Kings of the North - Elizabeth Moon [82]
“And now you must chew these leaves,” the gnome said. “They do not ease pain at all, but they will strengthen your blood.”
Arvid chewed them—a bitter, sour taste but not disgusting—and after that was able to sit up, back against a rock. “Thank you,” he said. “If it is acceptable, I consider your debt discharged.”
“No,” the gnome said. “It cannot be. It does not balance. Without my aid, if indeed the dwarf had killed me, you would have gone down the passage anyway, would you not?”
“Well … yes.”
“And I perceive you to be a man of strength and determination; you would have made it to the opening. Your wound was serious, but not immediately fatal; you could possibly have found aid at a farm, and would have found water. So by my honor I am still in your debt.”
The implications of the night’s events came into Arvid’s mind: what had happened, and what the Girdsmen would think of what had happened. Their knights entombed in rock that now blocked the passage … his absence … and, if they did manage to break through, a dead dwarf, a missing gnome and master thief, and no jewel or gold. They would be after him, as furious as hornets whose nest had been kicked. And he afoot, without his purse … and no Thieves’ Guild hostel nearer than Tsaia. Only one thing might work.
“I must go back,” Arvid said. “I cannot think you would wish to return.”
The gnome shrugged. “In reality, I did nothing against their law: I was overpowered, and by human law that makes innocence, does it not?”
“Ye-es,” Arvid said. “But will they believe it? I fear I have damaged your reputation, for I told them you and the dwarf were talking thievery—that’s why I was there, alone.”
The gnome shrugged. “But you erred. Do you not remember I expressed shock at the dwarf’s plan? Or was that before you came?”
“I heard that—I had forgotten. My pardon.”
“We can stand surety for each other’s tale,” the gnome said. “Your wound also speaks for you, and if you speak for me—”
“Then we had best start,” Arvid said. The herbs had cleared his head and steadied him; he would have preferred an excellent lunch, a bath, and a long nap, but he had seen hard times often before. He was able to stand, and the gnome pointed northward.
“From the top of this hill, you can see the city,” he said. “But there is a sheep trail easier to follow.”
“I am glad,” Arvid said. Standing, in the full force of the midday sun, without his hat, he felt unsteady at first. He hung his cloak from his head, for that small protection, and smiled down at the gnome. “Let us be off, then.”
“Is it not a problem for you humans to leave your blood behind?” the gnome asked, pointing to the blood-soaked rag of his sleeve.
“There are no blood-mages in Fintha,” Arvid said. “Girdish don’t allow them.”
The gnome gave a curious rasping sound. “Human blood-mages are not the only ones who work magic with blood.”
“Then what?” Arvid asked.
“Bury it deep or take it along and do so later. I have no strength to do it without tools.”
“I have pockets in my cloak,” Arvid said. He stuffed the stiffened thing into one of them, and they headed for the city along the sheep trail on the side of the hill.
Heat beat up from the rock outcrops on the hill, intensified the smell of sheep droppings and wool. Arvid told himself it was only the heat that made him unsteady enough to stumble now and then. A hot breeze came up from the land below, smelling of hay and flowers. To the east, clouds gathered slowly into clumps, then more swiftly into towers, dark at the base. It would rain—might already be raining—there, but here on the uplands the sun reigned.
Around the shoulder of the hill, Arvid caught a glimpse of the city wall in the distance. It seemed near and far at once, as if he had doubled vision showing the real distance and his sense of how fast he could travel. He glanced at the gnome. “Do you think we can make it by sundown?”
“I do not know