Scholar

21

When Quaeryt woke, he was in a small chamber in a narrow bed. His head was a mass of fire, and his body ached all over. While flashes of light flickered across his eyes, he could see a dark-haired woman was blotting his forehead with a damp cloth. The coolness was welcome, neither chilling nor tepid.

“Where…”

“Hush … you’ve been fevered. You still are. You don’t need to talk. You need to rest. Just lean back and rest.”

Quaeryt had to strain to make out the colloquial Tellan. “But where…?”

“You’re in one of Master Rhodyn’s guest chambers, and before long you’ll be better.”

Fevered as he was, Quaeryt wondered about that. How … how had he gotten so ill?

“… not a normal fever for the croup you’ve got … or not one that’s all of nature … you’re better now…” The woman blotted his forehead again, with the coolness that relieved the heat that poured off his forehead.

“… thank you…”

“Not to be thanking me for what any good person should do … just close your eyes and rest…”

He tried to keep his eyes open, but they felt so heavy, and he was so tired. What had happened? There had to be more questions … if he could only remember what they were. If only … but he could not. All he could think of was that they were taking care of him, and for the moment, that was enough, and more than he could ask.

He let his eyes close.

Waves of heat and chill swept over him, and coughing spells that he half-remembered, as if in a daze or stupor where his body reacted. He thought he said words, but he could not remember what they were or what they meant.

The next time he remembered waking, he was alone in the small chamber, and his forehead was warm, but not burning the way it had been, and a light sheet of good cotton covered his body. He realized he’d been undressed down to his drawers, although he didn’t remember that ever happening. The light was low, as if just after sunset or before sunrise.

A younger woman, if older than Quaeryt himself, peered through the open door. “Oh … you’re awake. Let me tell the master.” With that, she was gone.

Quaeryt managed to prop himself up slightly on the single pillow before the gray-haired holder stepped into the chamber. Quaeryt mentally groped for his name. Rhodyn, that was it. “I am in your debt.…”

“Nonsense. Where would the world be if doing what one ought to do put people in debt?” asked Rhodyn in his accented Bovarian. He smiled openly and warmly. “How are you feeling?”

“Better … weak as a newborn lamb.”

“That’s not surprising. You’re an ill man, and not just from the croup you have. Darlinka thinks you were poisoned somehow, but you’ve sweated most of that out. For a day or two, we weren’t certain.”

A day or two? How long had he been out of his mind? And poisoned? The water from the old woman? He wanted to laugh, but he was afraid it would cause more coughing. And to think that he’d been worried about getting a flux from stream water.

“You’re also a bit more than you seem. You’re carrying a pouch with silvers and have hidden golds in your belt and a leather case sealed with wax. Looks like a dispatch case of the sort Telaryn officers carry. Your body bears scars of the kind that come from warfare, but there’s a tunic shirt of the kind only scholars wear.” The holder laughed. “You’re safe here. I’d not wish harm on any traveler, and not on one who walked through the Shallows Coast. Nor one who might be on Lord Bhayar’s affairs.” He paused. “I can’t say I believe your tale about losing a mount, unless you lost it with a ship. Your clothes were coated in salt.”

“You have me, sir.” Quaeryt’s voice came out hoarse and raspy. “The reavers were chasing me.” His eyes stopped focusing, and he had trouble making out the holder. “But … the rest…” He started coughing.

Rhodyn waited until the fit subsided, then handed him a mug from the small bedside table. “Watered lager. It helps.”

“Thank … you…” Quaeryt took a sip, then a small swallow before replacing the mug on the plain wooden table.

“… Rest, and we’ll hear the whole story when you’re better. Just know that you’re safe here.”

Quaeryt wasn’t sure he was safe anywhere, but he was so feverish and tired that he doubted he could have taken a handful of steps. Like it or not, he had to trust his keepers. Once again, his eyes closed without his wanting them to.