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Heritage of Fire

Page 27

by Dave Luckett


  Nor did Nela. She took the paper when the old woman held it out to her, and stuffed it carelessly back in her tunic. Then she nodded farewell, turned, and strode out again, Gerd following behind, deferential, the model apprentice. They did not look back.

  "The road leads straight to it," remarked Gerd, after half a mile or so. He paused a judicious moment. The road was a track, wide enough for two horses to pass one another, but no more. "A place fit for people to live," he added. "Meaning that Walse isn't. Therefore, those who live there aren't really people. Who was it said that we aren't choosing sides, here?"

  He couldn't see Nela's face. Perhaps her shoulders stiffened a little. He felt obscurely ashamed of himself.

  Then she sighed, her shoulders slumping a little. She beckoned him up beside her, and he lengthened his strides. They had walked side by side for ten or fifteen paces before she spoke: "My father always refused to have anything to do with the whole business. He was from Greenhill, which was a village when he was a boy, but is now swallowed up by the city. That room where you and I first met would be not more than a minute's walk from the house where he was born, if that still stood. He used to say that a mage belonged in his own country, to the air and the water and the soil, the things that went into his making and his magic; and I agreed with him. Still do, really."

  Gerd nodded. Where, then, do I belong? What country have I? But then he heard what he had been listening for, and a grim, small smile came to his face.

  She stared at the road, picking her words. "But what if the country has changed so much that it isn't the same country any more? Is it still your own? If not, should you not seek out another, more like to yours?" She shook her head. "I can't tell. I do know that a mage should not be attached to things. Even things like country; the land itself."

  "As a merchant or a landowner is," said Gerd. He sounded a little distrait, as if trying to hear something faint with distance.

  "Yes. Remember that... customer. You saw him at the bottom of the steps, that first day we met. Barra. Master Barra."

  "I remember." He did, too, in brief flashes: the flush of anger on the man's face; his rich robe; his stare at Gerd as though he didn't exist except as a momentary irritation; the point of the bodyguard's dagger at his back.

  "He wanted to know what would be the best site for a new grotto he was building on his estate. An artificial gorge, with a cave at the end. With a hermit who would be paid to live in it. Very romantic. A folly, to impress visitors. It was to have a picturesque stream flowing through it, down to the sea, with views. He was going to divert one for the purpose and the surveyor had given him several choices. He wanted to know which site was the most magical."

  Gerd closed his eyes briefly. He could imagine Nela's reaction to such a request, but he said nothing.

  She surprised him. "I was hungry. I did as he asked. I scried the maps of his estate and told him." Gerd shot a glance at her, saw the bleak self-condemnation, and looked away again. "Yes, I told him. And he said..." Pause. "He said it was just as well, as the village he would have to clear out of the way to use that site was an eyesore anyway." Again she paused, and the words came hard. "He paid me, then he said that to me. So I tried to tell him that I'd changed my mind, that it wasn't the right spot after all. He thought I was just trying to screw more money out of him, and he laughed in anger and flung off." She plodded on. "And that was how you found me."

  "I'm glad I did," he said. But his voice was still distant, faint.

  She wasn't listening. She didn't raise her eyes. "And now I have brought you here. It was a foolish plan. No plan at all, in fact. In Walse, often I used to say to myself, I must go, for there is no place for me here any more. But I would never have left, if not for that last straw, and I would never have got this far if not for you. I would have starved on the road, or worse."

  "That's not true. And you left because of me, too. I had to learn." She shrugged, dismissing it. "Master," he said, formally, because the title made sense in the Ancient Language. "Already I have learned much. For example, I can hear that old woman relaying Sert's message to the council, and adding her own words."

  Nela's head jerked up at that. Gerd halted and listened. It was the same as listening with his ears, but not the same. "Yes," he said. He smiled. "You think a great deal less of yourself than they do. Mind you, the woman - her name is Ferla, by the way - Ferla thinks you're a stuck-up snob." He listened again. "And now she's talking about me. A big, coarse yokel, she calls me."

  Nela was watching him, her eyes fascinated. "How did you... when did you start...?"

  "Just now, when I realised that mages could talk to each other at a distance. It was as if I had always known that. So I simply listened for her voice."

  "Knowing that should not be enough. Ferla's a fool. You shouldn't be able to hear her. She should be able to guard her voice better than that."

  "I think she's mainly concerned about you. She ... ah, yes. She's dismissed me altogether. I think... oh." Gerd swallowed. A red flush suddenly mounted his neck, then invaded his cheeks.

  "What?"

  "Um. I've just realised that it isn't Ferla. Not Ferla alone, anyway. Another voice..." His words trailed off. The flush became a bright crimson blush.

  "Oh?" Nela considered. "Ah, yes. She had an apprentice. I rather thought the lass had the more power. Well, it's possible to combine voices for greater power... What's the matter?"

  Gerd had pulled at Jane's bridle and was marching down the road at pace, shaking his head as if to rid himself of a swarm of flies. Nela hurried after him, catching him only with difficulty, despite the length of her own strides. "What is it?" she asked, but Gerd only shook his head, mumbled something, and stepped up the pace.

  Nela broke into a trot, grabbed Gerd's forearm and swung around him to face him. At the same moment, though, he gasped with relief. "Ferla's noticed it," he said. "It's stopped."

  "What?" asked Nela. Gerd only shook his head. Nela, frowning, began to worry at it. "Ferla was speaking of you, you said, and the young woman was adding to her power, so that she was sharing the same thought - that is, about you. What on earth could the lass have been thinking about involving you, that would cause you to...? Oh!"

  The redness was back in Gerd's face again, full-flood.

  "Oh," said Nela again. It sounded indignant, and for a moment her face reflected it. Then she began to smile, before she pulled her face into solemnity and stillness again. She turned, set her face to the road and paced on with more dignity. Gerd, shamefaced, fell in beside her. A half-mile passed. Nela cleared her throat.

  "Now, as to the mind disciplines," she began. "The mind-shield is easy to learn..." and he bent his head towards her and gave full attention. They marched onward up the road in the warm sun.

  *

  Shelstro came into sight some eight hours later. They topped the brow of the last hill, having known for some time that they were approaching a town, and found it. It was by far the largest settlement that they had seen since leaving Walse, and yet there was still something of the look of a village about it. There was no wall, for one thing, and the houses straggled along the side of the river, then clustered around a single bridge, a span of what looked like massive timbers laid over four stone piers. Beyond the bridge, the river broadened to become a pool and then a funnelling estuary, with mud-banks on either side to show that it was tidal. Shallow, too, by the look of it, the braidwork of channels showing under the westering sun, following the same sweeping curves as the river.

  Some of the buildings were dark grey stone, roofed with shingle or even baked clay tiles, but most were timber and thatch. There were at least a dozen streets, so Gerd wondered why it still looked like a village to him. Clearly this was a town, quite a major one.

  Then he realised: it was the building that stood on the height above the streets, to their right. Not a castle or a fortress, though it was behind a wall. This was a hall or a manor, long and two-storeyed, lined with windows like a very la
rge house, partly stone, but with wings built from brick and timber and plaster that looked more recent. The proportions of hall and town had reminded him of the way the lord's house had loomed over his own village. That is to say, the village he had come from. The village that wasn't his any more.

  He risked a glance at Nela's face. She showed neither approval nor dislike. She had halted for a moment, leaning on her staff while she assessed the place.

  "I think I can see the Guild-house," she remarked, drily, indicating the hall with a flick of one hand.

  Gerd said nothing. He only nodded. A group was waiting for them where the road divided, one branch leading down into the town, one sweeping up the slope to the hall on its hill. Nela nodded, her face expressionless. Even from three hundred paces away, she could see the robes and staffs. She looked down at her own travel-stained gown and the ash stave that she had used only as a stick these last two hundred miles. Then she smiled.

  "Well," she asked brightly, "shall we?"

  *

  At least they got a good supper out of it. That was a blessing in itself. Nothing like a good long walk to improve appetite. Even Nela ate a reasonable meal.

  The reception party had numbered three. Two were mages, both male, both bearded, one younger, one older. The third was an apprentice, they said. They didn't say whose. A young man, and tough-looking. Blunt-featured, blue-eyed, with hair the colour of tow, holding himself straight but loosely, and watching Gerd - neither his hands nor his eyes, but the centre of his body, looking for a shift in balance. Apprentice? thought Gerd. He seemed to know his trade quite well already.

  There were formal words of welcome, to which Gerd hardly listened. Nela neither, he thought. Then they were conducted up the slope towards the long hall on the hill, passing through a tall wooden gate between stone columns in a tall stone wall, and then formal gardens and lawns. The mages went first, politely to left and right of Nela, all fellow-savants walking together, making scholarly conversation. Nela confined herself to conventional remarks about the journey.

  Gerd fell in behind, leading Jane, with the apprentice on his left. The man stayed almost but not quite level with him, so that Gerd would have to swing around to face him, but he would be able to watch Gerd every step. Gerd dawdled a little, as though Jane were a little lazy. A gap opened between them and the mages, but the apprentice remained on station.

  "Nice-looking town," said Gerd, with hearty good humour, in the common. The other grunted. "What's the beer like?"

  Pause. Then: "Most of them brew horsepiss. Mother Dunn's is the least bad."

  Gerd smiled and nodded, satisfied. He'd thought so, and the accent confirmed it. The man was a Kihreean.

  The hill was high enough to give a view over the bridge and out into the estuary. Wooden docks jutted into the water here and there, with some trading vessels tied up at them, all single-masted cogs or half-decked knarrs. Out in the tidal stream, the unmistakeable lines of three longships lay at anchor. Gerd gave them what he hoped appeared to be no more than a casual glance, before he passed under the arch of the gate and into the grounds of the mage's guildhall. He appeared to give the wall no more than a glance, too. It was tall, and stone, and this was the only gate.

  The party went inside, and the gates swung shut behind them.

  *

  They were sitting to supper with the masters.

  Nela was accorded a place on the high table, on the Guildmaster's left, no less. Gerd shared a bench with other apprentices. The dining hall was large, but not vast, seating fifty or so: a high table for ten, two long trestles at right angles to it. Some things about it reminded him of meals with the Company, or at Hardrange Hall, but others not. Here there was a sort of austerity, perhaps decorum. He was careful to display table manners of which the Squire would have approved.

  Another thing that was different was that they were served by drawers and carvers. At Hardrange and in the Company, food was brought to the table by people who then sat and ate with everyone else. Here, the servants were only there to serve.

  And they were servants, professional, silent and efficient. The food was good, not overfussy, but with many different dishes, and in plenty. Gerd thought of the peasant houses that he had passed, the people he had seen. The folk were well enough now, late in an ordinary summer, but even so there was little to spare about them. Clearly they lived with little surplus between them and want. He wondered how matters would stand with them, towards the end of a hard winter. About as they used to stand with him, he thought.

  On the other hand, he remembered the face of the fat merchant Barra, flush with anger and arrogance, in the street in Walse: a man who would level a village so that he could build a folly. Master Barra had plenty between his hide and his bones. Was that a better state of affairs? He couldn't tell.

  He gave up the speculation as profitless, and returned to watching the company. Most of his table-companions were younger even than he, and their talk was of verb-forms and pronunciation and what Cherwin had done with the liquid fire spell, and why it had gone so spectacularly wrong. But some of them were silent, eating with steady calm, somewhat older, keeping to themselves. When they spoke, it was amongst themselves, low-voiced, and Gerd strained to hear. He couldn't pick out words, but he caught the lilt of the far north. Kihreeans.

  He looked at the high table, where the masters of the guild took their supper. At that moment the guildmaster, seated in the centre, looked up. For a moment, Gerd was looking him in the face, twenty paces away.

  Sert had named him: Maethlis, that was the name. A narrow face, a somber face, unsmiling, giving little away. Plainly and simply dressed, but the cloth of his robe fell softly, rich and full. Well, there was nothing in that. Gerd averted his gaze, and so did Maethlis, turning to talk to the man on his right.

  Gerd glanced at the latter and froze, a chill sliding into his belly. That one might have been dressed as a mage, but he wasn't one. Gerd knew he was no mage, for he'd seen that face before. The last time it had been streaked with crimson, from fingers dipped in the blood of his leader - probably, from the likeness, a kinsman. The blood had been heart's blood, let by Captain Mannon's dagger, on the beach on the western coast of Loriso, a few months ago. Gerd remembered Sankey's mutter. Blood-feud now, that means.

  He looked away, trying to move casually. Probably the Kihreean would not know him. Probably. Gerd had been no more than a pair of eyes under a helmet, his shield-rim covering his lower face, one man in a line of spears. Now he was an apprentice, a person of little account among a crowd of others. Still, he was glad he had left off his mail. The rasp or the hang of it might have called something to the Kihreean's mind.

  Gerd watched the man as he ate and drank, and it seemed to him that he moved stiffly. They'd all been killed, Gerd had thought. This one could only have escaped by hiding among the dead. It was possible, he supposed. Gerd doubted that everyone in the company had been as careful to make sure of them as the captain had been. Well, Gerd hadn't been careful in that sense, anyway.

  He wondered if he was about to pay for that. Maethlis and the mages would certainly not protect him, if their Kihreean allies wanted his hide nailed to a wall. And they would. This was sworn blood-feud. Apprentice mage or no, if they recognised him, he was dead. From the tales he'd heard of Kihreean ways, it would be best for him if he managed to die before they got their hands on him.

  He lowered his face, looking into his wine-cup, trying to remain a face in a crowd. It seemed to be successful. The Kihreean showed no sign.

  The meal continued, and concluded. It was formal, the Guildmaster rapping the table for attention, then rising, and the hall rose with him. Gerd saw that the Kihreean on his right stand up a little slowly. That might have been weakness or wounds, though he stood straight enough, face blank. Maethlis gestured politely, but preceded him through the doorway behind the table, the door being opened by a bowing servant. Nela waited for the Kihreean, and then followed him out. Again, Gerd got the impressi
on that the man might have limped, but refused to allow himself. He walked slowly. Perhaps it was to display dignity.

  When the masters had recessed, the rest of the company reseated themselves. Nuts appeared, and sweet wine. A dice game started at the Kihreean end of the table. Gerd watched faces, and saw the local apprentices exchanging glances. Wry, shading through to disapproving. Interesting.

  He considered for a moment which faction he should join. None, he thought, unless it became unavoidable. He drank a cup of wine, made polite conversation. Others drifted off. He waited for a group to leave, and left, trailing after them, close enough to be passed over, but not claiming companionship.

  It was already late, by the standards of one who'd been ruled by the sun for weeks. They'd given him a bed in a shared room across a courtyard and down a long, draughty corridor. But he had to talk to Nela, and she was honoured with her own private chamber. That was in the other wing, and on the upper floor.

  He turned right, crossed the main entrance hall, climbed a set of stairs, and emerged into the upper corridor. As soon as he did, a glance told him that matters had just become more difficult. It was no more than a landing. He'd seen guards before; he'd been one himself. The two men leaning against the further doorway were guards. They weren't standing stiffly. Indeed they looked like a couple of casual passers-by stopped in the corridor for a chat, and they weren't obviously armed, but they were facing down the corridor, not across, and they were wearing cloaks, though the night wasn't chill. Gerd had used a cloak for that purpose himself.

 

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