Devlin's Justice Read Online Free Page B

and Devlin gave himself over to its appreciation. For the moment at least, he refused to think of what would happen if the healer could not help Didrik.
     
    The soup was strange, with a watery broth rather than the thick cream Saskia was accustomed to. Floating amidst the generous chunks of chicken were strange lumps of dough. Tentatively she bit one, and found that it was filled with mashed tubers. Still, for all its strangeness, the soup was warm, and Saskia eagerly devoured one bowl, then a second.
    Her companions were quiet, apart from murmured requests to pass the bread. Devlin’s silence came as no surprise. Never talkative to begin with, he had grown increasingly withdrawn since Didrik’s accident. Stephen’s restraint was a different matter, for on an ordinary day the minstrel was like to chatter about anything and nothing. But perhaps Devlin’s silence was infectious, or perhaps it was merely that Stephen’s thoughts, like Saskia’s, were with their friend.
    A true warrior, Didrik had not once complained about the pain of his broken ribs, or asked that his companions slow their pace to accommodate his weakness. He bore his injuries with a grim stoicism that impressed Saskia. But will alone could only do so much, and she feared that he had reached the end of his endurance.
    When the healer reentered the room, he was alone. It was not a good sign.
    “What say you?” Devlin asked.
    “He has the lung sickness,” Jonam replied.
    It was what she had expected, yet still she flinched at the news. In Duncaer the lung sickness was often fatal, although usually it claimed the very old or the very young.
    “Can you help him?” Devlin asked.
    Jonam shrugged. “Ten years ago I could have cured him in an afternoon. Now all I can offer are potions to ease him through the sickness, but even those he refuses to take.”
    “Can he travel? There are healers aplenty in Kingsholm,” Stephen asked.
    “Travel?” Saskia was incredulous. What could Stephen be thinking?
    “He needs rest, and a chance for the medicine to purge the poison from his lungs. You are lucky that he lived this long. If he continues to travel, he will be dead within days,” Jonam said bluntly.
    “Didrik is going nowhere,” Devlin declared. “Jonam, come with me and tell me what must be done for him. I will see that he takes the medicines you have prepared.”
    Saskia waited until they had left the room before she whirled to face Stephen.
    “Travel? You would have Didrik ride? You heard what the healer said.”
    Stephen held up both hands. “Peace,” he said. “I had to know what he would say. Didrik would have asked the same question in my place.”
    “His foolishness does not excuse your own. He is ill, and not in his right mind. You need to think clearly.”
    “I am thinking clearly,” Stephen said. “Devlin cannot stay here. Not for long. Didrik knows it, as do I.”
    “Why not?” She knew that Devlin had enemies who might be pursuing him, and a stationary quarry was easier to find than a moving one. But they had taken due precautions once they reached Jorsk, exchanging their uniforms for plainer garb and being careful not to identify themselves. No one would think it odd that they stayed at the inn while Didrik recuperated. And if they kept careful watch, they would be as safe here as on the road. Perhaps safer, for the place at least had defensible walls.
    “Devlin
cannot
stay here,” Stephen repeated. He looked around the common room, as if to ensure that they were alone. “His control is far greater than it was, but even his will is no match for the Geas. He may be able to delay a few hours, or even a day, but longer than that and he must leave.”
    Saskia felt her frustration rise. “What is this Geas you speak of? He is under orders to return, but is he not also your champion? What is so urgent that he must give over all common sense and risk the life of his friend?”
    Stephen sat heavily down on a bench, and after a moment