by Angus Wells
Calandryll nodded. “For a moment, when the sun shone down.” His smile grew wider, no longer tentative. “And last night she spoke with me. In a dream, I thought; but now . . .”
“Tell me,” Bracht urged.
Calandryll outlined all that had been said.
“So—if your . . . dream . . . was true—you’ve a useful blade,” Bracht’s face was thoughtful now. “And you, Katya, what did she tell you?”
The warrior woman spoke over the pounding of the hooves, her eyes alight with excitement and, Calandryll realized, something else. It seemed as though a weight were lifted from her, the depression that had assailed her since parting from Tekkan and the Vanu folk banished, her familiar spirit restored in full measure.
“Edra woke me,” she told them, “and asked me to walk a while with her. I did—it did not occur to me to refuse and I thought I must tread the paths of sleep, dreaming, though it was a most realistic dream. Like Calandryll, I had forgotten it until I saw her then, but now . . .” She smiled as though savoring the memory, brilliantly. “We walked across a meadow akin to the high grasslands of Vanu, under the moon, though I felt no chill, nor any fear. She told me—still Edra, then—that I need not go on, but might be restored to my own folk, brought safe home to Vanu. I . . .” She looked away a moment and Calandryll thought he saw her blush as she glanced sidelong at Bracht. “I said I could not leave you; that we are sworn to hunt Rhythamun, no matter where he goes or what dangers we face. She became Dera then and told me to hold faith, that although they are bound by laws above man’s understanding, the Younger Gods aid us as they can. And that I should not mourn the parting from my people, but take joy in what stands clear before me, offered.”
She broke off then, her cheeks darkened beneath their tan, and Calandryll was sure she blushed as Bracht demanded bluntly, “What is that?”
“Love,” she said, low-voiced. “Such love as is rare, and to be treasured greatly.”
Now—much to Calandryll’s surprise—it was the Kern’s face that reddened. He shifted uncomfortably in his saddle, staring fixedly ahead awhile, then shrugged and grinned like a boy caught out in some prank. “You know that I love you,” he said, no louder than she had spoken. “Have I not made that clear?”
“Aye.” Katya nodded solemnly, gravity disappearing as she smiled again. “But now our love is blessed, and I see that I was wrong to grieve so for what must be. That parting from my people is necessary to our quest, and that we shall meet again.”
Calandryll saw Bracht catch that “our,” his face lighting from within. He thought that were it possible he should fade discreetly into the background, to leave these two alone; but that was not possible and he contented himself with holding silent, a hoofbeat behind.
“That is good,” Bracht said, louder now and gravely. “And I am pleased you mourn no longer.”
“The promise made remains,” said Katya. “Not until we bring the Arcanum safe to Vanu and it is destroyed . . .”
“I know,” Bracht said, “and I accept.”
“I hope,” Katya said, “that it is not too long.”
Bracht’s laughter rang out at that, startling a flock of geese that browsed a little distance from the road, sending the birds skyward on thundering wings, honking. The skein circled overhead, wary until the three riders had moved on, then settling back to the dank grasses.
“One thing in all this troubles me,” Bracht announced after a while. “Why did I not see Dera?”
Calandryll pondered a moment, then suggested: “Mayhap because you are the only one of us without doubt. When I saw how Rhythamun had used me, I grew uncertain, I felt his treachery hard; Katya was saddened by parting. But you, you’ve never faltered—mayhap you had no need of Dera’s succor.”
“Mayhap,” the Kern allowed.
“I think it must be that,” Katya agreed. “Only you have never questioned where we go, or what we face.”
Bracht nodded without speaking further and Calandryll wondered at his expression. The Kern’s dark features were set in impassive lines, but in his eyes there was a clouding, as if he felt less certain. “There are some I’d lief not face again,” he murmured lowly, the words not meant to be overheard, but carried back on the wind so that Calandryll caught them. Katya, a little ahead now, did not hear and Calandryll decided against questioning Bracht. Instead, he heeled the chestnut gelding alongside, matching the black stallion’s stride, and they spoke no more, only rode, hard, for the north.
THE weather harshened as they came to Wessyl, a wind howling in off the Narrow Sea, herding lowering black billows of threatening cloud across the sky, laden with rain that fell in fierce flurries, the droplets often enough freezing so that they arrived as hail, bouncing off the road and stinging exposed flesh with their insensate attack. The land, too, was bleak, no longer quaggy but rising in great sweeps of desolate heath, scattered with stands of wind-wracked trees and outcrops of the hard grey stone from which the city was built.
It was a forbidding place, unyielding in the dimming light of the rainswept afternoon, set atop a headland that stood guardian over the bight of Eryn, its harbor below, almost a separate town, connected by a long walled avenue to the larger structure above. Sundry vessels lay at anchor, tossed on a choppy sea, lateen-rigged caravels and fishing craft for the most part, but among them the bulkier shapes of singlemasted nefs and lean, low warboats. The shipyards of Eryn, Calandryll saw, had been busy, that realization prompting him to wonder how far ahead Tobias might be. The thought was alarming: a progress such as his brother made did not travel fast. The new-hailed Domm and his bride would be feasted by their peers in each town they visited, gifts would be exchanged, treaties renewed, and fresh agreements reached. For all he knew, Tobias might be here in Wessyl. Surely the city would be posted with his likeness, and he wondered, despite Dera’s assurance of safe passage through Lysse, how well his disguise would stand up.
He could not help but feel tension grip him as they approached the city gates and he was grateful for the rain and lengthening shadows that allowed him to huddle within his cloak, the cowl drawn forward to conceal his features. It abated somewhat as the guards, deterred from close examination by rain and wind, waved them through with only the briefest admonishment that they entered a peaceful and law-abiding town and had best curb their Kernish ways while sojourning within the walls. Then, as he saw a pillar plastered with an assortment of notices, his proscription among them, the tension returned and he rode again uneasy past rain-washed buildings that seemed to press in suspiciously, their glistening granite walls reminiscent of jail’s confines.
He expressed his fears to Bracht and the freesword laughed, assuring him that none should take him for more than a wandering Kern, a mercenary returning home to Cuan na’For. He felt less confident, thinking that Bracht yet rode on the surge of good humor Katya’s revelation had launched, but it seemed his comrade was correct, for they found lodgings in a tavern close by the walls and none there paid him especial attention.
“Even so,” he declared as they brought their horses into the stable, “I’d not linger here.”
“But the one night,” Bracht promised, “and so long as it takes us to purchase tents. Beyond that we’ve no cause to remain.”
Calandryll nodded, allowing himself to be mollified by the assurance. “Is this what it feels like to be an outlaw?” he murmured ruefully.
“Within a city’s walls, aye.” Bracht grinned, and added thoughtfully, “In Cuan na’For it’s easier.”
Something in his tone prompted Katya to look up from her grooming. “Someday you must tell me about your outlawry,” she said, smiling.
Bracht nodded, though his face remained thoughtful, masking some hidden doubt as he replied with, Calandryll thought, a forced lightness, “Someday. Though soon enough I think we shall be in Cuan na’For.”
“Shall we?” Katya paused in her currying. “Are you so sure now well not find him in Gannshold?”
“Save he de
lay for some reason, I think not.” Bracht shook his head. “Can Tharn lie there? I think not—I think the Mad God rests, as all have said, beyond the world’s boundaries, and Rhythamun will not linger along the way but make all haste to his destination.”
“But still we might catch up,” suggested Calandryll. “If he believes us entrapped in Tezin-dar it might be that he feels no great need of haste.”
Bracht shrugged and said, “I think that such as Rhythamun learn little of patience no matter how long they live. I think he’ll not remain in Gannshold longer than he must.”
“You’d thought to perhaps overtake him,” Katya said. “What prompts this change of tune?”
“Dera promised Calandryll safe passage through Lysse,” the Kern replied slowly, “yet seemed unaware of Rhythamun’s location. Surely she’d know, were he in Gannshold, and have said as much. I fear he’s passed on, into Cuan na’For.”
“Perhaps,” Katya allowed, the admission reluctant. “But still he may linger there.”
It came to Calandryll then that she spoke more in hope than true belief, and it dawned upon him that those words she had spoken on the road had held a meaning—a confession, perhaps—that he had not until now fully recognized. She hoped, he felt, that their quest be soon ended as much now from the desire to realize the consummation of the promises exchanged with Bracht as for the reasons that had brought her questing out from Vanu. He did not—could not!—doubt her commitment to the hunt, but now that devotion was lent a greater urgency by the commoner emotion of love. It was hard for them, he realized, to hold such feelings bound by the vows they had made. To ride so long together unable, thanks to those vows, to indulge, physically, the desire they felt, forbidden by their honor. Honor, he thought, was a strange thing, and hard-won, hard to hold; and both these comrades were honorable. Once more, he felt like an intruder, busying himself with his horse as Bracht said softly, “If Ahrd wills it, so shall it be. But still I think we must go farther.”
“To the Borrhun-maj and beyond?” said Katya, question and resignation mingled in her voice.
“Where we must,” said Bracht.
Katya ducked her head, torchlight striking silver sparks from her flaxen hair.
“So let’s be done here,” Bracht said firmly, “and eat and find our beds. And be soonest gone from this dismal city.”
“Aye!” Katya smiled across the horses. “As soon we may.”
By common accord they finished grooming the animals, saw them fed, and went into the tavern.
Calandryll’s fears proved groundless: they attracted no more attention than any other patrons, finding a table, as had become their habit, to the rear of the common room where they ordered a meal and mugs of ale. The folk of Wessyl were, it seemed, largely uncommunicative, for neither the landlord nor any of the guests attempted to engage them in conversation as the southerly folk had done. Instead, they were served mostly in silence and what questions they ventured answered curtly, as if folk in Wessyl kept themselves to themselves and met the inquiries of strangers with a grim and taciturn courtesy. Of Daven Tyras they learned nothing, which was not particularly surprising: it was far easier for a traveler to slip unnoticed through a city than to escape attention in the caravanserais along the road. That they gained on Tobias and his retinue was more disturbing, and Calandryll thought they should perhaps avoid Eryn and travel overland to Gannshold in hopes his brother lingered at the shipyards. He felt more confident now that he could pass for a Kern among strangers, but should Tobias lay eyes on him . . . Surely his own sibling must see through his disguise. Him, or Nadama, or any number of the retainers who had known the young prince Calandryll den Karynth in Secca.
He voiced his thoughts to Bracht and Katya as they ate grilled fish, and they agreed that they should quit the road where it curved around the bight into Eryn to travel cross-country to the Gann Peaks.
“But Gannshold we cannot avoid,” Katya warned. “Even though Rhythamun be gone, still we must learn what we may there.”
“I doubt a half-blood trader in horses and the Domm of Secca hold common company,” Bracht reassured, “and mayhap your brother is already departed. Even be he there, well not be invited to sup at the same table.”
“But if he sees me in the streets . . .” Calandryll argued.
“He’ll see a freesword Kern all swathed in cloak against the cold”—Bracht grinned—“not his runaway brother. Rest easy, Calan.”
“Nadama would know me,” Calandryll muttered in reply, “I think.”
“You made so great an impression, eh?” Bracht chuckled wickedly. “Even wed to your brother, she holds your handsome face locked forever in her memory?”
Calandryll grinned back, a trifle shamefaced: his own memories of Nadama were dulled and dimmed by time—would she truly remember him so well? Likely, he decided, Bracht was right and he could pass by them all as invisible as he had departing Secca. He shrugged, setting aside his doubts, and emptied his mug.
Soon after they found their rooms, the tavern not so popular that they need share, but each given their own chamber. Calandryll’s stood at the building’s corner, affording him two windows overlooking Wessyl. One faced across the steepled rooftops of the upper city, the other down toward the mouth of the bight, and for a while he leaned his elbows on the stone of the sill, peering out. The night was dark, the filled moon obscured by cloud, the wind gusting lonely through streets that held no people. Lanterns flickered there and he could make out the twin lines indicating the avenue running down to the harbor. The sea was an oily wash, booming distantly on moles and breakwaters, the ships moored there indistinct, blending into the darkness. He thought of the bellicose vessels he had seen and wondered if in them he discerned some design of his brother’s beyond the mere defense of Lysse’s sea-lanes. The rumors heard along the road to Wessyl had spoken of Tobias calling for war with Kandahar and those nefs, with their high castles for archers and arbalests, were not such craft as would ride guardian to merchantmen. That duty was for the sleek, fast-moving warboats: the nefs were designed to carry soldiery, to attack landward and deposit their troops to storm shore defenses.
Did Tobias truly intend war, then? Was the reason for his progress to persuade his fellow Domms to that cause? He had spoken for that in Secca, when Varent den Tarl had first come, and Bylath had spoken him down. But now Bylath was dead and Tobias ruled—perhaps the clouds of war did gather. Calandryll shuddered, thinking that if that was so it must surely be sign that Tharn even now wielded some influence, that even dreaming the Mad God reached out to sully the world.
And opposed against his chaotic purpose there were but three.
It was a disconcerting thought, no matter that he had the assurance of a goddess he held the means of Rhythamun’s defeat within him. He could not see it, and on so gloomy a night it was hard to find the surety that had filled him as Dera spoke her enigmatic promise. Easier, as he stared out, rain splashing against his face, to slip back into the mood of doubt, the grim despondency, that had gripped him before. In the eye of his mind he conjured once more that dreamlike conversation and, to his pleasant surprise, the looming doubt dissolved; in its place he felt an abstruse confidence, as if the goddess, with words and touch, had imbued him with a conviction beyond his understanding. He could not define it, nor put a shape to it, but still it was there: he knew. And that, of itself, was a gift. Reassured, he drew the shutters closed and turned to his bed.
Sleep came easily, sound and empty of dreams, disturbed finally by the insistent tapping that intruded on his slumber. He opened his eyes to darkness, yawning, a hand reaching instinctively for the straightsword set on the counterpane beside him. Left hand about the scabbard, right on the sword’s hilt, he padded shivering to the door. The chamber was cold and the bare stones of the floor struck chill against his feet. It seemed the innkeepers of Wessyl were as sparing of heat as they were of conversation. Sleepily, he demanded who woke him and from the corridor outside came Bracht’s voice: he slippe
d the latch.
“An early start, we said,” the grinning Kern declared, striding past Calandryll to throw back the shutters. “Put up your sword and put on your clothes.”
His good humor was answered with a grunt, through teeth clenched against the cold. His fortitude, Calandryll decided, had its drawbacks, but he tossed the sheathed sword to the bed and went to the wash-stand, not particularly surprised to find a thin coating of ice riming the ewer. He gasped as he bathed his face and chest, hurriedly drying himself and tugging on his clothing.
Through the window he saw milky fog enveloping the city, all hung with glittering ice crystals, dulling what little sound there was at so early an hour. The harbor was lost in the brume; indeed, it was impossible to see farther than the nearest buildings. It reminded him of Vishat’yi and he wondered briefly how Menelian fared as he laced his tunic and belted his sword to his waist.
“So, breakfast, tents, and we depart,” Bracht said cheerfully. “Come—Katya will join us at table.”
Calandryll hung his cloak about his shoulders, grateful for its warmth, and picked up his saddlebags, following Kern out and down a flight of stone stairs to the common room.
That was little warmer than the upper level, a sleepy-eyed drudge with soot-smeared cheeks and sacklike gown feeding fresh logs to the fire, the innkeeper yawning hugely as he emerged from the kitchen, seemingly surprised to find any guests about so early. Scratching his head he grumpily advised them that his kitchen folk were barely awake and the best he could offer was porridge and yesterday’s bread, his ovens not yet fired.
“Then that must do,” Bracht said, his good cheer unaffected by the man’s poor humor. “And information—where might we purchase tents?”
“Sailmakers Gate.”
The innkeeper sniffed and turned to leave, halted by Bracht’s raised hand. “And where is that found? Mayhap you’ve not noticed we’re strangers here.”