himself. Still, the two figures started violently at the sound rising from a
point near their ankles. Jubal relished their frightened reaction for a moment,
then his features hardened. “You’re late,” he accused.
“We would have been quicker,” his aide explained hastily, “but the healer here
insisted we pause while he dug up some plants.”
“Some cures are strongest when they are fresh,” Alten Stulwig announced loftily
as he strode toward Jubal, “and from what I’ve been told-” He stopped suddenly,
peering at the weeds around his patient. “Speaking of plants,” he stammered,’
‘are you aware that the particular foliage you’re laying in exudes an irritating
oil that will cause the skin to itch and bum?”
For some inexplicable reason the irony contained in this recitation of dangers
struck Jubal as hilarious, and he laughed for the first time since the Stepsons
had invaded his estate. “I think, healer,” he said at last, “that at the moment
I have greater problems to worry about than a skin-rash.” Then exhaustion and
shock overtook him and he fainted.
* * *
It wasn’t the darkness of’night, but a deeper blackness-the blackness of the
void, or of a punishment cell.
They came for him out of the black, unseen enemies with daggers like white-hot
pokers, attacking his knees while he struggled vainly to defend himself. Once,
no twice, he had screamed aloud and tried to pull his legs close against his
chest, but a great weight held them down while the torturer did his work. Unable
to move his hands or arms, Jubal wrenched his head about, drooling and gibbering