too.
"What is that?" Chei asked warily, as he finished his cup.
"For the sores. It is the best thing I have. It will not let the wounds scab, and it takes the fire out."
Chei took the box and
opened it, taking a little on his fingers and smelling of it. He tried
it on the sore on the inside of his knee, his lip caught between his
teeth in the patient habit of pain; but soon enough he drew several
deep breaths and his face relaxed.
"It does not hurt," Vanye said.
Chei daubed away at
himself, one wound and the other, the blanket mostly fallen about him,
his drying hair uncombed and trailing water from its ends. Vanye took a
bit on his own fingers and covered the patches that Chei could in no
wise reach, those on his shoulders, then let Chei do the rest.
"Why?" Chei asked finally, in a phlegmy voice, after a cough. "Why did you save me?"
"Charity," Vanye said dourly.
"Am I free? I do not seem to be."
Vanye lifted a shoulder.
"No. But what we have we will share with you. We are in a position—" He
drew a breath, thinking what he should say, what loyalties he might
cross, what ambush he might find, all on a word or two. "—we do not
want to make any disturbance hereabouts. But then, perhaps you have no
wish to be found hereabouts—"
The man said nothing for a moment. Then he reached inside the blankets to apply more of the salve. "I do not."
"Then we do have something to talk about, do we not?"
A pale blue stare flicked toward him, mad as a hawk's eye. "Have you some feud with Gault?"
"Who is Gault?"
Perhaps it was the right
bent to take. Perhaps the man in his turn thought him mad—or a liar.
Carefully Chei took a fresh film of salve on his fingers and applied
it, and winced, a weary flinching, premature lines of sunburn and pain
around the eyes. "Who is Gault?" he echoed flatly. "Who is Gault. Ask, what is Gault?—How should you not know that?"
Vanye gave another shrug. "How should we? I know great lords aplenty. Not that one."
"This is his land."
"Is it? And are you his man?"
"No," Chei said shortly.
"Nor would I be." He lowered his voice, spoke with a quickening of
breath. "Nor, unlike you, would I serve the qhal."
It was challenge, if
subdued and muttered. Vanye let it fly, it being so far off the mark.
"She is my liege," he said in all mildness, "and she is halfling, by
her own word. And in my own land folk called her a witch, which she is
not. I should take offense, but I would have said the same, once."
Chei occupied himself in his injuries.
"It was this Gault left you to die," Vanye said. "You said that much. Why? What had you done to him?"
It was that hawk's stare an
instant. There was outrage in it. "To Gault ep Mesyrun? He lives very
well in Morund. He drains the country dry. He respects neither God nor
devil, and he keeps a large guard of your kind as well as qhal."
"Tell me. Do you think he would thank us for freeing you?"
That told. There was a long silence, a slow and evident consideration of that idea.
"So you may reason we are
not his friends," Vanye said, "and my lady has done you a kindness,
which has so far gained us nothing but an alarm in the night and myself
a few bruises. Had you rather fight us to no gain at all? Or will you
ride with us a space—till we are off this lord Gault's land?"
Chei rested his head in his hands and remained so, sinking lower with his elbow against his knee.
"Or do you mislike that idea?" Vanye asked him.
"He will kill us," Chei
said, and lifted his face to look at him sidelong, head still propped
against his hand. "How did you find me?"
"By chance. We heard the wolves. We saw the birds."
"And by chance," Chei said harshly, "you were riding Gault's land."
The man wanted a key—best,
it seemed, give him a very small one. "Not chance," Vanye said. "The
road. And if our way runs through his land, so be it."
There was no answer.
"What did you do," Vanye asked again, "that deserved what this Gault did? Was it
"What is that?" Chei asked warily, as he finished his cup.
"For the sores. It is the best thing I have. It will not let the wounds scab, and it takes the fire out."
Chei took the box and
opened it, taking a little on his fingers and smelling of it. He tried
it on the sore on the inside of his knee, his lip caught between his
teeth in the patient habit of pain; but soon enough he drew several
deep breaths and his face relaxed.
"It does not hurt," Vanye said.
Chei daubed away at
himself, one wound and the other, the blanket mostly fallen about him,
his drying hair uncombed and trailing water from its ends. Vanye took a
bit on his own fingers and covered the patches that Chei could in no
wise reach, those on his shoulders, then let Chei do the rest.
"Why?" Chei asked finally, in a phlegmy voice, after a cough. "Why did you save me?"
"Charity," Vanye said dourly.
"Am I free? I do not seem to be."
Vanye lifted a shoulder.
"No. But what we have we will share with you. We are in a position—" He
drew a breath, thinking what he should say, what loyalties he might
cross, what ambush he might find, all on a word or two. "—we do not
want to make any disturbance hereabouts. But then, perhaps you have no
wish to be found hereabouts—"
The man said nothing for a moment. Then he reached inside the blankets to apply more of the salve. "I do not."
"Then we do have something to talk about, do we not?"
A pale blue stare flicked toward him, mad as a hawk's eye. "Have you some feud with Gault?"
"Who is Gault?"
Perhaps it was the right
bent to take. Perhaps the man in his turn thought him mad—or a liar.
Carefully Chei took a fresh film of salve on his fingers and applied
it, and winced, a weary flinching, premature lines of sunburn and pain
around the eyes. "Who is Gault?" he echoed flatly. "Who is Gault. Ask, what is Gault?—How should you not know that?"
Vanye gave another shrug. "How should we? I know great lords aplenty. Not that one."
"This is his land."
"Is it? And are you his man?"
"No," Chei said shortly.
"Nor would I be." He lowered his voice, spoke with a quickening of
breath. "Nor, unlike you, would I serve the qhal."
It was challenge, if
subdued and muttered. Vanye let it fly, it being so far off the mark.
"She is my liege," he said in all mildness, "and she is halfling, by
her own word. And in my own land folk called her a witch, which she is
not. I should take offense, but I would have said the same, once."
Chei occupied himself in his injuries.
"It was this Gault left you to die," Vanye said. "You said that much. Why? What had you done to him?"
It was that hawk's stare an
instant. There was outrage in it. "To Gault ep Mesyrun? He lives very
well in Morund. He drains the country dry. He respects neither God nor
devil, and he keeps a large guard of your kind as well as qhal."
"Tell me. Do you think he would thank us for freeing you?"
That told. There was a long silence, a slow and evident consideration of that idea.
"So you may reason we are
not his friends," Vanye said, "and my lady has done you a kindness,
which has so far gained us nothing but an alarm in the night and myself
a few bruises. Had you rather fight us to no gain at all? Or will you
ride with us a space—till we are off this lord Gault's land?"
Chei rested his head in his hands and remained so, sinking lower with his elbow against his knee.
"Or do you mislike that idea?" Vanye asked him.
"He will kill us," Chei
said, and lifted his face to look at him sidelong, head still propped
against his hand. "How did you find me?"
"By chance. We heard the wolves. We saw the birds."
"And by chance," Chei said harshly, "you were riding Gault's land."
The man wanted a key—best,
it seemed, give him a very small one. "Not chance," Vanye said. "The
road. And if our way runs through his land, so be it."
There was no answer.
"What did you do," Vanye asked again, "that deserved what this Gault did? Was it
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