much from the man there. They rode on, the only noise breaking the stillness between them coming from the muffled crunch of hooves on the road.
After a while, Darshan cleared his throat with a mighty cough. “I think you are confusing magic with a tool. It can be that, it can also be a weapon, but it is, first and foremost, an extension of the self. Which is why some things come easily; shields, minor deflections, the small heat of a flame. They are little more than the will made solid.”
“And healing isnae one of these easy things?”
Darshan shook his head. “Would you say your bow was easy the first time? Or a sword? Healing is skill and training and art all bundled into one immensely twisted knot. Just starting down its path demands one completes an extensive study on what is required for particular parts to mend.”
Hamish peered at the ever-nearing castle gate. He couldn’t spy any extra guards or a sign that anyone was waiting on their return. Maybe they could linger a little longer, learn a little more of what spellsters were capable of. “Such as?” he pressed, gently encouraging this horse into a shuffling plod.
The ambassador adjusted his own mount’s speed to match almost subconsciously. “Take our skin for instance.” He twisted in his saddle. An eager spark lit his eyes, making his whole face glow. “That is the easiest healing magic and usually the first taught. Our bodies are built to repair it quickly—not as much as elves, of course.” He waved a hand, seeming to dismiss the fact. “But healing any species only increases the body’s natural process. Bone is a little harder, but considered as basic field training. Organs are trickier, best left to experienced minds, and even then their successes vary wildly. Not having just enough knowledge, or the wrong kind, can kill a patient as cleanly as any blade.”
“Or blind them?”
They passed through the castle gates. Guards on both sides saluted them. Hamish returned the gesture with a warm smile and a nod. None of the guards seemed twitchy or mildly concerned with their appearance so late in the day. That had to mean his mother hadn’t yet returned from the farm.
“Eyes are all but impossible to get right,” Darshan continued, seemingly oblivious to the men and women around them. “There have been attempts, but the success rate is not exactly sparkling. The idea of having otherwise serviceable vision lost for vanity has never sat well with me. There is far less risk in a good pair of glasses.”
Dismounting, Hamish led his mare to the stables. “Unless you’re brawling a great deal?” he shot over his shoulder. How many
