I was lying on the bed in my quarters in Castle Aldaran. I felt bruised, sick, every separate bone and muscle in my body with a separate ache. I staggered into the bathroom and stared at my reflection in the mirror. From the way my face looked, I can only imagine that my body kept on fighting long after I wasn’t in it any more.
There were a couple of broken teeth ragged in my mouth, and they hurt like hell. My eyes were so bruised and swollen I could hardly get them open to see. My face had been cut by something hard, the big rings Kadarin wore, maybe. There were going to be scars.
Worse than the physical pain, which was bad enough, was the terrible sense of emptiness. Drearily, I wondered why I had not died. Some telepaths do die of shock, if they are forcibly severed from their own personal keyed matrices. I was just one of the unlucky ones.
Marjorie. My last memory was hearing her scream. Had they tortured her too?
If Kadarin had harmed her I would kill him . ..
The thought was wrenching pain. He had been my friend—he could not have pretended—not to a telepath. Sharra had corrupted him….
I wished he had cut my throat instead.
Sharra. I went to look for the matrix, but it was gone. I was glad to be rid of the damnable thing, but I was afraid, too. Would it let us go?
I drank cold water, trying to lessen the dry sickness in me. My hand kept fumbling for the place around my neck where the matrix should have been. I couldn’t think straight or see properly, and there was a constant dull ringing in my ears. I was really surprised I had survived this shock.
Slowly I realized something else. Sore and aching as I was, there was no blood anywhere on my face or garments. Nor had I fouled my clothes. Someone had therefore been here, tended my wounds after a fashion, put clean clothes on me. Kadarin, when he came to take away the Sharra matrix?
I found I very much disliked the thought of Kadarin coming here, handling my unconscious body. I clenched my teeth, found out it hurt too much and made myself relax. Another score to settle with him.
Well, he’d done his worse, and I was still alive.
I tried the door cautiously. As I had suspected, it was bolted on the outside.
I ached so much that the thought of a long hot bath was tempting. The thought of being surprised naked and defenseless in the bathtub, however, removed all temptation from the idea. I soaked a cloth in the hot water and bathed my bruised face.
I ransacked the apartment, but of course my sword was gone, and the dagger, too. When I rummaged in my saddlebags for my heavy traveling boots, even the small skean-dhu in the boot was gone from its sheath.
A grim smile touched my face. Did they think me helpless? I had my Guardsman training still, and Kadarin might—he just might—despise me enough to come back alone.
I dragged up a chair—I still wasn’t steady enough on my feet to stand for what might be hours waiting for him—and sat down facing the bolted door.
Sooner or later someone would come. And I would be ready.
It was a long time before I heard a tiny metallic rasp from the door. Someone was stealthily rumbling to draw the bolt back. Finally the door began, very slowly, to open inward.
I leaped, grabbed the hand that had just begun to steal inward and jerked hard—and felt the delicate wrist too late to arrest the force of the swing. Marjorie skidded inside, gasping, slammed against the door-frame. I dropped her wrist as if it was burned. She staggered and I held her quickly upright
“Quick,” she whispered, “shut the door!”
“Gods defend us,” I whispered, staring in horror at her. “I could have killed you!”
“I’m glad you’re able—” She drew a quick gasp. “Lew, your face! Oh God …”
“The loving attention of my kinsmen.” I shut the door, shoved the heavy chair up against it.