Marion Zimmer Bradley's Sword and Sorceress XXII

by Cirone, Patricia B.

  My guide pulled me away. "Enough, let him rest."

  I wanted to ask what his illness was. I wanted to know why he had no students to take the burden from him. I wanted.... But I was a stranger as of yet, and I had already bullied them into revealing this weakness to me. I let it go.

  * * * *

  In the morning when we had packed and saddled the horses, I pretended to be surprised when a young man was presented to me as a companion for our journey. A woman who I took for his mother presented him to me. "Daolesh has decided to bargain his services to your Marchalt. May he travel with you?"

  I nodded, taking in the fox-fur cloak he wore. "Daolesh, can you ride?" I had seen a few horses around the village, but that was no guarantee among people more used to being, than using, animals.

  He ducked his head and said, "A little."

  "Then we can share," I said, "and take turns in skin-form. Give Halkun your bag to carry and see if you can keep your balance back here." I patted the pad behind my saddle, hoping that the horse would behave.

  He handed over a small sack of his things to be strapped on, made his goodbyes, put on his skin, and leapt to the horse's rump. There was a brief argument between the two of them as to his presence, but in the long run his lighter weight in skin-form would be carried easier than as a man.

  * * * *

  With one or the other of us in skin-form while moving, I had few chances to ask the questions that puzzled me. Kers took it upon himself to begin teaching Daolesh more of the speech of Wilentelu when I was the one wearing fur behind the saddle—or taking briefly to the skies. That first evening I tried to draw him out, but on any question touching on the affairs of his clan he was silent and for the time I let it be.

  Our return was swifter than our road out. How could it not be, given that we knew the way this time? I remembered my thoughts the first time Eysla and I had topped the rise of one of the hills bordering the great river's valley and seen the green fields rolling endlessly into the distance and the startling solidity of Wilentelu sitting where the river bent—as if the river itself had changed course around it. When the same vision appeared, Daolesh exclaimed aloud and we stopped a few minutes to rest the horses and let him look. From there on, he and I rode double in the human way and I told him an endless stream of things it would be useful for him to know in the city. More, perhaps, than I should have poured into him at one time. By the time we rode in through the gates he was stretched as tight as a cornered hare. "Don't worry," I assured him. "Remember that you're an invited guest. That means as much here as it does at home."

  That reassurance was off the mark, as things came to pass. We went first to the Shalen. It was expected, though I would rather have returned straight to Eysla's arms. And we were expected—the word would have been passed as soon as we were seen riding down from the hills—but the welcome seemed a bit cold.

  When we came before the Marchalt, he gave only the briefest of glances at Daolesh and asked, "Where is Eysla?"

  The question made no sense and I stared at him.

  "Two days ago she disappeared. From your house... from the city, for all I can tell. I wonder that—"

  Fear loosened my tongue. "How can you have lost her? You have her watched when I'm away—we both know you do. Were your men asleep? What is the use of all your walls and gates if she can be taken from under your noses?"

  He stayed me with a wave of his hand. "That answers my first question. But for the second, who might have taken her, and why?"

  All I could think was that our home might hold some clue, and with nothing that passed for asking permission I strode from the hall, trailing the remainder of our party in my wake.

  The house seemed untouched, with no more disorder than if she had stepped out for a moment. I went first to the chest in the bedroom where she stored her skin-cloak. Eysla wasn't yet enough of a Kaltaoven that she wore it everywhere, but if she had left with a purpose—word from her brother perhaps?—surely she would have taken it. No, the horse-skin lay folded neatly as it always did. And then I saw the carved token laid on the covers of the bed and snatched it up. It would have meant little to the Marchalt's men.

  "What is it?" one asked.

  I turned instead to Daolesh, demanding fiercely, "Do you know this?"

  "It's a gelkov," he said uncertainly.

  "No, do you know it? Do you know who made it? Why it was left here?"

  He shook his head mutely.

  I turned to the others and explained, "It's a trading token. The message can be read as 'You have something I want; I have something you want.' Whoever left it... they took Eysla."

  "And what of this boy?" the Marchalt asked. "Is this about him?"

  I shook my head. "I don't know how it could be. We saw him take leave of his kin. There was no secret about it and no complaints." Only that strange night-time argument. "Search our bags," I demanded quickly. "I swear we came away with nothing that wasn't honest trade."

  The baggage had been left back in the Shalen, so it was back there again in a crowd and then everything was dumped in a heap on the floor. There were the usual bits of clothing, remnants of travel food, tools and trinkets, and from the bottom of Daolesh's sack, a small tied-up bundle of leather.

  He cried out when he saw it. "No! No, I swear I didn't... I wouldn't...."

  I heard terror in his voice, but the Marchalt's men heard guilt and seized him fast.

  "This is what they think I took?" I asked him.

  Daolesh nodded. "It must be. But I swear...."

  "Don't swear me any oaths," I snapped. "Just tell me how it comes to be among your things if you didn't put it there. Was this a trap for you? For me? Was it meant to poison the Marchalt's bargaining?" I paused for a moment to explain for the others when Daolesh had no answers for me.

  "What is it?" the Marchalt asked curiously. "One of your magic cloaks, I assume."

  I bent and picked it up—and nearly dropped it again. The leather was smooth and buttery-soft, but like nothing I had handled before. And as I touched it the power trapped within it reached out to meet me, like a whispering or muttering in my head. I untied the knots and shook it free. A short cape, just enough to drape around the shoulders. A thing of power, definitely, but strange... and wrong somehow. Daolesh had recognized it, but when I brought it close, he struggled against the hands holding him and clearly feared to touch it.

  "What type of skin is this?" I demanded. "Who wears it? Why is it important to you?"

  "Nalyev," he whispered. "It is nalyev." And that was as much as I could get.

  Once again I translated for the others. "It is... I don't know a good word for it... a secret? A mystery? Something it isn't appropriate to speak of, not to strangers. He is—" I tried to think of a way to explain that would make sense in this place "—under a vow not to speak of it." I looked the Marchalt in the eye. "You could force him, but it would mean the end of your plans among his people." He scowled, but nodded.

  I was far less satisfied and turned back to Daolesh. "This is no longer a private matter for your clan. Someone has made it our business as well. They have taken my kólvyashen and I will do what I must to get her back." I wadded up the cloak and stuffed it roughly back into the empty sack and took some pleasure to see him flinch at the handling.

  "Ashóli." The Marchalt was back in a mood to command. I knew it sat ill on him to deal in matters he had little power over. "Ashóli, this isn't king's business. I will do what I can, but it won't go as far as sending armed soldiers after these people."

  "No need," I said. "They want to bargain."

  "Is that why they came here and took her? Why they didn't simply go after you in the wilds?"

  That brought me back enough to smile. "You're learning more about us than I thought. Yes, better an elaborately-staged bargain than a simple demand. It's our custom." I thought hard for a moment. "They won't be far away—unless they have a skin-singer with them, they can't carry her inside someone else's skin against her will. A
nd to get here so soon before us, the ones who came must all be wearing feathers."

  The Marchalt picked up the trail of my thoughts. "So they can't have carried her off any further than humans can carry an unwilling captive. No horses have gone missing, of that I'm certain."

  I frowned, trying to imagine myself in their place. "Not within the walls, I think. Too confined, and too unfamiliar—although at least one will have been a regular visitor here. They knew where to go and what Eysla meant to me."

  "Will they have been watching for you to return?"

  I thought of soaring high over the river valley on falcon's wings and nodded. "If we ride out of the gates, they will find us."

  I was not as confident as I sounded, but it all made sense. They wanted a trade, not a feud. And I wanted Eysla back, not revenge. But I also wanted to understand what had happened. And that skin... it bothered me. Laaki's stories had told of people who worked evil magic—not Kaltaoven, different kinds of power-working. If this skin-cloak were not of Kaltaoven make, I would have thought it might belong in those stories. And that made me tempted to cheat on the bargaining. Or at least to try. So before we went out of the city, I took a small thing—a very small thing—from the skins I had worked, and borrowed the use of one of the Marchalt's scribes.

  * * * *

  There were seven of us who went out for the bargaining. The Marchalt changed his mind at the last moment and stayed behind. I think he felt his rank was not well served if he could only stand by and watch. But he sent not only the two men who had traveled with me, but another pair to keep watch over Daolesh and one whose duty was only to carry the skin-cloak and not let anyone take it by force or trickery. They were armed, but only with swords and knives, not with anything that might threaten a Kaltaoven in bird-skin at a distance.

  The guess that they would be close by was only partly true. We rode out the gates and down the road towards the river landing at a slow pace, looking carefully in all directions. But the sign came from above, in the form of a raven that circled three times over our heads and then soared south following the river bank two hours ride to where the land grew marshy and grown over with willows. To come this far they must have stolen a boat, but that would have been easier than stealing horses. There were only three that came out to meet us, all in feathers as I'd guessed, but none wore a raven cloak and Eysla wasn't there, so I knew there must be more in hiding.

  "I don't see that you have anything to trade," I began, breaking several of the rules of the game. "Until I see Eysla and take her hand, we have nothing to discuss." And for our side, I nodded to the man carrying the sack who pulled out the skin-cloak for them to see then put it away again.

  They couldn't have expected to begin so one-sided, which gave the advantage to me. I suspected that I had another advantage—I was certain both Daolesh and I were innocent of the theft. There was more waiting and Eysla was brought forth from the screen of willows. The man who wore the raven cloak was Laeno, who had a bear's skin when I had seen him last—the man I had seen once in Wilentelu. This was important enough that someone had lent him both skin and song to speed ahead of us.

  Eysla hadn't been taken easily. I could see bruises, and they had her hands tied before her and kept one hand on the rope. And her appearance was heralded by a stream of curses that were wasted on her captors as the only ones she knew that were strong enough were in her cradle-tongue. But she was sound and whole and she shouted when she saw me.

  I pushed past them to greet her, giving no one a chance to forbid it. I took her bound hands and kissed her cheek. And as I slipped that small furred something into her curled fingers I said, "It's not quite as bad as that time your brother locked us in the store room, is it?"

  She was completely bewildered for a moment, then closed her fingers tightly around the tiny pelt and smiled. "No, not quite that bad. But I'm not sure I remember how you got us out of that place."

  "Try your best," I said, completing the confusion for anyone who was listening.

  * * * *

  Custom demanded that we sit, and so we spread our cloaks and sat with the damp from the river rising around us. Custom demanded that those who had offered to bargain begin, and so I waited, which was a hard thing. Laeno took the lead. He wasn't the eldest of those present, but I thought all this may have been his plan—certainly his knowledge must have been behind it.

  "Byal-dónen," he began, giving me the title that courtesy demanded. "Ashóli, since you have no patience for the old ways, perhaps we can finish this quickly. You have something of ours; we have something of yours. The trade is even. What do you say?"

  "This was never an even bargain," I countered. "You know what Eysla is to me—the one to whom I've bound my heart. I know nothing of what this skin is to you."

  "You don't need to know, except that we value it."

  I interrupted, as if I found what he had to say of little importance, "And you have taken pains—and caused pain, I see—to steal away something of mine, but I never took your property. I have it now, but I did not take it. Look to those around you and ask who put it in Daolesh's baggage. He never took it, and neither did I."

  "Liar!" one of the others cried.

  From where he sat behind me I heard Daolesh answer, "No!" before he was hushed.

  "This is no ordinary skin-cloak," I continued. "When I know what it is, then we can begin bargaining for it." I stood and began walking away, leaving the rest in my party to scramble after. I half expected to be called back but the call didn't come.

  * * * *

  It was well after dusk when we came again to the walls of Wilentelu, with one gate left open waiting for our return. My body and heart were both exhausted. I had succeeded in giving Eysla a possible key to her prison, if she could learn a skin-song from writing rather than speech. But I was no closer to solving the riddle of the skin. Was it foolish—to believe something was wrong and that it was my task to fix it? Had I gotten too much in the habit of fixing other people's difficulties? The Marchalt asked me much the same thing when we reported our failure to him.

  "Maybe I'm wrong," I admitted, "but maybe this skin came into my hands for a reason. I can't think of any profit that would come to anyone from all this trouble. Maybe I'm supposed to solve the riddle."

  "If what you want is to know what sort of skin it is, why not just put it on?" the Marchalt asked. "You say you can wear any skin you choose."

  It was a simple enough answer. I can't say I hadn't thought of it, but that wrongness worried me. I took the cloak out of the bag and shook it loose. Daolesh made a strangled noise—no one had thought to do anything else with him, so he was still dragged willy-nilly into all our councils. "One last chance," I told him. "Is there something I should know?" He shook his head—not in answer but in refusal. With a sudden motion I threw the cloak around my shoulders and reached out to take on the spirit within it.

  * * * *

  Through a fog, I could feel myself falling to hands and knees. But they were still knees, and still hands. My mouth moved, and another's voice came from it saying, "Be as quick as you can. The knife is sharp, and I am a dead man already." Then pain, like a fire wrapped all around me, and a voice chanting words of power. I flung the skin from me and heard screaming in my own voice.

  * * * *

  The pain remained crawling all under my skin, but faded slowly. When I opened my eyes, I saw the high ceiling beams of the great hall of the Shalen. And the Marchalt kneeling beside me with a stricken look.

  "Emeen," he said. "You put the cloak on and you turned into Emeen. He looked just as he did twenty years past, but that can't be. He was an old man—by now he must be..."

  "Dead," I finished, struggling to sit up. "Dead. But not before that was cut from him." I pointed where I had thrown the crumpled wad of leather.

  I heard oaths and curses from many of those standing nearby, and the one of the Marchalt's men who had carried the sack and handled the cloak started scrubbing his hands against the fabric
of his clothing. I leaned on the Marchalt's arm to rise and staggered over to Daolesh. "What have you done? Do you know what they did to him?"

  The haunted look in his eyes was answer enough but he said simply, "I've worn that skin. I and others before me. They have to drug us first, so we can bear the pain. But not so much that he can't work."

  Things started falling into place, but still I asked, "Why?"

  He almost shrugged. "He is our byal-dónen." Telling some part seemed to have freed him to tell all. "I was a child back then but we all know the story. Our luck turned bad and then worse. Four students he had trained over the years to make skin-songs and all had died: a fever, one attacked by a beast, one in childbirth. Then he fell ill with a growth gnawing on his insides. This—" he gestured at the skin-cloak "—was his answer. A way to preserve his skills for us to use. But only he could make the skin-song, and he could only make it while he still lived. I don't think he knew...." Daolesh's voice had dropped to a cracked whisper. "They say... they say that he put the knife in his own brother's hand. And they say that the day after, his brother put on feathers and rose out of sight and then fell back to earth as a man."

  After that, no one spoke for a long time.

  * * * *

  We rode out again in the morning, down along the river to where the willows grew thickly. I and Daolesh and the Marchalt, and two of his men for guards as was his custom. They came out to meet us looking angry and bitter and I knew Eysla had succeeded in working the song. I reached out with my power to call her and stood waiting until I saw a small movement in the grass at my feet then bent over to cup my hands under a small brown mouse. I whispered a song to reach under the skin and then it was Eysla who filled my hands and arms. I kissed her proudly before pushing her back towards the Marchalt's waiting men and turning to bargain.

  "I did not steal your skin-cloak, it stole itself." I waited until the denials and accusations had faded before I continued. "And it is with the cloak that you must make your bargain." With a shuddering breath I unwrapped the cloak and put it again around my shoulders. It was much harder this time, knowing what would come, but I knew why I had been chosen. I sang the song I had overheard that night in the village, "I am thy bones; be thou my skin."