by Диана Дуэйн
may not. But it's a place of the Old wreaking, which was always Flame-based, and damned if I'm not going to try tapping it.'
'Herewiss, you're not seeing what you're getting into—'
'Lorn, are you scared for me?'
Freelorn, who had been warming to the prospect of a good argument, opened his mouth, shut it, and scowled at Herewiss, a dark stabbing look from beneath his bushy eyebrows. 'Yes, dammit,' he said at last.
'Then why don't you just say so.'
Freelorn made a face. 'All right. But I spent a lot of time in the Archives, and I know more about Flame and its uses from my reading than most Rodmistresses do—'
'Reading about it and having it are two different things. No, Lorn, don't start getting mad. Do you think I don't appreciate all the research you did? But theory and practice are different, and I'm not a usual case. And look at us: half an hour together, after almost a year apart, and already we're fighting.'
'Tension. I'm still nervous from two nights ago.'
'Fear. You're afraid for me.'
'Yes! You want to go poking around in some bloody pile of stones in the middle of nowhere and nothing, a place that was there since before the Dragons came, for
Goddess's sake! – and which they won't go near because it's too dangerous. Damn right I'm afraid! How would you feel if our positions were reversed?'
Herewiss gave the thought its due, and did his best to put himself in Freelorn's place for a moment. 'Scared, I guess.'
'Petrified.' 'And how would you feel if our positions were reversed?'
Freelorn sighed and let his hunched-up shoulders sag. 'Scared too, I suppose.'
'Yeah. But I have to go.'
Freelorn nodded. 'You have gotten a little too big to sit on.' The sudden bittersweet memory rose up in Herewiss: the day after Herelaf died, and Herewiss drowning in a dark sea of pain and self– hatred, wanting desperately to kill himself. Trying and trying to do it, first with the sword that had killed Herelaf, then with anything that came to hand – knives, open windows. Freelorn, filled to overflowing with exasperation, fear for Herewiss, and his own pain, finally knocked Herewiss down and sat on him until the tears broke loose in both of them and they wept to exhaustion, clutching at each other.
'I have,' Herewiss said, setting the memory aside with a sigh. 'Well, then, I'm coming with.' 'Of course,' Herewiss said.
Freelorn's eyebrows went up. 'You sneaky bastard—'
Herewiss grinned. 'It was a good way to make sure you realized what you were getting into before you said yes.'
Freelorn grinned back. 'I'm still coming with you.'
'And the rest?'
'They're with me. We couldn't stop them from coming along. This is better – much better than you going alone.'
'Yes, it is.'
(And what am I, then?) Sunspark said indignantly.
(An elemental, Spark. But people need people.)
(I don't understand that. But if you say so . . .) It went back to its grazing.
'And besides,' Herewiss added, 'I can use someone else who's well– read in matters of Flame and such – you may see things about the place that I wouldn't.'
'I don't want to see any "things".'
'Lorn, please.'
'Did you talk to Segnbora?'
'Yes. Very interesting person. She should be of great help to us too. How did she happen to join up with you? She didn't mention.'
'Oh, it was in Madeil. It was how I found out that my surcoat had gone. We were in this inn, drinking quietly and minding our own business, when in come a bunch of king's guardsmen looking for me! Well, the lot of us got out of there, with the guards chasing us in five different directions. I went down a dead end, though, and the one who'd followed me cornered me there. I was pretty hard pressed, he was a lot bigger than I was, and just a little faster. And all of a sudden this shadow with a sword in its hands just melts out of the alley wall, and fft! the guy sprouts a hand's length of sword under the breastbone. It was her; she'd followed me from the inn. There she stands, and she bows a little. "King's son of Arlen," she says, "well met, but if we don't hurry out of here you're going to be neck-deep in dungeon, with King Dariw's torturer dancing on your head." It seemed a good point.'
'I could see where it would, yes.'
'So off we went, back to the inn again. Up she went, cool as you please, got our things from our rooms. The innkeeper sees her, and he says, "Madam, if you please, where are you going with those?" and Segnbora smiles at him and says, "Sir, if you want every skin of wine or tun of ale in your place to get the rot, ask on. Otherwise—" and out the door she goes, gets the horses from the stables and rides off. We met her a few streets away and got out of there in a hurry.'
Herewiss chuckled. 'I wonder why she did it.'
'I asked her. Evidently she's related to one of the Forty Noble Houses, and she said something about "They may not hold by the Oath, but I do, by Goddess—" I believe her.'
'I think you can.'
Freelorn smiled a little. 'Well, this venture will be safer with all of us along. Damn, I hope you're right about the doors! Suppose there was one into another Arlen where I'm king—'
'You'd be there already. And how would you feel if you were king, and another Freelorn popped out of nowhere to contest your claim to the throne?'
'I'd-uhh.'
'—kill the bastard? Very good. Better stay here and do what you can with this world.'
Freelorn looked at Herewiss and smiled again, but this time his eyes were grave.
'Come on,' he said, 'let's see how dinner is doing.'
Stars shone on them again; this time the warm constellations of spring: Dolphin and Maiden and Flamesteed and Stave. The Lion stood near the zenith, the red star of its heart glittering softly through the still air.
They held one another close, and closer yet, and found to their delight that nothing seemed to have changed between them.
A soft chuckle in the darkness.
'Lorn, you remember that first time we shared at your place?' 'That was a long time ago.' 'It seems that way.'
'—and my father yelled up the stairs, "What are you dooooooooing?"'
'—and you yelled back, "We're fuckinnnnnnnnnnng!"'
'—and it was quiet for so long—'
'—and then he started laughing—'
'Yeah.'
A silence.
'You know, he really loved you. He always wanted another son. He always used to say that now he had one . . .'
Silence.
'Lorn – one way or another, I'm going to see you on your throne.' 'Get your Power first.'
'Yeah. But then we get your throne back for you. I think I owe him that.'
'Your Power first. He was concerned about that.' 'Yes … he would have been. Well, we'll see.'
A pause. A desert owl floated silently overhead and away, like a wandering ghost.
'Dusty?'
Herewiss started a little. No-one had called him by that name since Herelaf's death.
'What?'
'After I'm king – what will you do?' 'I haven't the faintest idea.' 'Really?'
'I haven't thought about it much. I don't let myself.— Heal the sick, I guess, talk to Dragons – make it rain when it's dry – travel around – walk the Otherworlds—'
There was a sinking silence under the blankets; suddenly disappointment and fear flavored the air like smoke. Herewiss was confused by the perception. His underhearing sometimes manifested itself at odd moments, but never without reason.
'Dusty – don't forget me.'
'Forget you? Forget you! How do I forget my loved? Lorn, put it out of your mind. How could I forget you? If only fr—'
Herewiss cut himself off, shocked, hearing the thought complete itself inside his head:'—from all the trouble you've caused me—'
'From what?'
My Goddess. How can I think such things? What's the matter with me!!'—from all the distance I've had to travel to get into your bed . . .'
Freelorn made a small sound in his throat, a brief quiet sigh of acceptance. 'I'm glad you did,' he said.
'Again?' 'Why not? The night is young.' 'And so are we.' 6
Whatever may be said of the Goddess, this much is certain: She enjoys a good joke. For proof of this, examine yourself or any other member of the human race closely –and then laugh along with Her.
Deeds of the Heroes, 18, vi
'I thought you said it was just another fifteen miles.'
'Well, I thought it was . . .'
'Maybe the river changed its banks.'
'The Stel? Unlikely. Maybe I got us lost.'
'Likely.'
The eight of them rode along through country that was becoming increasingly inhospitable. The gently rolling scrub country of southern Steldin had given way to near-desert terrain. It was afternoon, and hot. A steady, maddening east wind blew dust into their eyes, and into their horses' eyes, down their collars and up their sleeves, into their boots and even into their undertunics. Even the most casual movement would sand some part of the body raw.
Herewiss sighed. For the past two hours or so Freelorn had been straining his eyes toward the horizon, swearing at himself for having lost the river. He had been abusing himself so skillfully that Herewiss, in exasperation, had joined in and helped him for a few minutes. Now he was regretting it.
'Lorn, Lorn, the Dark with it,' he said. 'You can't lose the Stel.
If you just go east far enough, you're bound to run into it.'
'It is possible,' Freelorn said tightly, 'to lose just about anything.'
'Including your mind, if you work at it hard enough. Lorn, relax. Worse things could happen.'
'Oh?'
'Certainly. A cohort of Fyrd could find us. Or the Dark Hunt. Or the Goddess could sneeze and forget to keep the world in place, and we'd all go out like candles. Don't be so grim, Lorn. It'll work out all right.'
Freelorn's poor Blackmane, half-blind with the dust, sneezed mightily and then bumped sideways into Sun-spark. Herewiss's mount didn't respond, but Blackmane danced away with a whicker of scorched surprise, nearly throwing Freelorn out of the saddle. He regained his balance and looked suspiciously at the stallion.
'None of our horses care much for that one of yours,' he said. 'What happened to Darrafed?'
'She's home.'
'Dapple?'
'He was with me partway. I sent him back.' 'Is that safe?'
Herewiss laughed. 'Safe? Dapple? He'll probably rescue a princess on the way home.'
'Where did this one come from, then?'
'I don't know,' Herewiss said, which was certainly the truth. 'I found him.' 'I know that look,' Freelorn said. 'You've got a secret.'
Herewiss said nothing, and tried to keep from smiling.
'Sorcerers,' Freelorn said in good-natured disgust. 'Well, have it your way. Where the Dark is the river?!'
'It'll be along. Lorn, you didn't tell me. What were you doing in Madeil?'
'Oh … I was meeting a man who was supposed to know a way into the Royal Treasury at Osta. He had been there as a guard some years back, but he moved to Steldin when my father died and everything was going crazy.'
'Did you meet him?'
'Oh, yes. That was what we had been at the tavern for.
It was about half an hour after he left that the guards came in.'
'Why were you still there?'
Freelorn looked guilty. 'Well … it had been so long since any of us had a chance to get really drunk.'
'So you did it there in the middle of a city, with all those people around who you didn't know? Lorn, you know you get talky when you're drunk . . . What if you'd spilled something?'
Freelorn said nothing for a second, said it so forcefully that Herewiss went after the unspoken thought with his underhearing to try to catch it: … talk about being drunk, it said in a wash of anger, . . . what about Herelaf? And then it was smashed down by a hammer of Freelorn's guilt. How can I think things like that? . . . Wasn't his fault …
Herewiss winced away. Even Lorn, he thought. And then, Goddess, did I do that? If this is the kind of thing I'd be doing with the Power, maybe I'm better without it.
'I'm sorry,' he said aloud. 'Lorn, really.'
'No – you're right, I guess. But we did find out about the way into the Treasury – there's a passage off the river that no-one knows about.'
'What about the guards who are there?'
'There aren't many left who know about it – all the lower-level people have been replaced by mercenaries, and many of the higher levels left in a hurry when Cillmod had me outlawed. They could see the way things were going to be. At present that entrance isn't being guarded.'
'What sort of things do they have there?'
'No treasure, no jewellery – just plain old money. My contact said that there are usually about fourteen thousand talents of silver there at any one time.'
'What are you thinking of?'
'My Goddess, you have to ask?'
'No . . . not really. Lorn, do you think you have any chance to pull this off?'
Freelorn hesitated for a long moment. 'Maybe.'
Caution?! Herewiss thought. He's being cautious? I'm in trouble. 'Are you sure those are rocks?'
'Yes. Lorn, how many people do you think you're going to need to get into the place?'
'Oh . . . my own group will be enough.'
Ten would be better, Herewiss thought glumly, and twenty better
still. More realistic, surely. 'Don't do it,' he said out loud.
'Why not? It's the perfect chance to get enough money to finance the revolution—'
'Your father should be an example to you,' Herewiss said tiredly, 'that no-one supports a dead king.'
'A what?'
Herewiss sighed. 'I'd like to see your plans before you go ahead and do it,' he said. 'Maybe I'll come with and help you. But Lorn! – I don't believe that six people are going to be enough.'
'Seven – There's the damn river!'
'Seven,' Herewiss said softly, watching Freelorn kick Blackmane into a gallop.
(Is he always so optimistic?) Sunspark asked. (Usually more so.)
(Will not this additional foray keep you from getting back to the work you have to do?)
(Yes, it will—)
Herewiss thought about it for a moment. The timing, he thought, until now I had always thought it was coincidental. But the timing is just a little too close — oh, Dark. What can I do?
(What?)
(I was thinking to myself. Catch up with him, will you, Spark?)
(Certainly. That is the river ahead, by the way. I can feel the water. I hope there's a bridge there; I'm not going to ford it in what they would consider the normal fashion.)
(So jump it, Spark. They're already sure that you're not quite natural; a spectacular leap won't give much away at this point.)
They drew even with Freelorn again. 'Look,' he shouted over the noise of the horses' hooves, 'there's a house up ahead—'
'Where?'
'A little to the left. See it?'
'Uh – I think so. The dust makes it hard. Who would live out here, Lorn? There's not a town or village for miles in any direction, and this is practically the Waste!'
'Maybe whoever lives there wants some peace and quiet.'
'Quiet, maybe. Peace? With the Waste full of Fyrd?'
'Well, maybe it isn't, really. How would anyone know? If there's nothing much living in the Waste, there can't be Fyrd, either. Even Fyrd have to live on something.'
'It makes sense. There are so many stories – Lorn, that's an awfully big house. It looks more like an inn to me.'
The rest of Freelorn's people gradually closed with the two of them. 'What's the hurry?' yelled Dritt.
Freelorn pointed ahead. 'Hot food tonight, I think—'
They slowed down somewhat as they approached the river. It was running high in its banks, for the thaw was still in progress in the Highpeaks to the south. Trees line
d the watercourse for almost as far as they could see, from south to north. These were not the gnarled little scrub-trees of the desert country, but huge old oaks and maples
and silver birches. Though they leaned backward a little on the western bank, their growth shaped by the relentless east wind of the Waste, they still gave an impression of striving hungrily for the water. Branches bright with flowers reached across the water to tangle with others just becoming green. Somewhere in the foliage a songbird, having recovered from the sudden advent of all these people, was trying out a few experimental notes.
'Is is an inn,' Freelorn said. 'There's the sign – though I can't make out what's on it. Let's go.'
'Lorn,' Herewiss said, 'how has your money been holding up?'
'I am so broke,' Freelorn said cheerfully, 'that—'
'Never mind, I have a little. Lorn, you're always broke, it seems.'
'Makes life more interesting.'
Usually for other people, Herewiss thought. Oh Dark! I'm cranky today.
'—and besides, if I spend it as fast as I get it, then no-one can steal it from me.'
'That's a point.'
Herewiss frowned with concentration as he did the math in his head. Prices will probably be higher out here – say, three– quarters of an eagle or so– and there's seven of us . . . so that's . . . uhh . . . damn, I hate fractions! . . . well, it can't be more than seven. Wonderful, all I have is five. Maybe the innkeeper'll let us do dishes . . .
The inn was a tidy-looking place of fieldstone and mortar, with three sleeping wings jutting off in various directions from the large main building. A few of the many windows of diamond-paned glass stood open, as did the door of the stable, which was set off from the inn proper: A neat path of white stone led down from the dooryard of the inn, past the inn sign, a neatly painted board that said
FERRY TAVERN, and down to the riverbank, where it met a little fishing pier. Just to the right of the pier was the ferry, a wooden platform attached to ropes and pulleys so that it could be pulled across from one side of the river to the other whether anyone was on it or not.
The place was marvelously pleasant after the long ride through the dry empty country. They dismounted and led their horses into the dooryard, savoring the shade and the cool fragrance of the air. The inn was surrounded by huge apple trees, all in flower. The only exception was the great tree that shaded the dooryard proper, a wide-crowned blackstave with its long trembling olive-and-silver leaves. Its flowers had already fallen, and carpeted the grass and gravel like an unseasonable snowfall.