The Blood Knight - J. Gregory Keyes [179]
“He’s in his own chambers.”
“Bring him then, and quickly.”
Then he knelt back down and stroked Winna’s face, his heart making weird motions in its bone cage.
“Hold on, girl,” he muttered. “Just a few more minutes.”
He touched her neck but could find only the weakest pulsing there. If she died in the time it took them to bring the other fellow down…
“I’ll need to work without eyes on me,” he told the remaining men. “We’ll need to improvise some sort of tent around their beds.”
“Why?” the chamberlain asked.
Aspar tightened his gaze on the man. “You know of the Sarnwood witch, yah? You know how few come before her and live? And yet I did, and she made me a gift of one of her secrets. But I was forced to swear a geos that no eyes but mine would witness this cure. Now, do as I say, and do it sprootlic! Bring some wine and a small white cloth, too.”
The chamberlain looked dubious, but he sent men off to bring the things Aspar had demanded. A few moments later several men bore a litter into the room on which lay a young man of perhaps nineteen winters. His lips were blue, and he looked quite dead.
“Sceat,” Aspar said under his breath. If the greftson was dead, he wasn’t walking out of there, and neither were Winna and Ehawk.
But then the boy coughed, and Aspar realized that much of the blue color came from some kind of paste that had been swabbed over him. Some local attempt at medicine, more than likely.
With poles and sheets, the greft’s men quickly built a tent around the three bodies, placing a small brazier inside, along with the wine.
The instant the sheet was closed, Aspar began mumbling in the Sefry cant of his childhood, as Jesp had done when she pretended to do magic. He was amazed at how readily it came to him, considering how much distance he’d tried to put between himself and all that. Normally his survival depended on his senses, wits, and weapons. Today it depended on how well he remembered how to play the charlatan.
Breaking between singing and chanting, he crushed some berries and, as gently as he could, pushed five of them down Winna’s throat, following that with a little wine, then holding her mouth shut until she swallowed weakly. Then he moved to Ehawk and did the same thing. The greftson’s eyes fluttered open as he began the process on him.
“Swallow,” Aspar said.
Looking confused, the boy did so.
Raising his voice, Aspar ended the chant with a flourish.
He went back to Winna, who, he saw with leaden heart, seemed exactly the same. He fed her two more berries, then drew back the flap of the makeshift tent.
The greft had been carried in on a sort of armchair and sat regarding him with skeptical eyes.
“Well?” he growled.
“Now we wait,” Aspar said truthfully.
“If he dies, so do you.”
Aspar shrugged and settled onto the stool next to Winna. He glanced at Greft Ensil. “I know how it is to lose someone dear,” he said. “I know how it is to be threatened with that loss. And I suppose I would let a stranger die if it meant saving someone I loved. I don’t fault you for the sentiment or the lie. But you might have given me the benefit of the doubt.”
The old man’s face softened somewhat.
“You don’t understand,” he said. “You’re too weak in years to understand. Honor and bravery are for the young. They have the constitution for it and no sense, no sense at all.”
Aspar maunted that for a moment.
“I don’t claim to know much about honor,” he said finally. “Especially after the show I just put on.”
“What do you mean?” Ensil asked.
Aspar produced the remaining Sarnwood fruits. “I’m tired of all this,” he said. “I gave your boy and my friends more than the amount the witch said would make the cure. I’ve tried ’em myself, so I know they aren’t poison. They got my horse better, too. Three berries each, that’s what you’re supposed to give ’em.” He reached into the bag and pulled out a few. “I’m keeping these because after this I’ll find that woorm and kill it, and I might need them. But in the meantime, there’s plenty more here. Distribute ’em as you