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 wanner 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.
They came to the loose stone of the slopes above the caves and went down sideways, never quite losing their balance, but feeling the strain of maintaining it. Savn began to feel the effects of carrying the Easterner, light though he was. At about this time Vlad began to moan softly. Savn asked, “Vlad, are you awake?” but the Easterner said nothing that sounded like a response. A little later Savn said, “Master, maybe we should try this one?”
“I don’t remember how to get back to the water. Do you?”
Savn blinked back his surprise. “Yes, I think so.”
“All right. This way, then. Stop; this is far enough. I have to light a torch, or have you learned how to see in the dark?”
“How can we hold a torch and still carry Vlad?”
“I’ll drill a hole in your head for it.”
Savn considered himself answered. After carefully setting the Easterner on the floor of the cave, Master Wag brought one of the torches to light. He put it into his fist so it stuck out to the side, then indicated that Savn should pick Vlad up again.
They made their way back into the cave, Savn leading, until they could hear water dripping. “This is as far as we can go,” said Savn. “To get to the stream we have to go over this ledge and down a very narrow—”
“I understand. Set him down and let’s see how his fever is doing.” Vlad moaned again, and muttered something that sounded like “Do it yourself.”
Master Wag felt his forehead and said, “Start bathing his face with cool water, and find something to fan him with. I’m going to find the infection and see if we can exorcise it. Here, wipe this on his face, too. I have to find somewhere to put the torch—look!”
Savn looked in the direction Master Wag was pointing, but saw nothing except the two jhereg, who were sitting on the floor of the cave, wings folded, watching the proceedings. “What is it?” he said.
“They followed us!”
“Oh. Well, they’ve been doing that.”
“Mmmmm,” said the Master. “All right.”
He found a place to wedge the torch in between a pair of rocks, lit another, and set that on the other side of the cave. His two shadows performed an odd dance as he returned to the motionless Easterner. Savn continued bathing Vlad’s face and fanning him with the leather pouch taken from his room.
Master Wag peeled back Vlad’s shirt, and carefully removed the bandage. “Not bad,” he said.
“Master?”
“You could have done worse with this. But there are no signs of infection, which puzzles me. The fever—”
“Perhaps his leg,” said Savn.
Master Wag looked at the bandages wrapped around the Easterner’s thigh (which was hairy, like an animal’s, though Savn had not noticed this before), and began removing them. “Keep fanning,” he said.
Savn did so, and presently Master Wag said, “Yes, indeed.”
The wound had changed in the few hours since Savn had bound it. It was red, swollen, and puffy, and there was a thick white fluid coming from it. Savn stared, more fascinated than disturbed.
“Bathe his face again and keep fanning him.”
“What are you going to do?”
The Master didn’t answer, but began to remove things from his pouch—a sprig of laith, a vial labeled “essence of dreamgrass,” another vial with a light brown powder, mortar and pestle—and set them out around himself along with the knotweed and blowflower he’d collected on the way. Once more, watching the fluid efficiency of his hands while he worked, Savn was reminded of Vlad.
“Bathe his face,” repeated the Master, and Savn started guiltily, and complied. As he was doing so, his hand touched Vlad’s forehead; it had become even warmer in the time it had taken to get to the cave.
Savn began to fan him, but the Master said, “Wait, hold his head up so I can make him drink this.”
“What is it?”
“Crushed root of prairiesong, knotweed, and water. Tip his head—there. Down now, and begin fanning him again. Above all, he must be kept cool.”
Master Wag began touching and pressing the wound, and probing it with a thin, silvery tool that Savn could not recall having seen before, and, as he worked, the Master began to chant softly under his breath. Savn wanted to ask about the incantation, the tool, and the procedure, but he didn’t dare interrupt the spell. The Master broke off long enough to nod toward a pile of herbs and say, “Mash them well and add a little water.”
Vlad began speaking again, muttering phrases of which only a word or two was understandable. Master Wag looked up. “We do not pay attention to the ravings of those under our care,” he said, then returned to his soft chanting.
Savn did not answer. He handed the mortar to the Master, who took it without breaking off and poured the contents over the wound. Then he handed the empty vessel back to Savn and said, “Clean it, crush a small handful of those, put in three drops of this, and add more water to it. When it is done, make him drink it.”
Savn did so, holding Vlad’s head up. Vlad was still speaking, which made it easier to get the liquid down his throat. The Easterner coughed and half-choked, but did manage to swallow it.