by Unknown
Nolia, wizened and practiced as she was, had never heard of a deaf Troubadour. An interesting contradiction indeed.
With a decided shake of her head, Nolia stopped that thought before it went further. “No, no, no,” she said. She stood, scooping the coins into her hat and tossing it into a vacant chair. As fascinating as it was—a deaf girl who heard Troubadour’s music—Nolia refused to let herself think of taking her as an apprentice. Nolia had just found freedom, was enjoying it, why should she be so eager to give it up? Besides, she was getting on in her years; her knees ached when it rained and her back pained her when she walked too much. Clearly, she had no energy to teach another child. She had earned a life of ease. And may the gods damn anyone who said otherwise.
She puffed out the candles and fell into bed, hoping to end the debate within herself. With the lights off, she lay in stillness, staring into the nighttime void. Sleep eluded her, calling forth musings and memories instead.
An image of her last apprentice came to mind, her white nightdress shining through the darkness as she sat in the corners of inns like these and practiced music late at night, rhythmic whispers issuing forth from her olke. The songs were never good of course, but Nolia never let her know she was listening and let the girl play on.
She’d had another apprentice, a boy, who had also played at night. But his goal had been to see how many people in an inn he could wake with a single bar of music. How angry he had made her with his joking! Even now Nolia remembered how she’d fuss and how he’d jut out his jaw, ignoring.
Nolia, with suddenly clarity, realized she was smiling.
“Stop it, Nolia. Just stop,” the old Troubadour said to herself, rolling over onto her side. She yanked the covers up to her chin, burrowing beneath them. “You are an old fool.”
Inevitably, that was when the banging began.
It came from a room nearby and mingled with it, Nolia heard the frazzled voice of the innkeeper mother. Nolia tried to pretend that if she lay there long enough the child would settle down, the cries would stop, and finally sleep would come.
The noise continued.
Nolia, with clenched teeth, warned herself to remain steadfast, concentrating on the pride she had felt earlier, thinking of the pile of coins that had glittered in the candlelight. She turned over again, covering her head with the pillow. But even that failed to drown out the screams and cries of the innkeeper’s deaf-blind daughter.
As if she had no will of her own, Nolia felt herself roll out of bed. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she said, even then telling herself not to go. “I will help settle the child and nothing more.”
In her night dress, hair rumpled, olke in hand, she trudged down the dark hall. She found the room with the screaming child easily enough and entered without knocking.
The innkeeper kneeled in the middle of the room, holding a girl of seven or eight by the shoulders. It was, of course, the same wild-haired urchin Nolia had seen in the window. The girl squirmed beneath her mother’s grasp, mouth open wide, wailing as if wounded. Or as if her heart were broken.
The innkeeper didn’t notice Nolia until she started to play the olke. Nolia played a sleepy tune, a lullaby, and, like the magic it was, the child was calm. Her screaming stopped at once and the child groped about her, fingers reaching toward the sound, searching for its comfort. When the mother tried to restrain her, Nolia nodded. The mother let her go.
The child wandered over to Nolia and turned her head upward. Nolia stared down into unseeing, watery eyes, dark and unblinking. The girl pulled at Nolia’s skirts, the grasp of her fingers a plea for understanding. She knew from whence the music came and now she begged for help.
Nolia crouched, letting the girl touch her face and hands and the olke. Her touch expressed so many things: loneliness and desperation, curiosity and understanding. Nolia pitied her, this shell of a child who knew nothing of the world, pitied her because she was trapped, because it was the music that tormented her. Nolia stroked the child’s head, knowing that after she left it was likely this child would never know music again; this girl would lose a precious part of herself. A Troubadour without music was like a flower without sunlight, it would surely wilt and wither away.
Unless Nolia helped, and she admitted, however reluctantly, that this girl needed her help, and so did this hopeless, struggling mother. The moment she admitted this she knew she had no choice in the matter. She had become a Troubadour to help people and to bring joy to their lives. She could not turn away.
And so she admitted defeat.
Nolia felt her freedom slipping away. But she knew that she would have to spend just a few more years as a teacher; this girl wouldn’t need much more than six years of training to find her place in the world. And besides, this was uncharted territory, wasn’t it? She might be the first Troubadour to have a deaf apprentice. Imagine what others might say. Nolia thought then of her Song and wondered, with interest, what a variation in silence would sound like.
Nolia smoothed the girl’s rumpled hair and, with the corner of her sleeve, dried the girl’s eyes. “I can’t believe I’m going to do this,” she muttered.
With the girl clinging to her skirts, Nolia turned and looked the innkeeper in the eye. “If I might,” Nolia said, “I’d like to have this girl for my apprentice.”
~o0o~
The girl didn’t know what was happening, only that things were going to change. She knew, instinctively, that she was outside, somewhere open, from the wind that swirled around her. It was the same wind as before, but this time it brought new things to her: the smell of pastures and crop fields and the fragrance of the distant woodland. The world lay stretched before her, wide and open and undiscovered.
But even without her old friend the wind, the girl knew she was not alone. A stranger held her hand, and it was the woman who carried the music with her. The girl went willingly, understanding somehow that soon there would be more sound, more music. The world would not be flat forever. There would no longer be silence, nor loneliness.
The stranger moved forward and, feeling the tug, the girl trailed after her. And so they walked on together—hand in hand—into the distance, a comfortable silence filling the narrow space between them.
The Tavern at the Ford
by Dave Smeds
Dave Smeds is the author of novels such as THE SORCERY WITHIN and THE SCHEMES OF DRAGONS, which will soon be followed by THE WIZARD’S NEMESIS. His short fiction has appeared in many anthologies, including over a dozen previous volumes of SWORD AND SORCERESS, and in such magazines as Asimov’s SF, Realms of Fantasy, and F&SF. His most recent publication is the eBook short story collection Raiding the Hoard of Enchantment, a gathering of seven of his recent tales of high fantasy. “The Tavern at the Ford” is, chronologically speaking, the first tale of the characters Coil and Azure, but readers of SWORD AND SORCERESS 27 will already be familiar with them from their appearance in that volume.
Until that awful night, Azure had always assumed she would live out her entire life in the village. That’s how it had been for generations.
Grandpa had shared the history one day while standing with her on the old stone bridge. “There used to be a ford there,” he said, pointing to the willow flats where Coil and Azure liked to play. Grandpa’s great-grandmother Cinnamon had drowned there while crossing the river. Her husband Fleet had built the bridge in her memory, working through his grief by making sure no one else would die that way.
Fleet and Cinnamon had been caravan folk. But the erection of the bridge caused more traders than ever before to cross the river at that spot. A village immediately sprang up. Fleet built an inn and bathhouse and grew wealthy. He passed down his holdings to his son, who passed them to his daughter. Grandpa was the next heir.
Azure missed her grandfather. He had taught her how to study the tavern customers while they chewed their food, quaffed their drinks, had their smokes. He made her see how even a small quirk revealed a person’s nature. Event
ually she had picked up the knack, but it was hard to be sure of it now that he was gone. Even at this moment she wanted to go down to the basement, put her hand on the engraving of his niche, and talk to his bones. But he would scold her for that, if he could. There were customers in the common room. Just old Chisel and Root, finishing their game of Pegs, but they were there, and therefore she was still on duty. She dipped her mop in the bucket and continued scrubbing beneath the corner bench.
The front door opened. A man stepped into the vestibule. He did not stop to hang his cloak. He advanced at once into the common room, his scabbarded sword waving behind him.
Chisel and Root straightened in their seats, their hands poised over the game board in that relaxed way that would let them seize the hilts of their own blades at the first sign of trouble. The stranger gave them a respectful nod. They returned it.
As the man caught sight of Azure, his expression wasn’t like anything she had ever seen. Sad? Relieved? Proud? She wished Grandpa were here to explain.
“Eight years old now. Almost nine.”
Azure nodded.
“Is your mother here?”
“I am.”
The newcomer turned. Mama was standing in the archway that led to the kitchen. She, too, was wearing an expression that wasn’t like anything Azure had ever seen.
The man gestured toward the kitchen. Mama nodded.
Azure started to follow, but her mother held up her hand. “Stay.”
Azure lurched as if her sandals had been nailed to the floor.
She glanced at Chisel and Root. Brows high, they were regarding the archway. Always sober when they played Pegs, they both reached for their cups and seemed surprised to find they contained only tea.
Root raised an eyebrow at Azure and tilted his chin in the direction of the kitchen.
“Are you the girl I know or not?”
She nodded. A moment later she was tiptoeing down the hallway.
Mama and the man were standing near the bread ovens. They were whispering. Azure only caught the man’s final three words.
“He is dead.”
Mama slipped into his arms! He held her. She trembled.
Azure was a tavern girl. She had seen Mama’s lovers drape a fond arm around her waist at breakfast. This was something else. Suddenly Azure knew who this man was.
Mama noticed her hiding in the hallway shadow. To Azure’s surprise, she wasn’t angry. “Fetch Coil,” she said. “It’s time he met his father.”
She had guessed wrong. But then—that talk of someone being dead?
“Azure. Hurry!”
Azure found her milk-brother in the scouring crib, rinsing out bowls. She was bursting to tell him everything, but if she uttered the words “your father” he would think she was playing a trick on him.
“You have to come now.”
He tossed the roughcloth in the bucket of washwater and followed at her heels.
The kids found the two adults up in the family quarters over the kitchen, hurriedly packing clothing, money, and other necessities of travel.
“This is Burnish,” Mama said. “We have to go with him. Now. Tonight.”
“Chisel and Root are still out there,” Azure said.
“They can let themselves out. Go to the pantry and fill up a sack with food. Just a few quick things. Some bread. That round of cheese Vetch delivered today. A few apples. We’ll meet you there.”
“Come on,” Azure said, tugging on Coil’s damp shirt. He let himself be pulled along, like he hardly ever did. She knew why.
“Burnish,” he murmured. “The Burnish?”
“Yes,” she said.
Coil said nothing more until they were in the pantry. She had him hold the sack and began grabbing the items Mama had mentioned.
“Do I look like him?” Coil asked.
She tossed in a vial of salt as well.
“Yes,” she decided.
He ran a forefinger down his nose as if measuring it. Azure would have said more, but a racket erupted in the common room. The children ran to see what was happening.
Azure was glad her bladder was empty. In the middle of the common room was a gigantic spider—a spider as tall as a man. Chisel and Root were hacking at its front legs with their swords.
The blades were bouncing off. Clanging. Leaving no mark on the creature.
The thing pointed a leg and thrust. The tip went right through Chisel and burst out his back.
“Run!” Coil yelled. He pulled Azure away.
They had barely made it back to the kitchen when they collided with her mother. “What—?” Mama blurted.
Coil tugged them both. “Don’t stop here!”
The spider burst through the archway. Azure screamed.
Coil pulled Azure back toward the rear exit. Mama sprang forward!
—And was immediately stung in the chest by the spider. A flicker of fangs and it was done. Her knees started to buckle.
“Keep running!” yelled a man’s voice. It was Burnish.
Coil pulled again and this time Azure fled just as fast. But both couldn’t help looking back. They saw the spider rush at Burnish, who scampered up the stairs. The spider followed, squeezing its massive body into the passageway.
Mama was left there crumpled on the floor, braid knocked loose and lying like a dead snake beside her head.
Azure tugged free of Coil and rushed back to her mother’s side. A moment later her milk-brother joined her.
“You have to escape,” Mama whispered, barely able to talk.
“We can’t leave you!” Azure protested. Coil nodded.
“There is more at stake here than you know. If you love me at all, you will run!” she hissed.
Azure blinked. “But—”
Noises of struggle reverberated down from above. Mama looked at Coil. As soon as their eyes met, he sobbed, grabbed the sack of food, and darted out the rear.
“Go.”
Faint as it was, the word was clear. But Azure stayed where she was.
Suddenly Burnish tumbled out of the laundry chute. Without any hesitation, not even looking at Mama, he scooped up Azure, draped her over his shoulder, and propelled them both out the way Coil had gone.
“No, no, no, no!” Azure said, her voice wavering as she was jiggled up and down.
They made it to the lane between the tavern and the wheelwright shop. Coil was on his hands and knees in the middle of the lane. Apparently he had gone so fast he had stumbled. He stood up. The dust on the front of his shirt merged with the water from scrubbing the bowls, leaving mud.
Burnish tossed Azure to her feet, reaching to help Coil. As soon as she landed she grabbed the bag of food from the ground and hit him with it.
“We have to go back!”
“We can’t,” he said. He grabbed her and Coil and by the upper arms and yanked them onward like stubborn puppies on leashes. He was strong. She wanted to hit him again but it was all she could do to just hold on to the bag.
A waxing quarter moon hung over the wheelwright shop. Burnish tugged them to the ground in the deep shadows between the building and a parked vegetable cart. Their arrival made the small mule hitched to the cart flick up its ears. Azure knew that mule. It belonged to Root. It was the most placid animal she had ever met.
Through the wheels of the cart and the legs of the mule, Azure had a clear view of the back exit of the tavern. The spider burst into the open. It scurried into the lane. It turned this way and that.
The mule was no longer placid. It danced, struggling with its hobbles. The loaded cart, brakes locked, resisted the beast’s attempt to surge forward. The dust it raised helped hide Azure, Coil, and Burnish even further.
The spider ignored the mule. It clambered onto the tavern roof and surveyed the area, but this did not give it a good vantage of their hiding place.
Azure made herself stay silent, even though she wanted very much to scream.
Finally the spider came down. It darted back into the tavern.
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“Stay,” Burnish whispered. “Don’t move.”
The spider reemerged, carrying a silk-wrapped bundle with its mandibles and forelegs. It raced off down the lane in the direction of the bridge.
The bundle was the size of a person.
“Isn’t there any way to kill that thing?” Coil asked.
Burnish made a choked noise. “Yes,” he said hoarsely. “If you can get around the armor.”
Coil hesitated. Azure knew he was thinking about what they’d seen in the common room. Coil had always liked Chisel. The quarryman had lately spoken of making Coil his apprentice.
Chisel had been the toughest warrior in the village. Root had been almost as good.
Finally Coil found his voice again. “Are we going to follow it? What do we do about Mama?”
“We have to follow,” Azure interjected. “We have to get her back!”
Burnish was wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “No. No, we can’t follow.”
“But she’s still alive!” Azure said. She didn’t actually know that, but her mother had been alive after getting stung. Maybe she still was.
“Maybe so. But I promise you, if we follow, we’ll be caught, too. That won’t help her much, will it?”
He really wasn’t going to try to rescue her. And somehow Azure knew if she tried running after the spider, Burnish would tackle her and hold her back.
She stood up. She began crying so hard she almost made herself vomit. “This happened because of you! Why did you have to come here?”
Burnish put his hands firmly on her shoulders. He made her meet him eye to eye. She didn’t want to look, but eventually she did. She couldn’t entirely make out his expression in the dimness, but could hear him perfectly.