After a while, his mouth open, his hands tried to grip the floor, wet and sticky with his blood, as was the front of his clothing. There was a lot of blood. A whole lot. His eyes took on a glassy look, open-eyed, and he became mostly still except for some twitching, jerking motions for some time.
Eventually, he stopped twitching.
"Lord Merss?"
Still watching the body, I nodded. I think I nodded; I tried to nod. Hands I didn't know took me and unstrapped me and moved me from the table. I know I screamed then as they moved me, which is very odd, when you stop and think about it.
I saw a face I recognized. "Well, hello there, Dahni. What with one thing and another, I prefer your method of interrogation."
His face was like iron. He seemed not to hear me, which was possible. I didn't seem able to generate much volume. I tried again, but this time said, "Can you find my things?"
His expression became, if anything, sterner. "I’m sorry, we can't take the time," he said.
"Gold chain," I said.
"What?" He leaned closer. I repeated it.
He shook his head. "No, I'm taking you out of here."
"Bad move," I said.
For the first time, a bit of humor returned to his expression. "This time, Lord Merss, you're in no condition to be threatening anyone."
"Wrong," I said.
"Wait," he told those carrying me; four men I didn't recognize, but who had that same quality as people I'd known during my brief stint in the army. Odd situation, and not worth going into now. But I was convinced they were soldiers of some kind, which fit in nicely with my conclusions. Of course, the fact that Dahni had shown up at all pretty much confirmed my conclusions. Which, like so many things, was good and bad.
"Okay, let's hear it. I'll be curious about what you're going to threaten me with when you're so weak you can't even speak above a whisp—"
Their timing was perfect. Right in the middle of his sentence, they leaped up and flew at him. He ducked. They circled his head like they'd planned it, then perched next to me and hissed at him.
He stood back up, eying them warily. In his hand was a big, curved, clunky-looking sword with a wide blade, narrowing near the hilt. He seemed hesitant to use it—with good reason.
"The venom is very fast-acting," I said, as loudly as I could—which wasn't very. "You'll feel chest constrictions first, then be unable to breathe. Heart palpitations, sweat, and your body will shake as you become incontinent. The last minute or so you'll be entirely unable to move. You'll die by suffocation. The entire process will take about four minutes. There's no known antidote."
Just for the record, almost none of that was true; but few people actually know about the bites of poisonous reptiles; they know they're poisonous and that's enough, so you can tell them anything and have a good chance of being believed.
Dahni studied me carefully, then glanced at the four men holding me. "Set him down," he said. "Gently. I'll go look for your gear."
"Loiosh will keep you company," I whispered.
"Yeah," he said.
"You know, Boss, that was fun."
"Why am I not surprised?"
"Someday, you're going to have to explain how you knew he'd rescue you."
"Someday," I agreed.
"Tomorrow would be good."
"If there is a tomorrow, I'll consider the matter."
After what seemed a long time, Loiosh flew back into the room, accompanied by Dahni, who was carrying a large box that had arcane writing on it that I guess described some sort of paper product. "Got it all," he said. "Want to look it over and see if everything's there?"
"Yes," I said, and I think I half fainted there. I'm not sure what happened next— maybe they just stood around the place waiting for my senses to return, or maybe it was only a second or two. But Dahni held the box while I looked inside, and then moved things around so I could see everything. My purses and my money belt seemed intact, and, more important, Spellbreaker was there. I tried to reach for it and I guess I passed out again.
The next thing I remember is a breeze in my face that felt so good I didn't even mind the stench. It was night, and the mill wasn't working. I saw a bit of wall, some sky, and the backs of those who were carrying me; evidently they had found a blanket somewhere and were toting me on that, though I had no memory of how or when they'd worked that.
"All right, the boat's waiting down there," said Dahni. "After that, I know a safe place—"
"No," I said, almost killing myself to make sure I was loud enough to be heard.
"Eh?"
"No," I repeated. "Bring me to the manor. The Count,"
He shook his head as if he hadn't heard me. He probably hadn't. He leaned closer and I repeated it.
"Boss! You aren't thinking! He's the one who—"
"I know.”
"Think, Boss. I know you've—"
"Back me on this, Loiosh. Make sure he brings me to the Count. If he doesn't, I'm dead."
"What makes you think—"
"The same thing that made me think he'd rescue me."
There was a pause, then, "All right, Boss." He sounded worried. Yeah, me too.
Meanwhile, Dahni had been saying things I'd missed while talking with Loiosh. I shook my head. "The manor," I told him. "I must insist."
Loiosh and Rocza hissed. Dahni looked at those who were carrying me, and I could see his thought process. The soldiers, or, if you will, Vlad-bearers, were giving the jhereg nervous looks. Thinking back, I have to admire them. Those fangs were inches from the hands of a couple of the guys; if it had been me, I'd have dropped me and bolted. But I was concentrating on Dahni. This was the crucial moment of the whole thing. I wondered if I was going to have to tell Loiosh and Rocza to attack. I hoped not. For one thing, there really is no way to predict how jhereg venom will affect any given individual; it could be anything from dropping helpless in seconds and dying within minutes to only becoming mildly ill, and I didn't like to chance it. For another, however it ended it was liable to leave me flat on my back, unable to move, at the mercy of someone who made a career of being merciless.
I told Dahni, "You can't make it."
After a moment, he said, "And what happens to me?"
"Once I'm at the Count's, you can go. The jhereg won't hurt you."
"Why should I trust you?"
"I trusted you to rescue me, didn't I?"
He gave a short, bitter laugh.
"Think it over," I said. "You were my best shot so I took it. Right now, doing what I want is your best shot."
He hesitated another second or two, then nodded to the men holding my blanket. "Get him to the wagon, then take him back home. On my authority."
One of them said, "Yes, lord," and they started moving with me again. I think I might have passed out somewhere in there, because I don't remember the boat trip across the river.
I remember the wagon ride, however. It wasn't as much fun as you might imagine. I'm sure I can't have been awake and aware for the entire journey, but it sure seems like it. Days. It took days. And it's funny how a wagon catches even the tiniest rut or pothole in the road. The worst part was when we stopped, and I thought we'd finally arrived; but it turned out the Count's guards were having words with a patrol. When the jolting and bouncing started up again I bit my lip because I didn't want them to hear me cry out.
At last it really stopped. They came around, and opened the back, and then I was slipping in and out of consciousness again for a while. It wasn't pain, it was just exhaustion. I remember the butler, looking down at me, and saying, "The east room," and thinking how appropriate it was, what with me being an Easterner. I tried to say something about that but it didn't get far. As I stared into his face, I wondered what he was thinking: How much of that bland indifference was hiding his emotions, and how much was training himself not to have any. He wasn't like an Issola; it wasn't a desire to make someone feel comfortable. It was something else. A natural or cultivated distancing of himself from anything beyond what he ought to display.