The Magic Engineer by L.E. Modesitt Jr

Author:L.E. Modesitt, Jr.
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 2010-03-31T16:00:00+00:00

XC

Dorrin turns on the pallet. He should get up. The forge at his own smithy must be finished, and he needs to find someone else to buy his toys, and harvest is approaching, and Yarrl will need help…

“Ooooo…” He is hot, so hot. But he cannot seem to move.

“Easy, Dorrin. You need to rest.”

Something cold presses his forehead, easing the fever, and he drops into darkness. When he wakes, his forehead is hot, but dry. Someone is talking.

“He was up there in the hills, setting up that fancy water system, and the mosquitoes got him. There’d be too many even for our smith mage to ward off, I’d say. Oh…you’re waking, are ye?” Rylla leans over and sponges off his forehead. The coolness is welcome, more than welcome. “Drink this.” She thrusts a mug at his lips.

“What…is…it?”

“Cider with willow bark and astra. It tastes terrible, but you need it.”

Dorrin drinks, very slowly, trying to ignore the bitterness. He finishes the concoction, and leans back, marveling at the effort merely to drink.

He is not aware of exactly when he falls asleep or even when he wakes, except the sky outside is gray, and rain patters lightly on the roof.

This time Vaos sits on the stool by the bed. “You awake?”

“Sort of…”

“I’ll be right back.” The boy scampers from the room, but returns after a time, slightly damp, with Rylla.

The healer studies the smith, touches his forehead. “You’ll heal. Wasn’t totally sure about that before, but you’re built like your forge inside.” She turns to Vaos. “About half of them that get the hill fever die in the first couple of days. The rest live.”

“Wonderful,” groans Dorrin.

“Have some more of this,” orders Rylla.

“Ugghhh…” But Dorrin drinks another mug of the bitter mixture.

“Keep him drinking the clean water, boy,” she addresses Vaos. “And don’t let him do anything but rest. Reisa will get me home now. He’ll get well by himself. Just be quiet.” The healer nods to Dorrin and leaves.

The smith rests, and sleeps, and wakes.

Vaos is not there when Dorrin wakes, but a mug filled with cool water is on the table beside the narrow bed. Dorrin’s hand shakes, but he manages to get the mug. He is sipping the water when Vaos peers into the room.

The youngster slips onto the stool. “Vyrnil came by. I said you were away. He wants something new. He left a sketch of it—says it’s something he saw on a Hamorian ship.”

“Why don’t you get the sketch?”

“The old healer said you weren’t supposed to do anything.”

“I can think,” Dorrin snorts, ignoring the blurriness the gesture creates. “Go on. I won’t move.” That is true enough. He is scarcely in any shape to move anywhere, thanks to whatever fever the mosquitoes carried.

Before Dorrin has even thought much about moving, the strawberry-haired youngster has returned with the sketch.

“This is it.”

Dorrin squints. The drawing does not seem to make much sense at first. “Turn it the other way.”

Vaos complies, but the lines still make little sense to Dorrin.

“He said that it’s a better way to sight the sun.

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