you are, boy. You want to dunk?”
“Yes, My Lord Marshall.”
“Luthan’s meeting with town guild members tonight. Tomorrow you should have some Chevaliers and townies,” Bastien said.
“Good,” Mace said. He cast a glance at Bastien then one at the window streaming yellow light where the chant was coming from. “You vouch for this lad, Bastien?”
“I’m his squire!” Urvey announced.
Bastien grimaced but didn’t deny it.
“Huh,” Mace said. “It’s about time you showed a little ambition and responsibility, Bastien.” He nodded shortly. “Good thing you took on a squire. Looks like he’ll need some training—that will be good for the both of you. Staunch lad, to brave the jerir.”
Urvey’s thin chest expanded with the compliment. Bastien knew there’d be no dissuading him from the pool now.
Lifting a lantern, Mace scrutinized Bastien. “Stupid-looking hat.”
“Soul-sucker hide.” Bastien tilted his head so Mace could get a better look.
Mace grunted. “Seems like the soul-sucker laid a couple of tentacles on you, too.” He gazed at Bastien’s scratched hands. “Huh,” he said again, still studying Bastien. “You appear a bit peaked—might want to delay your dipping in the jerir.”
Angling his chin, Bastien said, “No.” He grinned. “A dive and glide, said Luthan.”
“That boy always understates the matter. It’s a hell of a lot more. It’s bad, especially if you have any aches or pains, any wounds or injuries. What’s with you, boy?” Mace narrowed his eyes at Urvey. “You fit?”
“I have a coupla scratches. A flea bite or two. Maybe a bruise from a horse that butted me day before last.”
“You’ll do,” Mace said. He stared at Bastien. “If you have any injuries that aren’t showing, you better not try the pool of protection. Wait a day or two. I’d hate to haul you up to that sickroom too.” He waved to the Tower window.
Bastien winced inwardly, thinking of the puncture, the rips, the sucker rounds…Ignoring the pain, he shrugged and grinned, tilted his hat to an even more rakish angle. “I can do it.”
“You always had more mettle than sense. Your squire will watch out for you. Boy!” Mace called Urvey’s wandering attention back to them. “You got any questions?”
Urvey gulped. His eyes gleamed. “I heard we get a meal—a feast afterward.”
“That’s right.”
The chant faltered. Mace frowned, then nodded in the direction of the Temple. “I trust you, Bastien. Go take your swim and watch the boy. I need to get back to the healing.”
“Fine,” Bastien said.
With one last nod, Mace hurried up the right path to the Tower. Urvey started after him, until Bastien halted him with a tug on his sleeve.
“To the left for the shortest route to the Temple.”
Urvey grinned but it looked more like the rictus of fear and anticipation than cheer. “A coupla Marshalls were down at the Nom de Nom for a short noonday meal and I saw them. They looked wrung. Musta taken the dip, I guess.”
“Probably.” Bastien recalled the pallor under Luthan’s skin. He set his shoulders. It couldn’t be that bad, could it? A whisper of the healing chant touched the nape of his neck and slithered down his spine like fear. He was pretty battered, but he was in fine health, strong, and had more stamina than was apparent. And he was a black-and-white; he had wild magic too. Usually under control.
Their boot-steps echoed hollowly before and behind them as they strode along the cobblestone path close to the buildings, passing the nobles lodgings and walking around the bulge of the Temple.
Urvey shivered. “I’ve never been up here in Temple Ward.”
Bastien grunted.
The boy craned his neck, trying to see everything. “It’s wonderful.”
“It’s a Castle bailey,” Bastien said, but the large, round Temple, white stone instead of gray, loomed before them. He looked at it with new eyes—the building did seem to pulse with magic.
Finally they reached the great, pointed oaken door and Bastien swung it open. “After you,” he said.
In an alcove separated from the main Temple by a carved wooden screen, Bastien and Urvey bathed. The usual cleansing pool was the one now filled with jerir.
Urvey wrapped a towel around boney hips as Bastien donned a robe. He’d convinced Urvey to dip first. Bastien wanted to have all his current strength to pull the youth from the pool, if necessary.
Without his baggy garments, the teen was even skinnier. Bastien surveyed him, noting a few minor scratches and the bruise the boy had spoken of. Urvey flushed a little.
“Just seeing how badly you might be hurt,” Bastien said.
A quick grin flashed from the boy. He straightened. “I’m well enough.”
“Looks like you could use the feast they promised us, though,” Bastien said.
Urvey’s grin widened. “I can always eat.”
Bastien believed that.
They walked from the seat-ledge that held their clothes, to the pool. Bastien kept to deep shadows so Urvey couldn’t see the extent of his wounds.
The jerir looked thick and dark blue, nearly filling the pool three man-lengths long and one wide. Bastien’s stomach tightened at the sight of the still, viscous liquid and the thought of the pain that would come.
“Looks nasty.” Urvey’s voice sounded high.
“No, it looks beautiful.” Bastien’s voice was a lower rasp than usual. He didn’t clear his throat. “A very beautiful blue. As blue as a fine sapphire. It’s only the thought of the pain it can cause that makes you think it’s nasty.”
Urvey shot him a nervous glance. His black brows shot upward. “But where you hurt, it starts to heal faster, and better than before. You’re stronger than before, right?” He gazed down at both knees, which were shadowed with bruises Bastien hadn’t noticed.
“That’s what they say. I don’t trust some of the old legends like the Marshalls do—”
“But they Summoned an Exotique!” Urvey said with awe.
Bastien had to nod. “They did. And I’ve never known Swordmarshall Mace to lie.”
“Why should he? He’s so big he can say whatever he likes.”
Chuckling, Bastien said, “Very true. Do you swim, boy?”
Urvey looked horrified. “Swim?
