by Диана Дуэйн
'Goddess, what a lovely place,' Freelorn said.
'I just hope we can afford it. Well, go knock on the door and find out—'
'You have the money, you do it.' 'This is your bunch of people, Lorn—'
The door opened, and a lady walked out, and stood on the slate doorstep, drying her hands on her apron. 'Good day to you!' she said, smiling. 'Can I help you?'
They all stood there for a second or so, just appreciating her, before any of them began considering answers to the question. She was quite tall, a little taller even than Herewiss. The plain wide– sleeved shirt and breeches and boots she wore beneath the white apron did nothing to conceal her figure, splendidly proportioned. She was radiantly beautiful, with the delicate translucent complexion of a country girl and eyes as green as grass. What lines her face had seemed all from smiling, but her eyes spoke of gravity and formidable intelligence, and her bearing of quiet strength and power. She wore her coiled and braided hair like a dark crown.
'Ahem!' Freelorn said. 'Uh, yes, maybe you can. We're interested in staying the night—'
'Just interested?' she asked, raising an eyebrow. 'You're not sure? – Is it a money problem?'
'Well, lady, not really,' Herewiss began, still gazing at her with open admiration. Oh my, he was thinking, I never gave much thought to having more than one loved at a time –but I might start thinking about it now. She's like a tree, she just radiates strength – but she's got flowers, too—
She looked back at him, a measuring glance, a look of calm assessment, and then smiled again. It was like day breaking. 'It's been a long time since anyone was here,' she said. 'Let's take it out in trade. If you're agreeable, let one of you share with me tonight, and we'll call it even. You're leaving tomorrow, I take it—'
They nodded assent.
'Then it's settled. Go on in, make yourselves comfortable. Two tubrooms on the ground floor if anyone wants a bath— I'll help with the water after I've taken care of your horses. Dinner's two hours before sunset. Go on, then!' she said, laughing, stepping down from the doorstep and shooing them like chickens. Bemused, Freelorn and his people started going inside.
Herewiss turned to lead Sunspark toward the stable. 'No, no,' said the lady innkeeper, coming up beside him and reaching across Herewiss to take the reins.
'Uh, he's a little – I'd better—' Herewiss started to say, watching in horror as Sunspark suddenly lifted a hoof to stomp on the lady's foot.
'It's quite all right,' the lady said, and hit Sunspark a sharp blow on the nose with her left fist. The elemental danced back a step or so, its eyes wide with surprise.
The lady smiled brightly at Herewiss. 'I love horses,' she said, and led Sunspark away.
(Be nice!) Herewiss said.
(I think I'd better,) Sunspark replied, still surprised.
Herewiss followed the others inside and found them standing in a tight group in the middle of the cool dark common room, all talking at once. 'All right, all right!!' Freelorn yelled over the din. 'There is no way to arbitrate this; we'll have to choose up for the chance.'
'How about a fast game of Blade-on-the-Table?' Dritt said.
'The Dark it would be fast – it would need six elimination hands, and I want my bath now. Besides, you cheat at cards. It'll—'
'I do nor!'
'—have to be lots. Look, there's kindling over there, and some twigs; we'll draw sticks for it.'
'Fine,' Moris said darkly, 'and who holds the sticks?'
'I'm the only one I trust not to gimmick the draw, so—'
This observation was greeted with hoots of skepticism. 'What about me, Lorn?' Herewiss said. Freelorn looked at him with an expression close to dismay.
'You're right,' he said. 'Go ahead, give them to him –he's got an honest streak.'
Herewiss received the twigs and spent a few moments snapping them to equal lengths, all but one, which he broke off shorter. He turned back to the others. 'Here.'
Freelorn chose first, and made an irritated face; his was long. 'The river I didn't mind losing so much,' he said, 'but this– aagh!'
Dritt chose next, and came up long also, as did Moris and Lang after him. Then Segnbora chose.
'Dammit-to-Darkness,' Freelorn said, with immense chagrin. 'Well, give her our best.'
Segnbora smiled, tossed the short stick over her shoulder for luck, picked up her saddlebags from the
floor, and headed up the stairs to find herself a room. 'See you at dinner,' she said.
'That could have been me,' said Harald softly. 'If I'd just gone ahead of her . . .'He followed Segnbora up the stairs.
Moris and Dritt went away, muttering, to raid the kitchen.
Lang kicked a chair irritably and went outside.
'I wish it had been me,' Freelorn said quietly.
'You're not alone,' Herewiss put an arm around him, hugging him. 'But, Lorn – how long has it been since we had a bath together?'
Freelorn regarded Herewiss out of the corner of his eye. 'Years,' he said, smiling mischievously. 'Though of course you remember what happened the last time—'
'Gee, I'm not sure, it was so long ago—'
'C'mon,' Freelorn said, 'let's go refresh your memory.'
Everyone who had good clothes to wear, or at least clean ones, wore them to dinner that night. They sat around the big oaken table down in the common room and admired one another openly in the candlelight. Herewiss wore the Phoenix surcoat, and Freelorn beside him wore a plain black one, still grumbling softly over the loss of his good Lion surcoat with the silver on it. Lang and
Harald wore plain dark shirts with the White Eagle badge over the heart, for they had been queen's men at the Court in Darthis before taking up with Freelorn. Dritt wore a white peasant's shirt bright with embroidery around the sleeves and collar, a farmer's festival wear; while Moris beside him looked dark and noble in the deep brown surcoat of the North Arlene principality. Segnbora, down at the end of the table, was wearing a long black robe belted at the waist and emblazoned on one breast with a lion and
upraised sword – the differenced arms of a cadet branch of one of the Forty Noble Houses of Darthen.
The food did justice to the festive dress. Dinner was cold eggs deviled with pepper and marigold leaves, roast goose in a sour sauce of lemons and sorrel, potatoes roasted in butter, and winter apples in thickened cream. Moris made a lot of noise about the eggs and the goose, claiming that the powerful spices and sours of Steldene cooking gave him heartburn; but this did not seem to affect the speed with which he ate. There also seemed to be an endless supply of wine, which the company didn't let go to waste.
Once the food was served, the innkeeper took off her apron, sat down at the head of the table, and ate with them. In some ways she seemed a rather private person; she still had not told them her name. This was common enough practice in the Kingdoms, and her guests respected her privacy. But when she spoke it became obvious that she was a fine conversationalist, possessed of a dry wit of which Herewiss found himself in envy.
She seemed most interested in hearing her guests talk, though, and was eager for news of the Kingdoms. One by one they gave her all the news they could remember: how the new queen was doing in Arlen, the border problem with Cillmod, the great convocation of Dragons and Marchwarders at the Eorlhowe in North Arlen, the postponement of the Opening Night feast in Britfell fields . . .
'Opening Night,' the innkeeper said, sitting back in her chair with her winecup in hand. 'Four months ago, that would have been. And the queen would have held the feast all by herself, without any Arlene heir in attendance, as her father did while he was still alive?'
'Evidently,' Freelorn said. Herewiss glanced at Lorn,
watching him take a long, long swig of wine. There was nervousness in the gesture.
'Yet they say that the Lion's Child is still abroad somewhere,' said the lady. 'It's strange, surely, that he never came forward in all that time to partake of the Feast, even secretly. It's one of the mo
st important parts of the royal bindings that keep the Shadow at bay, and the Two Lands from famine.'
'I hear he did show up at the Feast once,' Freelorn said. 'Three years ago, I think. He just barely got away with his life.'
Herewiss had all he could do to hold still. So that's where he was that winter—! And that's where he got that swordcut that took so long to heal! 'Robbers,' indeed—
'—Cillmod had slipped some spies in among the Darthene regulars that went south with the king,' Freelorn was saying. 'The king and the Lion's Child had just gotten to the part of the Feast where royal blood is shed, when they both almost had all their blood shed for them. The king's bodyguards killed the attackers – but Darthen was wounded, and as for Arlen—' Freelorn shrugged. 'Once burned, twice shy. No-one has seen him at a Feast since. Nor did the king ask again. Evidently, Goddess rest him, he wanted to live out the year or so left him in peace, without bringing Arlen's assassins down on his own head. What the new queen will do—' And Freelorn took another long drink.
'If she can't find the Lion's Child,' said the innkeeper, 'what she'll do is moot. Now that she's becoming secure on her throne, he might want to send her some certain word concerning his future participation in the Feast and the other bindings. Seven years is too long for the Two Lands to go without the royal magics being properly enacted. Disaster is just over the mountain, unless something's done.'
'She can't do anything anyway,' Lorn said disconsolately. 'Any move on her part to support the Lion's Child could antagonize the conservative factions in the Forty Houses. Their people are in an uproar over the poor harvests lately, and all they want is to avoid war with Arlen, or anyone else. If the Queen of Darthen gives Arlen's heir asylum or supports him in any way, war is what she'll have. Then she'll go out into the Palace Square on Midsummer Morning next year, to hammer out her crown, and some hireling of the conservative Houses will put an arrow through her, and that'll be the end of it—'
'A queen, like a king, is made for fame, not for long living,' the innkeeper said quietly.
Freelorn's head snapped up. The suspicion that had been growing in Herewiss for some minutes now flowered into fear. She knows, she knows who he is! Oh, Lorn, why can't you keep your mouth shut—!
'It's possible,' Lorn said, so quietly that Herewiss could hardly hear him, 'that the Lion's Child isn't too excited about dying in an ambush, or in someone's torture-chamber. He may be able to do more good alive, even if he's a long way from home.'
That is between him and the Goddess,' the innkeeper said. 'But as for the other, royalty is not about comfort or safety. Painful death, torture, many a king or queen of both the Lands have known them. It's not so many centuries since the days when any king's lifeblood might be poured out in the furrows any autumn, to make sure that a poor harvest wouldn't happen again, that the next year his people wouldn't starve. But that's the price one agrees to pay, if necessary, when one accepts kingship. Put off the choice, and the land and the people that are both part of the ruler suffer. Who knows what good might have
been done for the Two Lands, and all the Kingdoms, if the Lion's Child had somehow found the courage to go through with that Feast three years ago, instead of panicking and fleeing when it was half– finished? He might not have died of the wound he took. He might be king now.'
'Yes,' Freelorn said, looking very thoughtful.
'And as for the queen,' the innkeeper said, 'it wouldn't matter if that was "the end of it" for her, would it? Even if she died in the act of one of the royal magics, she has heirs who will carry on after her. Heirs who know that the only reason for their royalty is to serve those bindings, and the people the bindings keep safe from the Shadow. But as to other heirs to Arlen, who knows where they may be? And who knows what the Lion's Child is thinking, or doing?'
'The Goddess, possibly,' Lorn said.
'Men may change their minds,' the innkeeper said, 'and confound Her. I doubt it happens often enough. But I suspect She's usually delighted.'
Freelorn nodded, looking bemused.
Herewiss looked over at the innkeeper. She gazed back at him, a considering look, and then turned to Segnbora and began gossiping lightly with her about one of her relatives in Darthen.
Freelorn once again became interested in the wine, and Herewiss sighed and did the same. It was real Brightwood white, of three years before, from the vineyards on the north side of the Wood. A little current of unease, though, still stirred on the surface of his thoughts. Where is she getting this stuff? he wondered. It's a long way south from the Wood, through dangerous country. And I've never heard mention of this place — which is odd—
There was motion at the end of the table; the lady had risen. 'It's been a pleasure having you,' she said. 'I could
go on like this all night – but I have an assignation.' She smiled, and Segnbora smiled back at her, and most of Freelorn's people chuckled. 'If one or two of you will help me with the dishes – maybe you two,' and she indicated Dritt and Moris, 'since you obviously liked the looks of my kitchen earlier—'
Everyone got up and started to help clear the table – all but Herewiss, who hated doing dishes or tablework of any kind. Out of guilt, or some other emotion perhaps, he did remove one object from the table – the carafe full of Brightwood white. He went up the stairs with it, into the deepening darkness of the second story, feeling happily wicked – and also feeling sure that someone saw him, and was smiling at his back.
Herewiss's room had a little hearth built of rounded riverstones and mortar. It also had something totally unexpected, a real treasure – two fat overstuffed chairs. Both of them were old and worn; they had been upholstered in red velvet once, but the velvet was worn pale and smooth from much use, and was unraveling itself in places. Herewiss didn't care; they were both as good as kings' thrones to him. He had pulled one of them up close to the fire and was sitting there in happy half-drunken comfort, toasting his stocking feet. The red grimoire was open in his lap, but the light of the two candles on the table beside him wasn't really enough to read by, and he had stopped trying.
A steady presence of light at the far corner of his vision drew his attention. He looked up, and gazing across the bare fields saw the full Moon rising over the jagged stony hills to the east. It looked at him, the dark shadows on the silver face peering over the hillcrests at him like half-lidded eyes, calm and incurious.
He stared back for a moment, and then slumped in the old chair and reached out for the wine cup.
There was a soft knock at the door.
So comfortable was Herewiss that he didn't bother to get up, much less reach for his knife. 'Come in,' he said. The door edged open, and there was the innkeeper, cloaked in black against the night chill.
At sight of her Herewiss started to get up, but she waved him back into his seat. 'No, stay put,' she said. Pulling the other chair over by the hearthside, she sat down, pushing aside her cloak and facing the fire squarely.
Herewiss let himself just look at her for a moment. Beauty, maybe, was the wrong word for the aura that hung about her, though she certainly was beautiful. Even as she sat there at her ease, she radiated a feeling of power, of assurance in herself. More than that — a feeling of certainty, of inevitability; as if she knew exactly what she was for in the world. It lent her an air of regality, as might be expected of someone who seemed to rule herself so completely. A queenly woman, enthroned on a worn velvet chair that leaked its stuffing from various wounds and rents. Herewiss smiled at his own fancy.
'Would you like some wine?' he said.
'Yes, please.'
He reached for another cup and poured for her. As he handed her the cup their hands brushed, ever so briefly. A shock ran up Herewiss's arm, a start of surprise that ran like lightning up his arm and shoulder to strike against his breastbone. It was the shock that a sensitive feels on touching a body that houses a powerful personality, and Herewiss wasn't really surprised by it. But it was very strong—
And he was tir
ed, and probably oversensitive. He lifted his cup and saluted the lady.
'You keep a fine cellar,' he said. 'To you.'
'To you, my guest,' she said, and pledged him, and drank. He drank too, and watched her over the rim of the cup. The fire lit soft lights in her hair; unbound, it was longer than he had expected, flowing down dark and shimmering past her waist. Some of it lay in her lap, night-dark against the white linen of her shift and the green cord that belted it.
'This is lovely stuff,' Herewiss said. 'How are you getting it all the way down here from the Brightwood?'
The lady smiled. 'I have my sources,' she said.
She lowered her cup and held it in her lap, staring into the fire. The wine was working strongly in Herewiss now, so that his mind wandered a little and he looked out the window. The Moon was all risen above the peaks now, and the two dark eyes were joined by a mouth making an V of astonishment. He wondered what the Moon saw that shocked her so.
'Herewiss,' the lady said, and he turned back to look at her. The expression she wore was odd. Her face was sober, maybe a little sad, but her eyes were bright and testing, as if there was an answer she wanted from him.
'Madam?'
'Herewiss,' she said, 'how many swords have you broken now?'
Alarm ran through him, but it was dulled; by the wine, and by the look on her face – not threatening, not even curious, but only weary. It looked like Freelorn's face when he asked the same question, and the voice sounded like Freelorn's voice. Tired, pitying, maybe a bit impatient.
'Fifty-four,' he said, 'about thirty or thirty-five of my own forging. I broke the last one the day I left the Wood.'
'And the Forest Altars were no help to you.'
'None. I've also spoken with Rodmistresses who don't hold with the ways of the Forest Orders or the Wardresses of the Precincts, but there was nothing they could do for me either. But, madam, how do you know about this? No-one knew except for my father, and Lorn—'