Priestess of the White

them, swung around and hacked at the tarn cover. The frame broke and the cover collapsed inward. The girls started screaming again.

At the same time, one of the two fighting deserters fell. The skinny man reached inside the tarn. Emerahl held her breath, then her heart sank as the man pulled out a slender arm. He yanked at it and Star toppled out of the tarn and onto the ground at his feet.

He put his sword-point against her belly.

“Stand back or she dies!”

The fighters paused, then backed away from each other. The remaining deserter was bleeding heavily from a leg wound.

“That’s right. Now, bring us your money.”

The two guards exchanged glances.

“Bring us your money!”

Emerahl shook her head sadly. There’s only one way this will end. If the guards ignore Skinny’s demands he’ll kill Star. If the guards give in, Skinny will take her away as insurance against the guards following him and retrieving the brothel’s money. He’ll most likely kill her as soon as he feels he has escaped them.

Unless I intervene. But I can’t. Not without revealing I’m powerfully Gifted.

Or would she? Rozea already knew her favorite had a few Gifts. If Emerahl kept her use of magic basic - just a weak blast to knock the sword from the man’s hand, for instance - nobody would be more than a little surprised. She would have to wait for the right moment, when Skinny was distracted. The slightest hint of a magical attack and he’d push that sword into Star’s belly.

Emerahl drew magic and held it ready.

“You’re not getting a coin from us, you cowardly lump of arem dung.” Rozea stepped into view from between two tarns.

The wounded deserter chose that moment to collapse. Skinny didn’t glance at his fallen companion. He only pressed his sword harder into Star’s belly. The girl cried out. “Make one move and I’ll kill her.”

“Go on then, deserter,” Rozea challenged. “I’ve got plenty more like her.” She nodded to the guards. “Kill him.”

The guards’ expressions hardened. As they raised their swords, Emerahl sent a bolt of magic forth, but even as it left her she saw Skinny’s blade stab downward.

Star screamed in pain. Emerahl’s magic knocked the sword aside at the same moment a guard’s sword sliced through Skinny’s neck. Star screamed again and clutched at her side. Emerahl realized with dismay that her blast had ripped the sword out of the girl and caused even more damage. Blood gushed from the wound.

Emerahl cursed and leapt out of the tarn. The guards stared at her as she passed them and crouched at Star’s side. She heard Rozea say her name sharply, but ignored it.

Kneeling down beside the injured girl, Emerahl pressed a hand firmly over the wound. Star cried out.

“It hurts, I know,” Emerahl said quietly. “We have to prevent your blood escaping.” Pressure alone wasn’t going to stop the flow, however. She drew magic and formed it into a barrier beneath her hands.

She looked up at the guards. “Find something to put under her so we can carry her to my tarn.”

“But she’s—”

“Just do it,” she snapped.

They hurried away. Emerahl looked around. Rozea was still standing several strides away.

“Do you have a kit of cures and herbs?” Emerahl asked.

The madam shrugged. “Yes, but no point in wasting them. She’s not going to survive that.”

Cold-hearted bitch. Emerahl bit her tongue. “Don’t be so sure. I’ve seen worse fixed by Dreamweavers.”

“Have you now?” Rozea’s eyebrows rose. “You become more interesting every day, Jade. When did a poor runaway like you get the chance to observe Dreamweavers at work? What makes you think you can do what takes them years of training to learn?”

Emerahl looked up and met Rozea’s eyes. “Perhaps one day I’ll tell you - if you get me the kit and some water. And some bandages. Lots of bandages.”

Rozea called to the servants. The door flap of the last tarn opened and fearful faces appeared, then one servant emerged and hurried to Rozea. The guards appeared with a narrow plank of wood. Emerahl rolled Star on her side. The girl made no sound. She had fallen unconscious. The guards slid the plank underneath her. Emerahl kept her hands pressed against the wound as she rolled Star back onto the plank. The guards took the ends of the makeshift stretcher and carried the girl toward Rozea’s tarn.

Rozea followed. “You’re not putting her in there. You can treat her just as well outside.”

The sooner I get away from this woman the better, Emerahl thought. “She shouldn’t be moved once I’ve sewn her up, so we have to get her somewhere warm and comfortable first.” She looked at the guards. “Put her in.”

They obeyed her. As they climbed out again, Rozea stepped into the doorway. Emerahl grabbed her arm.

“No,” Emerahl said. “I work alone.”

“I’m not letting you—”

“Yes, you are,” Emerahl growled. “The last person she will want to see when she wakes up is you.”

Rozea winced. “She would have died either way.”

“I know, but she needs time to accept that. For now you’ll only agitate her, and I need her calm.”

Rozea frowned, then stepped aside. Emerahl climbed inside and crouched next to Star. A moment later servants deposited a large bowl of water, scraps of material and a pathetically small leather bag on the floor near the entrance.

Emerahl didn’t touch them. She placed her hands on the wound again.

“Nobody is to disturb me,” she called out. “Do you hear me?”

“I do,” Rozea replied.

Emerahl closed her eyes. Forcing her breathing to slow, she turned her attention inward.

She reached the right state of mind quickly. This healing technique was similar to her own method of changing her physical appearance but not as demanding of time or magic. Her mind must alter its way of thinking in order to grasp the world of flesh and bone. In this state of consciousness everything - flesh, stone, air - was like a vast puzzle made up of a multitude of pieces. Those pieces formed patterns. They liked to form patterns. When healing, she need only to realign pieces roughly in their proper pattern and old links would re- form.

That was how she liked to work, anyway. Mirar had tried to encourage her to hone her skills beyond what was necessary. He had made an art of this healing method and would always continue refining his work until the patient was back to his or her original state - or better - with no scarring and no need for rest in order to recover strength. Emerahl hadn’t seen the point of spending so much time and effort on healing just for the sake of aesthetics. Besides, if Star didn’t end up with a scar, the others might realize Emerahl had done something exceptional. Tales of her work would certainly draw the attention of priests.

Slowly, the broken inner edges of the wound realigned. Fluid no longer spilled out, but flowed along appropriate channels. When nothing remained but a shallow wound, Emerahl opened her eyes.

Reaching for the water and bandages, Emerahl heated the former and used the latter to clean the wound. She reached for the kit and took out a needle and thread. Using a little magic, she heated the needle as Mirar had taught her, to help prevent infection. The thread smelled of a herb oil known to fight festering of wounds. The kit might be small, but its contents were good.

When she turned back she found Star staring at her.

“You’re not what you seem to be, are you, Jade?” the girl said softly.

Emerahl regarded her warily. “Why do you say that?”

“You just healed me with magic. I could feel it.”

“That’s just the cure I gave you making you feel strange.”

Star shook her head. “I was watching you. You didn’t do anything but sit there with your eyes closed, while I