A single thought shrieked. It is forbidden...
“You will not remember what I’m doing to you or what I’ve done to you. You won’t remember any of it until you hear this name. The name is Altheas Althanna.” Miestri smiled, her lips glistening with wetness. “It is the Silvan name of the woman you’ve been dreaming about.”
Chapter XIII
"Wake up, priest. Come on, boy, I don’t want to ladle the soup into your mouth. Looks like that fever’s finished burning you up.”
Exeres opened his eye, smelling broth, peas, and carrots. The pallet and blanket both reeked of sweat, bile, and mildew. Only a fat candle offered light in the stone-block room.
“You’re rousing—good. Can you sit up, boy? I said I don’t want to ladle this for you. You’re the Zerite, right? I didn’t think you fellows could get sick.”
Focusing his vision on the man, Exeres nodded and tried swallowing the horrible taste in his mouth. Something about that taste…was it wine? What had they given him to drink? A bur of memory pricked as he thought at it.
The man wore an army tunic, belted twice around the waist, and a long knife in a sheath padded against his side. A shock of short-cut dark hair bristled on his head. He was thin and sinewy, his cheeks tight against the bones of his face. A Shorelander…probably a Bandit soldier working the dungeons crammed with the sick.
Exeres sat up and the room lurched.
“Easy now, don’t want you falling off the pallet.” The man grabbed his arm and steadied him. “Eat the soup. It’ll help bring back your strength. I can bring some bread and ale if you want it. Oh that’s right, Zerites don’t drink ale. I’ll see if I can find a some water—hopefully without suds in it. I’ll be back.”
Exeres nodded and took the bowl. It was heavy in his hand. Tipping the rim to his lips, he drank from it and enjoyed the warm broth flavors on his tongue.
The burr of memory again. He had drunk something recently. Something forbidden.
Painful thoughts. A headache began throbbing behind his eyes.
With the spoon, he began working on the vegetables in the soup. Someone had added a pinch of salt for flavor. It tasted wonderful. He ate slowly, cautious not to upset his own stomach. His Zerite training was still there in his mind, and he wondered if he had caught tide fever from the dungeons.
The soldier returned with a bucket and a pewter mug. “Best I could find. Good, you’re eating the soup.” He chuckled. “Imagine me, a healer. Think I’d make a good Druid priest? I asked if they’d let you have some of the Root, but it’s only for soldiers. Don’t know why since there’s so banned much of it harvested. Why, I saw thirteen crates of it. Takes ten men all day just to keep waterin’ it all. Maybe the plant is part fish.”
“What…are you talking about?” Exeres asked, his throat hoarse from not using it.
“The Root, priest. Haven’t you seen it yet? The Everoot. It’s going to win this war for us.”
Exeres shook his head. “What does it look like?”
“Pretty stuff. It’s like…well, it’s like moss but it has these little tiny blue flowers. Keep it wet though, or it’s poison. We’ve got some of that too. The Kiran Thall have it on arrows and the tips of crossbow bolts. Two or three died because they touched it without gloves and they had little cuts on their fingers. Not even the Root could bring them back. Nasty business, that.”
Dripping moss with blue flowers.
The headache blazed hotter at the thought and Exeres winced. “How long have I been in bed?”
The soldier shrugged. “I heard three days. But they sent me to bring you a meal this morning. Looked to me like the fever had already died in you, so I went to the kitchens for the soup. You look like you’re in pain. Got the gut-sickness again? Need a privy pot?”
Exeres shook his head, which made the agony worse. “No…no…just a headache. Do you see my travel sack near the pallet? A big leather one?”
“Right over there. You need something from it?”
“Just bring it over. Hurry, this headache is torturing me.”
“Here we are. Heavy thing. Need any help? I got healed by a Zerite before. Saved my life, he did.”
Exeres rummaged through his travel sack and found the dried alcaciea leaves he was looking for. He put one in his mouth and sucked on it. After he’d softened it up a bit in his mouth, he chewed it up and swallowed it, stem and all. It tasted bitter. Like mandrake…
“Sweet Achrolese,” Exeres gasped as the pain shot even harder. His body trembled in response to the stabbing in his brain, and he wondered for a moment if he’d be sick.
“I wish I could give you some of the Root, boy. It would sure help you feel better. I’ll go ask again. Maybe they’ll change their mind.”