She lifted another skein of wool from the vat. Too much yellow, she thought critically. Not unattractive, but not what she’d planned. She laid the skein across the drying rack, then wiped her hands on her apron. Perhaps it was best to quit for the day, and go home and fix something to eat.
Betajj used to have supper ready for her when she came home in the evening. On some days, when he knew that she was having difficulty with a dye, he would come down from their cottage to escort her home. But Betajj was gone. She had feared for him when he failed to return from the Bronle fall market, but not until her wandering brother brought a full report of the accident on the river did she know that her husband was half-a-year dead.
A distinctive creaking and rattling drifted up the hill from the direction of the valley. Doron peered down the road, and a smile tugged at her mouth as the familiar, white-stockinged bay mare came into view. The black-haired boy at her head had to be Tob. Last year Jordy had mentioned that his son was eager to accompany him on the road. A black-haired man sat in the wagon. Doron did not recognize him.
Tob seemed to have already learned some of his father’s skills. As the road curved he tugged on the mare’s halter, drawing her into a tighter turn than she’d seemed inclined to make. Doron shook her head ruefully. The most slow-witted horse in three kingdoms. Jordy deserved better.
Jordy himself was already at her gate. The setting sun brought out a hint of red in his pale hair.
He lifted the gate latch and entered the yard. “Doron. I was hoping we’d catch you here.”
She found herself returning the man’s ready smile. “A few minutes more and you wouldn’t have. Come inside while I clean up.” She opened the door of the shop and led Jordy inside. Glancing at him over her shoulder, she said, “We were beginning to think you weren’t coming this summer. No trouble on the road, I hope?”
“Actually, there was—and I need your help.”
* * *
They reached the gate through which Jordy had passed and Tob turned in, the horse trailing dutifully behind him. Another delivery made, Pirse thought, and about time, too. I’m tired of being one more parcel in the back of a wagon.
“What do you mean!” a woman’s angry voice interrupted Pirse’s thoughts. He cocked his head toward the small building in the center of the yard. Each outburst from the woman was followed by the low mutter of Jordy’s voice. “I’ll do no such thing! What need have I for a man about the place? I’ve done well enough on my own. A wizard? How would a wizard know my name? Will this be Ivey’s doing, then?”
“Calm yourself!” Jordy’s stern roar carried through the closed door.
“Calm is it? I’m as calm as I need to be!”
“The man’s sick. I can’t take him all over three kingdoms with me!”
“Am I a Brownmother? They’re the ones to nurse the homeless.”
“Dherrica hasn’t had a Brownmother settlement since before you were born.”
“That still doesn’t explain a Dreamer picking me out for this honor.”
The door slammed open. Pirse knew that his potential guardian was a dyer and a widow. No one had mentioned that she was also young and handsome. And tall. She had several inches on the carter, who followed her out into the yard, a scowl accentuating the lines on his face.
“I don’t explain Dreamer motives. I don’t pretend they have any. As far as I’m concerned, the wizard made a lucky guess. You are the most responsible person to look after this particular man between here and Garden Vale. And,” Jordy continued before the woman could interrupt, “no, I cannot take him to Garden Vale.”
Her square jaw was already angrily set as she confronted the wagon. Blue eyes, Pirse noted. They were probably pretty when they weren’t crackling with rage. “Do you have any say in this, invalid?”
It was Pirse’s turn to wince. “Not really, ma’am. I tried to convince Jordy not to bother.”
“You didn’t do a very good job, did you?”
“No, ma’am.”
Jordy stood fearlessly at Doron’s elbow. “You’ll admit he’s polite.”
“He knows lots of stories,” Tob piped up from the relative safety of Stockings’ shadow.
“I’ve a polite story-teller of my own,” she answered.
“Ivey’s hardly ever here,” Jordy shot back.
A new voice entered the conversation. “He is today.”
* * *
Even in the deepening dusk, Doron had no trouble recognizing the mane of curly hair on the man who entered the yard. Her brother was several years her junior and a good half a head shorter, but then, Doron was the tallest woman in Juniper Ridge. “Ivey!”
Ivey wrapped her in a hug, then acknowledged Jordy with a nod. “Let’s finish this conversation at Doron’s cottage. You know the way, I think.”
“Aye.” Jordy took the horses’ lead rope from his son’s hand. “We’ll meet you there.”
“Just a minute!” Doron protested. “Ivey, you don’t know—”
“Yes,” he interrupted her. “I do.”
The man in the wagon said nothing, but he and Ivey exchanged a glance that made Doron close her mouth. Her brother and Jordy had known one another for years, thanks to the wide travel required by their professions. Was the stranger also one of her brother’s friends, a trader or a minstrel, to have earned such a knowing look from Ivey? Maybe instead of yelling at Jordy she should have saved her anger for her brother.
“Go,” Ivey told the carter. “We’ll catch up.”
The wagon started up the road, and Doron and Ivey turned down the footpath that led toward her home. She let her temper cool before she spoke. “You’re looking well. That blue tunic matches your eyes.”
His teeth flashed white in the dusk. “A gift from a lady.”
“Of course.”
“I’ve a piece for you at the house, too.”
“Are you going to tell me what this is all about?”
“Over dinner.” He squeezed her hand. “I’ve been cooking all afternoon. Thought I’d surprise you.”
“You have. So has Jordy, with his wounded passenger in search of a refuge.”
“Did Jordy tell you the name of this friend of his?”
“No, not yet. But you obviously know him.”
They reached the cottage. Ivey pushed the door open and beckoned Doron inside. “Over dinner,” he repeated, and went to the hearth to attend the steaming kettle.
A few minutes later the room seemed to grow smaller as Jordy, his son, and the stranger entered with their bedrolls. Ivey lifted the kettle off the hook over the fire and placed it with a thump on the thick mat in the center of the table. “Dori, reach down the bowls, there’s a good lass.”
Doron passed round bowls and utensils and took a seat at one end of the table, opposite Ivey. As the men began to eat, Doron studied Jordy’s unnamed passenger. His good looks were marred by a half-healed scar on his forehead, and a pallor that supported Jordy’s claim that he was ill. His clothing did not quite fit, borrowed perhaps from the shorter carter.
Jordy cleared his throat and turned to Ivey. “What news, minstrel? Have you been in Edian?”
“I’ve just come from there. I know about the princess.”
His tone of voice alarmed Doron. “Which princess? What happened?”
“Our princess. She’s dead. She failed to successfully mediate a border dispute between Rhenlan and Dherrica.”
Doron scowled. “Shapers!”
“Aye.” The carter’s growl echoed Doron’s opinion perfectly.
“Where did you hear about it?” Ivey asked Jordy.
“We were in Edian the day they killed her. A senseless thing. The Shapers are getting worse, if you ask me.”
Ivey set his spoon in his half-empty bowl. “Do you also know what happened in Bronle?”
Doron stared at her brother in alarm. Light-hearted Ivey was almost never solemn, and too cynical to be caught unprepared by random surprises from the gods. Or so she had always thou
ght.
“Aye. The queen is dead,” Jordy replied. “It’s said by Pirse’s hand.”
“Nonsense!” Doron said sharply. “She was his mother!”
For the first time, the stranger spoke. “Thank you.”
Silence fell over the table. At last, Ivey said, “The news in Bronle is that you haven’t been seen since the day after the queen died. I can see I’ve been questioning the wrong people.”
Doron ignored her brother to stare at the stranger beside him. “You’re Pirse?”
The man—the prince, the rightful ruler of her country, if Queen Dea was truly dead—nodded. “I thought Jordy told you.”
“She didn’t give me a chance,” Jordy said.
“You believe that he’s innocent?” Ivey asked Jordy.
“Aye. Don’t you? He’s no vowless Abstainer. Anyone can see that. Even your friend Aage vouches for him.”
Doron held her tongue and let the argument flow around her. It was her house, and ultimately her decision. Before she chose, she needed all the facts. Her sweet-tongued brother might try to persuade her to do something she didn’t like, but only if he truly believed it was necessary. As for the carter, years of trade and travel had honed to razor sharpness his ability to assess situations and individuals. He might be stubborn as stone, but he had reasons for every opinion he held.
Ivey faced the prince. “If you didn’t kill the queen, who did?”
“A guess is worthless without proof.”
“Palle is calling himself king of Dherrica.”
Jordy said, “It doesn’t need Dreamers’ sight to know how the lad would fare if he’s captured by that vowless uncle of his.”
Doron looked sharply at the carter. “These are the troubles you bring to my doorstep?”
“Aye.”
“I am trouble,” Pirse agreed. “But I’ll be gone soon enough. My word on that, Doron of Juniper Ridge.”
“A few ninedays,” Jordy coaxed. “This is really the only place he can go.”
“You know what will happen if he’s discovered.”
“Aye. That’s why I can’t keep him. A village can hide him. A wagon on the road can’t.”
“And a village discovered hiding him? What will Palle do to us?”
Pirse said, “Would it help if I tell you that I won’t be captured alive in your village? If the situation becomes dangerous, I’ll accept your counsel and make for the forest.”
She pushed a loosened strand of hair back from her face. As hard as she tried, she detected no hint of deception in the prince’s voice or manner. “You would, wouldn’t you?”
“Do you think Dherrica will prosper with Palle as undisputed king?” Jordy asked.
“You know I don’t,” she snapped. “That’s not the point.”
“No. The point is, I’ve a sick man on my hands, you’ve a safe haven for him, and time’s wasting discussing it.”
“The point is,” Doron insisted through clenched teeth, “I’m used to my privacy.”
“He’ll be inconspicuous,” Ivey said.
“I’ll be inconspicuous,” Pirse promised. “Quiet as a mouse.”
“He knows how to cook,” Tob contributed helpfully.
“I’m really quite self-sufficient. In a day or two I’m sure I’ll be able to fetch water or chop wood—”
“Or kill dragons?” Doron suggested.
“If you like.”
She glared at Jordy and Ivey. “Oh, all right. He can stay. Until he’s healed. Not a day longer.”
“Not a day,” agreed the prince.
Chapter 9
I’m the captain of the king’s guard. I don’t have time for this.
Dael hurried along the dark street, following the innkeeper who’d run to the guard post outside the castle. There was a brawl in her tap room and she wanted it stopped. Dael had called to Peanal and Nocca, the nearest pair of his guards, and set off for the inn. Not because a common bar fight needed the attention of the captain of the guard, but with the hope that duty would distract him from his thoughts.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t working.
Where was Vray? Sent to be among the Brownmothers, yes, but that was little help. There were Brownmothers in every town and village. As more and more ninedays passed, he’d started to make subtle inquiries everywhere he dared, but no one had seen the princess.
The brawl had gotten to the furniture-breaking stage by the time they reached the inn. Dael waded through the noisy crowd blocking the doorway, Peanal and Nocca following.
“Stop it right now!” he bellowed at the top of his lungs.
The onlookers nearby stopped whatever they were doing and stared nervously at the advancing guards. The four combatants, still concentrating on damaging each other with the inn’s tables, chairs, and crockery, didn’t notice the uniforms or the sudden silence in the room.
Dael’s little brother Nocca, six and half feet tall and very strong, plucked one of the thick-necked drunks out of the melee. The drunk’s friend turned with an inarticulate growl and reached for the guard. He never saw Peanal step behind him, her truncheon raised. She smiled wolfishly as he went down. Dael nodded his approval at her. It was nice to see one of his lightly built students remembering his lessons in fighting dirty. Nocca dropped his drunk in one corner and put his boot on the man’s beer-splattered tunic. The third fighter raised his hands and retreated toward the wall.
The fourth man, red-faced with fury and drink, pulled a knife and dove straight for Dael. The crowd gave a collective gasp. Dael heard someone shout, “Fool! Not the captain! He’s a killer!”
“Nonsense!” Nocca returned loudly. Dael appreciated his brother’s vote of confidence, but would have preferred an offer of help.
The angry drunk’s only interest was seeing blood. His knife whisked toward Dael’s face.
Dael’s reaction was automatic. He stepped, turned, grabbed, and heard the satisfying crack of his assailant’s arm breaking. It was all very simple, hardly a killing situation, regardless of his reputation. The expressions of stunned surprise on the faces in the crowd reminded him that in Edian his skills were legendary.
“Did you see that?” someone muttered in the awed silence.
“See what? I didn’t even see him move!”
Dael felt himself redden as he lowered the unconscious man to the floor. Nocca laughed with satisfaction.
“You can clean up the mess,” Dael growled at his large little brother. He turned to the innkeeper. “The law reader will make arrangements for these four to work off the damages.”
She nodded and grumbled her thanks, carefully not looking him in the eye. Dael frowned at her reaction, but it was no surprise after all his years in the guards. People came to him to solve their problems. They didn’t necessarily appreciate his solutions.
Before he could maneuver toward the doorway, a delicate hand touched his arm.
“Dael,” a familiar sweet contralto murmured.
Oh, gods. I don’t have time for this, either. Aloud he said, “Not now. I’m on duty.”
The brown-haired, heart-faced girl leaned on his arm. “That’s never stopped you before,” she sighed at him.
He removed her and gently put her aside. “Another day,” he promised. When I don’t have so much to worry about.
This time the crowd let him through. Out on the street he took a few deep breaths of fragrant summer evening air. A nearby herb garden and a pen full of sheep helped scent the night, although many people would have had another word for the aroma the animals contributed to the evening air. Besides, anything was better than the combined stenches of drink and sweat and fear that had surrounded him inside.
Vray enjoys Edian, too, a nagging voice in the back of his mind taunted.
“You make it look so easy.”
Dael stopped and turned, annoyed at the further interruption of his thoughts. At least the owner of the light baritone voice was not likely to be bringing him another problem to be solved. “Ivey,” he acknowl
edged the younger man curtly. “I didn’t see you inside.”
“I wasn’t inside. Watching people watching you tells the tale well enough for someone who knows you.”
“Was it an entertaining tale, minstrel?”
“Sarcasm? So that’s how it is.” Ivey came up beside Dael, curly head tilted to one side in solemn contemplation. The effect was diminished somewhat by the presence of the dappled gray pack pony trailing patiently at the minstrel’s heels. “Actually, I have used your exploits as entertainment from time to time. I hope you don’t mind.”
“You wouldn’t stop if I did.” He couldn’t see much of the other man in the gloom of the street, but he knew the smells of dust and horse sweat and what they meant. “When did you arrive?”
“At sunset. I’ve been in the market square.”
“Let’s walk.”
Ivey and his pony followed without comment as Dael led them downhill, away from the castle. Far ahead of them, a young couple strolled arm in arm, heads bent toward one another in intimate conversation. The rest of the street was quiet and empty.
“They say Emlie died quickly,” Ivey offered.
“It was quick, as merciful as an unnecessary death can be.” Dael rotated his shoulders, the muscles stiff with a tension that had nothing to do with his brief flurry of activity at the inn.
The pony snorted loudly, a fitting comment as far as Dael was concerned. Ivey said, “I know you, Captain. You tried to save the princess, but couldn’t. And now you’re judging yourself too harshly.”
Dael almost let the misconception stand. Once Ivey believed he understood the root of something, be it a conflict between kingdoms or a man’s mood, he would let the matter rest and go on to the next challenge. The gods knew there were enough challenges in the world to keep the minstrel busy. He didn’t need to hear Dael’s formless fears. Even as the thought flicked through his mind and slid away, Dael heard himself say, “Vray’s gone.”
The controlled breathing of the minstrel didn’t change. “When?” he asked quietly.
Dael looked at him accusingly. “You already knew.”
“No. I had no idea. But it explains the feeling I’ve had for the past few minutes.”
Moons' Dreaming (Children of the Rock) Page 9