by JANRAE FRANK
"Grymlyken!" Becca shouted. Her bouncers, a baker's dozen pixies cast aside their invisibility, appearing seemingly out of the air around Becca with hands resting on the hilts of their tiny swords. Their determined swarming tactics could be worse than getting hit with a hornet's nest while their dense physical structure made them nearly unsquashable.
Cassana Odaren glanced at the pixies from the corner of her eyes without acknowledging them, but her tone grew grim as her voice went softer and lower. "Tell Aejystrys Mohandon brye Rowan that Cassana brye Odaren and Brendorn arn Rowan, are here to see her. And do it now before I decide to pull this place down around your ears!"
Uncertainty entered Becca's face. She had never heard Aejys' formal Sharani name before. It lent a weight and seriousness to the matter. Furthermore she suspected the woman could more than make good on her threat. But the most doubt-stirring thing was Cassana's name. It matched the scars on her hands. Becca remembered the stories now. Although Vorgensburg had been only on the furthermost periphery of the Great War, if this was indeed Cassana Odaren, then Becca knew that she was not one to be trifled with.
Grymlyken stepped forward, a prancing, mincing motion, his head screwed up to see Cassana better. His eyes widened and his lips formed an exaggerated "O" as he murmured "Omagosh!" Grymlyken frantically yanked Becca's apron. "That's her all right. That's her. That's Cassana Odaren. I saw her during the war. You don't want to mess with her, you don't."
That finished off the tavern master. Becca gasped and flushed. Her large eyes went a little wider, "You truly are Cassana Odaren?"
The question was rudely phrased, a mere tavern master did not address the nobility in that way, even someone else's nobility, but Cassana answered politely. "I am. Now please take us to Aejys."
"She ah ... knows you, doesn't she?" Becca's flush deepened.
"I think so," Brendorn answered softly, a small secret smile turning faintly on the edges of his mouth. He could almost feel the touch of her hands, the brush of her lips; see again the strength in her that had always called to him. Even when she had returned home gravely wounded, near death from physical and magical injuries that no one believed could be healed, that same stubborn strength had carried her through. Then before she could recover completely, she had simply fled, leaving behind a note that said it was the best for all of them.
The youngest of Brendorn's companions burst into hearty uncontrolled laughter multiplying Becca's discomfort ten fold and jostling Brendorn out of his moment's reverie.
Becca's eyes slitted sidewise at her, she straightened, took a deep breath, struggled for composure and grimly resisted both an urge to flee and a desire to scream for Clemmerick the ogre stableman to come pound the laughing girl. "Follow me," she said, her voice taking on a prim quality. "You can stand by the door while I announce you, then if Aejys says okay, you can go on in."
They followed Becca up the stairs at the end of the common room, down an oak paneled hall and stopped at an expensively carved mahogany door. All the way up Tamlestari tried to stop laughing, but in spite of everything a tiny snicker or a giggle escaped to plague Becca and draw the disapproving glances of her companions.
Becca glared at the girl, then entered the room.
As soon as the tavern master was out of sight, Brendorn turned and clamped a hand over Tamlestari's mouth. "Try holding your breath," he suggested exasperated. "If Laeoli acted like you I would turn her over my knee and spank her, no matter how old she was."
Tamlestari pried his upper fingers loose and said through the rest of his muffling grip, "Like to see you try." She shifted slightly as if for a hip throw, laughing harder.
Cassana caught the girl by the collar, and then pulled Brendorn's hands away, gently yet firmly. She shook her head at him. Brendorn sighed and stepped back. Cassana took her niece by the shoulders, gave her a small shake. "If you don't stop this," she said severely, "you can spend the rest of the day standing in the Hall while we take care of business. You understand?"
Tamlestari sobered instantly, her eyes dropped, her cheeks grew warm. "I'm sorry, Amita Sana. On my honor, I won't do it again."
"I know you won't," Cassana replied, giving her a hug.
Brendorn stood back, dropping his eyes, and shaking his head at the mercurial young hoyden's sudden change from irritatingly playful to sober and restrained. She had trained heavily as a battlefield chirurgeon during her days in the temple preparing to become ha'taren, one of the consecrated paladins of the God Aroana the Compassionate Defender. Yet, even after her consecration and a series of skirmishes along the border, the young mon remained as unpredictable, headstrong and changeable as ever, childishly playful and impulsive one moment and then mature beyond her years the next. He sighed, reminding himself to be grateful that his own daughter Laeoli had turned out so calm and steady.
He realized suddenly that he had begun to tremble uncontrollably and leaned against the wall to conceal it. Fear that she would simply send them away alternated with a dream vision of finding her in his arms again. He had never been a warrior; never been more than a simple gardener, cherishing his flowers and fruits and he remembered how after coming back from a patrol or fighting she had always looked so happy to just be with him in his gardens – how serene those moments had been and how much he cherished them. And their passion in the night – no, he dared not go down that path until he had seen her; he wanted it too desperately, felt too overwhelmed by need for her.
Aejys, Brendorn murmured silently to himself, maybe we'll finally know why you ran away from us... O! Lord of Woodlands! Please let her say yes. Let her come home again. Life is so empty without her.
* * * *
That morning the syndics had come again to petition Aejys Rowan to take the helm of their city because they quite simply did not believe anyone else could handle it. Most of their problems came from outside the city, from the monster haunted wilderness and from monstrous men who preyed on their shipping, raided their city during the spring months and took toll of the caravans and various folks on the highroads. The walls were in disrepair and the guardsmyn who walked them understaffed, under-trained, and poorly led. They could have hired kandoyarin out of Ocealay to the south, mercenaries such as those commanded by Johannes Redbeard, but feared that would be like asking the cat to dine with the mice.
The syndics knew all of the rumors that clung to Aejys Rowan like a spider-web cloak. She was a lapsed paladin who had drifted far from her faith and her people: that much they knew for certain. By most accounts she was a maverick Sharani heir who had renounced her place in the aristocracy by telling her queen and family to go swim in the midden pond over some trifling matter. Some said Aejys had actually thrown the queen in. A very few said she was just another out of work soldier who had drifted into their city and her name wasn't really Aejys Rowan at all.
But as the months had passed they watched the soldier kill a great wyrm for its treasure and with only her own household defeat a raiding ship out of Brunstrat. So they grew more certain with each passing day that she was the Lion of Rowanslea, Aejystrys brye Rowan, who had commanded the Lionhawk's rearguard during the Allied push into Waejontor when the war had finally turned against the Banewitch Realm; and then vanished. However, no one knew for sure and Aejys wasn't telling.
They sat in comfortably padded claw armed chairs around a large horseshoe table set in the middle of a long room. Pastries, fruit, and pitchers of golden Neridian ale sat at intervals around the table. Aejys had lured away Duke Aaron of Beltria's most celebrated baker and rarely let visiting syndics forget it. Most of them were middle-aged men in dark silks and fine hosen. There were only two women in the room besides Aejys: Marya Maryasdottir, a stout matron who ran the weaver's guild; and Tagalong Smith, Aejys' dwarf companion in arms.
Tagalong sat at Aejys' right hand near the head of the table with her legs pulled up into the chair and crossed. A beaded Kwaklahmyn headband attempted to hold in check the unruly mass of shoulder-length crimson hair fram
ing her broad blunt face. Although she did not carry her sword at home, her ever-present war hammer hung from her wide belt.
Opposite Tagalong, at Aejys' left hand, sat the second member of Aejys' inner circle: Josh, who was sober for a change. A neatly-trimmed brown beard that was heavily streaked with grey framed Josh's deeply seamed, battered face, and red abraded complexion. He looked two decades older than his nearly thirty odd years. His forefinger moved in nervous circles, rarely still for long. He never raised his eyes to anyone's face, yet he listened to everyone. Aejys always included him, although no one ever understood why she had adopted the town drunk in the first place. She did a lot of things no one understood, but it had made her rich.
Beside him Thomas Cedarbird, the youngest and richest merchant in the city, son of a Kwaklahmyn father and Vorgeni mother, leaned forward on his elbows to better gauge the woman at the table's head. He held the best trading alliance with the Kwaklahmyn of any in Vorgensburg by way of his father's lineage in the ruling family and a substantial fleet inherited from his maternal grandfather. He was also a legend in local circles for he had been the first to sail round the Cape of Jedrua. Cedarbird spearheaded the effort to draft Aejys. They had now been arguing for over an hour.
"To accept our offer would not only be good for Vorgensburg, it would be beneficial to you," Cedarbird insisted. "We need a warrior at the helm to lead us in defense of the city, to guide us in the ways that will make us safe from the pirates and raiders. You need our contacts, goods, and experience if you want your new merchant fleet to prosper."
"Is that a threat or a bribe?" Aejys Rowan tamped the tobacco down in her pipe, struck a lucifer, and lit it. She drew on the pipe thoughtfully for a moment, letting smoke slide out from the corners of her mouth. Her large steel gray eyes had the look of an old lion, comfortable and secure in its power, in a deceptively young face that was just a little too squared at jaw and too wide at the cheekbones to be called oval; too rounded and long to be called square. Her lips were large, ruddy and, when she let them be, expressive; her skin was a glossy red brown that might almost be called bronze. Her long, thick smoky black hair hung in a leather wrapped tail with a brief tuft of hair showing at the bottom. She wore a short, sleeveless brown silk tunic over a deep-sleeved cream shirt buttoned at the cuff and tight fitting pants, the legs stuffed into knee high boots. A longsword with an intricate golden lion hilt hung at her side next to a pair of soft leather gloves shoved through her belt.
"Neither. We are suggesting an alliance, if you will. You become Lord Mayor of Vorgensburg and protect us. We give you the benefit of our knowledge."
Aejys shook her head slowly. "I regret having to say this once more and it will be the last time I submit to one of these meetings – but I do not wish to rule Vorgensburg." She turned to directly face Thomas. "You're the instigator, Thomas," Aejys said nonchalantly. "Bother me again, and I'll have you banned from my establishments."
The young mon flushed. "But surely the Lion of Rowanslea–"
Tagalong gasped, choked on a mouthful of ale, and spewed it back into her tankard. Then her eyes shot to Aejys'. "There, that's torn it," she muttered darkly. They had finally confronted Aejys with their suspicions; Tagalong suspected that voicing it had been a slip of the tongue; otherwise it was unusually poor judgment on Thomas's part.
The color had risen in Aejys' face, the line of her mouth stiffened, and sudden rage burned in her gray eyes. "Don't ever – you hear me – ever call me that again. The Lion of Rowanslea is dead. She died taking Bucharsa Temple." As she spoke fury mounted in her voice. "Is that what has been going on all these months, Thomas? You think I am the Lion of Rowanslea? You want the Lion of Rowanslea to defend your damned city? To fight all your battles for you?" She rose from her chair and slammed her fists on the table. "Get out! Get out – all of you!"
The syndics rose like a flock of startled pigeons. Several protested, but when Aejys started toward them they decided that discretion was the better part of valor and fled for the door just as Becca opened it. Tagalong grinned, watching them jostle the tavern master. She knew if they shoved her too much the tavern master would haul off and take a poke at one, rank not withstanding. Becca could be a bit spiky and Tagalong had a streak of mischief that liked to see her react.
Tagalong glanced at Aejys and saw that she was cooling down rapidly. The dwarf knew Aejys Rowan as a person who blew up quick and cooled down quicker. Tagalong slid out of her chair and came around behind Thomas who tried to linger. Aejys caught him by the arm and started him toward the door. "Go on, Thomas. We're still friends, but not right now. Go away."
Thomas brushed past Becca with a good deal more dignity than the others. As the door closed behind him, Aejys burst out laughing. She laughed so hard she had to hold her sides. "You think I finally convinced them, Tag?"
"That yer crazy? Probably," Tagalong said, smirking. She loved uproar. "But ya know, Aejys, those that matter have it figured out and losing yer temper confirms it."
"I know. I resigned myself to it weeks ago." Aejys smiled, clapping the sturdy dwarf on the shoulder. "You are not my only source of gossip, Tag."
"I'm not?" Tagalong feigned surprise. "Ya turned them down again, but what are ya going to do next time the town has trouble with Brunstrat?"
Aejys gnawed on her lower lip. "Same thing I did last time..."
"Then yer doin' the job without getting' the title."
"I don't want the responsibility."
"You've already got it."
"Shit."
Tagalong grinned widely, "I'm putting the word on the street yer holding out fer King."
Aejys stared at the ceiling and rolled her eyes.
Then Tagalong remembered Becca, "What's goin' on?"
"Aejys, there's people to see you," Becca looked from one to the other with silent disapproval. She had wanted Aejys to take the position and felt miffed that she clearly had not.
"More people?" Aejys straightened and clapped Becca on the shoulder. "Be a good mon, and tell them to go away. I'm tired of people. I want to be left alone for a while. I haven't had lunch, I'm sick of pastries and my tobacco pouch is empty."
"I can't."
"What?"
Becca winced but stood her ground. And even Aejys knew there were limits to how far you pushed Becca. "They're Cassana brye Odaren and Brendorn arn Rowan."
Aejys stopped in her tracks, her heart skipped a beat at Brendorn's name – she had told no one about her family and almost nothing about her past except for a few carefully phrased and related war stories – and her next words evaporated. She sucked in a long breath, closed her eyes just long enough to rub her hands over them, and then blew the breath out with an odd sigh. "You're certain that's who they are?"
"Grymlyken recognizes the ajan."
Josh sighed, dropped his head, and left through a side door without being asked. An air of panic hung about his folded shoulders as if he knew something no one else did.
* * * *
Becca ushered them in. Tagalong's whole face brightened with joyous excitement as her friends entered. She gave a loud cry of greeting and leaped at Brendorn, throwing her arms around the slender half-breed's legs and hoisting him off the ground. He kissed the top of the dwarf's head. "I'm happy to see you too, Tag," he said as she set him down.
Tagalong spun around and seized the older mon, lifting her in turn. Then she stood back, rubbing the scarred hands with her thumbs. "Been a long time. They don't hurt anymore?"
"Only in the winter. And when it rains." Cassana smiled quietly.
"That's better than it was."
"Much."
Tagalong nodded. "Good."
Becca watched from the doorway, smiling at their evident joy and remembering her own loved ones left behind many years before when she ran away from her father's farm to find a better life in the city.
Tagalong suddenly remembered the tavern master and, catching Becca by the elbow, propelled her down the hall before she could s
ay anything. "That's Brendorn, her ba'halaef. Let's giv'em some space."
"Ba'halaef?" Becca asked curiously as Tagalong took her arm and walked out with her.
"It's like a husband. Only with less rights than ya folks give'em round here. Functions the same though, if ya get my drift," Tag grinned with lecherous approval as she bubbled over with information while watching closely for Becca's reaction. "Bout time Aejys sent fer him. She needs ta get Laeoli, that's their daughter – Laeolytyn's her formal name, but they call her Laeoli ya understand – and Ladonys, that's Laeoli's womb mother–they call it a ma'aramlasah and the blood mother is the ma'aram – outta there."
"Womb-mother?" Becca's eyebrows quirked, "Then it's true, what they say. One woman conceives and another bears it."
"Sharani are triadic. It's the only way the entire triad becomes its parents. They call it kyndi, but I wouldn't use that word around the Sharani. It's just fer them. Makes fer a lot of twins that way."
"Twins?"
"What else when ya got three in a bed," Tagalong's mouth screwed up in a smug twist as she delivered her coup.
Becca's cheeks warmed and she stammered, "Oh, right. Three in a bed. Of course. Twins." As delicious as Brendorn looked, Becca felt herself rapidly losing interest.
Tagalong did not tell her the whole story of the kyndi, of how the golden banewitch queen of Waejontor had cursed the Sharani more than a millennium ago causing nearly all their male children to be miscarried or still born. They had appealed to Ishla Twice-Gendered, God of Love, Fertility and Technology for aid in removing the curse.
But Ishla was not a remover of curses. Instead she altered their genetics. By enabling a pregnant woman to pass her embryo to another, by way of a magical phenomenon called the kyndi, she made it possible for one woman to bear the children for both. A child then shared the womb mother's genetic inheritance along with the blood mother and sire. That the curse had been ended – by five Sharani heroes, a quest the only survivors of which had been Tamlestari's wombmother and her young sister, Cassana – had done only a little to lift the birth and survival rate of Sharani male infants.