There was the sound of a faint sniffing. «Phaugh! You smell of human-sickness!''
«I don't doubt it.» Finist leaned against the palisade, head swimming, in no mood or condition for delicate diplomacy. «It's something strictly of humanity, leshy, nothing to affect either you or your forest. But I must enter the forest. I must contact my people, and I can't work the proper spell in here.»
The leshy gave a foxlike bark of a laugh. «Not surprising! Not surprising! They are of the dead places, these folk, the cold stone city places! They fear and hide, and deny anything they cannot touch, or hold, or measure!» There was a long silence, during which Finist knew the being was studying him. «So," it said at last. «Come out here, magician‑man. There is a still pool you may use for your scrying.»
Finist gave the ghost of a chuckle. «And of course, you wouldn't dream of leading me astray, eh? You wouldn't plan to bewilder and lose the poor human, would you?»
The leshy hissed indignantly. «I? Not I! Why would I do such a thing?»
«Because you are what you are, like all your kin, sly as foxes and tricky as the wind. But I warn you, I do know a few tricks of my own.»
It cost him almost more strength than it was worth, but Finist managed to conjure a hint of flickering silver flame at his fingertips, and heard the leshy hiss again, this time in wonder.
«No tricks, magician‑man, no tricks! The forest does not hate such as you, human though you be. Come, come!»
Finist dared follow that dimly seen, capering figure, wondering as he did if he was being a fool to trust a trickster. But the leshy led him truly, and the quiet pool was surely better than any hand mirror for his purposes. Ignoring the forest's curiosity, Finist set about once again focusing his will. It still wasn't as easy as it should have been, but the wild life-force all around him did help, and at last the prince saw his own image fading, to be replaced by greyness. Now, and now… He said the proper Words, concentrating as sharply as he must, feeling the Power growing and growing…
And suddenly it was done. Semyon's image was before him, there in the pool, the old boyar staring in amazement at the image he saw, a wan, brown-haired, brown-eyed stranger in an ugly fur caftan.
«It's me," Finist told him wryly.
«Prince Fin — "
«No, no, don't say it! I still need this shape.»
«But—but, my Prince, where are you? Are you all right? Are you — "
«Alive and unhurt and quite safe.»
«You don't look it.»
«Akh, it's just a minor thing, really. I took a slight chill, a touch of fever, the sort of thing everyone gets — "
«Except you! My Prince, you're almost never ill! Are you sure — "
«Semyon, yes. Truly. I promise you, all's well. And it may take a bit, but I'll return as soon as I'm able.» His strength was beginning to fade again. Before Semyon could take any fresh alarm, Finist added hastily, «Till then, good Semyon.»
He broke the contact just before it would have slipped away from him, and huddled by the side of the pool for a time, shivering and overwarm in one. «Damn this sickness!»
But now the leshy was at his side, hunkering easily down on its haunches, studying him, though all he could see clearly of it were the bright, glittering, green-glinting eyes. «I heard your words," the being told him. «They are not yours, then?»
«Eh?»
«Those ugly, armored humans who are searching the forest.»
Finist stared blankly at the leshy. Not his men, that was impossible; even had they known where to look for him, they never could have come from Kirtesk so quickly. Then who… ? Ordinary hunters definitely didn't go travelling in armor! A sudden thought struck Finist. I wonder, he mused, just how important are these mysterious hosts of mine?
But maybe the whole thing was mere coincidence. And right now he wasn't up to solving puzzles.
«No," said the prince belatedly. «Those men are certainly not mine.»
The leshy let out a whoop of joy. «Good! Good! Then I may play with them! I shall lead them up and down and about, and they shall find nothing, nothing, till they chance to find their way out of the forest and leave us in peace!»
And with that, the being was gone in a rustle of leaves and a stirring of the wind. Finist sat where he was for a moment, considering soldiers who were about to be lost in pathless woodland for a time, then shook his head. They should count themselves lucky to be getting out of a leshy's domain with nothing worse than a fright! What excuse they might give to whomever had sent them… But it wasn't his affair. Finist sneezed, shivering, and got wearily to his feet. He found his way back to the farm with little trouble—the leshy seemed to have left a faint psychic trail for him—and made his way silently into the house, very glad the family had no noisy dog to sound an alarm. No one stirred as he stole back to his room, and collapsed.
And there Maria found him the next morning, sprawled helplessly across the bed, drained of strength, quite feverish, and completely disgusted with the whole concept of illness.
«And I don't care what you say," Maria stood over Finist, glaring down at him. «Finn, you are staying in bed, and that's the end of it!»
«But—this is ridiculous! I'm quite well, and — " His tirade was interrupted by a sneeze.
«Good health," responded Maria automatically, then gave a sharp little laugh. «So! Quite well, are you?»
«I only — "
«Oh, Finn! You've already made yourself much worse by insisting on getting up the first time! Do you want to give yourself lung disease?»
«Of course not! I only…» Finist sighed. «I just hate feeling so weak.»
«Who wouldn't?» The young woman's voice softened a bit. «All right. I know you're angry at your body for betraying you. But I won't have you doing harm to yourself just because you don't have the common sense to take care of yourself!»
Finist stared at her, astonished, all set to make some properly regal retort. But then he surprised himself by bursting into laughter. «So be it!» he conceded. «You win.»
She nodded in satisfaction, and turned to go. «If you need anything, just call.»
«Ah, wait just a moment. There is one thing. Maria, where am I? Or, rather, where exactly is this farm?»
Her glance was wary. «Some fifty versts or so southeast of Stargorod. Why?»
«Just trying to orient myself.» Fifty versts, eh? A long distance afoot, a short one by wing. That wind really had carried him a long way from Kirtesk!
Finist came back to himself with a start. «Oh, but I'm being selfish. I didn't mean to keep you here. Please, go about your own business. I promise," he added with a little smile, «I'll be good.»
Her answering grin was so unexpectedly sweet and bright with mischief that a startled Finist felt his heart sing in response. Oh, don't be foolish, he told himself, and determinedly shut his eyes, quieted his thoughts, and forced himself back into healing sleep.
At first, Maria admitted to herself, she'd almost been ready to hate him, this stranger who'd rudely thrust himself into the established order of things. But how good it had been to see someone new!
Vasilissa didn't think so. Poor Lissa, so sure that because Finn came out of the forest, he has to be something demonic.
What he was, was plain, no denying it. But for all that plainness, there was a charm to the man. When he wasn't railing at her for keeping him in bed or making him drink his soup, that was. No—she had to admit it—he had a certain charm even then.