Erin’s companions were subdued and quiet when it came time for leaving. They ate the meal Marlin had cooked for them in somber silence. Trethar made a few sarcastic comments in Renar’s direction, but even these were quiet barbs; both the thief and the mage had missed the fight entirely.
Darin winced as Renar seemed to absorb, rather than deflect, the older man’s words. He frowned at Trethar, but the mage pointedly looked elsewhere as if to say, This man might be a king, but he’s not my king.
Gerald was dressed for winter travel—and Darin guessed that the clothing itself must have come from Verdor. The sword hadn’t, and Darin didn’t ask because he didn’t want to know that Renar had been slinking about the market again; the first trip had proved almost fatal.
Only Erin seemed unduly cheerful. She smiled often, laughing a little at Verdor’s quiet comments. She ate well, relishing the food as if she’d just discovered flavor. Her clothing was new, but from the fit it was obvious that it had come from Marlin—a Marlin who had absented herself lamely from the eating table on the pretext of packing the last of the supplies for the travelers.
At the door—the back door—of the inn, Erin gave each of those who’d come to say good-bye a quick hug. Marlin held herself stiff, even though her arms mechanically returned the embrace, but Astor whispered his thanks in her ear and hugged her tightly.
Verdor swung her off her feet as if she were a child. “You come back when you’re finished, Lorie,” he told her as he set her down. “Come back. We’ll miss you here.” He smiled fondly and tugged at her long, single braid. “You’re about the only decent thing that half-wit’s ever brought to the Red Dog.”
“Nobody else with any decency would come here,” Renar replied smartly. But he smiled for the first time since the Swords had come.
Verdor took the hand that he offered and shook it soundly, with a slightly malicious grin. “And you, half-wit. I’ll see you again, no doubt. And no doubt,” he added, “you’ll be trouble.”
Renar nodded, trying to appear nonchalant as he massaged the hand that Verdor had gripped. “I’m terribly sorry about the bar,” he said lamely.
“I’m only sorry you don’t have the funds to cover the window,” Verdor said. “Don’t be sorry; it doesn’t suit you.” Then he turned to Erin and hugged her tightly again. For a moment, his chin rested on the top of her head. His eyes closed. It seemed as if he wouldn’t let go.
Smile, Initiate, Bethany said. What he has done for the Sarillorn, no other could have done. He survived.
I know, Darin replied. He—he called her back.
And she came. A good sign.
Renar led the way through the streets of the warren with an ease that spoke of long association. He did, however, avoid all alleys and shortcuts that might prove as disastrous as the last he had taken, and Trethar followed his lead with only minimal complaint. Darin was certain that at least part of the mage’s tact was enforced by the presence of Gerald, who, while not obviously there to protect Renar, nevertheless made a good shadow.
Discussion was nonexistent; both Erin and Renar were alert and on the lookout, and if Erin was surprised by Renar’s silence and unusual look of purpose, she was too busy to comment. Although Erin and Renar were the slightest of the group in stature, they somehow seemed to be the most dangerous. Catlike, they stalked the shadows, twitching at any sign of unusual movement.
At length, they reached a section of the city that none but Renar had ever seen: the caravan compounds in the merchants’ quarter. Erin turned to Renar and tapped him lightly on the shoulder as he came to a stop outside of its thickly barred gates.
“Yes?” He didn’t turn to face her; instead he watched as men hooked horses to cover wagons. The wagons were themselves unusual; they had wheels, but an inch above where the wheels rested on the swept, frozen dirt were runners commonly seen on sleds.
“Is that the ‘escape route’ you spoke of?”
He nodded. “But I told them to be ready for us.” His lips folded into a frown as misted air floated up to freeze on loose strands of hair.
“This is a merchants’ caravan, isn’t it?”
“Very clever, my lady. It’s exactly that. And we are its most important cargo. Come on.” And so saying, he reached between the bars very carefully and struggled with something that Erin couldn’t see.
She heard the click, though, and stared at him.
He bowed. “I have to keep in practice,” he said softly, with the hint of theatrical smile. “Why don’t we find our savior?”
The merchant’s guards were good enough; they noticed the gates begin their creaking roll open and were at once armed and ready. The horses nickered and were ignored as a tall man stepped forward. He was of an imposing build and wore a shirt of chain beneath a surcoat that was obviously designed for the cold. He wore no crest and no flag to designate him a house affiliate. Very few were the independent merchants who operated without house arms, house support, and house constraints.
“Hold it right there,” he said quietly. “Luke—get Hildy.”
Someone even taller than the guard leader grinned in response and disappeared into the stable. The second man also wore a chain shirt, but his surcoat, also naturally colored and without crest to face it, was decidedly less clean. The merchant obviously could afford to pay guards well.
“Really,” Renar said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Is that sword absolutely necessary?”
The roll of the man’s dark eyes told Erin clearly that he at least recognized Robert. Renar. She bit her lip and glanced sideways at her traveling companion, unable—or perhaps unwilling—to see him as a monarch.
And then she forgot him for a moment as a bundle shuffled into view.
“That’s the merchant,” Renar whispered quietly.
It was impossible to tell whether or not the merchant was male or female. Not that it mattered. The bundle stopped in front of the first man in chain as the man he’d called Luke pulled up the rear.
“Well, hello, Robert,” the merchant said cheerily. Only then was Erin able to place her as a woman. She wore fur, and beneath the fur, a layer of wool covered her mouth and cheeks up to the lower edge of her eyes; a fur cap edged down to the top of her eyes. Her hands were mitten-covered, and her feet were either huge or, more likely, layered in socks so thick that they increased her boot size. “I hope you haven’t had any more problems with my boys, dear.”
“Hildy ... ” the guard in chain said, his tone of voice a combination of affection and warning.
“Men, then. But really, dear, you’re all boys to me.”
“Hildy.”
“Just wait until you’ve had a chance to catch up a bit, Hamin. Now do be dear and don’t interrupt me.” She turned, or at least the scarf did, to face Renar. “Can’t stand the cold,” she said, and held out a mitten. “Now, what was I saying? Oh yes. Were the boys a little better behaved this time?”
The captain of the guards gave a sigh and rolled his eyes theatrically in her direction. He was not a young man, and his face showed the scars of his chosen profession; nothing about him looked even remotely boyish.
“Yes, rather, although it’s quite clear that they recognized me; I don’t know what this fuss with weapons was about,” Renar replied, puffing his chest out slightly and glaring pointedly at Hamin. He bowed. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
“A pleasure, is it?” Hildy shook her head. “Well, it might be at that. But there’s business to attend to.” She looked past his shoulder; she was tall enough that this wasn’t difficult. “These are your companions, then?”
“Indeed. Allow me to introduce—”
“That’s all right, dear. We don’t need to know their names. They match the description you gave; that’s enough for now.” She nodded to herself and turned back to Hamin. “Has the runner from Bordaril come through yet?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And?”
“They aren’t happy about the change of s
chedule.” He shrugged. “But they’ll have guards meet us before the north gate.”
“Good,” she said, nodding happily. She turned, and then turned back. “Robert, dear?”
“Yes?”
“You’ll have to change the clothing you’re wearing. It won’t suit your role. I think we’ve got spare uniforms of sorts—put one on and try your best to blend in with the boys.”
Renar’s expression indicated clearly what he thought of that. So did Hamin’s. They eyed each other with almost identical disdain.
“And you, sir,” Hildy said to Trethar, “will be my resident cloth expert; your face looks old enough to have some useful experience behind it. The boy can join the men in pretending to be useful.” Her eyes lit up as she saw Gerald, standing quietly behind Erin as if he were a guard of some efficacy. “And you, dear, will fit right in with the boys. I dare say you’ll do us proud in that role. You will join them, won’t you, dear?”
Gerald nodded, and then turned his gaze to Hamin. Their eyes met, and Hamin’s narrowed softly before rounding out in surprise. “Gerald?” The giant remained silent—and still. “Gerald, is that you?”
He started forward, and Hildy caught him by the shoulder. Her grip, constrained as it was by a thick layer of sheepskin, was nonetheless very strong. “Hamin,” she said, all lilt gone from her voice, “we ask no questions. Remember?”
Hamin nodded, but absently, as he turned to glance back at Renar. His eyes narrowed, but when they relaxed he once again wore a mask of bored indifference. What lay beyond that, no one asked.
Last, Hildy considered Erin; her gaze lingered there longest. “You, young lady, you’ll probably have to stay covered. And hide that sword, if you will. I’ll probably claim you as a niece, or something along those lines.” She sighed again. “I’d let you go with the boys, as you’ve more of the look about you than the young men, but it’d probably cause dissent at the gates. Either of them.”
Erin nodded quietly.
“I’ve got your papers. You’ll need them when we reach Dagothrin, but not before. Hamin, dear?”
“Yes, Hildy?”
“Do try not to be so boisterous with our guests, hmmm?”
“Ma’am.”
Hildy executed a slow turn and made her way back to the wagons. Her voice, loud and low, could be heard clearly when she couldn’t be seen as she directed her people in the finishing touches of the caravan’s preparation for travel. Darin tried to ask Renar about the merchant, but he indicated quite clearly, if not loudly, that he didn’t wish to speak of it here.
At last, when the wagons, with their runners, were loaded and ready to travel, Hildy called them into the caravans. For the first leg of the journey, she had Renar, Trethar, and Darin crowded into the supplies wagon. She told them that they wouldn’t need to worry about the wagons being searched; the Bordaril passes, handed to gate guards that were also owned by Bordaril, ensured a clean exit from Verdann.
“But, boys,” she added. “I expect you to behave yourselves. Don’t argue, don’t fight, and don’t make a lot of noise. You’ll embarrass the gate guards and get me into a small bit of trouble.”
It became immediately clear that Hildy didn’t drive her own wagons; she didn’t, as she reiterated for perhaps the fourth time, like the cold. On the run back, she would take to the cab and direct the horses, but on the route there, she would take advantage of wagon room to hide from the wind and the open air.
“Well, dear,” Hildy said, removing one of the three scarves she wore. “This is rather cozy.”
Erin smiled; her cap and scarf were already in her lap.
“Don’t keep such a distance from your aunt. Feel free to cuddle up.” She indicated the wealth of furs that covered her body. “If you feel cold.”
“Thank you—”
“Hildy.”
“Thank you, Hildy.” But Erin made no move to take advantage of the merchant’s offer. “I—the cold doesn’t really bother me.”
“One of the advantages of being young.” The older woman removed her mittens, and the gloves beneath, and then unraveled the last two scarves. Erin found herself face to face with a rounded, lined visage. But for all that she looked old, Erin had no doubt that Hildy was still quite active and healthy. “Of course, there are advantages to being old as well. They’re just not as obvious to you youngsters.” Hildy laughed again, her teeth gleaming in the muted light of the wagon. She leaned forward conspiratorially. “I’ve not done anything like this in five years.”
Erin raised an eyebrow. “The Empire allowed you to trade with Culverne?”
“Pardon?”
“Uh—Dagothrin.”
Hildy chuckled. “Marantine, dear.” Her smile dimmed a moment as she searched Erin’s face. “That’s what the country was called, you know. And no, the Empire didn’t officially sanction trade, but as you might know, Dagothrin has the best mines on the continent for precious metals, and not all the named houses were Church-affiliated. At the time. I believe Bordaril is, now.”
“You brought goods into Dagothrin?”
“Goods, yes. And a cargo much like yourself.” She frowned for a moment, her blue eyes narrowing as she stared off into the distance. Then she shrugged, and her massive shoulders shook the curtain of fur she wore. “Can’t be helped, child. Things change, and if you can’t adapt, you go out with the tide, so much flotsam and jetsam. Hildy always survives.”
Erin didn’t doubt it.
“I’ll be in the city for at least a couple of weeks—four, I think—and I’ll be staying in the merchant quarter. Not hard to find; not hard at all. You can ask for me, if you’ve got freedom of movement. You can send for me, if you don’t.” Hildy smiled and reached out with a bent hand. “I smell a new wind blowing, girl.”
“You’re taking a risk,” Erin said softly, unsure of what else she could say.
“Yes. But that’s the other trick to being a survivor. You’ve got to know when to take risks.” Her eyes narrowed. “Are you sure you aren’t feeling the cold a bit? You’re shivering, girl.”
“I’m fine,” Erin said softly. “I—is this risk a good one?”
“It may be.” Hildy sighed and looked away. “And to be honest, it may not be. But, child, to be truthful—and you can trust this, as it isn’t about money—sometimes life is only worthwhile when the right kind of risks lie there waiting to be taken. Hope is the folly of humanity, as my granddam used to say, but we’d be dead of despair without it.”
“Hope,” Erin said softly. “But you might end up dead anyway.”
“Well, now, aren’t we the cheerful one? You just trust Hildy, young lady. I’ll tell you when gloom-and-doom are the order of the day.”
They met their guards at the gate, although Erin didn’t see them until they alighted from the caravan at the first of the inns that would house them. Erin was given her own room, as was Trethar; Renar was expected to room with the caravan guards. He made no secret of how he felt about this, but wisely refrained from coming to blows with any of the attendant guards. Gerald made it clear, even without the use of words, that any fight Renar picked was his own to deal with; this, of course, was met with Renar’s usual good grace. It was all an act—it had to be—but Darin still wondered how a grown man could pout so effectively.
“Sarillorn.”
“Erin.”
She smiled as the pale light that was somehow shadow resolved itself into two familiar bodies. The landscape curved away from her uneasily, roiling at her feet. She caught the hint of color lurking beneath the darkness of its surface, a deep metallic red, hard and cold.
As always, Belfas came first, a fine mist of light waiting upon form. He held out a hand in tentative greeting, just far enough out of her reach that she could not grasp it.
“Erin,” he said again, softly.
“Belf.”
“We haven’t seen you in a long time.”
“Days,” she replied, and looked away for a moment. A hiss of a sigh escaped his
lips, curling around her ears. She shivered. “Soon, Belfas. Soon, Carla, Rein, Teya. Soon.” Belief, foreign and welcome, lent strength and force to those words. She clenched her hands and looked down at her translucent fingers. “Where is Kandor?”
“Here, little one.” He appeared beside Belfas, his light the stronger light, his face the more peaceful countenance. His eyes, luminescent, swept over her, returning to meet her steady gaze. “You have found something that you lacked.”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.” She was afraid to question it or probe it too deeply; this odd peace might prove to be fragile and easily lost.
“Tell me, Sarillorn, do you still seek death?”
She looked back at him, and then turned to Belfas. Mirroring Kandor’s gesture, she held out a slim hand, bringing it to within an inch of Belfas’ still face. His eyes were shadowed and pain lurked just beneath their surface.
“I don’t know,” she said at last. “But death is the Lady I must seek, or you will never leave this place.”
“Yes.” Kandor, gentle and peaceful when not at war, was still an absolute; he had no lie in him, not even to comfort—the Sarillorn understood this, even if Erin flinched. “Perhaps you were better off before.”
“No.” She shook her head firmly, and strands of diaphanous hair traced her cheeks. “I think I was a little mad.”
“And do you now forgive God? Do you forgive the Lady?”
The intensity of Kandor’s question caught and held her tongue. The warmth that she had found faded into heat; the embers of an anger that still burned, still hurt. “I swore blood-oath,” she reminded him softly.
He shrugged, signifying nothing. And he waited.
“Not the Lady,” she said at last, gazing out into the endless darkness. “Not yet. Not now.”
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