“I’m all right. I feel much better.” A light fever had replaced Arren’s chill, and he did indeed feel well, his body languid but his mind racing lightly from one thing to another. “How soon did you wake up? What happened to Hare?”
“I woke with daylight; and lucky I have a hard head; there’s a lump and a cut like a split cucumber behind my ear. I left Hare in the drug-sleep.”
“I failed my guard-“
“But not by falling asleep.”
“No.” Arren hesitated. “It was- I was-“
“You were ahead of me; I saw you,” Sparrowhawk said strangely. “And so they crept in and tapped us on the head like lambs at the shambles, took gold, good clothes, and the salable slave, and left. It was you they were after, lad. You’d fetch the price of a farm in Amrun Market.”
“They didn’t tap me hard enough. I woke up. I did give them a run. I spilt their loot all over the street, too, before they cornered me.” Arren’s eyes glittered.
“You woke while they were there- and ran? Why?”
“To get them away from you.” The surprise in Sparrowhawk’s voice suddenly struck Arren’s pride, and he added fiercely, “I thought it was you they were after. I thought they might kill you. I grabbed their bag so they’d follow me, and shouted out and ran. And they did follow me.”
“Aye- they would!” That was all Sparrowhawk said, no word of praise, though he sat and thought a while. Then he said, “Did it not occur to you I might be dead already?”
“No.”
“Murder first and rob after, is the safer course.”
“I didn’t think of that. I only thought of getting them away from you.”
“Why?”
“Because you might be able to defend us, to get us both out of it, if you had time to wake up. Or get yourself out of it, anyway. I was on guard, and I failed my guard. I tried to make up for it. You are the one I was guarding. You are the one that matters. I’m along to guard, or whatever you need- it’s you who’ll lead us, who can get to wherever it is we must go, and put right what’s gone wrong.”
“Is it?” said the mage. “I thought so myself, until last night. I thought I had a follower, but I followed you, my lad.” His voice was cool and perhaps a little ironic. Arren did not know what to say. He was indeed completely confused. He had thought that his fault of falling into sleep or trance on guard could scarcely be atoned by his feat of drawing off the robbers from Sparrowhawk: it now appeared that the latter had been a silly act, whereas going into trance at the wrong moment had been wonderfully clever.
“I am sorry, my lord,” he said at last, his lips rather stiff and the need to cry not easily controlled again, “that I failed you. And you have saved my life-“
“And you mine, maybe,” said the mage harshly.
“Who knows? They might have slit my throat when they were done. No more of that, Arren. I am glad you are with me.”
He went to their stores-box then and lit their little charcoal stove and busied himself with something. Arren lay and watched the stars, and his emotions cooled and his mind ceased racing. And he saw then that what he had done and what he had not done were not going to receive judgment from Sparrowhawk. He had done it; Sparrowhawk accepted it as done. “I do not punish,” he had said, cold-voiced, to Egre. Neither did he reward. But he had come for Arren in all haste across the sea, unleashing the power of his wizardry for his sake; and he would do so again. He was to be depended on.
He was worth all the love Arren had for him, and all the trust. For the fact was that he trusted Arren. What Arren did, was right.
He came back now, handing Arren a cup of steaming hot wine. “Maybe that’ll put you to sleep. Take care, it’ll scald your tongue.”