Gena nodded as she fastened a silver-leaf pendant around her neck. "I wonder if Berengar knows the secret of his brother's ring."
"And I wonder if Nilus had other secrets." Rik smiled wryly. "I think that is something I may try to find out."
"But not tonight."
"No?"
"No." Gena shook her head as she slipped her hand into the hollow of Rik's left elbow. "Tonight they are having a celebration in our honor. We will go and act as befits our station. And after that, provided you are willing to remove that ring, I will see if Lord Orvir is a better lover than a certain thief whose company I greatly enjoy."
Chapter 6:
The Reason For Leaving
Late Summer
Reign of the Red Tiger Year 1
Five Centuries Ago
My Thirty-fifth Year
***
THOUGH SHE STEPPED light as a cat bent on mischief, the faint crackle of straw being crushed underfoot betrayed Yelena's approach. Though I do not often wake quickly, I did so this time, with the faint tendrils of unease that had wracked my slumber evaporating slowly. Her steps lacked the furtive urgency of someone on a mission of mayhem, so I let my fists unknot beneath the woolen blanket, and I opened my eyes.
A warm smile brightened her heart-shaped face, and her black hair all but glowed from careful brushing. "I trust, my Lord, you slept well?"
"I have greatly enjoyed the hospitality of the Riveravens here, Lady Yelena."
"So I assumed when you slept away the day without snoring."
"I did?" I rubbed a hand over my face. I recalled having trouble getting to sleep because of all the dogs barking outside, but once they stopped, the weariness of the journey hammered me into unconsciousness.
I returned Yelena's smile politely, so as not to offend her, and to make amends for any offense I might have given the night before. She had been appointed by Festus to take me back to the Riveraven longhouse and provide me suitable accommodations for the night, while Aarundel was made the Fishers' guest. Though fifteen years my junior by the most generous tally of her age, she had seemed willing to share the pallet to which I had been directed. My refusal, which I based on my being road weary, battle sore, and a notorious snorer, had been accepted even though I was thinking she had seen it as a lie.
"You did indeed, my lord Neal." She half turned back toward the center of the longhouse and, with a sharp, snapped twist of her hand, started two servants wrestling a heavy oaken cask over toward where I lay. "Your Steel Pack arrived two hours ago and is encamped down by the river. The Elf has seen to their care and ordered no one to disturb you. I only disobeyed because the sun is but an hour from slumber, and the festival that you ordered will then begin."
I worked my left arm around, bringing my elbow to my breastbone, and heard my shoulder pop. Yelena's eyebrows betrayed her surprise at the sound, but I had become well used to hearing it. The new twinge in my ribs reminded me of the Haladin ambush, but the pain was not as sharp as I would have expected. Though I would have preferred to have been awakened when the Steel Pack made Aurium, I was thinking that Aarundel had not been wrong in letting me sleep. Though I did not heal as swiftly as I had in my youth, I still did heal, and the sleep had helped a great deal.
Yelena smiled, her brown eyes lit with a devilish fire. "I thought my lord would wish to bathe before the festival. The Elf had things sent around from your personal train, in order that you be suitably attired for this evening." As the servants hauled buckets of steaming water from a cauldron near the central fire, Yelena drew the curtains that isolated the small area in which we stood from the rest of the building.
The longhouse itself looked to be four times as long as it was wide, and two sets of pillars running the length of it split the width into thirds. On either side, up against the exterior wall, rough planking framed small stalls barely over nine yards square. The planking rose to six feet or so, which cut off most sight and filtered some sounds from one stall to the next, but hardly made an attempt at privacy. From the grunts and giggles, gawfaws and moans I could hear around me, the Riveraven Clan did not feel the lack, and to be honest, after months in the field, I felt closed in.
Yelena's closeness accentuated that feeling. In the dark of the night, when she had been my hostess, her invitation to enjoy the hospitality of the Ravens had been at her uncle Festus's behest. He had seen value in having me bed a woman of his clan and like as not thought it might win him some advantage or concession or a chance to renegotiate his son's position in the bargain struck the night before. Yelena had taken the rejection easily, likely pleased that her uncle's strategy had failed.
Her presence here now bespoke her coming on her own behalf, and it did not greatly surprise me. She did not seem the sort of woman who would pursue me to prove herself desirable—the intelligence in her eyes had me thinking she knew her beauty made her a prize. Even had her vanity been pinked by my refusal to let her share the straw-strewn pallet and thin woolen blanket, she would not have returned to salve her wound. Doing that would have conceded a battle to me, and in Yelena I sensed no concession and damned little compromise.
If she had come for herself, she had come to get what I represented. It wasn't the pleasure of bedding, I felt fair certain, because aside from one rather bawdy ballad about me and the nuns in the convent in Esquihir, I had no reputation for being a bold or romantic lover. While not above being flattered by a woman's appreciation for my meagre abilities at loveplay, I'm not a ram that wants to mount every available ewe in hopes she will sing my praises afterward.
To Yelena I represented what visitors to my father's court in the Roclaws had been for me: a window onto the rest of the world. I was what existed, what lived and breathed outside Aurium. I had defied the city's clan leaders, bearding them in their own den, and if I could do that, then I could certainly take her with me when I left. I did not think she saw me as a lover with whom she would remain for all time, but just someone with whom she could stay until she won her release from the city of her birth.
All the while I thought this out, Yelena busied herself with supervising the servants filling the wooden tub. She diligently tested the water for warmth and directed the servants to bring water in sufficient quantities of specific temperatures in accord with some arcane formula that at last produced a satisfactory smile on her face. Accepting a small unguent jar and a thick towel from the last servant, she drew the curtain completely shut. Ignoring the mild laughter from the people in the center of the longhouse, she smiled and waved me toward the bath. Her husky whisper conveyed a multitude of messages. "Your bath awaits, my lord. As none of our servanrs would be satisfactory to you, I offer myself as your attendant."
Raising myself up on my elbows, I narrowed my eyes. "Do you know what you are offering, lass?"
She broadened her smile and nodded.
"And do you know why?" My question caught her unawares for a moment. Before she could reply, I pressed further. "Do you want to know why I'll be refusing you?"
Yelena hesitated, then her smile slackened. "It should have been obvious to me."
I shook my head and threw back the blanket. "There's no reason you could have known, so don't be thinking what you're thinking now." I stood, naked, with my joints popping and cracking like Dreel gnawbones. I saw her eyes widen, and looking down, I knew the purple bruise on the left side of my chest had been what caught her initial attention. As her focus opened up and she took a good look at me, one hand rose to cover her mouth.
"My lord, you . . . you . . ."
Aside from being a bit more furry than most flatlanders, as well as taller and more thickly muscled, the difference between me and the other males she'd likely seen in a similar state of nudity came in terms of my scars. Witch women and shamans, hedge-wizards and physickers, are all well able to close cuts and smooth gashes so as to leave no trace of a scar. Unlike me, the only thing most men took away from a fight was a tall tale.
I smiled to ease her distress and cros
sed to the tub. I sank myself into it, having to scrunch down a bit and bring my knees up out of the water, but it covered me to midchest and felt warm and inviting. "My compliments, Lady Yelena." I took a small cake of soap from a shelf near my toes and began to work it over my left arm.
"How is it, my lord, that the Dun Wolf is so worried and marked?"
I shrugged. "Well, now, this slice here, on my shoulder, I got from Tashayul when he meant to be killing me twenty years ago. And this one, the cross there above my left knee, that was a Haladin arrow I won near seven years past in the first battle I fought under the Red Tiger's banner." Lifting my left arm and leaning to the right, I exposed my hip. "See that tear there? That was from the Dreel."
"You have so many scars, my Lord, yet there are ways ..."
"I've collected a tale with each one, my Lady, and in another thirty years I'll be delivering an accounting to one of the Consilliarii." I smiled. " 'Tis not much as ambition goes, but it is a goal worth striving for."
She kept the horror in her eyes out of her whispered question. "And these scars—they have left you . . . unable . . . which is why you refuse me?"
"No, lass, I am able, which is why I must refuse you." I rinsed my left hand, then gently cupped her jaw in it. The truth, I was thinking, would only pique her interest, not dispel it. That was good, because I'd never been inclined to share the truth with anyone. No one would have believed it of me, and I knew all the protests concerning its veracity would only cause folks to doubt it all the more. So, for her, a bit of a lie.
"How much of the Eldsaga do you know, lass?"
"I know some of the songs. The Rape of Lucenzia and The Razing of Malchalach are the most sung here. The songs are old and well remembered, which is why you are here and the Elf went with the Fishers." Irritation sent a tremor through her, and fear another after it. "Why do you ask, my lord?"
I soaped my face, then rinsed it off in a great spray of water before answering. "The songs you cite mark Elven crusades that destroyed cities and provinces, changing the very map of Skirren. The slaughter will never be forgotten, but the reason the Elves launched their crusade already has been." I leaned back and let her soap my knees. "You see, the reason the Elves left Cygestolia was because the people of the Roclaws had been bound together by a leader who started nibbling away at Barkol. His dreams went far beyond Barkol, of course, but to the sylvanii his dreams were night terrors."
Had Aarundel been there to hear me recount history, he might have objected to some characterizations, but he could have pronounced the rede of it true. "The Elven Legions rode into the Roclaws and scattered the tribes. I'm thinking they likely wanted us all dead, but the mountains have many valleys and dales, and territories that the Dwarvenfolk claim as their own. While they granted us no succor, nor did they let the Elves hunt in their domains, so the people of the Roclaws survived.
"But now, you see, that in the days when the tribes had been together, many a love affair had blossomed. When we fled, we fled as tribes, not knowing if lovers lived or died. So among our people there arose a custom of waiting a year and a month, a week and a day and an hour before considering ourselves well and truly separated from a lover.
"Over the years many have been the embellishments to this tradition—a married couple who remove themselves from each other's company for that time are divorced and free, and mourning for a lost love lasts that long."
"And you are in mourning?"
The sympathy in her voice made me regret the lie. "I am, fair Yelena. I had a message from my brother, and in it he told me the woman I loved had died. Was the falsethaw fever and not caught in time." I fell silent for as long as I thought right, then managed a weak smile. "The sting of it is mostly gone, but you remind me of her enough that . . ."
Yelena sat back on her heels. "Forgive me, my lord, if I had known . . ."
I shook my head. "You make me mindful of the good things, lass. Were I younger, and this summer next winter, I'd not be riding alone from Aurium."
That pleased her, and her reaction banished the kernel of regret taking root in my heart. "My lord, is one in mourning allowed to enjoy himself at a festival? Is he allowed to dance?"
I winked at her and smiled. "Oddly enough, the custom is he can only dance with a bath attendant."
"Ah, then it is well you keep to your customs, my Lord Neal, well indeed."
Yelena abandoned me when I emerged from the bath and dried myself off. I found the clothing that Aarundel had sent for me and recognized none of it, which meant he had bought it new in the Aurium bazaar. Aarundel prefers to avoid places with too many humans he does not know—the exception being his placement in the midst of an enemy formation. At the same time he has a sharp sense of what is appropriate in conduct and dress, and this he impresses upon me whenever the chance to do so comes about. The fact that we had acted the bloody-handed mercenaries the night before meant we would have to be equally gracious at the festival, and I assumed the red tunic he had supplied for me would help do that.
His willingness to brave the bazaar mirrored my own willingness to keep Yelena at arm's length. As I mentioned before, I am not a ram looking to mount a herd, but neither am I celibate or like-gender attracted. While I enjoy the company of women, I am also aware of Aarundel's isolation from sylvanestii, for they are more rare outside Cygestolia than mountain women are outside the Roclaws, Making matters more complicated is the Elven prohibition against coupling with women or Reithressa.
I dressed quickly despite the ache in my ribs. Though I had no intention of going armed to the festival, I did home Wasp and Cleaveheart in their respective scabbards and looped my weapons'-belt over my shoulder. Emerging from my stall, I found Lady Yelena dressed in a gown that flattered her slender figure and accentuated her bosom. She dipped her left hand through the crook of my right arm without saying a word.
I could tell from her smile that while she might respect the tale I had told her earlier, she would make my choice to honor tradition deliciously difficult. "My Lady, you are quite beautiful this evening, eclipsing your earlier beauty, I'm thinking." I let my voice carry enough to spawn giggles from others in the longhouse, and Yelena accepted the compliment with a gentle bow of her head.
The sun had not set by the time we emerged from the longhouse, so I got a chance to orient myself concerning the town's internal geography. The legislatorium stood on a hill above a green square with a statue raised in the center of it. East and west of that square stood two longhouses—one for the Fishers and the other for the Riveravens. Spreading back from them in a rough wedge were other, smaller houses and buildings of related clans and servants. To the south, in the direction of the rivers, other homes, shops, and warehouses bridged the gap between the clan sectors and the wharves. North of the legislatorium the buildings appeared more ramshackle and less permanent, and I had the feeling that somewhere in that transient sector was where I would find my company.
The square itself had been transformed from a muddy flat to something far more in keeping with a celebration, Brightly colored tents, well patched and road stained, had been set up in a haphazard pattern to form a rough perimeter around the square. I was thinking some traveling show had entered the town at a lucky moment, but given the Haladin activity in the area, it seemed likely they had been north of the legislatorium, waiting for a good time to travel.
Interior of the tents I saw carts and stalls of the sort I imagined would be found in the bazaar. Their hasty transplanting narrowed the area near the statue, but still left enough room for a good crowd. Musicians had set up at the base of the statue and looked to be a mix of the road minstrels and folks belonging to Aurium itself. In tuning their instruments they sounded like a herd of cats fighting on a bed made of bellowing walruses, but I was thinking the sound would resolve itself into something dance-spawning quite quickly.
I'd gotten a step and a half from the longhouse when the Dreel slid his shaggy red-gray body from a hollow beneath the building. He crawled up
out of a hole around which he had placed fresh-killed dogs' skulls like merlons and paced beside me. Yelena started when she caught sight of him past my left shoulder, but forced a yawn. I casually handed him my swordbelt. "If I need this, you will fetch it to me. Meanwhile, try not to kill anything." Shijef flashed his fangs at me, so I added, "Be trying real hard not to kill anything."
Yelena shivered. "You have scars from a Dreel bite, yet you keep one with you as a pet?"
"Oh, the scars are from that Dreel's bite." I shrugged. "Besides, he's not a pet, he is a slave."
"Why would you want a Dreel as a slave?"
"I'm thinking you have a point—they're not good for much." I forced the image of the bouncing head from my mind. "I did not have much choice. His Dreelband was raiding a village one winter. We had a contest, he and I, and he lost, so he became my slave."
"Better that than the other way around." I smiled. "I'm thinking I'd not have been a slave. Dinner, more likely."
Yelena took the lead as we entered the square and paraded me around like a groom leading a prize horse. I played my part, taking a bit of joy from the green-eyed glances shot in my direction by local men who doubtless had pondered ways to woo her. I wished the men no ill, but I was thinking one night of discomfort might spur them on to act. Part of me pitied any man who thought Yelena would become his chattel, but there had to be someone in Aurium who could be her match in spirit and mind.
As dusk passed into night, torches were lit and the orchestra had appointed a leader. Both Festus and Childeric made brief speeches about the union of their families. A priest, Jistani by the cut of his hair, said the words that needed saying; then the musicians struck up a tune, and the wedded couple engaged in a stately dance. I'd seen it performed more formally otherwhens, but seldom with more sincerity. It seemed as if both Rufus and Ismere had determined to defy their families by clinging together. If their offspring were as tough-minded, I was thinking, the union might well last a long time.
Once A Hero Page 11