are you?” which puzzled Savn for a moment, until he realized to whom she was speaking.
“Vlad. You saw me earlier today, at Tern’s house.”
“You. What have you been doing with my son?”
“Teaching him,” said Vlad.
“Teaching him?” said Pae. “And what is it you think you’ll be teaching my boy?”
Vlad answered in a soft, gentle voice, much different than Savn had ever heard him use before. “I’ve been teaching him to hear the voices of the stones,” he said,
“and to see prophecy in the movement of the clouds. To catch the wind in his hand and to bring forth gems from the dunes of the desert. To freeze air and to burn water. To live, to breathe, to walk, to sample the joy on each road, and the sorrow at each turning. I’m sorry if I’ve kept him out too late. I shall be more careful in the future. No doubt I will see you again. I bid you all a good evening.”
Mae and Pae stood there against the light, watching the Easterner’s back as his grey cloak faded into the night. Then Pae said, “In all my life, I never—”
“Hush now,” said Mae. “Let’s get this one to bed.”
Savn wasn’t sure what Vlad had done, but they didn’t say a word more about the hour, or about what he’d been doing. He went over to his corner under the loft, spread his furs out, and climbed in underneath them without saying another word. That night, he dreamed of the cave, which, upon waking, he did not find surprising. In the dream, the cave was filled with smoke, which, at least as he remembered it, kept changing color, and a jhereg kept flying out of it and speaking in Vlad’s voice, saying, “Wait here,” and, “You will feel well-rested, alert, and strong,”
and other things which he didn’t remember.
The dream must have had some effect, however, for when he did wake up he felt refreshed and ready. As he prepared for the day he realized with some annoyance that he would have to spend several hours harvesting, and then several more with Master Wag, before he had the chance to find Vlad again and, he hoped, continue where they had left off.
He forgot his annoyance, however, after the morning harvest, when he arrived at the Master’s, because the Master was in one of his touchy moods, and Savn had to concentrate on not giving him an excuse for a tongue-lashing. He spent most of the day listening to an oft-repeated rant to the effect that no one dies without a reason, so Reins couldn’t have, either. Apparently Master Wag had been un—
able to find this reason, and was consequently upset with himself, Savn, Reins, and the entire world. The only time he seemed pleasant was while scratching Curry’s left arm with the thorn of the blister plant to treat his fever, and even then Savn knew he was in a foul temper, because he simply did it, without giving Savn the lecture that usually accompanied treatment.
After the fifth rant on the subject of causeless death, Savn ventured, “Could it have been sorcery?”
“Of course it could have been sorcery, idiot. But sorcery does something, and whatever it did would leave traces.”
“Oh. What about witchcraft?”
“Eh?”
“Could a witch—”
“What do you know about witchcraft?”
“Nothing,” said Savn honestly. “That’s why I don’t know if—”
“If a witch can do anything at all beyond fooling the gullible, which I doubt, then whatever he did would leave traces, too.”
“Oh.”
Master Wag started to say more, then scowled and retreated into the cellar, where he kept his herbs, splints, knives, and other supplies, and where, presumably, he kept the pieces of Rein’s skin, bone, and hair that he had preserved in order to determine what had happened. Savn felt queasy considering this.
He looked around for something to do in order to take his mind off it, but he’d already cleaned everything in sight, and memorized the Tale of the Man Who Ate Fire so well that the Master had been unable to do anything but grunt upon hearing
“Vlad. You saw me earlier today, at Tern’s house.”
“You. What have you been doing with my son?”
“Teaching him,” said Vlad.
“Teaching him?” said Pae. “And what is it you think you’ll be teaching my boy?”
Vlad answered in a soft, gentle voice, much different than Savn had ever heard him use before. “I’ve been teaching him to hear the voices of the stones,” he said,
“and to see prophecy in the movement of the clouds. To catch the wind in his hand and to bring forth gems from the dunes of the desert. To freeze air and to burn water. To live, to breathe, to walk, to sample the joy on each road, and the sorrow at each turning. I’m sorry if I’ve kept him out too late. I shall be more careful in the future. No doubt I will see you again. I bid you all a good evening.”
Mae and Pae stood there against the light, watching the Easterner’s back as his grey cloak faded into the night. Then Pae said, “In all my life, I never—”
“Hush now,” said Mae. “Let’s get this one to bed.”
Savn wasn’t sure what Vlad had done, but they didn’t say a word more about the hour, or about what he’d been doing. He went over to his corner under the loft, spread his furs out, and climbed in underneath them without saying another word. That night, he dreamed of the cave, which, upon waking, he did not find surprising. In the dream, the cave was filled with smoke, which, at least as he remembered it, kept changing color, and a jhereg kept flying out of it and speaking in Vlad’s voice, saying, “Wait here,” and, “You will feel well-rested, alert, and strong,”
and other things which he didn’t remember.
The dream must have had some effect, however, for when he did wake up he felt refreshed and ready. As he prepared for the day he realized with some annoyance that he would have to spend several hours harvesting, and then several more with Master Wag, before he had the chance to find Vlad again and, he hoped, continue where they had left off.
He forgot his annoyance, however, after the morning harvest, when he arrived at the Master’s, because the Master was in one of his touchy moods, and Savn had to concentrate on not giving him an excuse for a tongue-lashing. He spent most of the day listening to an oft-repeated rant to the effect that no one dies without a reason, so Reins couldn’t have, either. Apparently Master Wag had been un—
able to find this reason, and was consequently upset with himself, Savn, Reins, and the entire world. The only time he seemed pleasant was while scratching Curry’s left arm with the thorn of the blister plant to treat his fever, and even then Savn knew he was in a foul temper, because he simply did it, without giving Savn the lecture that usually accompanied treatment.
After the fifth rant on the subject of causeless death, Savn ventured, “Could it have been sorcery?”
“Of course it could have been sorcery, idiot. But sorcery does something, and whatever it did would leave traces.”
“Oh. What about witchcraft?”
“Eh?”
“Could a witch—”
“What do you know about witchcraft?”
“Nothing,” said Savn honestly. “That’s why I don’t know if—”
“If a witch can do anything at all beyond fooling the gullible, which I doubt, then whatever he did would leave traces, too.”
“Oh.”
Master Wag started to say more, then scowled and retreated into the cellar, where he kept his herbs, splints, knives, and other supplies, and where, presumably, he kept the pieces of Rein’s skin, bone, and hair that he had preserved in order to determine what had happened. Savn felt queasy considering this.
He looked around for something to do in order to take his mind off it, but he’d already cleaned everything in sight, and memorized the Tale of the Man Who Ate Fire so well that the Master had been unable to do anything but grunt upon hearing
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