10.5

The rain went on unabated for three days. For the first full day, Aytheur didn't move. About sunrise the second day he got up and allowed the Kliet to move Nasch into a real tent. By that night, Aytheur declared he'd done it.

“What have you done, Orc?” Krina and Nerith were playing cards. They'd been trading the same sixteen pennies back and fourth all day. The weather seemed to keep visitors away. Tyisch spent as much time as he could there, but duties of the festival kept him busy.

“I'm an elf. And he's cured.”

“Doesn't look cured,” she sneered.

“He'll get better.”

Nerith took the tall, frail-seeming elf by the arm, a little more forcefully than necessary. You'll come with me. You can eat, and if you're right, then we'll discuss the terms of your indenture.

“I'll stay will him.” And she did.

The druid's residence politely welcomed Neither and Aytheur, as it had for last two days.

“What indenture?

“King's decision, yesterday, while you were... working.”

“I have done nothing but help since I arrived, and now I am to be made a slave? I should kill your captain, it would be justice! Do you not realize I came here to help you stupid people?”

“We stupid people! Your magic may be like an orc, but you have the forked tongue of an elf. Your tongue is killing you. Stop your mouth before it kills you.”

“What, so you can kill me quietly? Were it in my power.”

“Shut up!” Nerith nearly exploded. “No one kills you today. All right, you're not going to be hung. Until you screw up. You've been assigned to care of the Kliet. You'll stay will us. Under Krina's direct authority. You hear me?”

Aytheur only nodded.

“Now, what did you do to Nasch?”

“You say that like you're accusing me. What do you accuse me of?”

“I had a dream. I never dream, but I had one. In that dream, one of the Elders came to me, one of the dragons. He told me you were changing him.”

“What is your name?”

“What?”

“Your name. Are you Kliet?”

“Yeah, I'm Kliet. Nerith. That's my name.”

“And his name is Nasch, right? Do your names have meanings?”

“Does your's?”

“It does. It's a composite. It means 'son of my healing.' My father named me, but it was my mother's magic that made me.”

“what, you were made my magic? Aren't elves born?”

Aytheur laughed. A clean, natural sound. It echoed in his own ears and felt out of place. Nerith laughed too, nervously, because he didn't know if he'd insulted the mage.

“You really know nothing about elves?”

“I know you're weak immortals, and that fills you with pride.” Nerith bristled. “Touched by the dragons so you think you're better than everyone else, and you make war on everyone else. I know you torch the homes of your allies and sow salt in the fields of your foes. That you would have the all be death beyond your forests, so you might be at peace in a dead world.”

“Is that what you think of elves?” Aytheur was taken aback. “We aren't like that at all. We're basically peaceful people. Well, Ballea is, anyway. Threanace can be a little bloodthirsty. And we'll pay back evil for evil. But we'd never burn the homes of our friends or harm to land of a conquered people.”

“You wouldn't, no? Tell me, you who live forever, do you remember Uerd? I was there, I saw the whole land ruined. Your twisted vines grew into the walls of the orc city, your moss dug roots into the bricks and ruined them. Your poisoned weeds sprung up on the fields so that no one could eat the grain, even the animals became sick from the grass. I saw it, I was there.”

“what are you talking about? That was... four hundred years ago. You can't possibly have seen it, you're, what, fifteen? Twenty?” Aytheur tried to convert to goblin ages in his head. Nerith looked like a young adult, a little older than himself. Maybe thirty years old, if he were an elf.

“I'm twelve.”

“Then how could you have seen it?”
“I remember it.”

The druid's servant brought them four bowls of hot porridge on a covered tray. They stepped back out into the drizzle, and the conversation died.

“He'll be ok;” Aytheur tried to explain, when they were back inside the tent. “We should move him as little as possible, but his body has the strength it needs now. It is fighting a war, in his blood. Many tiny lives threaten Nasch's life. I strengthened Nasch's life. His body will fight faster, heal faster, and he can win the war in his blood. You should help me feed him, he needs his strength.”

Krina asked Nerith, “A war in his blood?”

“I don't know. He didn't explain. He is always rude.”

Aytheur pretended he couldn't hear them, and tried to feed Nasch. The goblin choked, then coughed until the porridge ran down his face, so Aytheur resign himself to making his patient drink instead.