The elf puts his prejudice aside

The elf opened his eyes, and everything went dark. His hands were wet, his arms were wet – his body was seething with fever, and his skin was cold and wet and numb–

Sweat, not blood.

He moaned, but he was still too horrified to put his hands over his mouth. He could not see his hands – he could not be certain they were not red.

What was more terrifying than blindness? What was more terrifying than leaping a thousand times a day into the unknown?

What was more terrifying than going to the woman he loved, and soothing her with his voice, and putting out his hands to touch the body she had bared for him, at last, to touch her breasts – and finding only a wound so broad and so deep that his arms went down as into a pit, down past his elbows, down into a well of blood, down into the opaque depths wherein her heart shimmied like a sightless fish?

Nothing.

But it had been a dream.

“Lord?” Lena called just before his head dropped back onto the pillow.

“What is it, Lena?” he snapped, annoyed because he feared he had embarrassed himself by crying out in her hearing.

“Didn’t you hear?” Her voice was shrill with fear. “Someone knocked on the door.”

Was that what had woken him? Had worse awaited him in his dream?

But no one could come at this hour for any pleasant purpose, and Alred had promised him he would not be disturbed tonight. Moreover, he felt something like a menace beyond that door, and he did not think it was only the lingering horror of his dream.

“Stay where you are,” he called softly up to Lena as he crossed the hall. “Don’t make a sound.”

He threw open the door and cried, “Egelric!”

There was silence for a moment, and then Egelric murmured, “How did you know?”

Now that he knew he would not need to fight, his fever was able to seize him again and throw his body against the other door. He grabbed the handle to hold himself up. “I don’t even know,” he mumbled as his wet cheek slid down the wood. “Perhaps hatred has a smell.”

“You’re smelling desperation tonight, elf. Are you ill?”

“Come in. The cold air is killing me.”

The elf let go of the door and forced himself to stand.

“You’re wet,” Egelric said.

“Is it blood?” the elf sneered.

“No.”

“Then it is no concern of yours.”

The elf finally dared wipe the sweat from his face with his sweaty hand, and he pushed his damp hair back from his cheeks.

“What do you want, man?”

“I want to ask you to help me. No – I want to ask you to help my daughter.”

“Iylaine?”

“No. My baby girl. Jehanne.”

“Is she ill?”

“She was fine until after supper. Now she is gravely ill. Lili’s son died the same way. I can’t let that happen to her a second time.”

Having seen that he could not be held against the door, his fever instead began attacking his knees, and his legs shook. He realized he was very tall. It seemed a long way to fall.

“Are you ill?” Egelric repeated, pulling him back from the edge of a faint.

“I can’t do it!” he gasped.

“I would rather die than ask this favor of you,” Egelric muttered. “However, my death would not save my daughter. Please, do it for her sake, or for Lili’s, if you won’t do it for mine.”

“That isn’t what I meant,” the elf whined. “I can’t do it any longer. How many children did I save? A dozen? More? It’s killing me! And each time Alred said, ‘Just one more,’ and each time I did it. Now you say, ‘Just one more.’ I can’t! Look at me! I can scarcely stand!”

“I shall throw you over my shoulder and carry you if I must. I shall do anything to convince you, and if I knew how to force you I would do that too. Do you understand?”

The elf wiped his wet hands over the back of his wet arms. There was not a part of his body that was not slick with sweat, and his skin was clammy in the cold air, but he had a fever inside of him that he could not so easily shed.

Egelric snorted. “No, you don’t understand. What shall I do, elf? Shall I go back up the hill to Lili, and throw up my hands, and tell her I couldn’t convince you? And watch my baby die? And watch her watching her baby die? When you have children, you will understand.”

“Oh, so now you admit the possibility?” the elf sneered.

“I shall put my prejudices aside if you will. Let me put it this way: do not forget you tried to kill my son-​​in-​​law. I can’t speak for anyone else, but I can speak for myself. If you save my daughter, you will have made an enemy into an ally. This is your chance to redeem yourself in my eyes.”

“I wouldn’t do it for that reason,” the elf grumbled, “any more than I would let her die to hurt you.”

“What sort of reason do you need?”

“Lena!” he shouted, though she could have heard a whisper.

Lena’s voice came down from the loft like a timid angel’s. “Yes, Lord?”

“Egelric’s daughter is very ill. Should I try to save her?”

Lena gasped. “Poor baby! Please help her if you can, Lord. What if it were Penedict?”

“Lena says I should help you,” the elf smirked.

Egelric sniffed. “Did you suppose that a young mother would tell you to let another’s baby die?”

“I don’t know anything about it, since I don’t have any children, remember? But I must do as a lady asks, mustn’t I?”

“If you wish to be a gentleman.”

The elf’s pride was still stronger than his fever, and with it he straightened his quivering knees and lifted his damp head. “I am a gentle–elf. Now, please excuse me while I dress.”