John Ringo - There Will Be Dragons

“Antics?” he asked.

“Herzer, you were all over the damned field on that great big war-horse of yours,” she said acerbically, “killing things left and right. It was a bit more than spectacular. You save Kane’s life at least twice, if not getting gored by an enraged bull counts as saving a life. Then to top it off was that insane gallop to save Shilan. I mean, you should have heard the gasp when you took off. You were halfway across the field before anyone else had even started to react, galloping so fast it looked like you were riding a jet-car, not a horse. It was pretty clear everybody who had a moment was watching to see what you’d do next. I heard people betting on you.”

“Oh,” he said, trying to cudgel his brain. Had he really been that noticeable?

“Everybody thought Shilan was dead with that boar coming down on her and then you go and not only stick the damned thing, you turn it over on its side . And then, as far as everyone could tell, get yourself killed. Nobody thought you were going to stand up after hitting that branch and you were out of most people’s sight. The applause was because you came riding out .”

“Oh.”

“Do me a favor, okay? I’ve got enough problems as it is. Stop trying to be a hero .”

“Okay,” he said, puzzled.

“I’ll go find somebody to keep you awake,” she said, standing up and brushing off her skirt. “In fact, I think I know just the person.”

Herzer closed his eyes and leaned back again but started when he realized he was half asleep. He wasn’t sure if Rachel was serious about not waking up again, but he didn’t want to find out. He also wondered how long the prohibition would last.

He opened up his eyes and looked around the dim room. There were a couple of other beds occupied but nobody close enough to talk to.

With the immediate problems settled and being at liberty for the moment, he started to catalogue his other hurts. His neck was killing him and from the description of what had happened he was surprised it wasn’t broken. Really, really, glad. Being a quadriplegic in this society would suck. He might as well get some friend to cut his throat. For that matter, he wasn’t sure if he could survive. Would he have been able to breathe?

After a few moments of such gloomy thoughts, he looked up to see Rachel and Shilan coming into the building. He started to smile and then noted that Shilan’s arm was in a sling.

“Are you okay?” he asked with a wince from a sudden stab of pain in his head.

“Just a twisted elbow,” she said with a smile, sitting down on the stool that Rachel had vacated. Rachel handed her a pottery jug and walked out with a backward wave.

“Are you supposed to keep me awake?” he asked.

“Awake but not active,” Shilan said. “It sounds like a prescription for total boredom.”

“Not with you here,” he said then winced at another stab of pain.

“And she said you probably wouldn’t want to talk,” Shilan added, pulling out a book. “So you just lean back and rest while I read.”

“Aloud?” he asked with another grimace. It felt like being a child again.

“I doubt you’d want me to,” Shilan said with a chuckle. “It’s a book on weaving techniques. I was watching one of the reenactors the other day and I got interested in it. I don’t think I’m cut out to be a woodcutter.”

“I think you’d be wasted as a weaver,” Herzer said, leaning back and closing his eyes.

“I have to do something,” she said. He could hear the worry in her voice.

“Mechanical looms aren’t that hard to make,” Herzer said. “They can be run on water-power. And there are plenty of things you can do. Doctor comes to mind.”

“Thank you, no. I’ve seen too much of the strain that’s on Dr. Daneh. Not having access to nannites is killing her.”

“Is that what it is?” he asked.

“She lost a patient yesterday; one of the new apprentices working in the mill didn’t heed the safety warnings.”

“Shit.”

“I don’t want to face that, knowing that if I had the power I could save a life and then seeing it drift away.”

“Somebody has to,” Herzer said, shifting and then noticing he still had his bracers on. He opened his eyes and winced as he fumbled with the catches.

“Let me get that,” Shilan said, setting down the book.

He leaned back and felt her cool hands on his arms and fought down a strange tide of lust. It wasn’t the way he’d felt around her before and he wasn’t in any shape to follow through. For that matter, it was making his headache worse. He tried to think of something to reduce it but his head was too muddled to think. Instead he put out one hand and ran it up her arm, cracking his eyes open to see her expression.

Shilan briefly froze and her face froze so he quickly removed his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“So am I,” she said sadly. “Maybe… maybe soon, Herzer.”

“Not with me,” he said. “I was serious earlier. I like you but I don’t want… I don’t think we’re made for each other.”

“You’re in love with Rachel,” Shilan said, looking at him.

“She’s just a friend,” he said, closing his eyes again, surprised that a tear leaked out.

“Oh, you poor dumb hero,” she said quietly, stroking his face.

“A hero is somebody who does something they don’t have to,” Herzer replied, tightly. “A hero is somebody that is there when they’re needed. I’m not a hero. Please don’t call me one again. Please.”

“What is with you?” she asked, confused.

“It’s just… it’s hard to explain. But… I’m not a hero.”

“Sorry, Herzer, but I thought I was dead when that spear went through the boar. You’re always going to be my hero.”

Herzer shrugged and leaned back, unable to explain the welter of emotions that was running through his brain. The good news was that the wave of lust had receded, leaving him even tireder. “Mithras I wish I could sleep.”

“Don’t,” Shilan said. “I’ll be here if you need anything.”

Herzer nearly corrected “ Almost anything” but thought better of it and just let his mind wander instead.

The next two days passed in a fog. Herzer remembered Dr. Daneh coming in and Rachel being there. Others came by but he had no real memory of who they were. He remembered being moved to a wagon and the jolting as it moved him somewhere, complaining querulously about the light. He remembered Shilan being there and one time when she was crying, quietly. He remembered trying to get her to stop crying, but couldn’t remember anything else, what she was crying about or when she had stopped. It wasn’t until the third day after the big roundup that he woke clear-headed. It was before dawn and Rachel was sitting on a more substantial, and more comfortable, chair, fast asleep. He took a deep breath and looked around, more aware that his headache was gone than anything else.

He was definitely out of the shed and in a substantial house of stone. There was an oil lamp on the cupboard across the room and tapestries on three of the walls. The bed was incredibly soft; he identified the mattress as eiderdown from some deep memory. He also realized that he must have taken a harder blow than he’d thought; the last few days were such a blur he must have had some brain trauma. Rare as it was, that used to be fairly repairable. Given the current conditions he was just really glad he’d actually survived.

There was a table by the bed with a jug and a cup. Picking up the cup he recognized water and gulped it down greedily; he was terribly parched. He sat up and fumbled for the jug, waking Rachel.