Athyra (13 page)

“So that much was real. I was afraid it might be. Did someone harness me to a horse and use me as a plow?”

“No.”

“I suspected that was a dream. Were there three little tiny people standing around me arguing about who got what pieces of my body, and what to do with the rest?”

“No.”

“Good. I wasn’t sure about that one.” He winced suddenly, his jaw muscles tightening and his eyes squinting. Whatever it was passed and he let out his breath.

“My side really hurts,” he said conversationally.

“I wish there was something I could do,” said Savn. “I don’t know much about stopping pain—”

“I do,” said Vlad, “but witchcraft would kill me, and sorcery would make my brain explode. Never mind. It will pass. I hope. Did I talk during my dreams?”

“You were mumbling when I got to you, but I couldn’t hear any of the words. Then, later ...”

“Yes?” said Vlad, when Savn didn’t continue.

“You said things.”

“What sorts of things?”

Savn hesitated. “You said some names.”

“What names?”

“Cawti, was one.”

“Ah. What were the others?”

“I don’t remember. I think you called ‘Kiera.’”

“Interesting. What else did I say?”

“The only other thing that I could make out was ‘wind it the other way.’”

“Hmmm. I imagine that was terribly important.”

“Do you think you can move?”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. It makes me nervous to leave you out here. We aren’t far from the Manor Road, you know, and—”

“And they may be looking for me. Yes. Unfortunately, I really don’t think I can move.”

“Then I should get you some more blankets, and water, and food.”

Vlad seemed to study Savn’s face, as if looking there for the solution to some mystery. Then he closed his eyes.

“There’s fresh water in the jug,” said Savn. “And some food.”

“I’ll be fine,” said Vlad.

“All right,” said Savn, and turned back toward the Manor Road, which would take him back into town.

Savn heard the mob before he saw them, which gave him the opportunity to slip off the road before they reached him. He was just coming up over the last hill before Tern’s house, and there came an unintelligible assemblage of voices, followed by the tramp of many feet. Savn hid in the flatbushes that grew along the road and watched as the townspeople came over the hill and passed in front of them. There must have been twenty-five or thirty of them, and he recognized several faces. Most of them were carrying hoes and rakes, and he saw knives in a few hands. They seemed grim but excited.

Savn waited for a few minutes after they’d passed, then rushed down to Tern’s house. It was, as he’d expected, empty except for Tem, who was wiping tables, and the minstrel Sara, who was sitting alone with her instruments and a cup. Tem looked up as Savn entered. “You missed them,” he said.

“Missed who?” said Savn.

“Everyone. They’ve gone off to look for the Easterner.”

Savn felt as if his heart dropped three inches in his chest. “Why?”

“Why? He killed some of His Lordship’s men, that’s why. His Lordship sent a messenger telling us that since it happened here, it was our responsibility to look for him.”

“Oh. Then they don’t know where he is?”

“No, they don’t,” said Tem. He looked hard at Savn. “Why? Do you?”

“Me?” said Savn. “How would I know? Did everyone in town go?”

“Everyone who was here except me and old Dymon. I stayed to spread the word to anyone who shows up late.”

“Dymon didn’t go with them?”

“No. He said it was none of our business, and tried to talk everyone out of it. I think he may have had a point, too. But no one else did. He called them a bunch of chow-derheads and stormed off.”

“Where are they looking?”

“Everywhere. And they’re spreading the word, so your Mae and Pae will probably hear about it. You should get on home.”

“I guess so,” said Savn. He moved toward the door, then stopped and looked back. Tem was ignoring him; Tem didn’t want to be part of the mob, either. Nor did old Dymon, whom Savn didn’t know well. But what about the rest? What about Lova, and Coral, and Lem, and Tuk? Why was nearly everyone in town so certain that finding and maybe killing Vlad was the right thing to do? Or, put the other way, why was he, Savn, not sure? Had he been enchanted? He didn’t feel enchanted. He noticed that the minstrel Sara was looking at him.

On impulse he went up to her table, and without preamble, said, “What about you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Why aren’t you trying to find Vlad?”

The Issola looked at him. “I’m certain that I would be of no use to them,” she said. “And I don’t live here, so I don’t believe it would be proper for me to interfere.”

“Oh. But what about him?”

“I’m sorry, I haven’t understood you.”

“I mean, aren’t you worried about what they’ll do to him?”

“Well,” she said. “One can’t go around killing men-at-arms, can one?”

Savn shook his head, and, in so doing, noticed Tern going back toward the pantry, which reminded him why he had come in the first place. “Excuse me,” he told Sara.

“I’d best be going.”

“Perhaps I’ll see you again,” said the minstrel.

Savn bowed as well as he could, and continued past her and through the curtain to the guest rooms. He found the room Vlad had stayed in, identifiable by the leather pack on the floor, and picked up this pack, along with a neatly folded blanket that lay at the foot of the bed. He rolled them into a bundle, which he tied with his belt, looked out the window, and then slipped through it.

The afternoon was giving up the battle with evening as he made his way out to the Manor Road, only to be hailed by a call of “Savn!” before he had left the last buildings of town behind him.

He almost bolted, stopped, almost bolted again, then turned and peered into the darkness, realizing that he knew the voice. “Master?”

“You didn’t come today. I was expecting you.”

“No, Master. I—”

“You were off searching the green for this monster with whiskers, along with everyone else?”

“Uh, no, Master.”

“No? Why not?”

“Why aren’t you?” asked Savn.

Master Wag snorted, and came closer. “Is that how you talk to your Master?” He didn’t wait for Savn to answer, however. He said, “I don’t know this Easterner, and he didn’t do anything to me, so why should I hunt him down? Now, what about you?”

Savn, not quite knowing why he did so, said, “I want to help him.”

“Hmmph. I suspected as much. Why?”

“Well, because ... I don’t know. I saved his life, and if they find him—”

“You saved his life?”

“Yes, Master. He’d been injured.”

“Tell me about it.”

Savn, as coherently and quickly as he could, gave a brief summary of the fight, explained the odd wound, and described what he’d done about it.

“Hmmph. Not bad. Did you perform the rituals against infection?”

“Not very well, Master. I don’t really know them, and I haven’t any herbs.”

“Hmmph. Then you can bet the demons have infested him by now.”

“I think he’s past the worst of the wound—”

“Not if he’s burning up inside.”

“But I can’t move him, and he’ll need blankets, so—”

“So, nothing. We can find the herbs we need as we go, if we go now, while there’s still light.”

“We, Master?”

“We’ll also need torches.”

“Torches?”

“It’s dark in the caves, and I can’t think of anywhere else he’ll be safe. There are torches at Speaker’s house, but I’d better get them myself, in case Speaker hasn’t gone with the others—I don’t think you could survive his questions. Wait here while I get them; then we’ll go see what we can do for your friend.”

Chapter Eleven

I will not marry a filthy hermit,

I will not marry a filthy hermit,

Such a life I could not permit.

Hi-dee hi-dee ho-la!

Step on out ...

Master Wag, to Savn’s surprise, led them through the woods by paths that he, Savn, had never known. He had always assumed, without really thinking about it, that no one over the age of ninety or so, except perhaps for trappers and hunters, knew anything about the woods. The idea that Master Wag knew, or at any rate remembered, the forest near town startled him.

They made good time, even with a few stops to gather knotweeds and blowflowers, and they found Vlad as daylight was failing. The two jhereg were still there, and hissed suspiciously at Master Wag, who jumped back and began waving his arms around, as if to shoo them away. They didn’t move, but kept staring at him as if wondering what his peculiar gestures were intended to accomplish.

“It’s all right,” Savn said; then he repeated the words, this time speaking to the jhereg. He felt Master Wag looking at him, but the jhereg calmed down, moving closer to Vlad and watching carefully.

“When there is time,” said the Master, “you must explain this to me.” Then he knelt next to the Easterner. He moved his hand slowly, watching the jhereg. When they remained motionless, the Master touched Vlad’s forehead and cheek, and frowned. “He seems feverish,” he said, “but I don’t know about Easterners—perhaps they have wanner blood than we do.”

Savn touched Vlad’s forehead and said, “He was cooler than this when I left.”

“Well, then.”

“What do we do?”

“We get him to a cave, and then we bring his fever down. First, wrap him in the blanket.”

“All the blankets? Do we need to keep him warm?”

“No, no. It’s just easier to carry him that way. We have to keep him cool, not warm.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Roll up the blanket first, just a little on each side so we can grip—No, the other way. Good. Now lift his head and I’ll slide this—Good. Now lift up his waist. That’s right. Now his feet. Good. You’re younger than me; you take that end.”

“Just a minute,” said Savn, and picked up the sack containing the food and the water jug. He looked around for a moment, trying to figure out how to carry it, until Master Wag set it carefully on the Easterner’s legs. Savn opened his mouth to object, but could find no reason to. He felt his face turn red and was glad there was so little light.

Savn picked up the blanket at Vlad’s head, Master Wag picked it up at Vlad’s feet. They had no trouble lifting him. “Master,” said Savn, “it’s getting dark—”

“I know the way. Let me get turned around ... There. Now, be careful; we’ll have to go slowly.”

He led them deeper into the woods, but he must have struck some sort of path, because they didn’t have to stop or even slow down. They began to go down a gentle slope, and there were not even twigs brushing against Savn’s face, although Vlad seemed to get heavier with each step. Savn recalled the dreamwalking he had done, and wished this journey were as easy.

They came to the loose stone of the slopes above the caves and went down sideways, never quite losing their balance, but feeling the strain of maintaining it. Savn began to feel the effects of carrying the Easterner, light though he was. At about this time Vlad began to moan softly. Savn asked, “Vlad, are you awake?” but the Easterner said nothing that sounded like a response. A little later Savn said, “Master, maybe we should try this one?”

“I don’t remember how to get back to the water. Do you?”

Savn blinked back his surprise. “Yes, I think so.”

“All right. This way, then. Stop; this is far enough. I have to light a torch, or have you learned how to see in the dark?”

“How can we hold a torch and still carry Vlad?”

“I’ll drill a hole in your head for it.”

Savn considered himself answered. After carefully setting the Easterner on the floor of the cave, Master Wag brought one of the torches to light. He put it into his fist so it stuck out to the side, then indicated that Savn should pick Vlad up again. They made their way back into the cave, Savn leading, until they could hear water dripping. “This is as far as we can go,” said Savn. “To get to the stream we have to go over this ledge and down a very narrow—”

“I understand. Set him down and let’s see how his fever is doing.” Vlad moaned again, and muttered something that sounded like “Do it yourself.”

Master Wag felt his forehead and said, “Start bathing his face with cool water, and find something to fan him with. I’m going to find the infection and see if we can exorcise it. Here, wipe this on his face, too. I have to find somewhere to put the torch—look!”

Savn looked in the direction Master Wag was pointing, but saw nothing except the two jhereg, who were sitting on the floor of the cave, wings folded, watching the proceedings. “What is it?” he said.

“They followed us!”

“Oh. Well, they’ve been doing that.”

“Mmmmm,” said the Master. “All right.”

He found a place to wedge the torch in between a pair of rocks, lit another, and set that on the other side of the cave. His two shadows performed an odd dance as he returned to the motionless Easterner. Savn continued bathing Vlad’s face and fanning him with the leather pouch taken from his room.

Master Wag peeled back Vlad’s shirt, and carefully removed the bandage. “Not bad,” he said.

“Master?”

“You could have done worse with this. But there are no signs of infection, which puzzles me. The fever—”

“Perhaps his leg,” said Savn.

Master Wag looked at the bandages wrapped around the Easterner’s thigh (which was hairy, like an animal’s, though Savn had not noticed this before), and began removing them. “Keep fanning,” he said.

Savn did so, and presently Master Wag said, “Yes, indeed.”

The wound had changed in the few hours since Savn had bound it. It was red, swollen, and puffy, and there was a thick white fluid coming from it. Savn stared, more fascinated than disturbed.

“Bathe his face again and keep fanning him.”

“What are you going to do?”

The Master didn’t answer, but began to remove things from his pouch—a sprig of laith, a vial labeled “essence of dreamgrass,” another vial with a light brown powder, mortar and pestle—and set them out around himself along with the knotweed and blowflower he’d collected on the way. Once more, watching the fluid efficiency of his hands while he worked, Savn was reminded of Vlad.

“Bathe his face,” repeated the Master, and Savn started guiltily, and complied. As he was doing so, his hand touched Vlad’s forehead; it had become even warmer in the time it had taken to get to the cave.

Savn began to fan him, but the Master said, “Wait, hold his head up so I can make him drink this.”

“What is it?”

“Crushed root of prairiesong, knotweed, and water. Tip his head—there. Down now, and begin fanning him again. Above all, he must be kept cool.”

Master Wag began touching and pressing the wound, and probing it with a thin, silvery tool that Savn could not recall having seen before, and, as he worked, the Master began to chant softly under his breath. Savn wanted to ask about the incantation, the tool, and the procedure, but he didn’t dare interrupt the spell. The Master broke off long enough to nod toward a pile of herbs and say, “Mash them well and add a little water.”

Vlad began speaking again, muttering phrases of which only a word or two was understandable. Master Wag looked up. “We do not pay attention to the ravings of those under our care,” he said, then returned to his soft chanting. Savn did not answer. He handed the mortar to the Master, who took it without breaking off and poured the contents over the wound. Then he handed the empty vessel back to Savn and said, “Clean it, crush a small handful of those, put in three drops of this, and add more water to it. When it is done, make him drink it.”

Savn did so, holding Vlad’s head up. Vlad was still speaking, which made it easier to get the liquid down his throat. The Easterner coughed and half-choked, but did manage to swallow it.

The Master stopped his chanting and probing. “Notice,” he said, “how the edges of the wound are red. Are your hands clean? Then touch, here.”

Savn did so, tentatively. The wound seemed even warmer than Vlad’s forehead.

“Sometimes,” said Master Wag, “it is possible to find the cause, the vehicle on which the Imps rode into the body. This time we were able to.”

“What?” said Savn.

“See, on the end of the probe?”

“What is it?”

“I believe it is a piece of his clothing, which was driven into the wound.”

“Clothing?”

“We wear clothing, why cannot the Imps? When a piece of cloth enters the body, it is almost certain that the spirits are riding it to a new home. It is our task to expel them. Thus I poured onto the wound the purest water I could find, mixed with laith, which demons hate, and blowfiower leaves which purify. And through his mouth we give him dreamgrass to help him sleep, and prairiesong which cools the soul.”

“I see.”

“Now I push—here—and we expel the Imps. You see how thick and grey is the solution? That is the grey of death. Necromancers are known to use it for evil purposes, so we catch it on a cloth, which we will then burn thoroughly. Here. Set it aside for now, until we have the chance to build a fire. Hand me a clean cloth.”

Savn did these things. Master Wag’s mention of necromancers made him think of His Lordship, but he put the thought out of his head, telling himself sternly to concentrate on the task at hand. As he was reaching for the clean cloth, both jhereg suddenly rose as one, stared down the cave, and hissed.

Savn looked but didn’t see anything. “Who’s there?” he said. The answer seemed to come from a long distance away, and it was full of echoes.

“Savn? Where are you?”

The Master looked at him, his eyebrows raised.

Savn got one of the torches and began walking down back through the cave, the jhereg, still hissing, at his heels. “No,” he told them, “it’s all right.” He wasn’t certain if they believed him; at any rate, they continued hissing. He found Polyi about fifty feet away, apparently caught between several diverging paths. “What are you doing here?”

“Following you,” she said.

“Why?”

“To see what—Eek!”

“It’s all right,” said Savn. “They won’t hurt you.” He hoped he was right.

“Are those the same—”

Steven Bmst

“Never mind that. Come with me. We’re trying to heal the Easterner.”

“I know. I saw you.”

The jhereg watched Polyi suspiciously, but didn’t seem inclined to attack her. Savn led the way back to where Master Wag was tending Vlad.

“It’s my sister,” he said.

The Master grunted, then said, “Get back to work.”

Polyi didn’t speak.

Savn knelt down and touched Vlad’s forehead, which was still warm, as well as wet with perspiration.

“Bathe his head,” said Master Wag. “And I will teach you the spells. We will recite them together, and we will wait.”

“Savn—” said Polyi.

“Not now,” said Savn.

Less than an hour later, Master Wag touched Vlad’s forehead and said, “His fever has broken. We must let him sleep now.”

“My throat is sore,” said Savn.

“You must practice chanting,” said Master Wag. “Sometimes you will spend hour after hour doing nothing but sitting and reciting the spells. Your Easterner friend is lucky.”

Savn nodded. “How long will he sleep?”

“There’s no way to know. Probably a long time. But when he wakes, he will require water and—”

“Murmumph,” said Vlad. His eyes were open, and his expression was intelligent and aware. The two jhereg, forgotten by the side of the cave, began to hop around near his head. Polyi, who had not spoken for the entire time, just watched, her eyes wide and gleaming in the torchlight.

“I can’t understand you,” said Savn to Vlad.

The Easterner opened his mouth, closed it again, and said, “Who?”

“This is Master Wag. He treated your fever.”

“Fever?” His voice was just above a whisper.

“Yes.”

Vlad glanced quickly at the jhereg and at Polyi, then nodded to Savn. Master Wag said, “Would you like water? Food?”

“Yes,” said Vlad. “And yes.”

The Master nodded to Savn, who helped Vlad drink from the wineskin. “Do you have food?”

“Yes. I have some bread, and cheese, and spring onions, and beets, and a few seasonings.”

“Help me sit up,” said Vlad. Savn looked at Polyi. She hesitated, then helped Savn assist Vlad. It seemed to be quite an effort for the Easterner, but at last he was in a sitting position, his back very straight. He took slow, deep breaths. Something about the flickering of the torches made his face seem even more gaunt than usual. “More water,” he said.