But he did not ask.
“Welcome, mistress,” he smiled. He stepped aside and bade her step in out of the cold. “Forgive me for taking so long to greet you. I had already retired for the night, you see, it being quite so late. The fires are out, the help is abed…”
Predictable as rain on the solstice, she mused. A list of how he was being inconvenienced. He was already negotiating price. “So you’ve rooms to let, then,” she said. It was a statement rather than a question.
“Aye, well,” he began, scratching his head.
“Well, nothing. I’ll not be dancing with you, old man. I’ve not the patience for it this late in the night.” She held up the shiny silver coin. “This haypind is yours an you’ve a room to let and a mind to still your tongue. Elsewise, I’ll be taking my rest tonight at a house more deserving.”
“Yes, yes!” He took the coin from her before she could change her mind. “We’ve a room, indeed––a clean room, to be sure, and quiet. Apologies, Mistress, my brain is addled by the late hour.”
She smiled. She was in control now. She could afford to be gracious. He started to close the door, but she stopped him. “My ward is at settling our horses in your stable, so please you. Two of your stalls are open, says he, so I thought it a fair bet you’d have a room for us.”
Says he. The innkeeper frowned. “The room has but one bed. I’ve two rooms open, and for the sake of propriety…”
“One will do,” her eyes narrowed, “and that haypind stops your preaching on this point or I’ll have it back.”
He considered a moment, then shrugged. “Aye, so much will buy my quiet short of a man’s death, it will.” He swallowed hard. “Just don’t want trouble here.”
“Then we’ve a bargain.” She watched him wring his hands and sighed with exasperation. She’d forgotten how oddly provincial Durlindale and indeed most of Syon were. But she saw the worry in his eyes, no doubt for the reputation of his inn. “Oh, for pity, quiet your conscience. The lad is my ward and is to me like a son. As such, being as he’s Dhanani, I’ll not be turning him loose to the women of Durlindale with a bed and lock all his own.”
Dhanani. Comprehension dawned in the innkeeper’s eyes along with a certain relief, and Gikka nodded. “You understand me well. Speaking of which, mind you look to your daughters while we stay.”
“Aye,” he sighed with resignation. “And my wife.”
She felt a shift in the air behind her and touched her dagger. But the shift in the air was not what she expected, and she turned.
“Look what I found in the stable, Mistress!”
Colaris blinked his owl eyes at her from his perch on the boy’s leather bracer and bobbed his head in recognition.
“He’s like a hawk, only smaller.” Chul closed the door behind him. Then he stroked the bird whose head was now upside down, peering at him oddly. “Came down from a window above and settled on the stall whilst I saw to Zinion’s hooves. He seemed cold to me, all shivering as he was. Quite friendly, though, for a hawkling.”
Gikka chuckled, petting the bird’s head. “You’ve no idea,” she murmured. She looked Colaris over quickly. He seemed healthy and unharmed, but he had no case strapped to his leg, and she began to worry. Had he been sent to them with a message?
“No, no, no! I told them no! And I’ll tell you the same! No filthy birds in my inn!” The innkeeper stamped his foot in fury. “I should throw the lot of them right out in the street for it!”
“What are you on about?” She scowled. “This bird here came with your other guests, did he? Who are they?”
The innkeeper raised his chin. “Moneyed folk who paid ahead, that’s who, and I don’t question beyond that. Two men and a boy, and they took two rooms, so please you.”
To Chul, she asked, “The other horses in the stable––did you recognize their markings?”
“What?” The innkeeper looked between them. “Now see, here, I’ll not have you spying—!”
“Fine animals, well-kept but tired,” Chul replied, ignoring him. “I saw nothing on their tack.”
Whoever they were, they traveled with a mind not to draw attention. Two men and a boy––obviously not the sheriff and Renda––so who? Servants? Knights? Brannagh had fallen. It could be villains who stole the sheriff’s harrier from his very mews. Maybe even Maddock himself.
She looked at Colaris where he stood blinking at her and felt a laugh rise in her throat. She’d have loved to see someone try to steal Colaris. Besides, he had his head to fly free as he would, so he had not escaped. He was here on Brannagh business. But what? She saw no point in guessing. She started past the innkeeper, through the modest dining room toward the plain wooden staircase with Chul behind her.
The innkeeper gabbled on behind them, following them up, straightening the well worn sound dampening rugs on the stairs as he went. “One tried to carry the bird up to their rooms, brazen as you please, but no, says I, ‘don’t want no filthy birds in my inn. I’ll thank you to leave it in the stable with the horses.’ And so they seemed to do, but oh, treachery! Now I see they took the foul thing up anyway.” He threw up his hands in exasperation. “As your lad here is doing now! Now, see here!”
“Aye, so they did!” She stopped on the landing and glared at him. “And so he will. Only a fool would leave a fine hunting hawk in a cold stable during the Feast of Bilkar, and only another fool would believe he would!”
“You know this bird?” The innkeeper snorted. “Fine hunting hawk? This scrawny thing?”
Colaris lowered his head and hissed.
“Aye,” Gikka growled, continuing up to the second floor, “and so he is, the finest I’ve ever seen, with a rare mind all his own.” Her hand lingered over her purse a moment, long enough that she was sure the innkeeper saw. “You’re sure you’ve no more knowledge of who these men might be?”
The innkeeper opened his mouth to answer, then shook his head.
She studied his face, watching for any tics or tells. At last she was satisfied that he told the truth. “Hear me: an you know more and you’d not tell me, best you continue to keep it to yourself for your own sake.”
“Kek!” Colaris called out sharply. He moved restlessly on Chul’s arm.
She frowned and looked down the short corridor at the top of the stairs. Six doors faced the hall, three to each side. “Come, which rooms are theirs?”
“These two, they are, across from each other. Yours lies at the end of the hall, there.” The innkeeper handed her a key. “Now mark, don’t start no trouble in my house. Your haypind buys only so much. Won’t have no murder and mayhem here. I’ve enough worries as it is.”
“You’ve been paid, landlord!” she barked at him. “Now off to bed with you ere I lose my temper!”
The man stared at her speechlessly for a moment, then, clutching his coin, slipped past Chul and went down the stairs, muttering under his breath.
“Gikka,” Chul said quietly. “It’s past midnight. Whoever they are, surely they sleep.”
“Still, I would know who they are. Perhaps some knights escaped from Brannagh, or servants––”
“Gikka?” Someone appeared behind her, seemingly from the wall itself, and she had him on the floor at once.
The boy lying beneath her boot looked to be only a year or so younger than Chul, perhaps half Bremondine by his medium dark hair and light skin. He only looked up at her, too surprised or perhaps too dull of wit to be afraid of her.
“Who are you, boy?”
“Jath,” he said simply. “I take care of the horses. You are Gikka of Graymonde!”
She frowned. “How do you know me?”
He laughed, as if the answer were quite obvious. “I were pleased to mind Zinion for you now and again over the years.” His eyes lit up. “Did you bring him?”
“Kek,” called Colaris, fluffing his wings. He settled on Chul’s arm and began grooming himself.
“Aye, he’s below in the stable, but how is it––”
&nb
sp; “You…worry for Lady Renda and her father, as do we,” continued the boy, his gaze dull and distant. “We go to meet her in Brannford.”
“As do we,” she answered cautiously and helped the stable boy to his feet. “You say you see to the horses, and you’ve even seen to mine.”
“Aye,” he nodded. “I remember well. It took many a carrot for him to warm to me.”
“Or so he’d have you believe.” Gikka smiled. “Who is your master, then?”
Now Jath seemed uncertain. “I was told to say to any who asked that I serve Vilford, Baron Tremondy.”
She shook her head. “Never been to Tremondy Castle, not with Zinion.”
“No, of course not. Nor have I.” The boy thought for a moment, then shrugged and knocked quietly on one of the two doors.
It opened almost at once.
“Nestor, va’ar Proagh!” Gikka exclaimed, her voice breaking with relief. At once, all was answered. She drew the old man to her and hugged him, continuing in Bremondine. “How do you find yourself in Durlindale? Is His Grace is with you?”
“Va’ar Pro’chna,” he smiled, returning her hug. “Aye, his room is just there, but he’s yet weak. Pray, leave him sleep.” He saw the worry in her eyes, and he patted her arm. “Do not fret, lass. He’s better than he was, now the plague has broken. A night’s rest, and he should be himself again by morning. Right pleased he’ll be to see you, to say the least.” He smiled reassuringly and looked up and down the corridor. His gaze danced over the Dhanani boy holding Colaris. “You’ve taken rooms here?”
She nodded. “This was the first inn we saw.”
“Aye, the same for us. Well, come in and take your ease a moment ere you head for your bed. I’ll not stay you long, but I shall have tea ready in a trice to warm your bones. Stop your protest. I can see you shivering, child.” He looked toward the stairs and drew her inside, lowering his voice again. “Besides, I would hear what you know. I take it you will be riding with us from here, then?”
“I see no reason to travel separately an His Grace will have us. But we’d not compromise you with our presence if it’s a worry.”
He laughed. “Thus far we managed entirely on wit and charm, but should that fail,” he smiled, “we would welcome your strength.” He looked out into the hall where Chul and Jath stood watching them. “Boys,” he called to them in Syonese, “you’re welcome within or without, as it suits you. I have hot tea.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Chul, “but so please you, I’ll stay and mind the bird.”
Jath nodded.
Once Nestor went inside and closed the door, Chul relaxed against the wall. “Did you understand any of what they said?”
“Only a word here and there,” the stable boy answered slowly, petting Colaris who still stood on Chul’s arm.
“I think I heard ‘Durlindale,’” Chul laughed quietly. “Not much more. But by your look, I took you for Bremondine.”
“Oh, aye, part, through my mother. The tongue she spoke was not like this they speak now, though.” He shrugged and took his cloak, a “keeper’s cloak” identical to Gikka’s, seemingly from the wall where he’d stood hidden as they’d come upstairs. “So long it is since she died,” he continued, “I barely remember the sound of her voice. Besides, I’m all out of practice. Round Castle Damerien, it’s not Bremondine we speak most days.”
“Your mother died?”
Jath nodded. He wrapped the dormant cloak about himself for warmth and sat on the floor in the hallway. “My mother, father and sister, all. I nearly died, too. Damerien brought me drowning from out the sea, saved my life.”
“The duke himself?”
Jath shrugged. “He gives out at the castle that I saved his life, though I think he pokes fun to say so. Me, to save him!” He laughed incredulously. “Well, I mean, I were small then, weren’t I? Not even britched, just a naked struggling child strapped to my dead mother’s back and being sucked down to the deep as he found me. I may be simple, but sure I’m not seeing how I saved him, thus.” He picked at a splinter that stuck up from the wooden floor and flicked it away. “I didn’t speak for two years after, so bad was the shock.” He saw alarm in Chul’s eyes and smiled gently. “It’s not memory I speak. I only have it from stories I heard. It were very, very long ago, that.” He nodded toward Nestor’s door. “Them as serve Damerien raised me and when I came old enough, His Grace took me to his service as a keeper,” he glanced self-consciously at Chul, “for the horses, you see. Not good for much else, me. They tell me my wits were harmed with being under the water too long, but I yet live, so here I be and grateful.”
Chul sat on the floor beside him, propped against the wall with his arm resting on his knee and stroked Colaris’s feathers. “My mother died, too, when I was a small. Aidan, the shaman of my tribe, told her she could not have another child and live, but my father did not…”
“Care?”
“Believe him.” He looked down, trying to keep his voice from breaking. “Or care, I suppose. I was only four years old when it happened, but I miss her, even now.”
“She loved you and feared for you more than herself as her time drew near.” Jath smiled enigmatically, looking at Chul, or perhaps through him. “Vaccar wanted a son because he thought you were slow, like me, but the child he got was a girl. She was born alive…”
“Stop crying!” Vaccar screamed at the baby. “You killed her. She won’t suckle you now! Stop crying! Stop it!”
Finally, he picked up the baby and threw her viciously to the ground. Suddenly, horribly, the crying stopped.
“But she was buried with her mother.”
Chul’s eyes went wide. Only he had seen what his father had done. How could Jath see all this?
“It was dead at birth.” Vaccar said, handing the tiny wrapped body to Aidan as if it were a dead snake. “It is not a son, so it is no loss."
The shaman took the tiny broken girl child up tenderly and Chul saw the frown that played over his face. His sister’s body was not yet cold and was only beginning to stiffen while his mother’s hand in his had grown cold and stiff hours ago.
The child watched Aidan touch Dree’s face, watched anger and sorrow play across the shaman’s face. “She tried to give birth alone, knowing she would probably die. Why? Why did she not come to me?” He spoke a brief prayer, not to Nekraba but to Anado, the god of mercy.
At last he turned to Vaccar. “I shall call a Consecration for child. What was her name to be?”
“Don’t trouble yourself, Aidan,” Vaccar growled irritably. “We did not name it. It was born dead, after all.”
“I know her name,” murmured Chul. The little boy stepped from the shadows beside his mother’s bed, bruises on his arms and face, tears cutting grooves through grime. He ignored his father’s glare knowing he would suffer for it later. “My ka told me her name was––”
“Tanra. That was the name your mother gave her. You went to the barrows and watched Aidan call the prayers for your mother––your ka––and your sister, Tanra ka-Dree, while Vaccar did not. He beat you for it when you came home, and that was the first time you let your fear turn to rage.”
Chul stared at him, confused and astonished and not a little scared. Was Jath reading his mind? He was even more surprised to find hot, angry tears streaming down his face. He had almost forgotten… “No, I…Jath?”
“Vaccar…hurt you a lot. He beat you, mocked you.” He drew a sharp breath. “He tried to kill you because some part of him knew. He was wrong about…everything.”
“No. I didn’t fit with the tribe. I took things.” Chul looked down, wiping at his face angrily, knocking the tears away. “He attacked Chief Bakti because he wanted me to die. Even now, I’m not certain I should have lived.”
“Your father saved your life, Chul Ka-Dree. Now you will see things no Dhanani has seen in thousands of years, and you will be…” He reached over and lifted Chul’s face abruptly so he could look into the Dhanani boy’s eyes. His own eyes
widened.
Chul stared back. “What?”
But Jath swallowed the words and turned away. “Forgive me. I sometimes look where I should not.”
“No, no!” said Chul. “I take no offense, truly! I am afraid to hear more, but at the same time… Please tell me.”
But Jath only shook his head.
“I just want to know how you know all these things,” the Dhanani frowned slightly. “You knew my name without asking. My father’s name, even my sister’s name. Nobody knew my sister’s name. Are you a shaman? Do you hear my thoughts?”
Jath shook his head. “Damerien says I see the unseen. Fiona says it’s because I was dead for a time, but Nestor says that’s ‘washer woman rubbish.’”
Chul laughed at how well Jath mimicked the Bremondine retainer’s burr.
“He told me this is just my special way with the Art. We each have a special way. That’s why it’s tragic when any one of us is lost.”
“The Art?” Chul let Colaris down to the floor and flexed his arm. “How do you mean, like magic?”
“Aye, magic.” Jath nodded. “Mine is not like what normal mages do, though.” He chuckled. “Else I should be the worst stable boy on all Syon.”
“How does it work? Your special way, I mean.” He leaned forward. “Not how you pull the threads or…however that’s done…I wouldn’t understand it anyway. But what does it look like when you see things?”
Jath thought a moment, then got up and picked an apple from a bowl on the sideboard by the stairs. “What is this?” He sat on the floor cross-legged and gave it to Chul.
He looked it over and handed it back. “An apple.”
“Yes.” Jath smiled. “You see an apple, shiny, round. You can know things about it because you know what an apple is. You can guess how it might taste, the crunch, the smell. That’s no magic. You make a good guess since you have tasted apple before, but still, it’s a guess. All you can know is just what you see: an apple.” His gaze dulled as he looked at the apple and his voice grew distant. “I see its core that I will throw to the roadside, the tree that will grow from its seed, the apples that will grow on the tree and the marquess’s bride who will stop to pick an apple and meet a dashing soldier. I also see their bastard son who will one day become marquess himself and bring forbidden blood to their line…” His gaze sharpened again. “I see what’s important in a thing. Sometimes I see the past, sometimes the future, sometimes what’s going on just over the next hill, but that’s all. Most times I don’t know what it means.” He chuckled. “That takes someone smarter.”
Guardian Last (Lords of Syon Saga Book 2) Page 12