Valdemar 06 - [Exile 01] - Exile’s Honor by Mercedes Lackey Read Free Book Online Page B

returns, I should like you to open your mind to Kantor. Completely. I think—I hope it will make a difference to you.”
    He left the room then, without waiting for Alberich’s answer.
    But then, given that the priest had virtually ordered Alberich to do the same thing, he probably didn’t need to wait. He already knew that—eventually, at least—Alberich would make a trial of that, too.
    Eventually. In his own time.

2
    T HE Healer fussed over him for a bit, then prepared to leave; on a low table, within easy reach, were a pitcher of water, a cup, and a vial of one of the pain-killing potions. “Take it when you need it and are ready to sleep,” the Healer told him. “Or not at all, if that’s your choice. But drink the water.”
    Alberich couldn’t tell if the man’s brusque manner was his ordinary demeanor, or due to discovering where Alberich had come from. It could be both . . . and maybe, now that he knew Alberich was from Karse, he might be having second thoughts; maybe that wasn’t just an ordinary pain-killing potion.
    On the other hand, the man was leaving him with the potion and giving him the option of drinking it, or not. Unlikely that it was poison—why waste all that time and effort in healing him just to poison him? If the situations were reversed, a “guest” of the Sunpriests would likely not be treated at all, much less given a comfortable room and pain-killing drugs.
    â€œThe potion will wear off about dinnertime if you choose to drink it,” the Healer continued. “It’s about time for you to start feeding yourself again instead of having someone ladle broth into you.”
    Evidently, they were ready to see the last of him. Well, the feeling was mutual. Alberich was more than ready to do without Healers altogether. Already he’d had more attention for his injuries now than he’d ever had for every other injury in his life combined.
    Then the man left, closing the door behind him, leaving Alberich alone in his tiny cell of a room.
    Not that his quarters in the barracks—when he’d actually been in them, which was rare—were any larger. But the two rooms could not have been more different.
    The outer wall of this room held a large window with actual glass panes in it; the wall directly opposite held the door. The other two walls were blank, and the room was tiled in a pale gray-green. A restful color, if a trifle dull. Tiles on a wall, though; that was something odd.
    For furnishings, well, there were the bed he was on, a little three-legged table, and a stool to match. Not much need for a clothes chest in a sickroom, he supposed. He was, he discovered, wearing only smallclothes beneath his blankets and sheet. And they weren’t even his smallclothes. Everything about him that was Karsite was gone.
    On the other hand, perhaps that was just as well. The less to mark him as the enemy, the better.
    From where he was lying in bed, all he could see was a single white cloud, a mere wisp of a thing, drifting from one side to the other. Not a very inspiring view. In fact, there was nothing much in this place to occupy the mind.
    Suddenly, he wanted to actually look out that window. He wanted to see more than just sky and clouds. He felt stifled; this was the longest period of time that he had spent without seeing the outside world since—well, he couldn’t remember. Even when he’d been a cadet, he’d been outside, riding, exercising, training. Even when he’d been hurt before, he’d been in his own quarters, able—indeed, expected—to get about and take up light duties.
    His hands were still bandaged, but lightly, and they didn’t hurt so much anymore. He could use them—carefully. Well, the sooner he got out of bed, the sooner he’d finish healing. Gingerly, he slid his legs out from under the covers and put his feet on the cold tiled floor, sitting straight up on the