12 The Narrow Escape

The following morning, Eryck stood before the remnants of his former shack. Accompanied by his two friends, he could still see small puddles of urine that dotted his flattened shelter with dampened stains dispersed across some of the more absorbent boards tangled amongst the lumber.

Always uncomfortable in the forest, Tobin nervously glanced over his shoulders. "You lived here? Alone?"

"Ya. I used to." Eryck stepped forward to closer inspect the debris. "By the way, thank you, guys for coming here with me."

Ryver circled the collapsed structure. "No problem. How do you know Ser Karsan did this?"

"I saw the bastard when he did it."

Tobin gave Eryck a quizzical look. "But how did you know that he had found your shack?"

Bunching his lips together, Eryck struggled with how much to share. "Don't laugh, but an owl warned me."

Ryver stopped his inspection of the damage and stood upright. "An owl?"

"Yes," confirmed Eryck. "I woke to find the bird sitting in the window last night. I followed it here to find the knight destroying my shelter."

Tobin promptly returned his attention to the surrounding forest. "Maybe a witch sent you a warning?"

Eryck rolled his eyes. "There are no witches, no magic."

"Oh ya," retorted Tobin. "Then why would you follow the owl if you don't believe in magic?"

Eryck stared at the urine stained wood, shocked that he had been outwitted his friend. "I don't know why I followed the bird."

"I know why," said Ryver. "Magic."

With a heavy sigh, Eryck began to pull apart the lumber at one corner in search of his book. "Okay then, why would a witch want to warn me?"

Tobin's smile betrayed his thoughts, his answer for most perplexities to life. "Maybe the witch wants to mate with you. Since witches also like to live in the woods, maybe she has developed a crush on you."

Pausing only long enough to roll his eyes, Eryck continued his search.

"Ya," added Ryver. "But don't mate with her. She has to kill you once you've completed."

"To keep her identity a secret?" asked Tobin.

"No. She needs your blood to feed to her spawn."

Tobin nodded. "Ah, that makes sense."

Eryck paused again to glare at his friends. "That makes no sense at all."

Tobin turned his nervous gaze outward, scanning the forest. "How do you know? They say strange things keep migrating down from the north. Travelers keep saying that the sightings of magic keep increasing."

Pushing a large piece of scrap wood aside, Eryck peered into a dark hole. "Have either of you ever seen magic?"

"I have," replied Ryver. "I've seen wisps in the summer, near the swamp."

Fumbling in the debris, Eryck located his tin candleholder. When he pulled it from the hole, he discovered it crushed into a flat lump. Dammit, he thought. Sighing, he said, "Wisps are not magic."

"What are they?" countered Tobin.

"A maester in Highgarden thinks that the wisps are nothing more than swamp gas erupting into small flame.

"Where did you hear that?" asked Ryver.

"I read it...in a book." Eryck's face went blank with a sad realization. Where am I going to read now?

"What book?" asked Tobin.

"Oh, um, just a random book at the binder's shop. I sometimes read a few pages while the binder prepares tea. He likes to make me tea since I help him transport the books."

Ryver hopped atop a large bolder sticking partially out of the ground and shoved his hands into his pockets. "I'll deliver his books for a couple pints of ale."

"Me too," added Tobin.

"The binder only has tea in his shop."

"Pass," said the two friends in unison.

Tossing another piece of lumber aside, Eryck discovered the book given to him by Cerenna. Tragically, he found the book gutted with most of the pages torn out. Sighing angrily, he carefully set the shell of the book off to the side and began to move further pieces of his shack in search of the pages. With each piece of scrap wood, his anger grew as his body's movements became fervid as he piled up the lumber.

"Eryck, are you okay?" asked Ryver.

"No. The bastard destroyed my book." Eryck knelt down and began gathering more pages torn out of the book.

Seeing their friend's distress, Tobin and Ryver assisted in the gathering of pages, stacking the sheets into neat piles.

Once all the pages were gathered, Eryck accepted the stacks collected by his friends and began staring at the disarranged book in his hands. Unable to make eye contact, he swallowed and said, "Thank you."

"Are you going to rebuild your shack?" asked Tobin.

"Not while this guy has it out for me. He'll just destroy it again."

Ryver picked up the smashed candleholder along with some of Eryck's other mangled possessions. "With any luck, that pig in human clothing will fall off his horse and break his neck."

"If only," sighed Eryck.

With a pair of recovered blankets tucked under his arms, Tobin found the burlap sack in which he began inserting some of Eryck's possessions. "Maybe you can go to Ser Daven?"

"No. This is beneath him. Anyway, he's lenient with his knights. He's not like the former Lord Tywin. That man would have personally hung all those knights had they gotten that close to Queen Cersei. He probably would have hung me too, just to drive his message home."

"Well," continued Tobin, "You're always welcome in the apprentice hut. It's as much your home as it is ours.

"Ya," added Ryver. "Plus it's a good dry place where you can put your book back together."

Trying to hide his grief, Eryck lifted his gaze from the book and stared up into the tree canopy, taking a deep calming breath. "Thanks, guys."

Ryver nodded towards the tannery. "Come, we're late for work. The boss said that two cowhides are due to be delivered this morning.

As they began walking single file towards the tannery, Tobin fell in behind his friends. "Hey, Eryck; maybe you can read us parts of the book while you put it back together."

"Sure," replied Eryck.

"I would like to hear some tales about magic."

"You would? I'd say it's only tales. Don't expect any truth."

"That doesn't matter," replied Tobin. "Who doesn't like stories about the magical forces of good against the magical forces of evil? Where else do we ever get to hear about the good guys winning, if not in tales?"

Clutching the pages closer to his body, Eryck mumbled, "Where else indeed."

...

As the tannery broke for their midday meal, Eryck sat at one of the benches to sort through the pages of his book. Most pages had been cleanly torn from the book, but a few were ripped in half. Matching most of the torn sections, Eryck believed that he had all the pieces. The folds could be stitched into a new binding, but the torn pages would need to be recopied if another solution could not be found. Eryck smiled, feeling lucky to have an old friend who knew exactly what to do.

Finished with their meal, Ryver and Tobin approached Eryck at his bench. Glancing at the scattered parts of the book, Ryver asked. "Are all the pages there?"

"I believe so. I'll ask the binder what I should do about the torn ones."

Tobin picked up a folded collection of pages and squinted at the printed letters. "I don't know how anyone can learn to read. Each time glance at a book, the words look completely different, the letters shapes I mean. Does the differences from book to book make them hard to read?"

Eryck accepted the folded sheets from Tobin. "Sometimes, but you get used to it. It's just like any other skill, it becomes easier over time."

Tobin pointed at the paper in Eryck's hand. "Why do they do that thing with the top line of letters? It all looks like random pen strokes to me."

"The chapter titles, and sometimes the opening sentence, are written with more flair."

"Flair?" queried Tobin.

"Um, the style." Seeing the confused looks of his friends, Eryck tried again to define it. "Artsy."

"Ah," respond his friends in unison.

Smiling, Eryck glanced down at cover page. When he began to read the text, his smile faded, his expression turning serious.

"What's wrong?" asked Tobin.

"Nothing. The chapter title is The Price of Magic."

"That sounds spooky," commented Ryver. "Can you read that to us tonight?"

"Sure," replied Eryck as he skimmed the text.

Tobin lightly elbowed Ryver's shoulder. "I thought we were going to the tavern tonight?"

"Ah right. The book can wait; fresh ale cannot."

Ryver watched his friend read and then asked, "Eryck, do you want to go out with us tonight?"

"Na. I need to finish putting my book in order before my next delivery of goatskins." Without looking up, Eryck turned the page, knowing he had stumbled upon something.

...

That night, Eryck used his friends' candle to read the chapter pointed out by Tobin. In it, he found the author's principles to be in line with his own beliefs: magic was a tool for those seeking an easy solution to their problems, a cowardly veil to hide ones deficiencies and fear of mortality.

When he finished the lengthy chapter, Eryck immediately began reflecting over the text as he set aside the pages and blew out the candle. Sitting with his back against the wall, he was surprised that a book about the history of magic could be so profound—not to mention grounded in reality.

Staring out the open window, he recalled the winged visitor from the night before. Eryck considered for a moment that divine intervention had sent him the owl for a specific reason, but ultimately, he returned to the idea that the bird was just an owl—or multiple owls—that had crossed his path by happenstance.

Eryck continued to stare out the window, wishing for the bird to show up, to show him that there was more to life than dying. He stared intently out the window, daring magic to prove him wrong when the door to the apprentice hut swung open.

A gangly figure staggered through the door, causing Eryck to squeal in fright. The gangly figure gave a frighten squeal of its own before bolting for the door, only to be bounced back into the room by a stocky figure who made an even more frightful noise.

"Ryver?" called Eryck.

"Eryck?" countered Ryver.

"Ryver, is that you?" asked Tobin.

"Of course it's me, you idiot. You were right behind me; weren't you?"

"Ya, but I thought I heard a woman scream."

"That was me," confessed Eryck.

"Who ran into me just now?" asked Tobin, leaning against the doorframe.

"That was me." Ryver staggered to his corner of the room, sprawling out face down on his straw mattress. "Stop asking questions. You're drunk."

"Ah, right." Tobin slowly closed the door to the hut and shuffled uneasily to his corner. "Did I remember to pee before coming in here?"

"Yes," replied Ryver. "Like it matters. You're going to piss yourself anyway."

As both men chuckled, Eryck reclined on his straw mattress as the stench of the tavern began to waft to his side of the room. Ignoring the smell, he pulled his blanket over his shoulder when Ryver began speaking.

"Eryck, did you hear the news?

"What news?"

"The lieutenant that got demoted, the one that hates you..."

"Ser Karsan? What about him?"

Cheerfully, Ryver announced, "He's dead."

Eryck sat up, listening for more news that did not come. "Ryver? Are you sure?"

"Ya. That's what some of the knights said in the tavern."

"How did he die?"

"I know this one," replied Tobin, rolling onto his side.

Eryck listened intently, but only heard the sound of heavy, drunken breathing. "Hey? Somebody tell me, please."

"Um," continued Ryver, "they said Ser Karsan woke just before dawn and began to vomit, saying that he had too much to drink. But the thing is, he didn't stop vomiting. He then began to complain of stomach pain just before vomiting up blood. Soon after, witnesses said that blood started coming out of every orifice, including his eyes and ears. The man was screaming in pain, claiming that it felt as if he was being burnt alive."

"I know what happened," slurred Tobin from his bed.

"Shut up, you oaf. I'm telling him the story."

"Who said that?" asked Tobin.

"It's me, Ryver. You're shit faced. What do I tell you to do when your shit faced?"

"Stay quiet and ignore the voices in my head until the sun comes back up."

"Correct."

"I can do that," said Tobin as he rolled onto his stomach, mumbling incoherently to himself.

Once Tobin quieted, Ryver called out softly. "Eryck, are you still awake?"

"Yes, of course. Tell me everything."

"Right. Um...where was I?"

"Burning alive," replied Eryck, trying to keep his composure.

"Right. Ser Karsan said the pain was too much to bear and asked for a mercy killing. But before the maesters could decide on anything, the man died."

Stunned by the news, Eryck's mouth had become dry, forcing him to swallow. "Do they know what caused it?"

"They think it was a magic spell. Some sort of curse."

"Why would they think that?"

"Because I haven't told you the strangest part."

"What?" Eryck tossed off his blanket, wiping away the sweat that began to form on his brow.

"The maesters had stepped outside to compose themselves, to discuss what happened, and when they returned, they found that Ser Karsan's flesh had already begun rotting and was falling from the bone. Within a few hours, all that was left was his skeleton."

Losing the feeling in his face, Eryck nervously began rubbing his jaw.

"They think that someone or something cursed him with magic."

Eryck's mind raced as he contemplated the cause. "Maybe he ate something that made him sick."

"Have you ever heard of bad food making the flesh fall off the bones?"

"No," replied Eryck.

"I'm betting that there is a witch nearby, the good type—if there is such a thing."

"Why would you say that?"

"Because she seems to be on your side," replied Ryver. "Now you don't have to worry about that knight harassing you."

"I suppose."

Ryver turned over on his bed, the hay to crinkling softly within the mattress shell. "Good night, Eryck."

Eryck lay on his back without bidding good night. Pulling his blanket up to his chin, he stared into the darkness with wide eyes. Immediately discounting the theory of bad food—along with the idea of a witch, one remaining thought gripped him: poison.

...

In the early morning light, Eryck made his way through the forest for his shack. When he reached his prior home, he began to search for the wine bottle that the former lieutenant had smashed against a tree. In seconds, Eryck spotted the disfigured bark on one of the nearby elm trees.

At the base of the tree, Eryck found three large pieces of wine bottle with small shards of glass scattered about. He did not dare touch the glass, for the scarred bark and exposed sapwood gave plenty of heeding, appearing as if chewed away by thousands of insects. The area beneath the impact showed scarring from the streams of wine that had spilled through the coarse bark. Taking a step back, Eryck wondered if the poison would continue to eat away at the tree. Staring up into the canopy, he honestly hoped not.

Returning to the tannery, he tried to begin his workday but felt compelled to pester his friends into retelling the tale of the dying knight.

Though Tobin could not remember returning home in a drunken stupor, he still remembered the story shared by knights at the tavern. Matching Tobin's version of the story, Ryver later retold his version of the story, adding that the mysterious death was all that anyone talked about in Lannisport.

When Eryck eventually returned to his work—scraping the hair from a fresh cowhide, he wondered why Myrielle would try to poison him.

Unable to focus, Eryck eventually approach his boss. "Master Behn, I was wondering if I could slip away for a couple hours. The binder asked me to deliver some books to the castle. He said it was an important delivery, and I told him that I would try to deliver them today. I have a cowhide in the bating tank. It will be ready for me by the time I return. I'll stay late to finish my work."

Master Behn looked about the tannery to judge the day's progress. Nodding, he said, "Okay. Just let the others know that you're not abandoning your work and that you will finish it upon return."

"Yes, sir."

After informing his friends, Eryck collected the three latest books from the apprentice hut and headed for the castle. Eryck proceeded to the servant's entrance where the castle's steward again greeted him. Skipping all small talk, Eryck passed off the books and departed, leaving the steward perplexed by the young man's silence.

Eryck strolled slowly through the back courtyard, passing various servants performing various chores when he spotted the cook, Bessie, carrying a large wooden bucket from her kitchen. He nonchalantly walked up alongside her. "Hi, Bessie."

"Hi, Eryck. What a pleasant surprise. What brings you buy?"

"I had a special delivery from the bookbinder." Eryck glanced at the bucket. "I can carry that for you."

"Thanks, deary." After handing off the bucket, the cook stretched her back. "I need to get out of the kitchen more often. Come this way, that's slop for the pigs."

When Eryck dumped the slop into the pig trough, a half dozen excited swine scurried forward, pushing against each other in a frenzy to get at the rotting food.

Eryck leaned against the railing, dazzled by the spectacle. "You'd think they hadn't been fed in weeks, but they are all quite plump."

"True," commented Bessie. "They're never satisfied. They'd eat as much as I could throw at them."

"Kind of like people."

Bessie nodded. "More than not."

Gnawing his lip, Eryck stepped back from the fence. "Is Myrielle in the castle? She is supposed to have a special book that needs rebinding. I could deliver it to the bookbinder today if it's convenient for her."

"She's here. She has recently been working in her garden every day. If she's up, you'll probably find her there. I must warn ya; she has ordered the servants not to disturb her."

"What is she doing?"

"Beats me. I only know not to ask."

"Do you think I can ask about the book?"

"There is no harm trying, I suppose." Bessie pointed to a rock path that curved around the castle wall. "Just take that path. It leads directly to her garden."

Thanking Bessie, Eryck proceeded down the path as it followed the castle wall. Turning the corner, the courtyard widened, revealing a large open space of hedgerows and fountains. With the changing weather, the hedges and small trees appeared to have lost some of their rich color, giving the garden a lighter feel amongst the colorful flowerbeds and more vibrant pine trees. Near the center, Eryck spotted Myrielle working just behind a knee-high hedgerow as two castle guards stood a distant sentry on either side of the vast garden.

Knowing to seek permission, Eryck stopped well before guard and spoke loud enough for Myrielle to hear. "May I speak to lady? It is in regard to…a special errand."

"No one enters the garden," replied the stern guard. The knight coolly gripped the hilt of his sword. "No exceptions."

"Let him pass," called out Myrielle from the center of the garden. She stood, holding small shears in hand. "Let him pass unescorted."

The weary knight gave Eryck a second look and then gestured for the young man to proceed.

As Eryck walked past the guard, he watched as Myrielle immediately returned to her work behind the low hedgerow. Arriving at her side, he found her tending to several small yellow flowers interspersed amongst bare rose bushes.

Wearing thin leather gloves, Myrielle gently straightened one of the yellow flowers tangled amongst the thorny bush. Freeing the flower, she smiled and said, "Growing these within the thorn bushes protects them from unwitting animals."

Eryck knelt down for a closer inspection and recognized the tiny flower to be the one recovered by her sister from the dungeon in King's Landing. "I thought the flower to be an antidote, my lady?"

"It's both. The flowers are the poison, and within the stem is the antidote. If you eat petals and stem, you may survive, but you'll probably wish you hadn't."

"If you eat only the petals, your skin falls from your bones?"

Myrielle smiled wryly. "Not in its raw state. But with some careful modifications, mixed with additives that act as an accelerant, rapid tissue decomposition may occur."

"Are you doing something to make them grow faster?"

"Ah, yes. I discovered a soil formula in an ancient priest's journal that speeds up growth. I've also been able to make certain plant life grow as if in warmer clients. From what I have learned about this flower, it appears to be growing twice as fast. This particular flower normally blooms just before winter, before the snow. This is probably why so many thought the plant to be extinct." Resting her hands on her knees, Myrielle stared at her work. "These flowers are probably not even close to becoming extinct. With their preference for cooler weather, I suspect that they gone dormant over long hot summer. I've been fortunate to coax them into blooming this far south."

"Perhaps they will start blooming naturally elsewhere if we see a long winter. Nature adapts to climate cycles all the time."

"Perhaps." Myrielle eyed Eryck. "How have you come to know about climate cycles?"

"A book," replied Eryck. "Where else? A merchant captain gathered weather data over many years while sailing the seas. He began connecting his findings to ancient folklore and other weather legends, creating an interesting journal of theories about climate cycles that appear to have happened over the centuries. The book is in your library."

Myrielle hemmed as she inspected the next flower. "I'm sure it is. You probably know our library better than I do."

Stepping around the woman, Eryck noticed how the flowers ran the entire length of the hedgerow. "Why do you want to grow so many dangerous flowers? Wouldn't it be more prudent to grow a little?"

"War is coming. We could very well may need more than what you see."

"War with whom, my lady? I thought the major war was over."

"What? That little skirmish with the northerners. That was mere practice for what is to come. The red woman knows. Those of us with the knowledge know." Gazing down the hedgerow, Myrielle gnawed her lip. "Hopefully the seers' predications are wrong and none of this will be necessary." Tending to the next flower, she said in a soft tone. "All will be revealed in due time. That is all I can say."

"May I ask a different question, my lady?"

Carefully removing her hand from the thorn bush, Myrielle turned to Eryck. "If it is in regard to the wine bottle I gave you, yes, I poisoned it."

"Why did you want to poison me? I gave my word. I would never betray you or your sister."

Vexed at having to explain herself, Myrielle sighed heavily. "I wasn't poisoning you, I was protecting you."

"What? How, my lady?"

"That afternoon, while you were with Cerenna in the library, I created a new variant of my poison, using the tiniest amount of dried petal from this flower. As with each change in the formula, I needed to test this concoction. As fate would have it, you told me that the Ser Karsan had it out for you, and knowing that this man would waste no time seeking his revenge, I devised a trap. I thought the wine would be a perfect test since he was fond of drink, which you are not. Two birds, one stone, as some would say. Hmm? Pretty clever if I say so myself."

Stunned by her confession—and subsequent smile, Eryck stared at the woman. "I could have been killed, my lady."

"But you weren't." Myrielle continued to smile proudly.

"I almost gave the wine to my friend. I could have killed him."

"But you didn't." Myrielle returned to her flowers. "Stop fretting about things that didn't happen."

"You could have told me when you gave me the bottle."

Myrielle shook her head. "You would have ruined the trap had you known. I'm certain of it. The best traps are only known by the one who sets it."

"But—"

"But-but-but. If we worried about all the could haves, would haves, and should haves in our lives, we would be paralyzed with fear and indecision. I suggest you forget about what did not happen and focus on what did. You no longer have to worry about that man's vengeance. Is a simple thank you too much?"

"I could have been killed. I've nearly died for a," pausing, Eryck counted his near death experiences on his fingers, "a fourth time in the past two weeks." He crossed his arms in an attempt to rein in his growing frustration.

Glaring over her shoulder, Myrielle sternly eyed the young man. "Are we forgetting our place?"

Swallowing hard, Eryck cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, my lady. Thank you for protecting me...though you almost killed me."

Rolling her eyes, Myrielle moved to the next flower. "There you go again, worrying about what didn't happen."

"Should I feel lucky?"

"Yes. That would be an optimistic way to view it."

Dismayed, Eryck watched as the woman who had killed a man on his behalf gently tended to her small yellow flowers. Seeing the steadiness of her hands, Eryck felt certain that she processed no guilt, that she felt just with what she had done. Though these sisters terrified him, the young man had grown to admire their ambitions and unwavering resolve—insane they may be. He himself could only wish for such lofty ambitions, to have something to give his life meaning.

Maybe I could write a story about the Lannister women, he thought. If he changed the names and locations, he could present the story as a fable—though few fables were ever put to paper. With his anger fading, Eryck had to admit that he felt relieved to be rid of the dangerous man. Speaking from his heart, he said, "Thank you, my lady. Thank you for saving my life."

"That's better," she said, flashing Eryck a smile.

His thoughts turned to one last concern. "My lady, I think the captain of the castle garrison also has it out for me."

"Not much I can do there. My brother is quite fond of the captain. They've known each other since they were children. It would be too risky for me to eliminate him without drawing unwanted attention to myself, and my work."

"My lady, are you sure that your brother doesn't know about your poison research?"

Removing her gloves, Myrielle stood. "He knows that I have a fascination with nature and alchemy, but he does not know the specifics. I'm certain that my brother prefers not to know what Cerenna or I do in our free time.

Don't be so sure about that, thought Eryck.

"He's the kind of man that prefers to not know what he doesn't know. You know?"

With a knitted brow, Eryck replied. "Um, I think so, my lady."

"Good." Myrielle dropped her gloves and small shears into a simple basket before brushing the grass remnants from her clothes. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

With a calming sigh, Eryck said, "No, my lady. You've done more than enough."

"Very well. Good day, Mr. Leder." With a smile that now appeared more dangerous than radiate, Myrielle scooped up her basket and exited her garden, leaving the dumbfounded young man to his own.