Steven Brust - Athyra

Polyi came back and set a glass down in front of him. He stood up and said, “I’ll be back in a minute,” and walked over to Vlad’s table. The Easterner glanced up at him, then looked away as if he didn’t recognize him.

Savn hesitated, then sat down.

Vlad looked at him again. “Good morning,” he said. “I didn’t expect you so soon.”

“Harvest is done,” said Savn. “We finished early.”

“Congratulations. I suppose there will be a festival before too long.”

“Yes.”

“You’ll enjoy that, I think.”

“Yes.”

Vlad looked at him closely, his eyes narrow. “What is it?” he said.

“Nothing.”

“Crap. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. I feel funny.”

“Funny, how?”

“Disconnected.”

“Mram. How long have you had this feeling?”

Savn suddenly wanted to laugh, because Vlad was sounding like Master Wag. He did not laugh, however. He said, “I guess since this morning. No, last night, I suppose.”

Vlad nodded, slowly, still watching Savn’s face. “It’ll pass,” he said. “I know the feeling. Believe me, I know the feeling.”

Savn whispered, “Why did you do it?”

“I beg your pardon?”

He cleared his throat. “Why did they do it?”

“Do what?” said Vlad.

Savn tried to find some indication in the Easterner’s face that he knew what Savn was talking about, but Vlad seemed to be frankly inquiring. “My friends tried to be beat me last night.”

“Oh,” said Vlad. “I’m sorry.”

“But why?”

“I don’t know,” said Vlad. “Fear, perhaps.”

“Of me?”

“Of me.”

“Oh.” Savn could feel Vlad’s eyes on him. He looked back, then said, “What did you do?”

“I?” said Vlad. “Nothing.”

“But I would have been beaten if—”

“If something happened that prevented a beating, consider yourself lucky and don’t ask any questions.”

Savn watched him for a while. “You’ve been beaten before, haven’t you? I mean, when you were younger.”

“Oh, yes.”

“Because you were an Easterner?”

“Mostly.”

Savn felt himself smiling a little. “Well, you survived; I suppose I will too.”

“Very likely,” said Vlad. “Only ...”

“Yes?”

“Nothing.”

“Did you have a friend who helped you?” The familiar enigmatic smile came and went. “Yes, I did.”

“Did he ever explain why he helped you?”

“No,” said Vlad slowly, as if the thought had never occurred to him. “No, she never did.”

“Did you ever wonder?”

“I still do.”

“Maybe I always will, too, then.”

“No,” said Vlad. “I suspect one day you’ll know.” Savn nodded, and decided that this was all the information he was likely to get. “How was your talk with the minstrel?”

“Satisfactory. I got some of what I was after; I’m hoping to get more.”

“Then I don’t doubt that you will,” said Savin. “I’ll see you later,” he added, standing.

“Are you certain?”

“Oh, yes.” Savn felt a small smile come to his lips and wondered if he was starting to copy Vlad’s mannerisms. He said, “I still want to impress girls.” He walked back to the table where he’d left his sister, and discovered that she was watching him.

“What were you talking to him about?”

“Just passing the time,” said Savn, picking up his ale. As he sipped, he realized that whatever mood or spell had been on him had broken; he was himself again.

He finished his drink in silence, then announced, “It’s time for me to go.”

“Already?”

“Yes.”

“All right. I’ll wait here for the minstrel.”

“Your friends will probably be joining you.”

“Maybe,” said Polyi, as if she couldn’t have cared less.

Savn looked at her for a moment, then leaned over and kissed the top of her head.

“What was that for?” she said.

“Because,” he said. “Not everyone has a sister.” He stood up and headed for the door. Just before he walked out, he turned and looked at Vlad, who was watching him. Savn inclined his head toward Vlad, and set off to spend the day with Master Wag.

He stopped about twenty paces outside the door, just to take in the day—doing what Master Wag called “Enjoying the now of it all,” though Savn thought that was a silly way of putting it.

The row of thin maples that marked the Manor Road wagged in the odd dance of mildly windswept trees, looking as if there were an entirely different breeze for each one. The sky had greyed, covering the overcast and hinting at the rain that Savn had been expecting each day of the harvest. Polite of it, he decided, to wait until they were done.

There was almost no one in sight, perhaps because of the threatening weather. Savn rather enjoyed being rained on, unless it was also cold and windy, but most people seemed not to like—

His meditations were interrupted by the odd sight of six or seven strangers walking around from behind Plaster’s hut, just across the way from Tem’s. They were all armed with long, heavy swords, and dressed in black, and Savn fancied he could see that above each breast was the Athyra crest of His Lordship.

What would seven of His Lordship’s men-at-arms be doing here, now?

He didn’t consciously answer his question, nor did he consciously decide to do anything about it, but he turned at once and went back to Tem’s to find Vlad.

When he entered once more, Polyi, who was still seated near the door, said, “What is it, Savn?” which was the last clear thing he remembered; all the rest of it he reconstructed afterwards from what Polyi told him and the fragments of memory that remained.

He shook his head and walked over to Vlad’s table, according to Polyi. Savn remembered how the Easterner was staring off with a distracted look on his face. Before Savn could say anything, however (Savn was never certain what he was going to say, in any case), Vlad rose abruptly to his feet; the table at which he had been sitting tipped over, landing on its side with a loud thunk. Vlad moved so quickly, Savn could hardly see him, which Savn later remembered as being the point at which he realized that Something Was Wrong.

There was a heavy step behind him, and he turned and saw one of the soldiers he’d noticed earlier, now holding his sword and charging through the door, directly at Savn. No, he realized suddenly, at Vlad.

Savn never remembered deciding to get out of the way, but somehow he was against the counter, watching more soldiers enter the door. They stepped over the body of the first one—Savn had not seen what happened to him—and Savn realized the scream in his ears had come from his sister.

He looked back at Vlad, who was now standing on a table, holding a sword in his right hand, and swinging what looked like a gold chain in his left. The sight of the Easterner’s shiny black boots on top of Tem’s table imprinted itself on Savn’s memory and brought back older memories, of a dancer who had come through town a long, long time ago.

There came a splash of red on the boots, and Savn’s eyes traveled up Vlad’s body until he was aware of an ugly slash along the Easterner’s side. He didn’t know how he’d gotten it. He also saw one of the soldiers writhing on the floor, and there was the glint of steel reflecting the lamps on Tem’s walls.

Somewhere, far from Savn’s conscious thoughts, he was aware of tem and his guests all scampering out of the way through doors and windows, but this seemed unimportant; Savn, unable or unwilling to move, stared at the scene before him.

For just an instant, he was able to watch the swordplay, three soldiers against the Easterner, all four blades slicing, thrusting, and whirling as if they went through the movements of a beautiful, terrible dance, and when one slipped through and struck Vlad deeply in the upper thigh, that, too, was planned and necessary.