Athyra Page 14

  “No.”

  “Oh. I’d like to get you somewhere safer.”

  “Then you know I’m in danger?”

  “I saw the fight.”

  “Oh, yes. Sorry. It’s a little hazy. How did I do?”

  “How did you—”

  “Never mind. Perhaps it will come back to me.”

  The two jhereg rose, took a couple of steps forward, and flew off. Savn tried to follow them with his eyes, but they soon became lost in the trees. A moment later, Vlad said, “There is no one around.”

  “Still,” said Savn. “I’d like—”

  “In a while. I’m feeling very weak, right now; I need to rest. You don’t have to stay, however. I’ll be fine.”

  Savn grunted. Vlad started to say something else, but instead he closed his eyes again. Savn ate bread and cheese, then took a chance and carried the water jug to the nearest stream and filled it, which took over an hour. When he returned, Vlad was still sleeping, but presently his eyes snapped open and he said, “Is someone pounding nails into my side?”

  “No, you—”

  “Just wondering.”

  “It hurts?”

  Vlad didn’t see fit to answer this question; he just closed his eyes tightly, then opened them again, then closed them once more and fell asleep. Savn felt his forehead, which he remembered to be the first place the Imps of Fever liked to attack, once a wound had allowed them into the body—he remembered how Master Wag had sat up with Lorr from Bigcliff for three days, bathing his head and chanting. But Vlad’s forehead seemed, if anything, slightly cool. Perhaps Easterners had cooler blood than humans.

  It occurred to Savn that wet applications and chanting couldn’t hurt, in any case. He took some bloody scraps of the first bandage he’d made, dampened them, and put them on Vlad’s forehead, while pronouncing as much as he could remember of the ward against Fever Imps. He also tried to make Vlad drink water, and had some success, though much more water dribbled down his face than went into his mouth. Savn continued the chanting and the applications for about half an hour, until he noticed that Vlad was awake and watching him.

  “How do you feel?” said Savn, who, for some reason, felt self-conscious.

  “Weak,” said Vlad. “My side hurts like ... It hurts.”

  “Can you eat?”

  “No.”

  “You should eat.”

  “Soon.”

  “All right. Want some water?”

  “Yes.”

  Savn gave him some water.

  “I’ve been having some odd dreams,” said Vlad. “I can’t tell how many of them are real. Did I just have a fight with about six very large people with swords, wearing livery of the Athyra?”

  “Seven, I think.”

  “And one of them got me?”

  “Two or three.”

  “And I got a few of them?”

  “Yes.”

  “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 abo
ut 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 h
ave 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.”