Flight of the Night Hawks. Raymond E. Feist
Elizabeth said, ‘Henry, I don’t think I can do anything to save him. He’s too far gone.’
‘Damn,’ said the innkeeper. ‘Margaret!’ he roared.
Within a minute a young girl, about the same age as the boys, appeared from a door in the rear of the common room. ‘Get dressed and hurry down to the witch’s hut.’
The girl’s eyes grew wide. ‘The witch!’
‘Do it!’ the landlord shouted. ‘We’ve got a dying man here.’
The girl’s face went pale, and she vanished back through the door. A few minutes later she reappeared wearing a simple grey homespun dress and a pair of leather shoes. Turning to Zane, McGrudder said, ‘Take the lantern and go with her. The old witch won’t talk to strangers, but she knows Margaret.’ To Margaret, he said, ‘She’ll not want to come, but when she tells you to be away, say this and no more, “McGrudder says it’s time to repay a debt.” She’ll come then.’
Zane followed the obviously agitated girl out the door and across the small village square. This side of the village was upslope from a small stream and devoid of farms. The few huts bordering on the square were quickly left behind and they plunged into a thick copse of trees.
Zane hurried to keep up with the girl who seemed determined to get this over as quickly as possible. After a couple of minutes of silence, he said, ‘My name is Zane.’
‘Shut up!’ said the girl.
Zane felt his cheeks burn but said nothing. He had no idea why she was being rude to him, but decided that was something best explored when things weren’t so confused.
They came to a small game path and followed it, until they came near the edge of the stream. A flat clearing jutted into the stream, forming a small bend in the stream. The surface was rock covered by recently dried mud. Zane wondered why the hut that sat snug in the middle of the clearing hadn’t been washed away by the recent flooding.
The hut was constructed of sticks covered with mud, with a thatch roof and a rude stone chimney at the back. It looked barely large enough to contain one person. A leather curtain served as a door and what looked to be a small opening high up on the left appeared to be the only window.
The girl stopped a few yards from the hut and shouted, ‘Hello, old woman!’
Instantly a voice answered, ‘What do you want, girl?’
‘I’m Margaret, from McGrudder’s,’ she answered.
In a cross tone, Zane heard the reply: ‘I know who you are, you stupid girl. Why do you trouble my sleep?’
‘McGrudder says you have to come. There’s a man in need of aid at the tavern.’
‘In need of aid,’ said the voice from within. ‘And why should I give aid to any who pass through this village?’
‘McGrudder says it’s time to repay a debt.’
There was a moment of silence, then the leather curtain was pushed away as the old woman stepped through. Zane had never seen a smaller person in his life. She looked barely more than four and a half feet tall. He had met a dwarf once, travelling through Stardock on his way to the dwarven stronghold near Dorgin, and even he had been a good four or five inches taller than this old woman.
Her hair was white and her skin so sun-browned, like ancient leather, he couldn’t tell if she had once been fair or dark as a girl. Her stoop made her even shorter.
But even in the dark Zane could see her eyes, alight as if glowing from within. In the dim moonlight he could see they were a startling and vivid blue.
Toothless, she slurred her words slightly as she spoke. ‘Then come to McGrudder’s I shall, for I let no man hold debt over me.’
She didn’t wait for either Margaret or Zane, but marched past them purposefully, muttering to herself.
Zane and the girl easily kept pace, and when they reached the inn and went inside, Zane was amazed that the little woman looked even more frail and tiny than before.
She marched up to McGrudder and said, ‘So, what debt do I owe you, McGrudder, that you’d call in?’
‘Not me, old woman,’ said the innkeeper. ‘Him.’
The woman looked at the prone figure on the table and said, ‘Caleb!’ She hurried to his side and said, ‘Get this tunic off so I may look at his wounds.’
McGrudder began to pull Caleb upright to attempt to pull his jacket and tunic off, and the woman nearly screeched as she said, ‘Cut them off, you fool. Do you want to kill him?’
Tad had been keeping Caleb’s hunting knife; he pulled out and reversed it, handing the hilt first to the innkeeper. McGrudder set to with practiced efficiency and cut away the jacket, then the tunic.
The old woman looked at the wounds and said, ‘He’s near to death. Boil bandages, and fetch me a cup of wine. Hurry.’
The woman carried a small leather pouch on a strap she wore over one shoulder. She moved to stand next to the table and rummaged around in the pouch, finding what she sought. She removed a folded parchment and when the wine was produced, she unfolded it, letting a fine powder fall into the wine. To Zane, she said, ‘You, boy, hold his head up and don’t let him choke as I give him the wine to drink.’
Zane did as she instructed and Caleb’s lips moved slightly as she administered the potion. Then she went to the fire to check the cauldron. When the water began to boil, she put the bandages that had been cut from some spare bedding into it, and said, ‘You, girl, fetch me soap and cold water.’
Margaret brought a bucket of cold water and the soap. The tiny woman ladled some hot water out of the cauldron into the bucket to warm the water then told Tad to put the bandages into the water.
She set to with surprising vigour and washed Caleb’s wounds. She instructed McGrudder to use the metal ladle to fish out the bandages and let them drip on the floor, holding them before the fire so they would dry. When she was satisfied they were dry enough, she bound Caleb’s wounds and said, ‘Now, carry him up to a room and let him sleep.’
McGrudder picked up Caleb as a man might a child and lugged him up the stairs. Zane asked, ‘Will he live?’
The old woman fixed him with a sceptical eye and said, ‘Probably not. But he’ll linger, and that’s important.’
‘Why?’ asked Tad.
The old woman gave him a faint smile and said, ‘Wait.’
McGrudder returned and asked, ‘What more can we do?’
‘You know what you must do,’ and she turned to leave.
‘Wait!’ said Zane. ‘That’s all? A cup of wine and bandages?’
‘My potion is more than a cup of wine, boy. It’ll keep him alive long enough for McGrudder to fetch more help, and that help will save Caleb, son of Pug.’
‘What help?’ asked McGrudder.
‘Don’t dissemble with me, you old fraud,’ said the woman. ‘I know who your true master is, and I know if an emergency warrants you can send word in haste.’ She hiked a thumb towards the stairs and said, ‘His son lies dying, and if that’s not an emergency, I don’t know what is.’
McGrudder looked hard at the old woman and said, ‘For a simple woman who claims to practice only herbs and root lore, you know a great deal more.’
‘Live a long time and you learn things,’ she said as she reached the door. ‘But Caleb did me a favour, and his father did one years ago, and there was another, a friend of his father’s who did me a great service as well, so that in the end, there is a great debt still. But to you and your masters I owe nothing; let us not be confused on that matter, McGrudder. The next time you disturb my sleep, you do so at risk.’
Saying