“See that it’s done,” Jubal instructed Saliman. “There’re two other things I’ll
want when you return. Find Hakiem and let him accompany you to witness my
recovery-“
“The storyteller? Why?”
“He has amused us with his tales in the past,” Jubal smiled, “as well as
providing occasional bits of timely information. Sharing this story with him
will guarantee that all will hear of my return to power.”
Saliman frowned but did not protest further. “What else?”
“A sword,” Jubal stated, his eyes suddenly fierce. “The finest sword you can
find. Not the prettiest, mind you: the best steel with the keenest edge. There
will some who will be less than happy at the news of my recovery and I want to
be prepared to deal with them.”
* * *
“That’s enough for today,” Vertan announced shakily, removing his hands from
Jubal’s knees.
Like a drowning man encountering a log, the healer grabbed the goat tethered
nearby and clung to it while the animal bleated and struggled to free itself.
The slaver averted his eyes, nauseated by the now-familiar ritual.
The first day he had watched intently and what he had seen was now branded into
his memory. Though he had always loathed magic and its practitioners he now
admitted a grudging admiration of the little wizard who labored over him. He
would rather face a hundred swords than subject himself to what the Lizerene
endured voluntarily.
Vertan drew the poison from Jubal’s legs as promised, but what the ex-gladiator
had not realized was that the wizard drew it into his own body. He had seen