Defiant Peaks (The Hadrumal Crisis) by Juliet E. McKenna

the temple guards and the old man within her spell, leaving Brother Barmin untouched. As the temple’s gloom yielded to the brightness of translocation, the last thing she heard was his unguarded astonishment. She smiled with satisfaction as the yard outside Kerrit’s house appeared.
    A venomous shout greeted her. ‘There she is, the whore! Where did you go, bitch?’
    Jilseth was astonished to recognise the bare-chested youth who’d tried to force his intoxicated lust upon her earlier.
    ‘Do you know this man?’ Though her burly escort’s tone was respectful, his eyes were sharp with displeasure.
    ‘No, I do not,’ Jilseth retorted.
    A metal-framed window grated overhead and Jilseth sensed a fine hail of rust falling through the air.
    ‘They were shouting for her to come out of the wizard’s house.’ A woman’s disapproving voice floated down. ‘When they got no answer, they started hurling stones and I don’t know what else.’
    By stones, Jilseth presumed the neighbour meant the broken lumps of plaster and brick strewn across the paving. The stink of human ordure indicated these ne’er-do-wells had also smashed the night soil jars tidily tucked beneath each house’s front steps, to pelt Kerrit’s windows with filth.
    Something had extinguished the lantern by the door. Jilseth held up her hand, her forefinger tipped with crimson magefire. ‘I’m here now. What do you want?’
    The amorous youth was staring at her now, agape with horror. ‘I only—’
    His companions were already running away.
    ‘You only sought an ill-advised kiss. Fair festival and Poldrion’s blessings on us all.’ Brother Tinoan waved the boy away before turning to climb the steps to the door. ‘Calirn, you and Acal keep watch. Virsem and Dires, tidy up.’
    As the temple guards did the old man’s bidding, Master Resnada opened the door, gripping his surgical knife once again. ‘Thank Ostrin you’re here.’
    ‘How is he?’ Tinoan reached for Resnada’s hand.
    ‘Failing much faster than I had feared,’ the apothecary said unhappily.
    The priest hurried through the shadowed sitting room. Resnada followed. The two men were halfway up the cramped stairs before Jilseth caught up with them.
    She waited by the door as Brother Tinoan approached Kerrit’s bed. Resnada watched anxiously from beside the window.
    Kerrit lay back against his pillows, the quilt draped over his legs. Even unaccustomed to sickrooms, Jilseth could see this wasn’t the stillness of healing sleep. The mage’s eyes were pressed tight closed and deep grooves shadowed his downturned mouth. Laboured breath rasped in his throat and even in the warm lamplight, the mage’s face was ashen.
    Brother Tinoan perched on the edge of the bed. ‘Kerrit?’
    He took the wizard’s limp hand between his own but there was no sign of any response, no change in that laboured breathing.
    ‘He is dying.’ Tinoan gently stroked Kerrit’s forearm.
    Jilseth stared at the priest. ‘I thought you came here to heal him.’
    ‘I came to see what was amiss,’ he corrected her. ‘If I could heal him, I would, but he is as far beyond my lore as he is Master Resnada’s skills.’
    ‘How did I fail him?’ the apothecary asked wretchedly.
    ‘You didn’t.’ Tinoan’s gaze never left Kerrit’s face. ‘I don’t believe that he ever fully recovered from that first attack. Not that anyone knew it, least of all poor Kerrit. Subtle injuries within his skull have been slowly bleeding from time to time, each instance leaving clots to do further harm. Now he has reached this crisis, his memories have begun to unravel. Soon his body will forget how to breathe and his heart will forget how to beat.’
    ‘There must be something you can do.’ Jilseth insisted. If not, what good was this Artifice?
    ‘Can your wizardry restore a broken egg?’ Brother Tinoan enquired. ‘Not merely mend the shattered shell but see a healthy chick hatched from it? No, no manner of magic can do