There is no sense of time passing when one is engaged in the art of healing. You could count heartbeats, but there are usually more important matters to deal with, such as reconnecting damaged blood vessels or destroying the toxins that flock to the site of a wound like ravening vultures. So when I triggered the enchantment that would close the incision on my arm and slipped the knot that bound my arm to that of the injured Dulcé, I didn’t know how long he had been staring at me.

“Ce’na davonet, Giré D’Arnath,” he said, quietly. All honor to you, Heir of D’Arnath. “And my gratitude for that which can never be repaid.”

“Your name is Bareil?” I asked.

He nodded tiredly. “Clearly Vasrin Shaper has a place in her heart for the foolish and disobedient, else I’d not be here to answer to it.”

“You’re fortunate that I’d not picked up a weapon. I was sure you were one of the murderers, come to confirm their work… or add me to their tally.”

Though his voice and demeanor were steady, the Duke’s eyes filled with tears. “Then he was able to get back here. You know what happened.”

“I know nothing that makes any sense. Only that he’s dead. Tell me who did this… if you’re able, of course.”

Dulcé have an immense capacity for knowledge and an extraordinary ability to search, analyze, and connect what they know into useful patterns of information. But only a small amount of their knowledge is usable at any particular time, so that a Dulcé might know the names of every star in the heavens on one day, but no more than two or three on the next, or have only the vaguest recollection of a name in one hour, but recall the entire history of the person in the next. A Dar’Nethi who is fortunate enough to be linked to a Dulcé in the rite of the madris can command any bit of that information to the front of the Dulcé‘s mind where it can be used. Because I had not been linked to Bareil, I had only royal authority, no power to control his mind.

“You’ll find I have a somewhat larger threshold of knowledge than most Dulcé, my lord, and I will most certainly provide you with all that I am able”-the Dulcé‘s frown was not at all reassuring-“but if, as you so wisely assume, those who killed my madrisson will want you next, then we must be away from here as soon as possible. And I’ve had to breach the house defenses to get back inside. I hope my folly will not cost us the way.”

“I was on my way out when you came,” I said, and told him of my attempts at preparation.

He nodded thoughtfully. “There are a few things here that you must have. I’ll get them.” He struggled to get up, but I kept a firm hand on his chest.

“You’ve lost a great deal of blood, Dulcé-a condition my skills cannot reverse. Tell me what we need, and I’ll get it.”

He settled into the cushion. “As you say, my lord. First, in the wooden drawer case, the lower drawer, under the glass pipes and sharpening stones, you’ll find a small pink stone, cold to the touch… yes, that’s it. You must guard it carefully. I cannot emphasize it enough.”

I shoved the stone into the pack. “What else?”

“Money-I’ll get that on our way out. Clothes-you underestimate us, my lord. If you would open the door of the chemist’s cabinet…”

Well, it looked like a chemist’s cabinet-a tall wooden structure with glass doors. Through the glass you could see shelves of jars and flasks, small vials of blue and purple, boxes, pipes, and brass burners. Nothing of interest. Only, when I opened the door and looked inside, all the paraphernalia had vanished, and I found a tidy wardrobe filled with an array of clothing that could never have fit Dassine.

“Mine?” I said.

“I believe they may happen to fit you properly.” When I looked askance at the reclining Dulcé, a spark in his eyes and a set of his mouth echoed the good humor I had noted in our earlier encounter. I shed my white robe, the front of it stiff with blood, and quickly donned a nondescript brown shirt, soft leather breeches and vest, and woolen leggings, all exactly the right size. As I pulled on a pair of doeskin boots, exactly my measure and so well made that my feet did not protest even after four shoeless months, I said, “You have Dassine’s knack for avoiding answers.”

“I have been Master Dassine’s madrissé for thirty years. He entrusted me with his knowledge and his purposes. If you so desire, I will submit to the madris and allow you to command me, but I must and will refuse you in anything that contradicts Master Dassine’s wishes as I understand them. Is my position clear, my lord?” He eased the blunt edge of his words with a delightful smile.

“Bareil, the assurance that someone knows what, in the name of all that lives, is going on with me is such a delight that I’ll cheerfully respect whatever boundaries you set.” I pulled a heavy wool cloak from the wardrobe. “And now, perhaps we should leave this place before those who are destroying the doors upstairs can find us.”

A loud thumping reminiscent of an earthquake resounded from the upper levels of the house.

“Quickly, before we go. In the very back of the wardrobe,” said the Dulcé, grunting as he shoved his legs off the couch.

Behind the shirts, breeches, and ceremonial robes hung a plain sword belt. A great-sword, its simple hilt finely engraved, its guard a graceful sweep of vines and leaves, and a silver knife were sheathed in its finely tooled scabbards- D’Arnath’s weapons, heirlooms so precious that the safety of worlds had depended on them for a thousand years. I buckled the sword belt beneath my cloak and helped Bareil to his feet.

The Dulcé took a moment to open the painted cabinet and rummage about on the worktable and shelves, then clucked in frustration, rubbing his head tiredly. “There’s one more thing you should have, but I can’t find it. An odd little thing-”

A monstrous crash sounded from upstairs-the front door giving way.

“I believe I have what you’re looking for. And I really think we should go.” I grabbed a short cloak from a hook by the garden door to replace his ripped and bloody one. I would have him tell me about the crystal later.

“Indeed. This way, my lord,” he said, and while still frowning at the jumbled mess of the study, he turned and vanished through the study wall. I could see no evidence of where he’d gone. When I traced my fingers along the wall, it was as solid as the floor on which I stood. I felt like an idiot trying to figure out how to escape through immutable stone.

“My apologies,” said a grinning Bareil as he re-entered the room through the very place I had deemed impenetrable. “Step to the corner of the table, just so, and then turn left”-he angled his hand and jerked his head to his left- “and left again immediately. No enchantment is required.” He swiveled and disappeared once again.

It was as he said. I stepped to the corner of our worktable, made an immediate left turn, but instead of banging my hip bone on the table, found myself in a gray stone passage. From the corner of my eye I could still see Dassine’s lectorium. The trampling of boots on the stair induced me to forego wonder and make the second left turn.

I stepped into a small study, crowded with a writing desk, a hanging lamp, a bookcase, and a large leather-bound chest that Bareil was already unlocking. From the depths of the chest, the Dulcé pulled out two small cloth bags. He tossed one to me, and the heavy, fist-sized bag clinked pleasantly. After relocking the chest and using the desk to haul himself back to his feet, he stared at the jumble of papers and manuscripts littering the desk. He sighed deeply. “If you please, my lord… burn them all.”

“Are you sure?”

“Master Dassine could protect his work, but we cannot. Quickly, if you would.”

With so much paper to work with, fire was easy, and in a moment nothing was left but a whirling cloud of ash and smoke.

“All of the information is inside me,” said the Dulcé wryly, as he pulled open a door and nudged me into the cold sunlight of a deserted alleyway. “If you ever hope to know what was written here, I suppose you’ll have to keep me safe.”

“One of my highest priorities,” I said, keeping my voice low as he did. “Now, can you tell me where we are? I’d like to see who’s coming after us.”

“Unfortunately we’ve no vantage that will allow us to observe our pursuers; we’ve left them well behind. I’d think you might recognize this place, my lord,” he whispered cheerfully, as he led me between two buildings of pink brick and peeked about the corner into an expanse of empty courtyard, paved with white flagstones. “We’re just outside the westernmost walls of S’Regiré Monpassai d’Gondai-the Palace of the Kings of Gondai. The structure you see across the way has been the home of your family for at least twelve hundred years. This is the very courtyard where Master Exeget’s servants found you huddled by a burning barrel on the night you were named Heir.”

My eyes were drawn upward by the graceful, rose-colored towers beyond the white flagstones. A banner of white and gold flew atop the tallest tower: two lions rampant supporting an arch, topped by two stars. The banner of D’Arnath. Indeed, I remembered the night of which the Dulcé spoke…

Bitter cold. No one had enchantments to spare to keep the fires burning, so anything that could burn was dragged out, broken up, and tossed into the flames to keep the soldiers warm: crates, tables, chairs. Three soldiers were drinking wine and telling of a bloody encounter on the walls the previous night and how the Seeking of the Zhid had crept over the walls like a pestilence, seeping into those who stared into the darkness too long alone. Sleet pelted our faces and dribbled down our necks…

“My lord!” Bareil was shivering in the frigid breeze. “If you please, we must move on. I know a hiding place close by. We can sleep and eat safely, and you can decide our next step.”

“Lead on.” I shuddered and pushed the memories aside. Like a stargazer who witnesses his first eclipse, or a student of history who stands atop a ridge watching his first battle, I was beginning to believe there might actually be some truth to all I’d learned in the past months.