Read The Awakened Mage for Free Online Page B

forth you belong to Lur, first and foremost. And in the pursuit of my sacred duty as your pother I will allow you no secrets, grant you no privacies, spare you no shame and brook no argument. If I say you must rest you
will
rest. For upon your health depends the welfare of Barl’s Wall and the kingdom it protects. The lives of every last man, woman and child. Because of this your health is
my
kingdom and in this room I am king. Do you understand?”
    As Gar stared at Nix in silent shock, Asher sighed. “He’s right. And no, you didn’t ask me.”
    “I didn’t have to,” said Gar. His voice was a strangled whisper. “Of course he’s right.”
    Gentle again, Nix lightly touched Gar’s shoulder. “Sit, sir, while I collect what’s needful.”
    There was a chair close by. Asher helped Gar into it, then stood back. More than anything he wanted to drape himself over the desk or lean against a handy stretch of wall, but protocol dictated otherwise. And Nix would probably throw something at him for making a mess.
    The pother went to his office door, pulled it three inches wide and barked through the opening: “Kerril! Fetch me a quarter-cup of janjavet with two drops of dursle root essence added after pouring. Also a measure of bee-blossom. Quickly!”
    While he waited for his subordinate to bring him the requested potions, Nix rummaged in a cupboard and withdrew four cork-sealed pots, a bluestone mortar and pestle and a small clear vial of something green and viscous. After depositing them on the crowded bench he rolled up his dangling sleeves and got to work. The smell as he pounded each ingredient in the pestle was vile.
    Gar stirred. Looked up, his expression apprehensive. “You expect me to swallow that?”
    A tap on the door indicated Kerril’s return. “No,” replied Nix as he pushed the door shut and handed Gar one of the cups Kerril had given him. ‘This.”
    Gar sniffed the liquid suspiciously. “What is it?”
    “Something to dull the pain while I fix that broken collarbone,” said Nix, standing over him. “Bone-knitting’s not the gentlest of healing magic.”
    The pother’s expression was sympathetic but unyielding. Gar spared him a single burning look then shuddered and tossed the potion down his throat.
    “Barl’s mercy!” he gasped, and started gagging. “Are you trying to poison me?”
    “I’d advise you not to vomit, sir,” said Nix, returning to his mortar and pestle. He added the bee-blossom and resumed pounding. “You’ll only have to drink another lot and I’m told it tastes even worse the second time. Now just sit quietly while it takes effect and I finish this ointment.”
    Still gagging, Gar dropped the cup and hunched over, fisted fingers pressed to his mouth. A few moments later, Nix was ready.
    Eyes closed, words whispering under his breath, the pother laid his hands on Gar’s broken collarbone. At his touch a spark of light ignited. Became a flame. His fingers began to dance up and down the bone’s irregular length, drumming lightly, and the flame danced with them.
    Asher had never seen a Doranen bone-knitting before, although he had friends who’d required it after a squall off Tattler’s Ear Cove rattled them like thrown knuckle bones from bow to stern in their fishing smack. “Hurt like blazes,” Beb and Joffet had told him with identical grimacing shudders.
    Clearly, Gar would agree. Even with the pain-dulling potion his face was salty white and shiny with sweat, and his breathing came hard and harsh. Small grunts escaped him, and his right hand spasmed on the arm of the chair.
    “Nearly done,” Nix murmured. The flame beneath his fingers was a furnace now; Asher imagined he could feel the heat of it in his own flesh, and winced. “Take a nice deep breath,” said Nix. “And hold—hold—hold—”
    With a final burst of light and a sharp command the broken bone beneath the pother’s hands snapped back into place. Gar shouted, and would have flung himself