“But back to Pod—she’s finally found her familiar and you’d never guess in a thousand years what it is.”
From the twinkle in Conor’s eye, Linden wasn’t sure it was safe to know. But something he’d said … “‘Finally found?’ There was a problem?”
“There was. At the time I left Grey Holt to study at the main chapterhouse of Stag Holt, Pod still hadn’t found her brother-in-fur. We all knew she belonged there because she could heal, but we were getting worried.…”
Conor dug in his scrip and pulled out a small leather wallet. Undoing the ties, he said, “Here—read this. I keep it to cheer myself up when I’m tired and lonely.” He handed Linden a much-handled sheet of parchment. And if you wouldn’t mind reading it aloud? I rather need it.”
Linden held it so the sunlight fell on the faded writing and read:
Well, Conor old lad,
You’ve gone and done it now. I don’t know whether Master Jern wants to kiss you or skin you alive and hang your hide on the wall.
What’s this about? Pod, of course. She disappeared the day you left. No one noticed until suppertime and it was near dark; guess everyone thought she was off somewhere crying. I know I did. We tore barn, stable, crofts, and house apart looking for her. No Pod.
Then the acorn dropped. Everyone was kicking themselves that they hadn’t guessed she’d try to follow you.
At first we thought it would be a simple matter of riding down the road and catching up to her, so Jyulen and Tamar went after her at a gallop. How far could a child on foot get, anyway? When they returned two or three candlemarks later, they said that not only had they not found Pod, but that no one else had seen her, not the tinkers who remembered you passing in the morning, not the harvesters in the fields, not anyone.
They were scared witless, let me tell you, and so were the rest of us, because we knew then she’d gone into the woods so as to make it harder to find her. Those are not good woods to be lost in, Conor. They are especially not good when you’re a child alone. Master Jern turned dead white and ordered us out with torches.
We searched through the night but couldn’t find her. Come the dawn, we straggled back to the hold and Master Jern sent word to the neighboring farmers. We ate a bit and snatched what sleep we could until the farmers came.
We were certain that, with so many people and Farmer Kerils’s hounds, we’d find her that day. We didn’t. We kept searching until full dark and still no sign. Then it started to rain, and that washed away any scent for the hounds.
Master Jern called off the search lest someone break his or her leg in the dark and wet, what with everyone so tired. Jyulen, Tamar, Harebit, and I refused to go back; we didn’t want to have to tell you that we’d lost your Pod. Master Jern ordered us back. I’m sorry, Conor, but we had to go, he was that angry. Everyone agreed to meet at dawn the next day.
Which we did, in a grey drizzle that got into everyone’s hearts. We were certain by then we’d never find her alive, and fair certain we’d never find her at all.
So when, barely a candlemark later, Tamar screamed, “There she is!” I didn’t believe her at first. No one did; we were so shocked that no one moved. But there was Pod, staggering across the meadow, wet and muddy and scratched all over, and with a prize of a black eye like she’d been in the best tavern brawl ever. And she was carrying something wrapped in her over tunic.
She went straight up to Master Jern and said, “I’ve found a wee beastie and he’s hurt. May I keep him?”
(“Wee beastie,” my ass! Conor, we both know how strong Pod is, especially for a young girl. Whatever she had, it filled her arms and made her stagger with its weight.)
Master Jern asked, “What is it?” (Oh, Conor—I wish you could have seen his face. He knows your Pod, he does.)
“Just a wee beastie,” she said again. “Please, sir—I want to get him inside where it’s warm and dry. I laid the Sleep upon him, but I think he’s waking up again.”
Just then her “wee beastie” stuck its head out of the tunic. Conor, you son of a bitch, have you any idea what YOUR Pod brought home? It was a bloody half-grown GHULON, by the Goddess’s paps! You know what I’m talking about, don’t you? It’s what you Kelnethi call a woods dog.
But whatever name you give them, they’re nothing you want to get within a league of. This one looked around at us, snarling like a mad thing. I swear I thought we were dead. You know how vicious those things can be; remember the one we saw chase some wolves off of its kill? And this one wanted to rip our guts out. You could see it in its eyes.
So what does Pod do? Drop the thing and run like a sensible girl? Not YOUR Pod. She stuck her face right up to those big fangs, met it eye to eye, and snapped, “Stop that, Kiga!”
And it did. Damn me, Conor, if the thing didn’t start licking her face and crooning to her like some big mekeera.
Poor Master Jern, he didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. His eyes were all funny-like. He just pointed back toward the chapterhouse. Pod said, “Thankee” and staggered off. I’m sure you’ll forgive us that none of us offered to help.
So now, along with all the dogs and cats, and the few odd ferrets and birds and mekeera or two and suchlike, we now have a ghulon in the hold. Something had clawed his back right fierce. If Pod hadn’t found him, he’d have died a miserable death. He’s still healing, but he can follow her around now. The other animals have learned to stay out of his way—mostly. (Daken’s idiot hound tried to go after Kiga; that’s what comes of his letting it chase the cats. Daken’s damn lucky Kiga was really quite gentle and just slapped Tipper aside. Tipper didn’t even need that much of a Healing.)
Kiga still won’t let anyone else but Pod touch him yet, but he doesn’t try to attack anyone, either. She’s teaching him proper manners, she is.
I know you must be damn proud of her, Conor.
We all are—
Robin
Jyulen
Tamar
Harebit
Linden handed the letter back as he wiped tears of laughter from his eyes. “Oh dear gods,” was all he could say at first. Then, “A ghulon? Oh dear gods.” Finally he shook his head. “Why am I not more surprised? I only knew her as a young child, so you’d think I would be—but I’m not.”
“Know what you mean. I’d have never had thought of it, but when it happened, all I could think of was ‘Of course! What else?’” Conor said.
“So was she looking for you that day?” Linden asked.
“She was. I got the story at my first visit. Thought she’d cut through the woods—woods she’d never been through, mind you—and head me off near Fern Crossing, the silly little turnip. Got herself properly lost and was getting scared, she told me later, when she felt a ‘pull’ and had to follow it. She had no choice. And that’s how she found Kiga, jammed into a hollow ’twixt a log and the ground. She dug him out and stayed with him, doing as much Healing as she could, then set off for home.
“Luckily,” Conor finished dryly, “she picked the more-or-less right way by chance. Terrible sense of direction the girl has.”
“How old is she now?”
Conor shrugged. “She was, what, three—perhaps four years old—when we found her? She’s something like thirteen or fourteen now, I’d be guessing. None of us have ever been sure whether she’s younger than we think or just a wee bit of a thing.”
“So, have you met this Kiga?” Linden asked. “And has he learned manners?”
“Yes, I’ve met him, and—” Here Conor held up both hands and wiggled his fingers, “as you can see, since I’ve still got all my fingers, he’s learned manners. There are some people he won’t let touch him, but he doesn’t even snap or snarl at them. He just moves away. Trouble likes to sit on his head and groom him.”
They talked for a while longer of various things. Then Conor said he had to get back to the Beast Healers’ pavilion and Linden realized he’d best be on his way himself or he’d be late for the supper at Lady Gallianna’s.
>
Their paths lay together for a short while. As they parted, Linden asked, “Have you any idea how long Pod will be away from Grey Holt? Perhaps Maurynna, Shima, and I could stop there on our way back to Dragonskeep. I should have gone to see her before this, but it seemed such a short time ago.…”
And it was—to him. Ten years—or twenty or thirty—were little more than the blink of an eye to the weredragons of Dragonskeep. But to a truehuman … “Maybe she’s forgotten me.”
“And maybe the sun will rise in the west tomorrow morning,” Conor replied with a laugh. “No fear of that. The lass has picked my brains over the years for anything at all I can remember about you. I can tell you that Pod would be thrilled beyond words to see you again. Beside herself with joy, she’d be. Trust me on that, Linden. Trust me on that.”
Twenty-seven
Kella had had another wonderful morning playing with Rynna before her cousin went off to find Raven.
“Tell him hello from us,” Kella had said. “Me, Rann, and Rosie.”
“I will. And what will you do now? Find Rann?”
Kella had said, “No, he’s with one of his tutors. So I shall write a letter home to Mama and Maylin. I don’t know whether to tell Maylin that Raven is here when she can’t be.”
Rynna then asked, “And why not?”
“Because she has plans for him. I heard her tell her friend Delina so one day. He’d better watch out.”
Rynna had laughed and laughed. “Good for her! I don’t think I’ll warn him. Will she be able to come to the fair after all, do you think?”
“I don’t know. Maylin wrote that if Mama’s leg is better and Papa’s sister can come to take care of her and it’s not too late, she and Papa will come to the fair.”
“Well now, I hope she can. The poor beggar won’t know what hit him.”
* * *
The letter was done and given over to a royal messenger. Now Kella sat on one of the deep windowsills in Rann’s quarters. She peered through one of the diamond-shaped panes into the garden below. “What a bunch of sillies!”
Rann climbed up beside her and found another pane to look through. “He’s being very patient with them, isn’t he? Just sitting there talking to them—even though most of them just giggle, giggle, giggle. I hear them all the time when they’re talking to the younger lords. They’re the most awful gigglers.”
“They are. Poor Shima. I think he likes Lady Karelinn ’cause I heard Rynna and Linden talking about it. Why won’t those silly girls go away and leave the two of them alone?”
“I think they’re hoping he’ll like one of them better.”
Kella tossed her head. “Hunh! None of them are as nice as Lady Karelinn and her sister.”
She scooted to the edge and dropped to the floor. “Do you still want help learning those chords?”
Rann heaved a martyred sigh. “Not really.”
“You don’t want to forget everything Daera’s taught you! That would make her so unhappy when she gets back. And what if that awful Bard Leet should ask you to show him something she’s taught you? He wouldn’t say anything mean to you if you make a mistake because you’re the prince, but it will look bad for Daera. And I’ll bet you a barley sugar stick that he’ll say nasty things about her when he gets back to the Bards’ School if he thinks she isn’t teaching you right.”
“Oh, very well. But can we go out into the garden? It’s too nice to be inside. And Bramble wants to go outside, too.”
The wolfhound’s tail thumped at the mention of his name.
“That sounds nice. I missed the last lesson out…” Kella’s voice trailed off as she rubbed her hand.
“I’ll get my harp. It’s in my sleeping chamber,” Rann said, and went off, dragging his feet like a man heading to the gallows.
Kella waited, fuming inside. Just the thought of Bard Leet was enough to sour her temper. Hmph—she’d bet five barley sugar sticks that old nasty would say bad things about Daera back at the Bards’ School! Bard Leet was mean all the way through. And she still hadn’t had her revenge on him.
She could march up to him and ask him to bear a message to her cousin, Dragonlord Maurynna Kyrissaean—but it wouldn’t be her revenge somehow.
No, she had to think of something she could do all on her own.
At last Rann appeared, harp under his arm. “I suppose we should go now,” he said glumly, snapping his fingers at Bramble.
“It’s not that bad,” Kella said when she saw the misery in her friend’s face. “Here—why don’t I carry it? I don’t trust Bramble not to trip you and it’s a lovely little harp.”
“Very well, here,” Rann said as he handed her the harp. “Are you going to make me do those chord in, in, invertle things?”
“Chord inversions,” Kella gently corrected. “And, yes, I will. You have to learn them, Rann.”
“Why can’t the wretched chords stay still? Why do they have to turn themselves inside out?” he complained as they went through the door. They stopped just short of colliding with one of the youngest serving girls, Aralie, who was coming in with a ewer of scented water in one hand and a wool duster in the other.
Aralie bobbed a courtesy. “Good day, Your Highness, Kella,” the girl said with a smile.
Kella grinned back; Aralie was nice and always helped them when they wanted to hide from Willena. She was also one of the few servants their age.
“Good day, Aralie,” Rann said. “If Lady Willena or her father come looking for me, we’re in the stables.”
Aralie nodded solemnly. “I’ll remember that, m’lord.” She winked.
They went on through the castle. As they crossed the great hall, Kella saw Bard Leet. For a moment her jaw clenched.
Then came the idea. It was a brilliant idea. All at once, she knew how she would get her revenge on Master Stuck-Up Bard Leet. She caught Rann’s sleeve, dragging him to a halt.
“Look!” she whispered fiercely. “There’s Bard Leet.” Her chin jerked, indicating a spot beyond his shoulder.
Rann looked over his shoulder. “Um, yes, I see him. So?”
Kella nearly stamped a foot in annoyance. “Don’t you see? He doesn’t have his harp with him! This is a perfect opportunity for me to get into his room and touch his precious harp!”
The prince shook his head. “But Kella—you don’t know how long he’ll be away. What if he came back while—”
“He won’t!” Kella nearly crowed. “Not if you help me! Remember how we saw Shima in the garden from your window? And remember the song he sang for us that first morning? I’ve got an idea.…”
She whispered in Rann’s ear. He listened carefully. When she was done, he said reluctantly, “Very well, I’ll do it. But I think you should run back to my rooms first and see if Aralie is still there.”
For a moment Kella looked blank. “Why—?”
Rann tugged on the sleeve of her tunic, rubbing his thumb along the embroidered hem, and stared pointedly at her.
“Oh! Good thinking!” With that, Kella shoved the small harp into his arms and hurried off.
* * *
Kella found Aralie just as the young servant was leaving Rann’s chambers. She caught the other girl’s arm and dragged her back in.
“Rann and I need your help for a jest,” Kella said, not quite lying. She thought it was a fine jest, even if Bard Leet wouldn’t.
Alarie grinned. “What do tha need, young mistress?”
Kella explained; Aralie nodded. When they were done, Aralie pointed to the ewer of scented water it was her duty to refill throughout the day.
“Best take that and the towel,” she said. “When tha are one of the lesser servants, it’s best tha aren’t seen empty-handed. Water’s still hot, so mind tha hands.”
“Good idea!” Kella pounced on the towel and wrapped it around the gently steaming ewer. She made for the door. “Thanks, Alarie! I’ll meet you back here in a little while to switch back.”
A moment later she was walking
quickly down the hall, grinning from ear to ear.
She trotted through the halls of the castle. It was clever of Rann, she thought, to think of switching clothes with Aralie. No one really looked at servants, especially pages and maids. She shifted her grip on the ewer of steaming water; the heat was uncomfortable despite the folds of linen toweling that swathed the vessel. She stared straight ahead, with what she hoped was the proper expression on her face. Almost every servant she’d ever seen look bored; she suspected she looked more like a nervous rabbit.
La-la-la, I’m just bringing scented water for washing to some spoiled little lordling who drank too much wine last night or is too lazy to get out of bed at a decent candlemark, tra-la-la-la-la-la, she told herself over and over again. If she believed it, so would anyone else—she hoped.
It seemed to be working. No one stopped her as she passed by, no one grabbed her by the shoulder and demanded to know what she was doing. When one or two people did seem to take a second glance, with that puzzled expression that says “You look vaguely familiar, but something’s not quite right…,” Kella just bowed her head a little so that the brim of her servant’s cap hid her face a bit more and hurried past as if on some urgent errand.
Still, she felt as if every gaze drilled a hole between her shoulder blades. She didn’t dare look around.
No one really looks at servants.…
The thought was her only comfort against her growing unease. This had all seemed such a lark when they’d planned it in the hallway: a game, nothing more, a way of thumbing their noses at the arrogant bard. He hadn’t had to slap her hand and treat her like dirt because she was from a merchant family. He could have just said, “Don’t touch it.” Hmmph—she wouldn’t have even considered touching it if she hadn’t thought it was Daera’s. She knew what was proper.
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