On the bad days, Savn found himself checking the time every half hour. On the good days, he was always surprised when the Master said, “Enough for now. Go on home.” This was one of the good days. Savn took his leave, and set off. The afternoon was still bright beneath the orange-red sky.
The next thing to happen, which was really the first for our purposes, occurred as Savn was returning home. The Master lived under the shadow of Smallcliff along the Upper Brownclay River, which was half a league from the village, and of course that was where he gave Savn lessons; he was the Master, Savn only an apprentice.
About halfway between Smallcliff and the village was a place where a couple of trails came together in front of the Curving Stone. Just past this was a flattened road leading down to Lord Smallcliff’s manor house, and it was just there that Savn saw the stranger, who was bent over, scraping at the road with some sort of tool.
The stranger looked up quickly, perhaps when he heard Savn’s footsteps, and cursed under his breath and looked up at the sky, scowling, before looking more fully at the lad. Only when the stranger straightened his back did Savn realize that he was an Easterner. They stared at each other for the space of a few heartbeats. Savn had never met an Easterner before. The Easterner was slightly smaller than Savn, but had that firm, settled look that comes with age; it was very odd. Savn didn’t know what to say. For that matter, he didn’t know if they spoke the same language.
“Good evening,” said the Easterner at last, speaking like a native, although a native of a place considerably south of Smallcliff.
Savn gave him a good evening, too, and, not knowing what to do next, waited. It was odd, looking at someone who would grow old and die while you were still young. He’s probably younger than I am right now, thought Savn, startled. The Easterner was wearing mostly green and was dressed for traveling, with a light raincape over his shoulder and a pack on the road next to him. There was a very fragile-looking sword at his hip, and in his hand was the instrument he’d been digging with—a long, straight dagger. Savn was staring at it when he noticed that one of the Easterner’s hands had only four fingers. He wondered if this was normal for them. At that moment, the stranger said, “I hadn’t expected anyone to be coming along this road.”
“Not many do,” said Savn, speaking to him as if he were human; that is, an equal. “My Master lives along this road, and Lord Smallcliff’s manor is down that one.”
The stranger nodded. His eyes and hair were dark brown, almost black, as was the thick hair that grew above his lip, and if he were human one would have said he was quite husky and very short, but this condition might, thought Savn, be normal among Easterners. He was slightly bowlegged, and he stood with his head a little forward from his shoulders, as if it hadn’t been put on quite right and was liable to fall off at any moment. Also, there was something odd about his voice that the young man couldn’t quite figure out.
Savn cleared his throat and said, “Did I, um, interrupt something?”
The other smiled, but it wasn’t clear what sort of thought or emotion might have prompted that smile. “Are you familiar with witchcraft?” he said.
“Not very.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“I mean, I know that you, um, that it is practiced by—is that what you were doing?”
The stranger still wore his smile. “My name is Vlad,” he said.
“I’m Savn.”
He gave Savn a bow as to an equal. It didn’t occur to Savn until later that he ought to have been offended by this. Then the one called Vlad said, “You are the first person I’ve met in this town. What is it called?”
“Smallcliff.”
“Then there’s a small cliff nearby?”
Savn nodded. “That way,” he said, pointing back the way he’d come.
“That would make it a good name, then.”
“You are from the south?”
“Yes. Does my speech give me away?”
Savn nodded. “Where in the south?”
“Oh, a number of places.”
“Is it, um, polite to ask what your spell was intended to do? I don’t know anything about witchcraft.”
Vlad gave him a smile that was not unkind. “It’s polite,” he said, “as long as you don’t insist that I answer.”
“Oh.” He wondered if he should consider this a refusal, and decided it would be safer to do so. It was hard to know what the Easterner’s facial expressions meant, which was the first time Savn had realized how much he depended on these expressions to understand what people were saying. He said, “Are you going to be around here longr
“I don’t know. Perhaps. It depends on how it feels. I don’t usually stay anywhere very long. But while we’re on the subject, can you recommend an inn?”
Savn blinked at him. “I don’t understand.”
“A hostel?”
Savn shook his head, confused. “We’re mostly pretty friendly here—”
“A place to spend the night?”
“Oh. Tern lets rooms to travelers.”
“Good. Where?”
Savn hesitated, then said, “I’m going that way myself, if you would like to accompany me.”
Vlad hesitated in his turn, then said, “Are you certain it would be no trouble?”
“None at all. I will be passing Tern’s house in any case.”
“Excellent. Then forward, Undauntra, lest fear snag our heels.”
“What?”
“The Tower and the Tree, Act Two, Scene Four. Never mind. Lead the way.”
As they set off along the Manor Road, Vlad said, “Where did you say you are off to?”
“I’m just coming home from my day with Master Wag. I’m his apprentice.”
“Forgive my ignorance, but who is Master Wag?”
“He’s our physicker,” said Savn proudly. ‘There are only three in the whole country.”
“A good thing to have. Does he serve Baron Smallcliff, too?”
“What? Oh, no,” said Savn, shocked. It had never occurred to him that the Baron could fall ill or be injured. Although, now that Savn thought of it, it was certainly possible. He said, “His Lordship, well, I don’t know what he does, but Master Wag is ours.”
The Easterner nodded, as if this confirmed something he knew or had guessed.
“What do you do there?”
“Well, many things. Today I helped Master Wag in the preparation of a splint for Dame Sullen’s arm, and reviewed the Nine Bracings of Limbs at the same time.”
“Sounds interesting.”
“And, of course, I learn to tell stories.”
“Stories?”
“Of course.”
“I don’t understand.”
Savn frowned, then said, “Don’t all physickers tell stories?”
“Not where I’m from.”
“The south?”
“A number of places.”
“Oh. Well, you tell stories so the patient has something to keep his mind occupied while you physick him, do you see?”
“That makes sense. I’ve told a few stories myself.”
“Have you? I love stories. Perhaps you could—”
“No, I don’t think so. It was a special circumstance. Some fool kept paying me to tell him about my life; I never knew why. But the money was good. And he was able to convince me no one would hear about it.”
“Is that what you do? Tell stories?”
The Easterner laughed slightly. “Not really, no. Lately I’ve just been wandering.”
“To something, or away from something?”
Vlad shot him a quick glance. “An astute question. How old are you? No, never mind. What’s the food like at this place you’re taking me to?”
“Mostly salad this time of year. It’s the harvest, you know.”
“Oh, of course. I hadn’t thought of that.”
Vlad looked around as they walked. “I’m surprised,” he remarked a little later, “that this has never been cleared for farming.”