Many Roads Home (16 page)

Yveni started at Paole’s quiet words. The man moved so quietly, for all his size. “I’ll see to it. What should it be?”

“I don’t know. Unknown Uemirien mother and child, and the date. Maybe just carve a flower on it, or a bird. What does it matter, in the end?”

“Not much. But I can do that. How’s your headache?”

Paole sighed and shot him a sideways glance. “Too damn sharp, you are. It’s bearable for now. I don’t want to talk about it. I promise to let you know when it worsens.”

Yveni nodded. “What would you like me to do?”

“How about you show me how to write in Uemi?”

“Now?”

“Why not?”

Yveni could think of more pleasant things to do with a headache, but it was Paole’s choice.

He picked up the characters for his name quickly enough, and for Yveni’s, but after that, lost the ability to concentrate sufficiently, which irritated him. Yveni distracted him by talking about the castle and his upbringing, about Gil and Sofia, his sisters, and just about anything he cared to ramble on about. He even told Hilario’s silly story about the fish, which raised a tiny smile in his companion. Paole lay back on the grass with his eyes closed, listening to Yveni talk, the sun beating on his face, apparently contented, despite the headache. How many times in his life had he felt happy? How could a life with beatings bad enough to scar have any happiness at all?

Paole dozed off in the sun. Yveni let him be, making sure there was water and tea available. If Paole’s notes were accurate, he’d be really sick before sunset. If he was lucky, he would be done in under five days. Fifth fever or blisters. Life or death. And they wouldn’t know until the fourth fever passed.

“Need a favour.”

Yveni looked up from the book he was reading. Paole still had his eyes closed. “What?”

“If…you end up with Peni. Before you go to Horches. I need you to have her…put down. Killed quick and neat. Don’t sell her. She’s too old, and she’ll be worked to death. Promise.”

Tears pricked Yveni’s eyes. “Yes, I promise.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re not going to die.”

“Everyone dies, boy. It’s not so bad. Seen a lot worse than what’s ahead for me.”

Yveni wiped his face. “Can I ask something? What’s it like when you feel…someone’s dying?”

“Not feel. See. They fade. Become grey. The less colour, the paler, the closer they are to death.”

“Sounds horrible.”

“Can be.”

“Do you tell them? When you see it?”

“Mostly no. I tell their usual healer, let them handle it. If there’s no choice, if they live alone or they ask me flat, then I do. Never lie. Everyone deserves a chance to make themselves ready.”

The distant tone in his voice sent shivers up Yveni’s spine. It sounded like
Paole
was fading. “A lot of responsibility.”

“Every healer has it. I wish I knew more about the craft, trained properly. But no slave is ever trained at a university.”

“No woman either. At least, not in the rural clans. I told Raina to come to the duchy and train there.”

A spark of interest crept into Paole’s voice. “Think she will?”

“No. She probably thinks I’m dead. You could train with us instead.”

“If I live. How many years until you’re duc?”

“Too many.” Konsatin had slipped out of his mind of late. “Three years and one month until I’m twenty-one. I just have to make sure no one kills me before I get back to the castle, overthrow him and all his supporters, and convince people that I’m the rightful heir. Easy.”

“For you, it will be. You’re a very stubborn person, Yveni.” Paole rubbed his eyes and winced. “I think I want another dose of the dein powder.”

Yveni fetched it and mixed it in some water. He touched Paole’s forehead. “Warm.”

“Lying in the sun, of course it is. I just have a headache.”

But it was more than that, and within the hour, he’d begun to shake and suffer shooting pains in his legs. He moved across to the bedroll Yveni had laid out under the tree on the other side of the fire, stripped to his shirt and loincloth, and tried to rest. Yveni could only watch and wait.

The fever built incredibly fast, and along with it, racking cramps in the limbs. The pain relief in Paole’s armoury had no effect, though the cool cloths did, somewhat. Paole’s body burned so hot that the cloths had to be changed every few seconds. He poured with sweat, drenching the bedroll underneath him. Yveni anxiously monitored the thermometer thrust under Paole’s armpit, hoping he could keep his body below the fatal level. The fever went on for hours, rising and falling with astonishing speed. Yveni did his best to feed Paole cool tea and antipyretics, but the man wasn’t lucid most of the time, and it was a struggle to help him sip anything from a spoon. His muscled body contorted and thrashed and spasmed in the fever dreams, and Paole moaned in imagined cold and pain. He called out to people Yveni didn’t know, begging for help, for mercy, sometimes in a voice which sounded very young, breaking Yveni’s heart because he could so easily imagine a child being beaten and pleading in just this manner.

Paole’s temperature hovered just below the danger level for two hours or more, until nightfall. As suddenly as it had built, the fever dropped. Then the risk was of him becoming too cold in his wet shirt and on the bedroll. He wasn’t too weak to move so Yveni could change the blankets and his shirt, but once he was settled and wrapped warmly, he wanted only to rest, and complained querulously as Yveni made him drink the tea and honey that would keep him alive.

“One down,” Yveni said encouragingly. Paole couldn’t raise a smile.

He slept like a dead man until dawn, when the pain and fever woke him. This bout went on longer, the temperature rising over the danger point briefly before dropping back and tormenting Paole for several more hours. Thus the pattern went for the next two bouts. By the time the fourth one was over, at the end of the third day, Paole could no longer move or sit, and even swallowing sips of liquid was almost beyond him. Yveni coaxed him to take drops of fluid, anything to replace the litres of sweat that had poured out of him, and despaired at the lack of understanding in the bloodshot green eyes, the dehydrated skin and the quiet whimpers of pain. Paole’s anguished thrashing had turned the thick braid into a knotted mess, and his nails had cut the palms of his hands from the clenching of his fists.

Yveni was nearly as exhausted as his patient, taking his rest in short bursts, afraid to miss the start of the next bout and allowing the fever to build too high. Once Paole passed out, he set about cleaning up the latest mess, and only as he hung the blanket out near the fire, did he remember that tonight would be make or break for Paole. Would it be fever or blisters?

He didn’t dare sleep, watching Paole’s face for the slightest sign of a change. Was that mark on his cheek…no, just a drop of water. Paole twitched and moaned softly, dreaming while his body readied for the final battle.

The hours ticked away. Yveni found it hard to stay awake, no matter how often he pinched himself. But when Paole suddenly grunted, he was right there, checking. His hand on Paole’s skin registered the heat, and the thermometer confirmed it. Another fever bout. Was it really the last one?

Maybe it was the last, maybe not, but it was surely the worst and most vicious. Over and over his temperature spiked past the danger level, forcing Yveni pour cans of water over the man’s body to reduce it again. The ground around them grew sodden and so did the bedroll, but Yveni never stopped. A breeze that started up at midnight helped, and Yveni raised Paole’s shirt to give the air best access to the heated skin.

Then the fever broke in mere minutes, Paole’s temperature plummeting. Using the blanket, Yveni dragged him from the worst of the wet ground. No hope of moving him onto a new bedroll, so Yveni dried him with sacking as best he could, packed more under him, and wrapped as many dry blankets around him as possible. He lay down next to him to lend his own body heat. It was damp and uncomfortable and Paole stank unpleasantly of illness.

Yveni fell asleep in seconds.

He woke with a start and blinked at the sun streaming through the leaves of the tree above him. He pushed back the blankets and put his hand over Paole’s sweat-damp chest. He felt the faint throb of his heart, saw the chest rise and fall.

“You’re alive.” Exhausted and completely done over by the stress and the long, long vigil, tears came easily to his eyes. He laid his head on Paole’s chest again and wept. “You’re alive,” he whispered.

He jerked as Paole slowly moved his arm and wrapped it around him. “Don’t cry, boy.” His voice was weak and harsh, but lucid. “No need to cry.”

“I know. I just…you’re not going to die.”

“Not today. Hush. Rest a while.”

So Yveni did, sobbing himself back to sleep. He hadn’t been able to save his father, or Gerd, but Paole was alive. He hadn’t lost someone else. Everything would be all right now.

Chapter Eighteen

Paole was thirsty and hungry and weak as a newborn puppy, but all things considered, he didn’t feel too bad. Yveni’s weight on him was a comfort, as was his youthful, healthy heat. Paole moved his hand to pet the unkempt dark hair. He’d worked so hard. Paole felt guilty for ever doubting he would.

His movement woke the boy, who blinked open his eyes and stared at him. “How do you feel?”

“Limp.”

Yveni laughed and sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Gods, it’s nearly noon. I’m starving.”

“Me too, though I think tea and honey is all I can handle.”

Yveni’s brow furrowed in concern. “You look all right.”

“Kirten fever weakens all the organs, especially the liver and kidneys, according to the books. Let’s take it easy.”

“Sure. But you’re going to be well, I feel it.”

Paole smiled at the stubborn expression. “You know, when
you
say it, I almost believe it, boy.”

“Good.”

He allowed Yveni to bustle about because he couldn’t stop him even if he wanted to, and because the boy had been right about so much, Paole may as well let him take charge for now.

The boy’s vigour amazed him. Despite the lack of sleep, the exertions, and the dark shadows under his eyes, he had the fire built, tea made, and a thin meat broth set to slow cooking in no time at all. Paole couldn’t sit up just yet, so Yveni carefully spooned the tea and honey into his mouth. Embarrassing, but the liquid was welcome. He only hoped he could walk before he had to deal with the consequences of drinking it.

“You smell.”

“I know. Deal with it later, boy. I could do with a blanket. I’m cold.” Yveni covered his mouth as if horrified at not realising it. Paole made a grab for his wrist and held it weakly. “You’re doing fine. Slow down. Cover me up, and see if Peni’s all right.”

“She is. I fed her yesterday. I think she’s enjoying her holiday.”

With the blanket cutting out the rank odour from his sweat-soiled body and shirt, as well as the cool breeze, Paole was more comfortable and dozed off.

He’d expected nothing more than feeling like shit the first day—actually, he hadn’t expected to survive, so he was pleasantly surprised to be feeling anything at all—and Yveni hadn’t expected any more from him either. The next day came more of a shock to his young companion, when Paole had to face things like relieving himself and washing, and it quickly became apparent that he couldn’t totter more than a few steps before utterly exhausting himself.

“Warned…you…boy,” he panted as he lay back on the bedroll. “Leave me…be.”

“Well, no, I can’t. How long will it take you to recover?”

“How do I know?”

“It’s going to be more than a couple of days, isn’t it?”

“Likely.” A couple of
years
, possibly. Or never. He couldn’t say that to the boy though.

“Then you can’t stay here.”

“It’s none of your business now.”

Yveni folded his arms and his expression turned mulish. “Yes, it is. I want a ride to the nearest port. You owe me that much.”

“Route doesn’t go past one. Can take you to where you can hitch a lift, that’s all.”

“Fine. But you can’t stay here. You need to see a healer, we need supplies.”

“Healer’ll only tell me it’ll take time to mend.”

“You don’t
know
that, Paole.”

He lifted his head as far as he could, which wasn’t much. “Leave me be!”

His weak bellow offended the boy, who straightened up. “I’ll make more tea,” he declared, and stomped off.

Paole sagged back. One minute the boy had to be chained up to stop him running off, the next he was like dunel crap on your boot, impossible to be rid of. All Paole wanted to do was crawl away and hide until he was well again.

Except he wasn’t up to crawling, and even hiding took effort. He forced himself up to a sitting position, ignoring the dizziness and nausea. Yveni rushed over to assist, and Paole forced his automatic response back. “Take it easy,” his unwanted nurse told him. “Let me make some tea—”

Paole gripped his arm and did his best to pull the boy down to the ground. “Stop,” he growled. “Just stop.”

Yveni obeyed and sat, giving Paole a puzzled, slightly resentful look.

“What are you planning, boy?”

“To look after you.”

“For how long?”

“Long as it takes, of course.”

“And what about Horches? What about being duc?”

Yveni looked down. “I’ve got time.”

“You said yourself, you need to get out of Karvis. Longer you stay here, the bigger the risk.”

“I know. But you’ll die if I leave you now.”

“Probably. But you owe me nothing. I owe you a lift, so take some of my gold, walk to the town and buy a horse.”

“No. I won’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I won’t lose another friend.”

Paole shook his head. “Yveni, I’m the man who owned you. Not a friend. Don’t ever make that mistake.”

“I don’t
care
!”

The shout hurt Paole’s head and he winced. Yveni instantly apologised, but Paole held up his hand. “Stop. You have something I never will. A destiny.”

“And you have something
I
don’t—a choice. All my damn life I’ve been following other people’s orders. Now when I want to do something of my own volition, you’re
still
trying to make me do what I don’t want to.”

“I don’t understand why my health matters a damn.”

With his jaw set so hard, the boy looked far older than his years. “It’s not you. Not
you
you. It’s anyone. I’d have helped that woman, if I could have. I was born to rule. Born to serve. It’s my duty to help you.”

“Not your subject, boy.”

“I know.” His shoulders slumped. “Is it wrong of me to want to be sure you’re all right before I leave?”

“No…but you need to let go. That’s the lesson slaves learn early. Don’t grow attached.”

“I’m not a slave. Look, I’m not asking for gratitude, or money. As soon as you can go back to your work, I’ll be gone.”

“And if I can’t?”

“Then I’ll make other plans.”

He could no longer sit up, so Yveni helped him lie back. “Don’t have the strength to fight you.”

“Then don’t. You don’t understand. This is my free choice. I want to do this. Don’t lie to me and tell me you can manage because by all the gods, you can’t.”

“Been sicker than this.”

“On your own?”

Paole should lie, but he didn’t have the strength, and besides the boy was too sharp.

“Thought not.” Yveni sounded more irritated than smug. “Tomorrow, I’m taking you to town. Do you have a home anywhere?”

“Dadel, in the Taeln Hills. Long way from here. My master only lived there in the cold months.”

“How long would it take to get there, and have you gold enough to survive until next season?”

“Three, four weeks, going slow, and yes.”

“Then I’ll take you there.”

“And then?”

“And then…we’ll see. Paole, you did your best to bully me before and it didn’t work. You have no chance of making me change my mind now.”

“Stubborn little brat.”

“At your lordship’s service.”

Paole sighed and closed his eyes. More trouble than it was worth, fighting this child.

The force of nature that was Yveni, vicont of Sardelsa—or so he claimed to be, and Paole had less and less reason to disbelieve him—swept on. He rearranged the wagon so there was room for Paole to lie in it, he carefully mapped out a route, and the very next morning, after Paole was fed, watered, washed and relieved, they set out for the town, Yveni in charge, and Paole his helpless prisoner in all but name.

The healer in the town wasn’t someone Paole would necessarily trust, but he examined him thoroughly, and said exactly what Paole thought he would—rest and time, and a light diet were all that could be done. Expressing amazement for the third time that Paole had survived kirten fever, the man offered a tonic for Paole to take and didn’t even charge for it. His generosity didn’t stop Paole telling Yveni to throw it away as worthless when they were alone. Mathias had always been scathing about the things, and the last thing Paole wanted in a weakened body was some quack medicine that would do more harm than good.

When he woke again, they were on the move. It was a little like being a slave again, not knowing where he was going or what was planned. He didn’t enjoy the feeling, but he hadn’t the energy to stamp his approval on whatever Yveni would do. Not yet.

The days passed in a haze. He never left the wagon, relieving himself in a pot, and Yveni fetched and carried for him with a terrifying determination. The boy kept up a steady supply of tea and honey, light broth, a little bread now and then, some well-cooked rabbit meat when he felt Paole could handle it. Paole was washed down daily with warm water, his clothes changed when he needed it. The world went on without his help, and all he had to do was sleep and recover.

The weather grew steadily warmer, and at times the air in the wagon was stifling. Finally Paole could bear it no longer, and when he felt they had stopped at a campsite, he struggled out of the wagon under his own power. Yveni was there at the wagon steps immediately to help him. “What are you doing? You shouldn’t be up.”

“You’re a nag as well as a brat, aren’t you? Need fresh air.”

“Why didn’t you say? I could have—” Yveni stopped, probably realising that even his immense stubbornness could not force the breeze to blow.

“Let me sit, boy.”

Yveni helped him sit under a large spreading tree. The relief from the heat was blissful, and his headache eased as soon as he was out of the sun. He looked around and realised he recognised the spot. A place Mathias always stopped at, near a river. Yes, he knew that pink and grey stone boulder, and that tol tree. They had to be outside Tarnul.

“How are you feeling?” Yveni asked.

“Better. Stronger.”

“Not well.”

“No. But I think I could stop in Tarnul and sell some scripts.”

Yveni arched a sceptical eyebrow. “Oh yes.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Brat.”

Yveni tsked. “You’re the worst patient I’ve ever seen, Paole.”

“Hate being sick, that’s all. Just leave me here while you do whatever you’re doing. What
are
you doing?”

“I was about to set some traps. Thought we could stay here a couple of days so I can hunt some fresh meat and do some baking. There’s no hurry to reach Dadel, is there?”

“None at all. I’d like to go to town.”

Yveni folded his arms, a familiar glint of obduracy in his eyes. “You can hardly stand.”

“Don’t need to stand. People come to me. I can set up a stall in the market, sit on a stool all day.”

“How about day after tomorrow, and I go with you?”

He didn’t like being argued with, but a compromise was better than nothing. “All right. Leave me outside, though. Too hot in there. How long has it been?”

“Since we left? Ten days. I’ve stopped more than we planned, so I can trap and do laundry. Thought it would be easier on you.”

“Aye. Take your time, boy. The cabin can wait.”

He was in no hurry to reach it and be left with his own company. When they’d started this journey towards his house, it had felt like a place of refuge. Now he was a little stronger, he remembered why he’d gone to Kivnic in the first place. Ironic he’d been through all this to end up in exactly the same situation. By the time he reached Dadel, he should be strong enough to care for himself. Yveni could buy a horse from Jurgen and be at a port on the west coast within two weeks, in Horches a week after that. No reason at all for him to stay over the winter.