The way back to the tent was devoid of people, and if there were ghosts about, Caewen saw no signs of them either. Dapplegrim sniffed the air now and then, swivelling his ears as if listening attentively, but he never paused in his stride and he said nothing. As they neared Samakarantha’s tent, they discovered that it was brightly lit from within, unlike so many of the other, darkened, quiet pavillions. There were soft sounds of voices too, which was reassuring. At the door, Caewen stopped, realising that she wasn’t exactly sure how to explain what had just happened, or even how much needed to be said.
She felt Dapplegrim shifting beside her. “Well? Are we going in? Hurm.”
“Of course.” She cleared her throat by way of announcing herself, and added, “It’s me. Us. We’re back. Everything is safe again… for now–I suppose–anyway.”
There was immediate uproar, confusion and noise. She found herself being hugged by Keri, and fielding questions from Samakarantha–which she had expected–and from others too, who she had not. Quinnya was in the tent, seated on one of the small stools, watching everything intently with her stormy eyes under a mass of wild hair. There was a man, probably in his twenties wearing heathery colours of purple, red and brown, and toying with a small set of pipes in his hands. A woman who smelled strongly of lavender and honey. Another elderly woman who was missing one eye and had wispy grey-white hair. She was sucking on a long pipe and had a bottle tied to her belt that was full of shimmering, changeful colours. And the old shadow-witch that Caewen had met before the maze-walking was there too: the one who’d been in an argument with the flame-sorceress and given Caewen the seeing-stone charm. A momentary struggle to dredge up her name brought Cag-Mag Twelveshadows to the surface. There were yet more magicians, at least a dozen of them, lurking or standing about in the recesses, all of whom looked important, although Caewen did not recognise a single face among them.
When Samakarantha was close enough for her to whisper, she said to him: “Why are these others here? It’s like a town meeting.”
“Ah, they have all come to awareness of events, through such means and ways as the sorcerous have. Their questions and inquires brought them here. Some of us would have gone after you too–when we realised that you were facing a dragon, alone–but we had no idea where exactly you had gone. And yet, my keen senses note that we are all still breathing, and not a one of us is roasted alive. I take it that you dealt with the matter of the dragon?”
“How much did the others tell you?”
“As much as we know,” replied Pel.
“That’s close to everything I know then too. I can go over it all, again, if you like, but I must sleep. I am close to falling over where I stand. I am so tired. And cold.” She shook her head. “Why am I always so cold lately?”
A slight, worried frown from Samarkarantha. “Sleep seems more than reasonable.” He then inclined his head. “Will you take a bath first? I can have one drawn.”
“Do you mind if I don’t? I probably smell like mud and ashes and death, but I’m afraid I’d just nod off in the water and drown.” She yawned and didn’t even try to cover it. “Point me to a corner when I can collapse.”
Caewen was shown to a space where there were blankets and pillows. She peeled off most of her damp outer layers of clothing without even caring that the tent was full of people, and curled up under a blanket. Her head was pounding with a tiredness headache. She was asleep the moment she closed her eyes.
###
The next morning, Caewen woke to smells of good food sizzling. A fatty, wonderful looking breakfast of lamb cuts, fruit pulp and softened split millet was being fried over the tent’s hearth fire by one of the Biloko. It looked at her impassively with small, piggish eyes, then gave out a shrill whistle, before going back to its cooking duties.
The rest of the tent was empty, but the entry ruffled and Samakarantha entered. “Food or bath?” he said, without preamble. “The potentates and grandees from last night have mostly left. For some reason they took it into their head that there was perhaps still some danger about, and more or less everyone has been upping tent-stakes since dawn.”
“That’s the magicians who were here last night?” asked Caewen, groggy.
“Yes. They were satisfied enough to know what Fafmuir had planned and why. Your horse-demon was able to elaborate on those parts that might have been otherwise difficult to guess.”
Caewen tried sitting up, but her head spun and she lay down stiffly again. Every inch of her hurt. Everything. “I’m never going to move again,” she said, only half-joking. She didn’t say it, but she was feeling the cold more sharply too. Awful, unhealthy cold. She immediately started worrying that all the reckless spellworking had stripped away too much of her life and warmth after all, just as Dapple had warned against. A small squirming fear deep in her belly made her wonder if she would ever feel warm again.
Samakarantha silk-swished over to her and sat down on the nearest stool. Leaning close, he laid the back of his hand of her brow. His expression was serious. “Your skin is as cold as a lake in winter. And not one of our pleasant southern lakes of waterlilies and lotus either. One of your awful frozen northern lakes.” But then he relaxed away, smiled his beatific smile and hummed deeply, musically in his throat before proceeding to speak. “I see,” he whispered. “Well then and good. Let us find out what can be done for you. After all, you have done so much for so many others, this last night that has been. Ahem. There was once a young woman who risked her life to save hundreds–maybe even thousands–of other folk, even though most of those other folk were wizards, and as everyone knows, wizards are a selfish lot and not much given to gratitude. But she saved them anyway, and for her trouble she was cut and sore and near dead from exhaustion. She had done far too much charm-work too, and was the worse for the loss of warmth and life’s fire in the blood. However, there was one magician who was grateful for what she had done. His name was Samakarantha, and to express his gratitude–and to repay her a little for what she had done–he conjured up the sort of mending spell that requires the giving of life itself. So it was that Samakarantha’s life would be a little shorter than it might otherwise have been, but he did not mind. And the young lady found herself greatly healed and restored, with warmth, and she had back a little of her soul’s fire and life.” After a moment’s reflection he added, “Although the spell did nothing for her smell, so she still needed to have a bath.”
As soon as he finished speaking, she felt a swell of tingling, dancing heat move through her, like blood in icy water; making patterns out of curls and eddies over her skin; down, through her flesh. Every nerve and muscle seemed to lunge after that heat, embrace it. She felt alive with the oven-hot warmth of it. As she realised what Samakarantha had done–what he had given her–she found herself embarrassed, and was only able to say, “Thank you.” Which seemed a terribly underwhelming way to say anything in that moment.
“Well and well. If you had not dealt with Aslaug, I would not have any life to give to anyone, would I? It seems fair.”
Not entirely sure that this was true, Caewen nodded, and rose to her feet. She did feel better. Her cuts and bruises seemed to bother her less than they had a moment ago. But the profound difference was simply the warmth. She felt alive again, where a moment ago she had felt as if she were dangerously close to slipping into some sort of cold mockery of life. “A bath would be wonderful,” she murmured.
He eased himself up too. “Find us when you are done. There will be food heaped in scandalously wasteful piles, heavy upon my best travelling platters of silver and porcelain.”
“Are the others all outside?”
“Keri, Keru, Pel and your beast. The others are gone, except for Cag-Mag, who insisted on waiting until you were up, I suppose for inscrutable reasons of her own.”
“Cag-Mag. She’s on the Broadtable, isn’t she? That makes her an important magician.”
“One of the most important, yes, and chief among the magicians of the third dynasty, the unaligned elements and powers of the earth, winds, shadows, flames and oceans.” He shrugged. “But important is, as important is seen to be. Magicians do not much like being told what to do by anyone–least of all another magician. It’s not exactly a hierarchy with us. More of a general structure of mildly resented approbation.”
“I wonder what she wants then? You didn’t ask?”
“Of course I asked.” His smile broadened. “But magicians are magicians are magicians, and they all of them love their secrets too. So too does Cag-Mag. Now, off to the bath, and peace go with you. No more worries until it is time for worry. That will come soon enough, I fear.”
Samakarantha left the tent then, and Caewen slipped back behind the curtains to the rear of the space. She found one of the Biloko glumly shaving tiny curls of soap from a block into a steaming full tub. After shaking off the last of her underclothes, Caewen eased into the water. The water was piping hot, and the heat was good.