by Pemry Janes
“Not at all. And the offer of guest rights is for both you and Misthell. Though I fear neither will do a sword any good.”
“That’s all right,” Misthell said. “I very much appreciate the thought. Maybe some good oil?”
She bestowed a smile upon them “I’m sure we can arrange something. And you, Rock? Will you be staying under my roof?”
“I . . . would be honored to do so.”
“Yes, well. Just let my housekeeper know if you need your own place to sleep, so he knows where to put you.”
Leraine didn’t know what Mother was playing at, but she shouldn’t let Eurik face her mother alone. “He prefers a solid platform on which to sleep.” She took a deep breath and reminded herself to stay calm.
“Mother, I regret to inform you that Irelith the Viper has fallen.” Leraine wondered who would take over the name now. Her rival, Ringing Blink, was older than Irelith. It could be some young warrior would yet outdraw her in the coming Truce Festival. “The blooddrinker that took her life died at my hands. And my tooth.” If her mother was going to use this for her own purposes, so would Leraine.
“Irelith died well. But come inside and tell me all about your adventures. We’ve held up trade enough as it is. Iron Bones, escort Rock and Misthell to Dandelion. I wish to speak to my daughter alone.”
Leraine couldn’t say she was surprised that her mother knew their names already. She might only have one eye, but she had many ears and mouths, spread far and wide. Silently, Leraine followed Mother as she hobbled into their home.
She did not speak, and neither did Mother, not until they’d passed the dividing wall that separated Raven Eye’s private quarters from the rest of the longhouse and Swift Hop closed the door behind them.
The room smelled much as Leraine remembered, except for a new addition. Acrid, somewhat familiar, though it made no sense for her to smell it here. Perhaps Mother had taken a new lover?
“You got very lucky, Leraine,” Mother said as she lowered herself with a grimace into her chair. Cushions embroidered with the geometric patterns of the dwarves depressed under her weight. “As it is, few speak of your flouting of our traditions. Criticizing the only living warrior of Snake who killed a demon is not popular today; not in Urumoy.”
Leraine went to protest, but something else her mother had said caught her attention. “What of Demonsbane? Or Steel Cutter?”
“Demonsbane died last winter of fever. And Steel Cutter got into an argument with her new wife’s second daughter. Blades were drawn and Steel Cutter’s love for whiskey caught up to her. So you are it. Be glad, for it is half the reason you are still welcome in Urumoy.”
Swallowing, Leraine focused on her breathing even as her heart thumped. “I did seek a mate, but found none worthy. And once Irelith died, my duty to avenge her and return her blade to her family came first.”
Raven Eye snorted. “Worthy? You aren’t picking a thoroughbred here. Trust me, child, most men will suffice. Just mount them and get it over with. It is the rearing which matters. And that is only half the reason. Did you know that Bone Lord sent a lackey to negotiate your ransom when you had the temerity to get captured?”
“I broke free quickly.”
“Yes, but while word of that took its sweet time coming here, I had to play nice and house that worm under my roof! And then he had the gall to call me a liar to my face when I informed him he had lost his leverage. At least his fate silenced some of my critics, for a time.”
“The fresh warder head. I had wondered who it had been.” Leraine hesitated, glanced at the cane Mother had placed next to her high-backed chair. “How are you?”
“I fell off my horse,” Raven Eye said, answering the question Leraine hadn’t voiced. “Broke my hip. Healers say it is mending nicely, but not fast enough for my taste.” She felt around and pulled a long pipe from among the cushions and put something from a pouch into it. “Be a dear and fetch me a flame.”
Leraine went over to the hearth where the fire smoldered and lit a small twig which she brought back to her mother, shielding the flickering flame with her hand. She lit the pipe and put out the twig with a quick shake, only to freeze when the first puff of smoke tickled her nose.
The smell was distinct, dreamweed. Mother had not been a smoker before Leraine left. Dreamweed put the user at a distance from reality. Useful against pain, but it dulled the mind.
Leraine watched as her mother’s eyelid slumped just a tad and that famous eye lost some of its shine. “There’s talk I have become old. That it’s time for new blood. Your sisters were so clumsy in their first attempts, I could not step aside on sheer principle, and they’ve only gotten worse since. So eager for power, with no notion of what they want to do with it afterward.”
“What have they done that you disapprove of?”
“Hmm? Ah, Anseri has cast herself as a traditionalist.” Her mother sneered around her pipe. “You would have had her to thank for it if you’d found yourself banished from Urumoy.”
Raven Eye exhaled a stream of smoke and Leraine leaned back as far as she dared. The silver raven’s head in her mother’s draen rested on her breast, its tiny black pearl eye staring at her while Mother’s eye examined the ceiling. “Ferisha, though, is championing the cause of the Truce Warriors.”
“Surely not.” They didn’t call themselves that, they said they were True Warriors of the People. And they advocated an end to the Truce and a return to free war. The horse people were divided, the soulless beset from every corner. Now was the time to seek battle and find glory and wealth. Leraine had to admit it had been an attractive idea once. Irelith had beaten the notion of glory out of her—literally, on occasion.
“Feh, at least they’re trying. Can’t say the same for you. What are your plans now, daughter of mine?”
“I intend to present Irelith’s sword to her daughters, and proof of her killer’s death. After that, help Rock with his search.”
Raven Eye shook her head. “You have fame and the shadow of my lineage, yet that is the extent of your plans.” She sucked in some dreamweed smoke. “What did I do to offend the spirits so? Cursed with daughters who have too much ambition, or not enough.”
She held up her hand when Leraine opened her mouth to speak. “No, no, spare me the paeans to the simple life of a warrior. If you insist that is what you want to be, very well. I can make use of a simple warrior.”
Leraine’s teeth clicked together as she frowned at her mother. That had been unusually blunt. “Use me how?”
“Did I say that? No, you must have misheard. Your journey was long and it has tired you. Yes, you can go and recuperate. We’ll talk tomorrow when you are rested.”
She was sure that she had heard right. But Mother’s eyelid sank further and talking to her when she was like this was even more disconcerting, so Leraine bowed and took her leave.
Leraine hesitated outside the room, glancing at Swift Hop. The warrior returned the look and the question died on Leraine’s lips. Instead, she nodded to her mother’s retainer and walked the familiar path to her own room.
Chapter 4
Caught
Eurik closed the door to his guest room behind him with some concern. He hadn’t seen Silver Fang since yesterday. Granted, the place was larger than someone might think when hearing the word longhouse. There were three floors, two of them divided by a double wall down the middle which separated the individual rooms from a common hall in which most of the daily activities took place.
They’d housed him on the second floor, among the warriors and clerks that served Raven Eye. He wasn’t the only guest either; a dwarven merchant from the Dwarghoss was also staying under the roof of the ruler of Urumoy.
Straw mats on the wooden floor absorbed much of the sound of his steps, his and everybody else’s moving through the hallway and into the hall proper.
“So you haven’t told me yet what the plan is for today,” Misthell said in Linese.
“Not sure yet. I want to talk to Silver Fang first, but I don’t want to wait any longer, either. I’m sure I can find some blacksmiths, and one of them might have known my mother.” They were getting looks; Eurik didn’t know how many of them understood Linese.
Eurik saw someone he knew, at least by name, as he looked for a place to sit. Iron Bones was a massive person. She might actually be able to arm wrestle Captain Slyvair and win. He had some trouble guessing how old humans exactly were, but his best guess was that Iron Bones was a few years older than him.
The warrior’s conversation ceased as she noticed Eurik’s approach. “Yes?”
He bowed lightly. “Greetings. Would you know where Silver Fang is? I need to speak to her.”
“Do you?” One of the others guffawed as Iron Bones smiled. “Eat something. Silver Fang will see you when she has the time.”
Eurik hesitated. He’d prefer to insist, but his grasp of Thelauk wasn’t perfect and Leraine had stressed how careful he needed to be. So he bowed again. “Let her know that I seek her if you see her. Please.”
“Sure.”
“If she’s too busy, why not come by my room,” another woman said. “I’m sure I can take care of your need.” That set everybody off in a howl of laughter, and Eurik retreated.
“What was that about?”
“You,” Misthell said before joining the women’s laughter. However, lacking both a mouth and lungs, he could still speak while also laughing his hilt off. “You used need instead of need.”
“I don’t . . .” And then it hit him: the inflection, the emphasis on the second syllable instead of the last. “Ah, oh . . .” Blushing, Eurik got some food and sat down as far as he could from Iron Bones and her group. It didn’t help.
***
It felt odd to Leraine to be walking around in something other than her armor or traveling clothes. Her outfit was sober, not much better than what others wore around the house. Yet she couldn’t recall her pants being this tight or her vest so stiff. Perhaps months in their chest had made her clothes shrink?
Food had been waiting for her when she awoke; she hadn’t even noticed someone entering and leaving her room. Leraine shivered and quickly checked to make sure none saw her shame. This was her home. She was among her own people again. To distrust them would be like one finger not working with the others.
Mother doesn’t trust anybody.
She exhaled loudly and kept walking. Mother’s duty required her to do things and contemplate the unthinkable to see their people prosper. But Leraine wasn’t Raven Eye and had no desire to be. Not her.
“Little sister, I’d heard you had returned,” a familiar voice spoke from behind.
Speak of the dragon . . . Leraine turned around and nodded to Anseri. “Sister, it’s good to see you again as well. Though I will not be staying long. There is much left to do.”
Anseri stopped her from turning away by placing a hand on Leraine’s shoulder. “Surely it can wait. Unless it’s about that man you brought along? Is he going to be the father, or your husband?”
Leraine took a deep breath. “Neither. He’s a friend, and I have a debt to him, nothing more. I return without child from my search. Do you intend to do anything about that?”
Her sister blinked, then smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes. Anseri looked much more like Mother, with her dark eyes and prominent nose. But those eyes couldn’t quite match Raven Eye’s sharpness. It felt more like getting stared at by an angry bull. Scary, in its own way. “Has anybody given you any grief over your unproductive search?”
“Oh, no. They are too busy asking me what it was like slaying a demon. It can get exhausting.”
Anseri shifted her hold to pat Leraine on the shoulder, but after the hand came down it rested there with a firm grip. “I’m sure. I’ll see what I can do to get people to back off. But don’t worry, the attention will fade fast enough. And I have your back when it comes to any shameful rumors that you abused our treasured traditions for . . . selfish reasons.”
Ah, Anseri, subtle as a brick to the back of the head.
Leraine nodded. “Thank you, sister. It’s good to nip such false gossip in the bud, since it would reflect poorly on our family.”
“Yes, yes it would.” Anseri’s smile got a little wider. “Glad we got caught up.”
As her sister left, Leraine decided that rather than risk another encounter like that, she’d best go to Irelith’s daughters. Before Ferisha decided they needed a sisterly chat of their own, or Mother called Leraine to her.
I might be safe from steel blades here, but there are other kinds under Raven Eye’s roof.
***
He’d tried, but there had been no sign of Silver Fang, and even when Misthell kept quiet they got a lot of silent attention. Eurik decided to strike out on his own. He had managed well enough in Linese, and Urumoy was vastly smaller. He knew what he was looking for and how to find it.
Standing outside the longhouse on the top of the short set of stairs, Eurik cast his senses into the ground. The earth chiri was restless, like trying to feel the surface of a pond when thousands of people were throwing pebbles into it.
But all those pebbles, all those throws, they had a rhythm. Fast, slow, deep, shallow. Many blended into each other to form a massive ripple, but it was still the same ripple. Eurik dug through the trampling of thousands of feet, hundreds of hooves, and looked for the steady thump of the blacksmith’s hammer.
There, in the direction of . . . the river.
Eurik nodded to himself and descended into the bustling crowd. Many, almost all, were clearly Mochedan. A few Irelians, maybe from the Oathfellowship. Some, though, were pale and wore light mantles over their puffy jackets. Invariably they were escorted by skeletal guards, however much they were draped in cloth and steel to hide the fact.
People from the Land of Bone got few looks. Such visitors had to be a common sight here, then. Eurik moved away from the market and toward the river, following a broad road. He only paid half attention to the people around him, enough to avoid a collision. Much of his concentration was on the chiri beneath his feet.
“Ah, so we’re heading for smithies,” Misthell said.
Startled, Eurik glanced over his shoulder at the blade. “We are. How did you know?”
“We’re looking for my makers, that’s the point of this whole story. Also, there were at least two carts laden with iron bars and coal we passed heading the same way we are.”
Looking past Misthell, Eurik spotted one of the carts in question. “Right. I should have noticed that.”
“You’re too focused on one thing. Or should I say, one Way. Why don’t you try Dance of the Whirlwind to find what you’re looking for?”
He hesitated for a moment as the people flowed around him. But these past weeks, what little time he’d had for training had been taken up by Silver Fang. And on the Road, even wind chiri didn’t quite work as it should.
Taking a deep breath, he reached out only to have Misthell whistle sharply in his ear. Eurik flinched away. “What was that for?”
“Because you’re starting wrong. The wind is motion, so if you’re trying to become one with the wind . . .”
He sighed. He should know this and he did. “So must I.” Eurik moved forward, arms hanging loose at his side, fingers lightly splayed, and felt for the flow of wind chiri. Though flow was the wrong word for the chaotic mess swirling around him, a chaos he added to with every step, every breath. On reflex, he closed his eyes to better concentrate on his other sense.
He tried feeling for the ringing of steel, of hammers striking hot iron. But the wind chiri shied away from his reach, his flow rebuffing those around him.
Eurik sidestepped a group walking toward them, their wake washing over him. A sharp flow snaked its way out of a tavern to his left, carrying a jaunty tune. Behind him an ox exerted himself, hot air blasting out with every huff.
Those flo
ws he could feel, because they mixed and bounced off his own, but they also constrained his world. He pushed, wind ruffling clothes and hair, and he felt his perception expand. So did the chaos, new flows emerging within his flow while more flows beat at it from without.
The wingbeat of a lake gull, the wind blowing over the rooftops of Urumoy, hot air rising from a dozen chimneys, the staccato of a thousand voices whispering, speaking, hollering.
Eurik swayed, and a wagon wheel ground past his toes, almost crushing them. “Look where you’re going!” Opening his eyes, he staggered away as he lost his connection with the world. Out of the flow of traffic, into a narrow, shadowed alley. The air hung in there, thick and fetid. His deep breaths only set him to coughing.
“What did you do wrong?”
“I—” Another cough. Eurik shook his head. “I don’t know.” Breathing through his nose wasn’t better, only made the smell worse, but it helped against the coughing. “I tried to reach out to find the smithy, but I got swamped by the city. There was too much.”
“Wind is not earth,” Misthell said, his voice changing into a familiar one. One Eurik had not heard in months. “It is more like water, flowing from a place of abundance to one where there is absence. The wind dances to its own music, and you must dance with it if you wish to guide it to where you need it.”
Eurik blinked until his sight stopped being blurry. “You talked a lot to sesin.”
“Yeah. What, you thought I’d spent all that time in a box?”
Eurik shook his head. “Hard to imagine. I would have found you within a year or so if that were true. All I would have to do is follow the stream of complaints.”
“You mean pointed reminders. Not my fault your fleshy minds leak memories like sieves.”