Nyphron rising trr-3

by Michael J. Sullivan

  Arista looked toward Hadrian.

  "Some," he told her. "Royce and I took turns."

  Her hair was lose and falling in her face. Her blue satin ribbon had been lost somewhere during the night's ride from Sheridan. Since then she had been using a bit of rawhide provided by Hadrian. Even that was missing now, and she poked about her hair and found it caught in a tangle. While she worked to free it she said. "You should have woken me. I would have taken a shift at the tiller."

  "We actually considered it when you started to snore."

  "I don't snore!"

  "I beg to differ," Hadrian chided while chewing.

  She looked around the skiff as each of them, even Etcher, nodded. Her face flushed with embarrassment.

  Hadrian chuckled. "Don't worry about it, you can't be held accountable for what you do in your sleep."

  "Still," she said, "it's not very lady-like."

  "Well, if that's all you're worried about, you can forget it," Hadrian informed her with a wicked smirk. "We lost all illusions of you being prissy back in Sheridan."

  How much better it was when they were silent.

  "That's a compliment," he added hastily.

  "You don't 'ave much luck with the ladies do you, sir?" Wally asked, pausing briefly and letting the paddles hang out like wings, leaving a tiny trail of droplets on the smooth surface of the river. "I mean with compliments like that, an' all."

  Hadrian frowned at him then turned back to her with a concerned expression. "I really did mean it as a compliment. I've never met a lady who would-well, without complaining you've been-" he paused in frustration, then added, "that little trick you managed back there was really great."

  Hadrian only brought up the sneezing spell to try and smooth things over, but she had to admit a sense of pride that she had finally contributed something of value to their trip. "It was the first practical application of hand magic I've ever performed."

  "I really wasn't sure you could do it," Hadrian said.

  "Who would have thought such a silly thing would come in handy?"

  "Travel with us long enough and you'll see we can find a use for just about anything." Hadrian extended his hand. "Cheese?" he asked. "It's really quite good."

  Arista took the cheese and offered him a smile, but was disappointed he did not see it. His eyes had moved to the riverbank, and her smile faded as she ate self-consciously.

  Wally continued to paddle in even strokes and the world passed slowly by. They rounded bend after bend, skirting a fallen tree then a sandy point. It took Arista nearly an hour with her brush to finally work all the knots out of her hair. She retied its length with the rawhide into a respectable ponytail. Eventually a gap opened in the river reeds to reveal a small sandy bank that showed signs of previous boat landings.

  "Put in here," Etcher ordered, and Wally deftly spun the boat to land beneath the shadow of a massive willow tree. Etcher leapt out and tied the bowline. "This is our stop. Let's get the gear off."

  "Not yet," Royce said. "You want to check the mill sails first?"

  "Oh yeah," Etcher nodded looking a little embarrassed and a tad irritated. "Wait here," he said, before trotting up the grassy slope.

  "Sails?" Hadrian asked.

  "Just over this rise is the millwright Ethan Finlin's windmill," Royce explained. "Finlin is a member of the Diamond. His windmill is used to store smuggled goods and also serves as a signal that can be seen from the far hills. If the mill's sails are spinning, then all is clear. If furled, then there's trouble. The position of the locked sails indicates different things. If straight up and down like a ship's mast, it means he needs help. If the sails are cockeyed, it means stay away. There are other signals as well, but I am sure they've changed since I was a member."

  "All clear," Etcher notified them as he strode back down the hill.

  They each took a pack, waved goodbye to Wally, and climbed up the slope.

  Finlin's Mill was a tall weathered tower that sat high on the crest of a grassy knoll. The windmill's cap rotated and currently faced into the wind, which blew steadily from the northeast. Its giant sails of cloth-covered wooden frames rotated slowly, creaking as they turned the great mill's shaft. Around the windmill were several smaller buildings, storage sheds, and wagons. The place was quiet and absent of customers.

  They found their horses, as well as an extra one for Etcher, along with their gear in a nearby barn. Finlin briefly stuck his nose out of the mill and waved. They waved back, and Royce had a short talk with Etcher as Hadrian saddled their animals and loaded the supplies. Arista threw her own saddle on her mare, which garnered a smile from Hadrian.

  "Saddle your own horse often, do you?" he asked as she reached under the horse's belly for the cinch. The metal ring at the end of the wide band swung back and forth, making catching it a challenge without crawling under the animal.

  "I'm a princess, not an invalid."

  She caught the cinch and looped the leather strap through it, tying what she thought was a fine knot, exactly like the one she used to tie her hair.

  "Can I make one minor suggestion?"

  She looked up. "Of course."

  "You need to tie it tighter and use a flat knot."

  "That's two suggestions. Thanks, but I think it will be fine."

  He reached up and pulled on the saddle's horn. The saddle easily slid off and came to rest between the horse's legs.

  "But it was tight."

  "I'm sure it was." Hadrian pulled the saddle back up and undid the knot. "People think horses are stupid-dumb animals they call them, but they're not. This one, for instance, just out-smarted the Princess of Melengar." He pulled the saddle off, folded the blanket over, and returned the saddle to the animal's back. "You see, horses don't like to have a saddle bound around their chest any more than I suspect you enjoy being trussed up in a corset. The looser the better, they figure, because they don't really mind if you slide off." He looped the leather strap through the ring in the cinch and pulled it tight. "So what she's doing right now is holding her breath, expanding her chest and waiting for me to tie the saddle on. When she exhales, it will be loose. Thing is, I know this. I also know she can't hold her breath forever." He waited with two hands on the strap and the moment the mare exhaled he pulled, gaining a full four inches. "See?"

  She watched as he looped the strap across then through and down, making a flat knot that laid comfortably against the horse's side. "Okay, I admit it. This is the first time I've saddled a horse," she confessed.

  "And you're doing wonderfully," he mocked.

  "You are aware I can have you imprisoned for life, right?"

  Royce and Etcher entered the barn. The younger thief grabbed his horse and left without a word. "Friendly sorts, those Diamonds are," Hadrian observed.

  "Cosmos seemed friendly," Arista pointed out.

  "Too friendly. It's how you might expect a spider to talk to a fly as he wraps him up."

  "What an interesting metaphor," Arista noted. "You could have a future in politics, Hadrian."

  The fighter glanced at Royce. "We never considered that as one of the options."

  "I'm not sure how it differs from acting."

  "He never likes my ideas," Hadrian told her, then turned his attention back to Royce. "Where to now?"

  "Hintindar," Royce replied.

  "Hintindar? Are you serious?"

  "It's out-of-the-way and a good place to disappear for awhile. Problem?"

  Hadrian narrowed his eyes. "You know darn well there's a problem."

  "What's wrong?" Arista asked.

  "I was born in Hintindar."

  "I've already told Etcher that's where we will wait for him," Royce said. "Nothing we can do about it now."

  "But Hintindar is just a tiny manorial village-some farms and trade shops, there's no place to stay."

  "Even better. After Colnora, lodging in a public house might not be too smart. There must be a few people there that still know you. I'm sure someone will lend
a hand and put us up for awhile. We need to go somewhere off the beaten track."

  "You don't honestly think anyone is still following us. I know the Empire would want to stop Arista from reaching Gaunt, but I doubt anybody recognized her in Colnora-at least no one still alive."

  Royce did not answer.

  "Royce?"

  "I'm just playing it safe," he snapped.

  "Royce? What did Cosmos mean back there about you not being the only alumnus of the Diamond in Warric? What did he mean about ghosts?" Royce remained silent. Hadrian glared at him. "I came along as a favor to you, but if you're going to keep secrets…"

  Royce relented. "It's probably nothing, but then again Merrick could be after us."

  Hadrian lost his look of irritation, and replied with a simple, "Oh."

  "Anyone going to tell me who Merrick is?" Arista asked. "Or why Hadrian doesn't want to go home?"

  "I didn't leave under the best of circumstances," Hadrian answered, "and haven't been back in a long time."

  "And Merrick?"

  "Merrick Marius, also known as Cutter, was Royce's friend once. They were members of the Diamond together, but they…" He glanced at Royce. "Well, let's just say they had a falling out."

  "So?"

  Hadrian waited for Royce to speak, and when he did not, answered for him. "It's a long story, but the gist of the matter is that Merrick and Royce seriously don't get along." He paused then added. "Merrick is an awful lot like Royce."

  Arista continued to stare at Hadrian until the revelation dawned on her.

  "Still, that doesn't mean Merrick is after us," Hadrian went on. "It's been a long time, right? Why would he bother with you now?"

  "He's working for the Empire," Royce said. "That's what Cosmos meant. And if there's an imperial mole in the Diamond, Merrick knows all about us by now. Even if there isn't a spy, Merrick could still find out about us from the Diamond. There are plenty who think of him as a hero for sending me to Manzant. I'm the evil one in their eyes."

  "You were in Manzant?" Arista asked, stunned.

  "It's not something he likes to talk about," Hadrian again answered for him. "So if Merrick is after us, what do we do?"

  "What we always do," Royce replied, "only better."

  ***

  The village of Hintindar lay nestled in a small sheltered river valley surrounded by gentle hills. A patchwork of six cultivated fields, outlined by hedgerows and majestic stands of oak and ash, decorated the landscape in a crop mosaic. Horizontal lines of mounded green marked three of the fields with furrows, sown in strips, to hold the runoff. Animals grazed in the fourth field and the fifth was cut for hay. The last field lay fallow. Young women were in the fields cutting flax and stuffing it in sacks thrown over their shoulders while men weeded crops and threw up hay.

  The center of the village clustered along the main road near a little river, a tributary of the Bernum. Wood, stone, and wattle and daub buildings with shake or grass-thatched roofs lined the road, beginning just past the wooden bridge and ending halfway up the hillside toward the manor house. Between them were a variety of shops. Smoke rose from buildings, the blackest of which came from the smithy. Their horses announced their arrival with a loud hollow clop clip clop as they crossed the bridge. Heads turned, each villager nudging the next, fingers pointing in their direction. Those they passed stopped what they were doing to follow, keeping a safe distance.

  "Good afternoon," Hadrian offered, but no one replied. No one smiled.

  Some whispered in the shelter of doorways. Mothers pulled children inside and men picked up pitchforks or an axe.

  "This is where you grew up?" Arista whispered to Hadrian. "Somehow it seems more like how I would imagine Royce's hometown to be."

  This brought a look from the thief.

  "They don't get too many travelers here," Hadrian explained.

  "I can see why."

  They passed the mill, where a great wooden wheel turned with the power of the river. The town also had a leatherworker's shop, candlemaker, weaver, and even a shoemaker. They were halfway up the road when they reached the brewer.

  A heavyset matron with gray hair and a hooked nose worked outside beside a large boiling vat next to a stand of large wooden casks. She watched their slow approach then walked to the middle of the road, wiping her hands on a soiled rag.

  "That'll be fer 'enuf," she told them with a heavy south-province accent.

  She wore a stained apron tied around her shapeless dress and a kerchief tied over her head. Her feet were bare and her face covered in dirt and sweat.

  They reined their horses and she eyed each one carefully.

  "Who are ya and what's your business 'ere? And be quick 'afore the hue and cry is called and yer carried ta the bailiff. We don't stand troublemakers here."

  "Hue and cry?" Arista softly asked.

  Hadrian looked over. "It's an alarm that everyone in the village responds to. Not a pretty sight." His eyes narrowed as he studied the woman. Then he slowly dismounted.

  The woman took a step back and grabbed hold of a mallet used to tap the kegs. "I said I'd call the hue and cry and I meant it!"

  Hadrian handed his reins to Royce and walked over to her. "If I remember correctly you were the biggest troublemaker in the village, Armigil, and in close to twenty years it doesn't seem much has changed."

  The woman looked surprised, then suspicious. "Haddy?" she said in disbelief. "That can't be, can it?"

  Hadrian chuckled. "No one's called me Haddy in years."

  "Dear Maribor, 'ow you've grown, lad!" When the shock wore off she set the mallet down and turned to the spectators now lining the road. "This 'ere is Haddy Blackwater, the son of Danbury the smithy, come back 'ome."

  "How are you, Armigil?" Hadrian said with a broad smile, stepping forward to greet her.

  She replied by making a fist and punching him hard in the jaw. She had put all her weight into it and winced, shaking her hand in pain. "Oww! Damned if ya 'avent got a 'ard bloody jaw!"

  "Why did you hit me?" Hadrian held his chin, stunned.

  "That's fer runnin' out on yer father and leaving 'im to die alone. I've been waiting ta do that fer nearly twenty years."

  Hadrian licked blood from his lip and scowled.

  "Oh get over it, ya baby! An' ya better keep yer eyes out fer more round 'ere. Danbury was a damn fine man and ya broke his 'eart the day ya left."

  Hadrian continued to massage his jaw.

  Armigil rolled her eyes. "Come 'ere," she ordered and grabbed hold of his face. Hadrian flinched as she examined him. "Yer fine, for Maribor's sake. 'Onestly, I thought yer father made ya tougher than that. If I 'ad a sword in me 'and yer shoulders would 'ave less of a burden to carry and the wee ones would 'ave a new ball to kick around, eh? 'Ere, let me get you a mug 'a ale. This batch came of age this morning. That'll take the sting out of a warm welcome it will."

  She walked to a large cask, filled a wooden cup with a dark amber draught, and handed it to him. Hadrian looked at the drink dubiously. "How many times have you filtered this?"

  "Three," she said, unconvincingly.

  "Has his lordship's taster passed this?"

  "'Acourse not ya dern fool, I just told ya it got done fermenting this morning. Brewed it day afore yesterday I did, a nice two days in the keg. Most of the sediment ought ta 'ave settled and it should 'ave a nice kick by now."

  "Just don't want to get you into trouble."

  "I ain't selling it to ya, now am I? So drink it and shut up or I'll 'it ya again for being daft."

  "Haddy? Is it really you?" A thin man, about Hadrian's age, approached and pushed back the people milling about. He had shoulder-length blonde hair, a soft doughy face and was dressed in a worn gray tunic and a faded green cowl. His feet were wrapped in cloth up to his knees. A light brown dust covered him as if he had been burrowing through a sand hill.

  "Dunstan?"

  The man nodded and the two embraced, clapping each other on the shoulders. Wherever
Hadrian patted Dunstan, a puff of brown powder arose leaving the two in a little cloud.

  "You used to live here?" A little girl from the gathering crowd asked, and Hadrian nodded. This touched off a wave of conversations among those gathering in the street. More people rushed over and Hadrian was enveloped in their midst. Eventually he was able to get a word in and motioned toward Royce and Arista.

  "Everyone, this is my friend Mr. Everton and his wife, Erma."

  Arista and Royce exchanged glances.

  "Vince, Erma, this is the village brew mistress, Armigil, and Dunstan here is the baker's son."

  "Just the baker, Haddy, Dad's been dead five years now."

  "Oh-sorry to hear that Dun. I have nothing but fond memories of trying to steal bread from his ovens."

  Dunstan looked at Royce. "Haddy and I were best friends when he lived here-until he disappeared," he said with a note of bitterness.

  "Will I have to endure a swing from you, too?" Hadrian feigned fear.

  "You should, but I remember all too well the last time I fought you."

  Hadrian grinned wickedly as Dunstan scowled back.

  "If my foot hadn't slipped…" Dunstan began, then the two broke into spontaneous laughter at a joke no one else appeared to understand.

  "It's good to have you back, Haddy," he said sincerely. He watched Hadrian take a swallow of beer then to Armigil he said, "I don't think it fair that Haddy gets a free pint and I don't."

  "Let me give ya a bloody lip and ya can 'ave one, too." She smiled at him.

  "Break it up! Break it up!" bellowed a large muscular man, making his way through the crowd. He had a bull neck, full dark beard, and balding head. "Back to work all of ya!"

  The crowd groaned in displeasure, but quickly quieted down as two horsemen approached. They rode down the hill coming from the manor at a trot.

  "What's going on here?" the lead rider asked, reining his horse. He was a middle-aged man with weary eyes and a strong chin. He dressed in light tailored linens common to a favored servant and on his chest was an embroidered crest of crossed daggers in gold threading.

  "Strangers, sir," the loud bull-necked man replied.