“I could give him an endowment,” Chemoise whispered. “I could give him my stamina.” It was an offer made in pure love. As such, Iome would have wanted to honor it.

“And if you did, would he thank you for it?” the physic asked. “Should you die next time the fever season comes around, he’d rue the bargain.”

It was true. Chemoise was a sweet girl, but she showed no sign of having more stamina than anyone else. She got fevers in winter, bruised easily. If she gave her stamina to Sergeant Dreys, she’d be weak thereafter, more susceptible to plagues and ills. She’d never be able to bear him a child, carry it full-term.

“It’s only his endowments of stamina that have kept him alive this long,” Chemoise mused. “A little more—and he might live.”

The physic shook his head. “Taking an endowment, even an endowment of stamina, gives some shock to the system. I wouldn’t dare try. We can only wait and see if he strengthens. . . .”

Chemoise nodded. She knelt, cleaned the blood bubbling from the corner of Drey’s lips with the corner of her gray skirt. Dreys breathed hard, filling his lungs with air as if each breath would be his last.

Iome marveled. “Has he been gasping like this long?”

The physic shook his head, almost imperceptibly, so that Chemoise would not see him answer. Dreys was dying.

They watched over him thus for a long hour, with Dreys gasping more fiercely for each failing breath, until, finally, he opened his eyes. He looked up as if waking from a troubled sleep.

“Where?” he gasped, gazing into Chemoise’s face.

“Where is the book?” one of the Castle Guard asked. “We got it—gave it to the King.”

Iome wondered what the guard was speaking about. Then blood gurgled from Dreys’ mouth, and he arched his back, reaching toward Chemoise, grasping her hand.

His breathing stopped altogether.

Chemoise grabbed the sergeant’s head roughly, bent low and whispered fiercely, “I wanted to come. I wanted to see you this morning. . . .”

Then Chemoise burst into tears. The guards and physic all moved away, leaving her a few moments to speak some final words of love, in case his spirit had not yet fled the dying body. When she finished, she stood.

Only Corporal Clewes still waited at her back. He drew his battle-axe, saluted smartly, touching the cross formed by the blades to the bill of his iron cap. He did not salute to Iome, but to Chemoise.

He sheathed his axe and said softly, repeating his earlier tale, “He called for you as he fell, Chemoise.”

Chemoise startled at a thought, looked up at Corporal Clewes and said, “A small miracle—that. Most men, when so struck, only manage to gasp once before they piddle on themselves.”