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Vi has thought that escaping HIghtown at night on the back of someone’s horse was the worst part of her week; her back is on fire from the flogging, she is in her shortsleeves without a weapon, coat or hat somewhere west to Hightown, and she’s clearly on a wanted alive list.
The last one is a positive spin Vi usually does at the end of such contemplations, just to feel that something is good.
She has some clothing.
She has a fairly good horse, even if she had no time to grab a saddle, much less put it on.
The horse seems to like Vi, at least there hasn’t been an attempt to throw her off.
She has a night to ride as far as she can, back bleeding, hands hurting, knees giving out.
The bad news: the only one person she knows on this side of the Ridge is the one who had her father killed.
***
Sevika, in fact, was once Vander’s right hand. Then she allowed Silco to take over, stepped back and let his goons in just when Vander needed her.
At least, that was what Vi saw .
Sevika, of course, spinned that story differently, and Silco helped with all his newly acquired power.
There is a reason Vi normally doesn’t show her face in Hightown or the surrounding lands; Zaun is just as dangerous, although there she knows all the places no one bothers to look too closely.
Also, getting people from Hightown pays more, and it’s in bad taste to live close to your targets.
***
Vi finally allows the horse to slow down: the poor thing wasn’t galloping for a while, not that Vi herself could hold for long on a gallop without a saddle, but now he seemed to limp.
So Vi sits back, bites back a curse - her back is one big lump of pain, and she doesn’t look forward to taking off her shirt! – and tries to figure out where she is.
Despite their hurry, Vi is too close to the town that met her so unwelcomely.
To the north is the bridge over the Pilt and the road that would lead to Zaun.
To the east is the longer yet less guarded road: that bridge had long since fallen, and the ford there is unreliable, but the summer has been hot enough for the waters to be low.
If Vi had her own horse, could sit straight, could pretend to be a wandering knight… but her armour, even though the mail could use some repair, was still in that courthouse, and no one in their right mind would let a bloody rider on an obviously stolen horse over the Pilt.
She turns the horse to a smaller road, deciding to try the ford.
Her luck holds for long enough to get to the ford and try to cross it: the water is low, the horse is tired enough to not be afraid of anything, there isn’t even a wind…
And then someone calls Vi out, by shooting an arrow worryingly close to her ear - the old and trusted Zaun tradition! – and Vi tries to lean away before she remembers both her tiredness and lack of a saddle.
The water is pleasantly cool.
That’s her positive thought before she loses consciousness.
***
She comes to herself in a smallish room: the fire burns brightly, suggesting that someone has been sitting close just now, but left, she is lying on her front, and seemingly bandaged.
Vi has just enough time to try to stand and deem that a bad idea: her legs feel like pudding, her back is on fire as if she is the fireplace, and her head starts pounding, to end the ensemble – when the door opens with a squeak.
“Don’t tell me you were just passing by,” a familiar voice says.
Vi turns her head to see the speaker. The owner of the house, the one guardian the ford even needs.
Sevika looks at her almost pityingly: she, unlike Vi, is in proper mail, and there is certainly at least one sword nearby, easy to grab.
Easy to grab for Sevika, not for Vi, even if she wanted to rely on a sword in such cramped quarters.
“I had my business in Hightown,” Vi spits, mostly because she is in pain and in no mood for long conversations.
“If you wanted to die, you could have come straight here,” Sevika says, even if her voice lacks a bite Vi almost expected.
“I did, once, remember? You critiqued my stance,” Vi says.
“I don’t think it became better. You wouldn’t be in that state if you knew what you were doing,” Sevika says, and sighs.
Vi could say how many guards there were, or how her plan was to get lightly flogged and then sneak out to deal with the judge - she just didn’t count that it wouldn’t be the light-handed young Kiramman who would lead the execution but the much more crafty Medarda.
If Vi could, she would ask for lessons: she had seen Medarda at work and her efficiency is admirable.
But instead Vi had to pretend to be too injured to go by herself, then knock out a guard and ride it on the first horse she grabbed.
“The plan went wrong. I will make a better one next time,” Vi finally says.
Sevika just snorts, checks Vi’s bandages and settles down to watch Vi for the night.
“You are abusing my hospitality,” Sevika says.
Vi doesn’t answer: she knows that that thing between them, the something that leads Vi to Sevika’s house and Sevika to drag Vi out of the river, is too small yet.
It won’t survive being named.
Vi doesn’t know if she wants this thing to survive; she hasn’t forgiven Sevika for Vander’s murder, and Sevika hasn’t even mentioned that, and still wears Silko’s colours.
Still, this isn’t the first time Vi wakes up in this room.
Vi thinks that it won’t be the last.