Steven Brust - Athyra

“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 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?”