by Steven Brust
“I can go anywhere, then; do anything.”
“Yes.” The voice was quiet, and echoed oddly in what were not his ears, its age and sex impossible to determine, and irrelevant.
“But this is only my dream. When I am awake, I can’t fly and there is only one path.”
“This place will always be here.”
“But it isn’t real.”
“Real? No. It is not. The trick is to find this place along the one path you think you have. Then, perhaps, you will find others.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I know.”
“This is where Vlad lives, isn’t it?”
“Sometimes.”
“Are you G’mon, the Lord of Dreams?”
The answer was accompanied by a laugh that reminded him of Polyi’s. “No.”
“Then who are you?”
“It does not matter.”
Below him, around him, there were points of light. He knew without trying that he could focus on any of them, and learn of it, and it would be as important as he chose to make it. How, then, to choose among them?
“What does matter?” he said.
“You matter, and he matters.”
“He? Vlad?”
“Yes.”
“I need his help.”
“Yes, you do. But he needs you more than you need him, you know.”
“I saved his life.”
“Yes. And he will need you again.”
“For what?”
“Be kind,” said the voice, trailing away in an impossible direction. He tried to follow, and rose up, up, up. The world he had built was gone, so he thought to build another as he rose. He was climbing now, and weaving in and out of thick strands that were the roots of the tree of the world. There was a strange sound, and it was a coolness on his face. The darkness had become light, yet he was unaware of the transition. Sensations grew, and seemed real: a stiffness in a shoulder, the fluttering of a bird, the smell of the trees and the brush.
He opened his eyes.
“You were far away,” said Vlad.
Savn stared. The Easterner still lay on his back, but his eyes were open. In his hand was the wax plug from the bottle, and the two leather sheaths that were still thrust through it.
“You’re awake,” said Savn.
“Yes.”
“How do you feel?”
“Pleased to be alive, as well as surprised.”
“I—”
“No,” said Vlad, “don’t tell me.” He looked at the odd device in his hand, inspecting the blood at the cut end of the sword sheath. “I think I’d rather not know how you did it.”
“All right.”
“But I owe you my life, and I won’t forget that. Where did you go?”
“I was, uh, I guess I was exploring.”
“How was your journey?”
“It was . . . I don’t know. I’m not sure where I went.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Well, I was alone, only then everyone was there, and I made a forest and walked through it, and then there was a wall, and I flew over it, and there was a voice. . . .” He scowled. “I don’t think I can describe it.”
“That was sufficient,” said Vlad. “You went to visit your dreams.”
“Yes. I knew it was a dream, and I knew I was making it up.”
“Did you like your dream?”
“Yes,” said Savn, sitting up suddenly. “I did.”
“That’s a good sign, then. You should always like your own dreams.”
Savn didn’t know what to say. On the one hand, he wanted to talk about it, but on the other, it seemed too private. He waited for Vlad to ask him a question, but the Easterner just closed his eyes.
“I have some food,” said Savn.
“Not now,” said Vlad.
“Do you think you can move?”
“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 o
thers?”
“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 Tem’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 Tem’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 chowderheads 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 Tem 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.”
11
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 warmer 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.
