"Well, since I left, I have been traveling most of the time. I found who I was looking for, but I fear he was not who I expected to find." He glanced around again, making doubly sure that there was nobody who could hear what he was about to say. "There is something wrong with Principal Men Darnak," he said quietly. "That's why I'm here now. His condition, his behavior has deteriorated. It's as if something has been draining away his capacity to think rationally. I've come to you because, well, I don't know. You heal people, Alise. I wanted to know if you thought there was anything you could do."
She looked at him seriously, waiting for him to continue. When he said nothing else, she spoke. "You should know better than that, Tchardo. How much time did we spend together? How am I expected to know the answer if you don't give me what I need? I'm afraid you will have to tell me a little more than that."
Feeling chastened, Sandon looked out over the camp, watching the Atavists finish their preparations for the evening as he recounted carefully everything he could remember about the old man's quick deterioration. Once or twice, Alise interrupted him, asking brief, pointed questions. He told her as much as he could, and when he was finished, he waited for her to answer, keeping his attention on a group of Atavist children playing between the wagons further down the line.
Finally, Alise lifted a hand and placed it on his arm. The touch sent a quick rush through his stomach, but he pushed the feeling away. She left the hand gently resting where it was as she answered.
"I know of preparations that can do that to a person, but I cannot be sure. It takes careful dosing over and extended period. Gradually the medicine poisons the mind, rotting away at the brain. I'm sorry. Stress, conflict, all of these things increase the effect, bring the onset of deterioration more quickly. If it is the case, then the best thing for him is rest. Somewhere quiet. At least that would slow the progress."
"Is there nothing?" he asked.
She shook her head slowly. "I'm sorry. The victim can recover if the Prophet wills it, but in normal circumstances, there is little hope."
"Damn it!" he said, and caught himself at Alise's sharp intake of breath. "I'm sorry, Alise. I just have to find some way to help him."
She gave his arm a brief squeeze. "And if the Prophet wills it, you shall."
"So, who is this?" A tall Atavist was striding toward them, his step confident, his bearded face inquisitive, but open. "Alise, will you introduce me to your friend?"
Sandon looked from Alise back to the approaching figure.
"Yes, of course, Lothan," said Alise. "This is Tchardo. I told you about him."
"Ah, yes," said the newcomer. "So this is the one."
Alise stood, and Sandon followed suit. "Tchardo, this is Lothan, my husband. We serve the healing needs of our family together."
Confusion was replaced by disbelief by confusion again in Sandon's mind. Her husband? He stammered out a reply, and then making some quick excuse, took his leave.
"Will we see you later?" asked Alise as he walked away.
"As the Prophet wills," said Sandon. He could think of nothing else to say.
#
It was over two days later that Tarlain Men Darnak arrived at the encampment. The first people to appear was a ragged group of human mine workers. Sandon stood to one side and watched as they filed in. Following them came Kallathik, line after line of the creatures, all headed up by Tarlain himself, still wearing his Guild livery. Sandon noted the confidence in his step, the pride in his carriage. There was almost something of his father's old bearing in the way he carried himself.
