by JANRAE FRANK
* * * *
Aejys Rowan stood apart from the joyful scene, her mood gone melancholy. There was a small, almost imperceptibly sad twist to her full lips. Her eyes misted watching Brendorn kiss the top of Tagalong's head. She folded her arms, repressing her desire to join in, holding herself aloof, and wondering whether they would greet her with as much joy or if it would be reproof. She had deserted her family, fleeing a dangerous situation she could not alter. She had no rights to his affection and love, or even his friendship. Yet her arms ached to clasp him. She did not know why they had come, but she suspected, even feared, that it had nothing to do with love. For seven long years she had dreamed of reunion with him and the rest of her small family, even while she rode farther and farther away from them.
She dragged in an uncertain breath as they approached. He had always been the only kind and gentle thing in her rock hard life, the one unmitigated joy. Only in his arms had she ever found true peace, even for a moment, in her troubled, war-torn life. "Brendorn?" Her hands shook. She clasped them together while a roar of emotion – shame, love, pain, filled her mind with confusion. Aejys realized that she was on the edge of losing it as she stammered: "I – I meant to send for you, Brendorn. On my honor." Impulsively her hands came up, reached for him, and drew back.
"Aejys," he spoke her name softly, as hesitant as she, yet longing crept into his tone, "I know you did."
He extended both hands to her. Aejys clasped them and drew him into her arms. She covered his lips with hers, bending a little to reach him. They kissed deeply, hungrily. When Aejys pulled back finally, tears streaked both their faces. "God's heart, I've missed you," she said.
Brendorn nodded. "And I you."
"I just couldn't get the words right."
"You never had to," he said with a small smile. "I always read between your words. You did what you thought best for all of us."
His words, although meant to reassure and comfort, nevertheless, brought a twist of sadness to her heart, making her cling to him all the harder and he to her as if in a single moment they could press all the love from seven absent years into that one embrace.
"Aejys..."
At the sound, she turned from Brendorn to Cassana, embracing the woman warmly, "Old friend."
She stood back, saw then the way they stood together, and suspicion entered her mind. "This looks like a deputation," she said. "If you're asking me to come back, forget it. There's no place for me there."
Cassana's scarred hand touched Aejys' arm. "You must come home! There's trouble."
"It isn't my trouble," Aejys replied, regaining her composure. "I'm sending for my family. They can come out here, but I'm not going back." She looked at Brendorn to confirm this, but he dropped his eyes to stare uncomfortably at the floor. Suddenly she realized how far they had come, a journey of months, whatever was happening had to be crucial, and that roused her old instincts to protect and stand fast at need. "Ma'aram?"
"No. Kaethreyn is fine." Cassana told her. "Can we sit down?"
"Come in to the parlor." Aejys laid her pipe and pouch on top of a bowl of fruit, caught the handle on a pitcher of ale, and, carrying it all, led them into the next room.
Tamlestari tarried long enough to snag a tray of pastries, some extra tankards, and a full pitcher, then followed.
* * * *
"She turned them down again, didn't she?" Becca stretched her legs and strode along, forcing the dwarf to trot to keep up. Irritation flashed across Tagalong's face. Becca allowed herself a brief smug smile at this. Her glance swept every face as they passed through the common room. Several of Aejys' household cavalry, who guarded her trade wagons in transit, were taking their lunch. "Wagons are in," she observed in passing.
"Yah. If Aejys wanted that kind of responsibility she'd'ave stayed home in Rowanslea. I saw some wagons come in as we went upstairs. Ya got'em unloaded yet?"
"There hasn't been time. I'm short handed in the taproom." Becca poked her head into the kitchen. "Take plates of cold meats, cheese, bread, sauces and a pitcher of each of our best brews up to Lord Aejys' parlor. Enough for four."
A tall mon nodded as he wielded a broad paddle, shoving loaves into the ovens. "I'll start on it now," he told her.
"Good," Becca said, turning toward the back door.
"Well let's get to it," Tagalong said grinning.
Becca spied Zacham sweeping the walk as they emerged from the building into the courtyard quad. The ten-year old's unkempt black hair hung in long tangled ringlets. A spattering of dark freckles made a band across his snub nose and cheeks contrasting sharply with the pale butterscotch complexion. He came to attention when he spied Becca and Tagalong looking at him.
Four wagons with tall sideboards and barrels of provisions piled high stood in the yard. Clemmerick the hostler led two teams to the watering troughs beside the stable. The ogre stood eight feet tall. The big horses he handled were the size of large dogs beside him. His straight, jet black hair parted in the middle hung just past his shoulders; his sloe eyes had a bland expression that concealed a deep philosophical mind and sharp intellect. His complexion rivaled milk in its whiteness and large triangles of bright pink marked his rounded cheeks in an otherwise broad plain face.
"Where are the drivers?" Becca asked.
"Getting a bite, Mistress," said Zacham, nodding politely. "They waited till their stomachs was aching with need."
"Master," Becca corrected him, frowning slightly. "This is a Sharani establishment."
Zacham flushed. "Shall I get them?"
"No. They've earned their bread. Fetch Omer and Raim to unload."
Zacham leaned the broom so quickly against the wall of the building that it slid down as he moved away, darting off to fetch the two myn.
Tag opened a wagon's gate and climbed in. "Show me some muscle, Becca. Ya're always telling me ya got some."
"I've never–"
"Ah, come on, Becca!" Tagalong smiled innocently as she began needling the tavern master. Paybacks are hell. "What happened to that 'anything ya can do, I can do better' ya've been shovin' in my face fer months! Ya just a wussy outlands woman after all?"
Becca twisted inwardly, trying hard not to take the bait. "I'm as good with a scythe and flail as any of my brothers! Always was!"
"Not talkin' about scythes an' flails, Becca. We're talkin' about barrels."
Becca flushed angrily. "Just hand me down the barrels, damn it!"
The stout dwarf lifted a huge barrel of flour easily, giving it to Becca. The tavern master staggered under the weight as Tagalong released it. With every muscle in her arms, back and legs heaving Becca managed to wrestle the barrel to the ground, missing her foot by inches. Then Tagalong seized another and shoved it at her. Becca caught it. She felt as if her arms were going to be wrenched from the sockets and then abruptly the weight was taken from her.
"Let me help you, Becca." Clemmerick towered over the tavern master, setting the barrel down as if it weighed nothing. He was not handsome, yet there was an indefinable quality that made his ugliness appealing.
"Stay out of this, Clemmerick!" Becca cried indignantly. "Tag and I are settling matters."
Clemmerick smiled fondly. "You two are always needling each other. Always challenging... At least make it fair," said the ogre. "Becca, you climb up on this wagon over here. Each of you hand me a barrel. I'll put Tag's over there and yours here," he indicated the spots with a nod. "First one to unload their wagon completely wins. Without dropping anything. Agreed?"
The two women nodded. Becca hitched up her skirts and climbed into the wagon Clemmerick indicated.
"Ya need pants fer this job, Becca," Tag told her. "Yer gonna step on yer skirts and fall on yer face 'fore yer half finished."
"I don't think so," Becca replied icily. She gave her skirts a twist and tucked the bottom into her belt.
"If she wins, you buy her a pair, Tag," said Clemmerick.
"Ya got it!"
Clemmerick smiled. A crowd
gathered as the women worked. Omer and Raim shook their heads in puzzlement at the bosses doing their work, but did not question it aloud. The drivers joined them next, then the caravan guard and the customers. Soon they were laying bets. The general consensus held that few human women were as strong as the sturdy dwarf and Becca was not one of them.
Anger fueled Becca's muscles with greater than usual strength. She worked swiftly, muttering curses under her breath.
Clemmerick, standing between the wagons, made two piles of barrels. A cheer went up from the tiny handful that had placed their bets on the tavern master. Slowly Becca gained on Tagalong, opened a widening lead, and then it was over. Becca finished first.
"Father of Stone crack a mountain! Damn it!" Tagalong shouted, her cheeks burning as bright as her hair. She sprang down and started for the door.
"Hand over some gold, Tag, so she can go for a fitting," Clemmerick said.
"But who'll take care of things? It's nearly dinner!" Tagalong protested, extending a handful of gold and silver coins to the ogre.
Clemmerick smiled, "You've got the entire kitchen staff hard at work. I'm sure you can manage." He pressed the coins into Becca's hands. "Go on, I'll catch up soon as I finish here," he told her.
The ogre worked quickly to remove the evidence before anyone could discover he had given Becca the lighter stuff to unload. Becca, unaccustomed to moving heavy things, would never know the difference, but Tagalong would. Then he strode off whistling merrily down the street to the tailor's shop just so he could walk back with Becca.
* * * *
Aejys settled her friends on comfortable chairs flanking a modest round table. Tamlestari, clearly tired of trail food, stuffed pastries in her mouth and licked her fingers appreciatively. A knock on the door preceded the entrance of servants with trays of sliced cheese, cold meats and bread; and sauces, pitchers of various brews and tankards. Aejys' eyes dwelled on Brendorn, being near him, knowing he still cared, lit a heat in her veins and a warmth in her heart that burned away a loneliness she had never realized she felt until it was gone. As soon as the servants had departed, she leaned across and kissed him again.
"Well, what's this all about?" Aejys opened her pouch to refill her pipe and remembered that it was empty. Without waiting for an answer she crossed the room and stuffed the pouch full from a jar on a window shelf.
"Margren has hired someone to kill you, and afterwards Laeoli," Cassana said.
Aejys' body straightened, coming to attention, her pulse quickening. Her eyes narrowed to slits and her hand paused for just an instant before replacing the jar lid. She filled her pipe, lit it before responding with an edge sharp enough to flay spirits slid in her voice. "Me, I can understand," she said smoothly, "My sister has always hated me," she returned to the table, no not always, she amended silently, remembering what a sweet child her sister had been. "But why Laeoli? She's just a little girl."
Brendorn took Aejys' hand in both of his. "My love, our daughter isn't little anymore. She's fourteen. She's of age next year."
"Fourteen?" Aejys felt startled for a moment and her voice betrayed her. She had known in her mind how many years had passed, but not in her heart and never considered the implications nor anything else that might have forced her out of her safe emotional exile. "I had not realized how long it has been. I meant to send for you all." Her eyes met Brendorn's pleading for his belief, for his faith in her.
Brendorn gave that faith willingly. "I know," he said, his hand reaching to cover hers as she came to his side.
"Two springs past," Cassana explained, "Around the time you killed the great wyrm, your ma'aram, Kaethreyn named Laeolytyn her heir."
"Damnation under God!" Aejys ground her teeth on the pipe, then pulled it out and rubbed the bowl with her thumb. Everything I retreated from is coming after me again. "All Margren ever wanted was the mar'ajante. She'll kill to have Rowanslea."
"I begged Kaethreyn to give the lands and title to Margren," Brendorn's voice took on a forlorn note. "Kaethreyn said that Margren was unfit to rule. That she would never give it to her, even if Margren were her only living child. But she would not accept that Margren might harm Laeoli. We parted less than friends. She said she would not keep Laeoli from you, but that you would have to ask her for the child face to face."
"We've all tried to get Laeoli out," Cassana said. "But short of kidnapping, which would precipitate a clan war, your mother has blocked our every effort. You are the only one she can't argue with. The only one who can get Laeoli out."
"Do it soon." The young walnut colored girl spoke with a frank openness at once startling and intriguing to Aejys. "I fear for Laeoli. The Ajan Margrenan frightens me."
Aejys looked closely at her for the first time. "Do I know you?"
"This is my niece," Cassana told her, patting the girl's arm fondly. "Tamlestari Odaren Desharen, Geoa and Kalestari's child. Tamlestari and Laeoli are very close."
Aejys sucked on her pipe, scrutinizing the girl carefully. She leaned forward and ran her hand though the girl's hair then checked her fingertips. A black smudge showed on them. "You're a blond, like your ma'aram." Nine years – I still can't believe Kalestari is dead. Always thought she would outlive us all. "She used a better dye. After the first washing it didn't come off on my fingers." She touched the girl's cheek. "And you stain your skin. She didn't." Aejys knew she had struck a nerve when Tamlestari erupted at her.
"So I'm the wrong colors!" she snapped. "From all that I've heard, I thought you at least would not make an issue of it."
Aejys settled back with a deep sigh, wishing she had not spontaneously turned the conversation in this direction. Now that she had, she was committed to finishing it. Aejys had a stubborn streak, which brooked no retreat – from anything: even embarrassment. She smiled with the pipe between her teeth, pulled it out to speak again. "Kalestari was not Sharani born, but she was as Sharani as any of us," she explained patiently. "We didn't know what she was until the end. You're at least half, I'll wager. With two Sharani heroes for ma'arams, you're just as Sharani as any. Anyone says otherwise in my hearing will regret it. I promise you."
The statement took the youth by surprise and Tamlestari's glare softened just a little. "I wish more people felt that way."
"Your sire?"
"Thendaric of the West Temple."
A small sad smile brushed the edges of Aejys' mouth. "He was a fine singer and a gentle soul." Aejys had led the ultimately unsuccessful effort to break the siege of the West Temple. The Waejontori destroyed the temple-city, butchered the inhabitants down to the smallest newborn. That Aejys had afterward destroyed that Waejontori force was small comfort to her. So much of my life died in the war. Then perversely she thought trust Kalestari to prefer a temple stud to a committed relationship with a man.
"Let's get on with it," Aejys said, re-lighting her pipe. "How am I supposed to fall? Do you know?"
"Farendarc," Tamlestari exhaled the name as though it hurt. Youth and innocence faded from her face, replaced by a mature seriousness.
Aejys' stomach tightened, then gave a little queasy roll as if the bottom had just dropped out. She knew his reputation. "One of the best." Why now, God? Just as my life starts to straighten out. Just as I finally have a place to bring my family.
Cassana leaned forward, her elbows planted on the table. "Farendarc took second in swords at the Aroanan Games the last year before the War broke out."
"I no longer recall, is he Sharani or an import?"
"Sharani."
"They banned him from the games two years ago," Tamlestari said. "In the finals Lareth Reslaaren marked his face, a tiny scratch," her voice faltered when she spoke the woman's name as if pain beyond her years lay there. "He became enraged. And when he downed her he moved in and finished her. So they banned him."
"As few males as there are among our people, it's sad that one turned out like him," Cassana murmured, more to herself than her companions.
Aejys' eyes narrowe
d a little more and she stroked her lower lip with the pipe. "Is he as good as Kalestari was?"
"No," Cassana said. "But he bested Darya of Armaten. She was always better than you."
Another name of the dead. The pipe paused, then started again. "If Laeoli were here, Margren would have to burn six kingdoms to get to her. I don't think she's that crazy."
"You must not fight Farendarc." Brendorn said. "He'll kill you. You're a soldier, not a duelist. You are the only one that your ma'aram will yield Laeoli to."
"She can't avoid him," Tamlestari put in. "I have seen the lengths he will go to ... Farendarc will do anything to force her into a duel. He's done it before. With others. I know his patterns well. I studied him."
"You what?" Cassana's hand closed on Tamlestari's and she leaned nearer the girl. "Why?"
"Because I wanted to kill him. I know you don't like to hear this, Amita Sana, but I don't have a lot of friends. People don't like my color," she raised her eyes to Aejys', "most people that is. Not all. Lareth was my best friend. When I took my vows this past spring I planned to challenge Farendarc, so I tried to learn his weaknesses."
"And did you find any?" Brendorn asked, suddenly keenly interested, almost hopeful.
"I don't think he has any," Tamlestari said, dropping her gaze and folding her left hand over her right fist.
Aejys nodded slowly. "I know his reputation. I can't run, Sana. And I can't hide. I won't hide. It would cost me everything I have built up here. My honor, as muddied as it may look on the surface, is still my life."
"Don't do this, Aejys." Brendorn pleaded. "Please don't fight him."
Aejys stared deep into his anguished face, seeing all the hopes and dreams renewed in their first embrace fading. "Brendorn. You ask me to forsake my honor?"
"I'm asking you to save our daughter."
"Take a contract out on him for god's sake!" exclaimed Cassana, slamming her hands down on the table.