Lark and Wren

by Mercedes Lackey

  "True," Gwyna replied thoughtfully, twining a strand of her hair around one finger. "There's a lot of unrest out in the countryside. I know there's been more feuds lately. They say it's because the High King is getting old and he's not keeping the Twenty Kings in line."

  "What difference does that-" Rune began, then made the connection herself. "Oh. The Twenty Kings are busy trying to compete to be High King and ignoring the Barons and Dukes. And they're playing their own power games, and ignoring the Sires."

  "Who are now free to take up their feuds again," Talaysen finished. "It all comes down to the bottom, eventually. That means us, who end up having to deal with bandits on the road; bandits who are there because the Sires aren't hunting them down." He grimaced. "The Church should be taking a hand here, but they won't."

  "Other things come down to the common folk, too," Gwyna said. "I haven't seen any more bandits, but that's because I don't travel the main roads. Some of the others have run into trouble, though, and it seems to me to be more this year than last." She sat in thought for a while, her skirts spread in a colorful puddle around her. "I'll tell you what; I'll stick with you until the first snow. If you haven't found a wintering-up place for all three of us by then, we'll go thirds on a wagon and join one of my Family caravans. Will that suit you?"

  Talaysen nodded and Rune heaved a silent sigh of relief. Gwyna could be so touchy when she thought someone was trying to protect her, but this time she needed protection. She was a lot younger than she looked, sounded, or acted. Gypsy children tended to grow up very quickly, but that didn't mean she was as mature as she appeared. A shock like she'd gotten could unseat the reason of someone Talaysen's age. Gwyna needed time to find her balance again.

  "That solves our problem pretty neatly," Rune offered with absolute truth. "After getting shut out of three Faires, we were wondering if we were going to have even a chance at finding a winter position. So, if we don't"- she shrugged-"then we don't and we've got an alternate plan."

  "Well good, then," Gwyna replied, relaxing. "Glad to be able to help. And don't worry about my getting underfoot too much. I'll find lots of reasons to take long walks, and some of them may even be genuine!" She winked, and Rune blushed, glad that the sunset color hid the red flush of her cheeks. "Are we leaving tomorrow morning early or late?"

  "Late," Talaysen said. "All the heavy wagons and the herds are moving out at dawn, and I'd rather wait until they're well on their way. It's easier for us to pass them on the road than it is to get around the tangle when they leave." He grimaced. "And the drivers are a little less-"

  The unusual sound of the clopping of hooves coming towards their campsite made him look up from his fire. "Who or what could that be?"

  Rune shrugged, and looked over to Gwyna, who also shrugged. Odd. It's plainly someone with beasts. What can he want with us?

  A weathered old man, a horse-trader by the harness-bits attached to his jacket, came around the corner of the half-shelter. He led a pair of sturdy pony-mules of the kind that the Gypsies used to pull their wagons and carry their goods, and stopped just as he reached conversational distance. The beasts stopped obediently behind him, and one nuzzled him and blew into his hair.

  "Be you a minstrel called Rune?" he asked, looking directly at her.

  Rune nodded in surprise.

  "Can ye name me yer ma and yer village?" the old man continued.

  "My mother is Stara, who last worked in the Hungry Bear Inn; that's in my old village of Westhaven," she replied politely. This had the sound of someone trying to identify her for some reason. Possibly a letter from Amber? But why send it via a horse-trader?

  "An' who would ye say's yer best friend there?" the man persisted, though just as politely as she.

  "That's an easy one," she said. "I only had one good friend when I left: Jib, the horse-boy."

  "Then ye be the Rune I be lookin' fer." The man doffed his hat, and grinned. "Yon Jib's the lad I took on as m'partner this spring, an' damn if he ain't done better nor any on' us had reason t' think. He sen's ye these liddle lads, by way'o thanks, he says." He proffered the lead-reins, and Rune rose to take them, stunned with surprise. "He says ye's a right 'nuff lass, an' ye know how t' take care of a beast-I mind ye got a gyppo there by ye, though-" he nodded towards Gwyna, who nodded back. "There ain't none born can take care 'f a horse like a gyppo, so's ye make sure'n lissen t' the lady, eh?"

  "I'll do that," Rune promised solemnly, too stunned to say anything else. "These are Vargians, right?"

  "Aye," the man replied. "An' good lads, too. I wouldna let 'em go t' none but a gyppo or a friend or friend a'the lad. He's a good lad, Jib is."

  "That he is," Rune replied faintly. This was a little too much to take in all at once. "One of the best in the world."

  "Aye, well, I seen ye an' yer man an' yer fren' here at Faire, an' ye got all th' right friends," the man told her, so serious in his frankness that she couldn't even think of him as being rude. "Free Bards, eh? Free Bards an' gyppos, ye're the best folks on th' road. So, I'll tell Jib I caught up wi' ye, an' give his presents, an' I'll tell 'im ye're doin' right well. He'll be happy fer ye."

  He turned to go, and Rune stopped him for a moment with one hand on his leather sleeve. "How is he, really?" she asked anxiously. "Is he all right? Is he happy?"

  The man smiled, slowly, like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. "I reckon," he chuckled. "Oh, I reckon he'd say he's all right, though since he's set on weddin' m' girl an' I know her temper, I dunno how all right he'll stay! Still-they'll be settlin' down, I 'spect. Her mam had same temper, an' we never kilt each other enough so's ye'd notice. Like as not ye'll catch 'em both at Midsummer next year."

  And with that, he put his hat carefully back on his head, and walked back down the road in the darkness, leaving Rune staring after him with the mules' reins still in her hands.

  "Well, that solves one big problem," Gwyna said, breaking the silence. "And I know where we can get a wagon cheap, if you're willing to stay over a day while we get it refitted. I know I've got a third share's worth of coin. How about you two?"

  "Oh, we have it," Talaysen replied, as Rune broke out of her stunned state, and came over to the fire for a couple pieces of wood for tethers and some rope for hobbles. "And draft beasts are always the expensive part of fitting up a wagon, am I right?"

  Gwyna nodded, then rose and came over to look at the new acquisitions. She patted them down expertly, running her hands over their legs, checking their feet, then opening their mouths to have as good a look as she could with only firelight to aid her.

  "A little old for a horse-mule, but middle-aged for ones out of a pony," she said, giving them both a final pat, and turning to help Rune stake them out to graze. "Especially for this breed; just like Rune said, they're Vargians. They'll live thirty useful years and probably die in harness, and they can eat very nearly anything a goat can eat. Hard to tell without pushing them, but their wind seems sound; I know their legs are, and he hasn't been doctoring them to make them look good." The same one that had blown into the old man's hair nuzzled her. "They're gentle enough even for you to handle, Master Wren!" She laughed, as if at some private joke, and Talaysen flushed.

  "Here, let me see what they're called." She nudged the mule's head around so she could read the letters stamped on his halter in the flickering firelight. "This lad is Socks, evidently. And"-she squinted at the second halter-"the other is Tam. Good, short names, easy to yell." She left the mules, who applied themselves to grass with stolid single-mindedness. "I like your choice of friends, Lady Lark," she concluded. "It's nice to have friends who know when you might need a mule!"

  The mules were a gift that impinged perilously on "too good to be true," and Talaysen pummeled his brain ceaselessly to reassure himself that neither he nor Rune had worked any of their "magic" to get them.

  Finally, he slept, conscience appeased. They had not been anywhere near the animal-sellers. There had been no way that the old man could have heard the
m sing and been inadvertently magicked into giving them a pair of beasts. The mules were, therefore, exactly what they appeared to be: repayment of Rune's generosity to her old friend. When Rune had explained what she'd done, Gwyna had questioned her about the amount of money she'd sent the boy, and Gwyna had nodded knowingly.

  "That's the right-size return on a gift like that," she had pronounced, when Rune worried aloud that she had bankrupted the boy. "Truly. He didn't send you horses, nor young mules; he didn't include any harness but the halters. If his year's been as good as the old man says, that's about right, and he'll still have profit."

  Rune had been even more concerned how the old man had found them, since there was no way-she had thought-for Jib to find out where she was. She'd been afraid the gift might have been some machination of the Guild in disguise. But Gwyna and Talaysen had both been able to put her mind at ease on that score.

  It was the Gypsies, of course. Rune had sent her gift with them; they, in turn, knew all the news of the Free Bards and would have known as soon as Rune had joined them. When Jib wanted to find her, he would likely have turned to the Gypsies who had brought him the money in the first place. Sooner or later he would have found someone who'd been at Midsummer, and who would have known the general direction of the Free Bards' travels, and by extension, what Faires Rune and Talaysen were planning on going to. Then it was just a matter for the old man of planning his selling trip to try intercepting them at one or more of those Faires.

  With everyone's fears eased, all three of them slept soundly. In fact, it was the rattle of the mules' halters the next morning that awoke them, as the beasts tried in vain to reach grass outside the circles they'd eaten bare.

  Rune took them down to the well to water them, while Talaysen and Gwyna set off in search of a wagon.

  Many Gypsies settled in Kardown, for it was on the edge of the treeless, rolling plains of the Arden Downs. The soil was thin and rocky; too hard to farm, but it made excellent pasturage, and most of the folk hereabouts depended on the sheep that were grazed out there. Most households had a little flock, and the most prosperous had herds of several hundred. There was always work for someone good with animals, and when Gypsies chose to settle, they often became hired shepherds. Such a life enabled them to assuage their urge to wander in the summer, but gave them a snug little home to retire to when the winter winds roared and the sheep were brought back into the fold.

  Because of that, there were often Gypsy wagons for sale here. Gwyna, obviously a Gypsy and fluent in their secret language, was able to make contact with one of the resident families as soon as they reached the marketplace.

  From there it was a matter of tracking down who had wagons for sale, who had wagons they were keeping but might be induced to part with, and where they were.

  They had looked at three, so far. The first two were much too small; fit only for two, or one and a fair amount of trade goods. The third was a little too old and rickety; Gwyna clucked her tongue over it and told its owner that he'd waited a bit long to sell it; he'd have to spend a lot of time fixing it up now, before it was road-worthy again. The owner agreed, and said with a sigh that he'd not been truly certain he wanted to settle until this summer. . . .

  They traded road stories for a bit, then moved on to the fourth and last.

  "This lad will take a bit of persuading, I think," Gwyna said as they approached the cottage. "He came off the road because his wife wanted to settle a bit, though he didn't. That means the wife will be on our side; if she can get him to part with the wagon, it means she'll not have to fret about him taking the bit in his teeth, packing them all up, and rolling out without so much as a 'do you think we should,' or a word of warning."

  Thus armed, Talaysen set about charming the lady of the house while Gwyna tackled the man. He was very young to have come off the road; a half-dozen children playing in the yard told Talaysen why the wife had wanted to settle. Two children in a wagon weren't bad, but a mob like this would strain the seams of even the largest wagons he'd seen.

  He couldn't hear what Gwyna was telling the man, a very handsome Gypsy with long, immaculately kept black locks and a drooping mustache of which he seemed very proud. He didn't make much of an effort to overhear, either. She was giving the young man some advice from a woman's point of view, he thought. The Gypsies believed in the right of a woman to make her own decisions, and she was probably telling him that if he decided to pack up and take to the road again, he might well find himself doing so alone.

  Whatever it was she told him, it had the desired effect. He agreed-reluctantly, but agreed-to show them the wagon and sell it if it was what they wanted.

  He kept it in a shed in the rear of his cottage, and unlike the wagon that had been kept out in the garden, it was easy to see that the owner of this rig had been serious about his desire to return to the road one day. The bright red and yellow paint was fresh and shiny; every bit of bright-work, from the twin lamps at the front to the single lamp over the window at the rear, was polished until it gleamed like gold. The leather of the seat had been kept oiled, and the wheels were in perfect repair, not a spoke missing.

  Right away, Talaysen knew that it was the kind of wagon they needed; this was a two-beast rig, and provided the pony-mules could pull it, they would have the strength of both at their service. With a one-beast rig, the mule not in harness would have to be tethered to the rear. It was possible to switch them off to keep them fresh, but a dreadful nuisance to harness and unharness in the middle of the day.

  But when the young man pushed the rig out, Talaysen knew that without a shadow of a doubt-if the mules were up to it-this was exactly what they'd been looking for.

  It slept four; two in one bed at the rear, and two in narrow single bunks along the sides that doubled as seating. There was ample storage for twice what they carried; the harness was coiled neatly in the box built beneath the right-hand bunk. There was even a tiny "kitchen" arrangement that could be used in foul weather, and a charcoal stove to keep it warm in the winter.

  "Can the little mules pull it?" he asked Gwyna and her fellow Gypsy. She looked over at the man. "Vargians," she said.

  He nodded. "No problem. It's built light, lighter than it looks." He showed them, by pushing it forward by himself. "I had Vargians. The harness is already rigged for them." Then he sighed and made mournful eyes at his wife, who did her best to hide her smile of triumph. "Looks like the Lady meant this rig for you. I'd best resign myself to being off the road till the little ones are marriage-high."

  Gwyna then began some spirited bargaining, that ended with them shaking hands and most of Talaysen's money joining hers. The wife looked even happier at that, which made him guess that she had some plans for the unexpected windfall.

  "Bring the mules here, and I'll harness her and you can drive her over," the man said, looking less resigned and more content by the moment. That eased Talaysen's mind quite a bit; he would never have willingly deprived someone of a cherished dream, however impractical it was.

  They returned to camp and Gwyna took charge of the mules, leaving Talaysen and Rune to divide the chores of breaking camp. There wasn't much to do, since they'd be reloading everything into the wagon; and shortly after they were finished, burying the little garbage they'd produced in the fire-pit, covering it with the ashes, and putting the frame of the half-shelter over it all, Gwyna appeared, driving the wagon up the road, with the mules moving briskly and looking altogether content to be in harness.

  It was a matter of moments to load the wagon and stow everything. Talaysen was amazed at how pleased and proprietary he felt. "Now what?" he asked Gwyna.

  "Now we drive back to town, leave the wagon at a stable for safe-keeping, and go up to the market to buy what we need. Oil for cooking, oil for the lamps, harness-mending kit, salt and fodder for the mules-" She looked over at Rune.

  "Hmm. Flour, salt, honey; some vegetables that keep well. Spices. A couple of pots and a frying pan." Rune's brow wrinkled as she t
hought. "Featherbeds, if we're going to winter over in there. Charcoal for the stove. A bit of milk. Cider. Oh, a fresh-water keg, there doesn't seem to be one. Currycomb, brush and hoof-pick. I think that's it."

  "That sounds about right," Gwyna agreed. "If I can get some eggs, I'd like to."

  Talaysen grinned, completely at sea in this barrage of domesticity, and perfectly content-

  "A chicken," he said, suddenly. "Bacon. The bacon will keep fairly well. Sausage and cheese." He tried to remember what the family horses had needed. "Oh, blankets for both mules; they'll need them in the winter."

  "Good." Gwyna nodded. "Now, the big question; have we enough money for all that?"

  They put their heads and their resources together, and decided that they did-if they skipped the bacon and chicken, and bargained well.

  "Split up?" Rune asked.

  Gwyna shook her head. "Better stay together. Master Wren, try and look pinch-pursed and disapproving, as if everything we're buying is a luxury."

  He set his face obediently in a scowl, and she chuckled. "That'll do. Rune, we'll take turns. When we get into a sticky spot, the other one will jump in and say 'He's cheating you,' or something like that."

  "Good, and look like the vendor's a thief."

  "Exactly." Gwyna surveyed the marketplace. "Well, shall we attack?"

  The market wasn't as large as some, but it was held every day, rather than just one day a week. Talaysen found his part altogether easy, and watched the women bargain with the stall-keepers like a couple of seasoned housewives. At the vegetable stall, Rune leaned over and pointed out the discolored places caused by insects that might hide soft-spots or larvae, and gave the poor man a glare as if he'd put them there himself. He capitulated immediately. The cheese-maker was a fellow Gypsy, and so came in only for some good-natured bantering. The miller was condescending, and the women bent their entire attention on him, and to both his and Talaysen's amazement, actually caught him cheating, with sacks with gravel weighting the bottom. When they threatened to expose him there and then, he gave them their flour. They then went back to the cheese-maker and betrayed his secret. Gwyna grinned nastily as they went on to the charcoal-maker.