“He has become increasingly agitated in the last day-tenth,” the chief healer explained. ‘That usually means the subject is returning to his body.”
“Will he be all right?” Moira asked.
“Ask me after he awakens.” She cast a professional eye at her patient. “I do not think that will be long.”
“Jerry,” Moira called. Then more loudly. “Jerry, wake up!”
“Wha…” It was a mumble rather than a word, but the apprentice healers brightened at the sound.
“My Lord, can you hear me?” Bal-Simba didn’t shout, but the timbre of his voice carried to the very bones of the hearers.
“Ahh, okay, yeah.” Jerry seemed to relax into the bed then his eyes flickered and opened.
“Welcome back, My Lord,” Bronwyn said warmly. She motioned and one of the apprentices handed her a bowl. “Drink this.” She held it to Jerry’s lips. Jerry swallowed, gulped, wrinkled his nose and sneezed. From where she stood, Moira’s dragon sense of smell caught a whiff of the bowl’s contents. She could not blame him at all.
“Gahh!’s awful.”
“It will help you recover,” Bronwyn told him, handing the bowl back to the apprentice.
“Where am I?” He turned his head. “Infirmary, right?”
“Just so,” Bal-Simba told him.
“How long?”
“Were you gone? About three days.”
“Wiz?” Jerry slurred. “Malkin?”
“Not here,” Bal-Simba told him.
“Where are they? Are they all right?”
They are safe and well. But they have gone on a mission.”
“Where?”
“To the City of Night to face the thing that did this.”
“No!” Jerry struggled to sit up, paled and sank back into the pillows. “Won’t work,” he gasped. “Can’t do it that way.”
“They do not intend to confront our enemy,” Bal-Simba said. “They only go to scout, to bring us back a better picture of what it is we are fighting.”
Jerry clutched at his arm. “You don’t understand. The thing absorbs. If Wiz and Danny get too close it will suck them in, make them part or it. That’s nearly what happened to me.”
“Wiz drove the things off before they could finish,” Moira told him.
Jerry looked at the dragon. “Hallucinating?” he mumbled.
There was an accident,” Moira told him. “Or perhaps intentional action.”
“The Enemy has taken her body,” Bal-Simba said. “That is why Wiz and the others have gone there.”
“They can’t do it!” He broke off in a fit of coughing. “Get them back,” he said hoarsely.
Bronwyn moved to the head of the bed. “My Lord, unless you have pressing questions you had best let him rest. He is still very weak and somewhat disoriented.”
Bal-Simba nodded and touched the dragon’s shoulder. “Very well.” He nodded to Jerry. “We will talk later.”
“Get them back,” the programmer entreated to then-retreating backs. “Call them off.”
Arianne was waiting for them in the corridor beyond the sickroom.
“More news from the Watchers?” Bal-Simba asked as soon as the door was closed.
“There is another complication, My Lord. We have not only lost contact with Wiz’s party, we cannot reach them along the Wizard’s Way. We can still penetrate the things attacking the castle, but apparently the Enemy found their entry and blocked it. The Watchers are still trying but so far they cannot reach them by any means.”
Moira drew back her scaly neck and hissed like a berserk tea kettle. “A trap! The whole damned thing is a trap!”
“So it would appear,” Bal-Simba said grimly. “Our enemy seems to have a special fondness for traps.”
“If we do not find them and get them back—or at least warn them…” The thought hung unfinished.
“Then we will just have to bring them back or warn them—somehow.”
EIGHT – UNDER SIEGE
“My Lord?” Arianne asked.
“Hhhmpf?” Bal-Simba refocused his eyes and looked at his assistant.
“I asked if you were ready for luncheon.”
“I am sorry. I was thinking. Piecing together what we know and what we do not.”
Arianne recognized the tone and saw that lunch would be delayed for a bit
“Our attackers magic is of a type which is unknown to us, although it appears to be based on the new magic. Juvian and Agricolus have done much good work on that So far his primary weapon appears to be this fog, which is attracted to magic, which seems to explain why it dings so close to the castle.”