“This is Pepper’s bowl,” she said.
Around them, other people moved leisurely past the tables, some in search of food, others more interested in Herri’s kegs of ale and wine.
“Iris!” Pepper tugged on her skirt. “I don’t like cabbage!”
“Well, maybe Iris likes cabbage.” Ivey moved up beside them, took the serving spoon from the princess’s hand, and held some of the pale vegetable over the bowl. “Do you like cabbage?”
“Yes, but….”
“Then have some cabbage.”
“That’s my bowl,” Pepper complained.
“Share with your sister,” Ivey shot back. The child scowled, then reluctantly acquiesced.
“Just don’t get any on my bread.” She pulled Iris’s hand down so that she could reach into the bowl and rescue a square of raisin loaf.
“There. What else would you like?” Deftly taking the bowl, Ivey ushered the princess ahead of him along the table. “You need some meat. Is this goose? Goose is good, especially if Herri provided the stuffing. He does a wonderful sage stuffing.”
Pepper, with a disgusted look at Ivey, took her bread and wandered off. Iris almost followed her; would have, if Ivey had not taken a firm grip on her elbow.
“Pretty girls need to eat,” he told her.
“I’ve eaten already today.”
“People eat more than once a day.” He kept his tone gentle, despite an urge to stride off at once and strangle the entire population of the Brownmother House at Soza. “Are you hungry?”
She had to think about it. “Yes.”
“Then eat.” He piled some goose in the bowl, reached for a slice of honey-cake, then chose one of the last of the northern oranges for himself. “This is a Festival. We’re supposed to feast.”
“True.” She accepted the bowl from him and bit into the honey-cake. “I’d forgotten. I never went to the Festivals at Soza.”
“Soza?”
The voice behind them did not sound pleased. Ivey turned to find Jordy watching them, the everpresent mug of cider in his hand. “Soza? Did you say you were at Soza, m’girl? Living at Soza?”
Ivey caught the bowl as it dropped from her hand, and set it on the table beside them. What good humor the princess had been enjoying vanished in an instant. The way she lowered her head, body tense, he expected her to make a run for it. She’d been taught too well how to react to displeasure.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Your family sent you to Soza?” Jordy insisted. “Why? What did you do?”
She shrank further. “I was sent, yes, because… I was… I had….”
“Trouble at home,” Ivey finished for her.
As he’d hoped, Jordy turned his indignation away from the princess. “You know all about this, I suppose? You seem to know everything else about her. Certainly more than that Greenmother saw fit to tell me, and I can guess why. I’ve got young children, too young to be threatened by the sort of violent troublemakers who have to be sent to Soza. Rock and Pool, how dare she put innocent children at risk for the sake of someone else’s failure!”
“Someone else’s!” Ivey yelled back. People around them backed away, staring. “Not half a day has passed since you made a vow to take this child as your—”
“I know what I vowed! I don’t regret the vow. I resent the lies!”
“Jenil hasn’t lied to you!”
“She obviously didn’t tell me the truth!”
“You want the truth?”
With a strangled whimper, Iris grabbed Ivey’s arm, pulling him frantically away from Jordy. Tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes. “Please! No!”
“You have nothing to be ashamed of!” He did not allow her to drag him a single inch. The entire village was listening now, just as they’d listened to the songs and tales of the afternoon. Having an audience calmed Ivey. He had to say something, and fast, to put Jordy’s suspicions to rest. “And you, carter, know less of Soza than you seem to think you know!”
“Do I indeed?”
“You do. People nobody wants are sent there, true. That says less than you think about why they are unwanted. Yes, some of them are uncontrollable, perhaps on the brink of becoming Abstainers. But some are just unloved. Unwanted not for any lack in them, but for lack of proper feeling in their parents, their families. Iris’s family did not know love. Husband and wife didn’t love each other. They don’t even live together. Her brother thinks nothing of Iris, except as a rival for their parents’ inheritance. She was sent away because she was an inconvenience. The father didn’t care. The mother wasn’t there at all.
“So the girl lived in Soza for years, her Redmother talent going to waste. Somehow Jenil found out about her, and brought her here. Here, where Jenil thought she might be wanted at last. To a family where Jenil thought there was understanding, and caring, and love. Of course, knowing how you feel about Greenmothers, I suppose you consider that wrong.”
Iris had stopped crying in blank amazement at Ivey’s impassioned—and brilliantly misleading—speech. He only watched her peripherally, however. Jordy was the one he needed to convince. A buzz of comment rose from some of the nearby villagers. Ivey ignored that, as well.
The carter’s expression became thoughtful, and he took a step toward Iris. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper, lass. He’s right. I don’t know enough about Soza to judge it, or you. I’m sorry.” He put a hand on her shoulder. Ivey half-expected Iris to cringe away, even scream in terror, but to his surprise and the carter’s evident satisfaction she moved closer to him. Jordy’s arm went around her shoulders. He kept her at his side as he turned back to Ivey.
“Even Jenil is entitled to the occasional correct guess. Iris will have all our love. All our understanding, if we’re told what there is to understand. There’s no fear of her being unwanted. Not anymore.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze. “But what about those parents? That brother?” His voice grew angry once more. “Did the Greenmother give any thought to them? Edian isn’t so far away. Does their law reader know that they sent away a perfectly blameless child for their own convenience?”
“Edian knows.” Ivey tried not to let panic change the timbre of his voice. It would be just like this man to go storming right up to the king’s gates, demanding justice for his new daughter.
“I don’t want to see them again.” Iris’s voice was soft but very sure. “I don’t want to see them at all. They aren’t my family. My life is mine, not any concern of theirs.”
“Are you sure, lass?” Jordy looked down at her. “I’m often in Edian.”
“It’s been three years. They won’t even remember me.” Her voice fell further. “And I don’t want to remember them.”
Seeing that the shouting was over, most of the people grouped around them began to drift away. With a certain amount of resignation, Jordy said, “We’ll leave it, then. If that’s what you want.”
“Thank you.”
Ivey clapped his hands together once and announced, “Time for dancing!” Several young people took up the shout, and ran to fetch instruments or partners. Jordy reached behind Iris for the bowl of food and pressed it into her hands, then walked with her toward the square. Left alone, Ivey gazed gratefully at the earth. Thank you, gods, for letting me distract a very stubborn man.
He went to find his guitar.
* * *
“Well, carter.”
Jordy glanced up at the greeting. “Well, innkeeper,” he countered. Herri stepped over the bench and sat down, a large cup of wine in each hand. He passed one to Jordy.
“It’s been a fine day for it.”
“Aye.” Jordy took a swallow of wine. In front of them a new dance began. Young Pross had recovered enough from his adventure with the guards to take a turn on the drum. Farther along the square, Ivey stood in the flickering light of three or four torches, gesturing broadly as he told some tale or another to a circle of fascinated children. Villagers stood or sat in small groups around the square. Whe
n there was a pause in the dancing, snatches of talk and laughter could be heard from every direction. Keyn, just passing full, added her gentle illumination to the scene.
“Your Iris is a quiet one.” Herri nodded toward the girl, hiding as she had been most of the day in the shadow of Cyril’s silence. “You can’t tell what she thinks of our Festival. Is she still frightened of you?”
“Can you blame her? Soza’s the last place a child would learn to trust an adult. At least she gets on well with Tob and the girls.”
“Give her a few ninedays, Jordy. She’ll settle in.”
“I haven’t that much time.” Jordy finished the wine and set the cup between his feet for safekeeping. “Tob and I have to get back on the road.”
The dance ended with a trill from the flutes, a crash from the drum, and an exuberant shout from the dancers. In the lull that followed, other, fainter sounds carried clearly through the night air. Jordy stiffened.
“What is it?” Herri asked.
“Horses.”
Around the square, conversations died and heads turned in the direction of the road. Herri’s black brows knotted in puzzlement. “Who would be abroad on a Festival night?”
The blacksmith, still panting from the exertion of the dance, looked toward Herri in alarm. “Not Abstainers!”
The riders cantered into the square from the north road. Pale Keynlight reflected off the metal they wore, helmets, ring-sewn leather vests, and forearm guards. The leader wore not leather, but chain mail. Their equipment and the cut of their tunics made them immediately identifiable. King’s guards.
They did not slow. The surprised silence at such an unexpected interruption gave way to shouts and curses. Nearby adults snatched up children, their own or anyone’s, and hurried with them toward the wall of the inn. Others tried to wave the onrushing horses away as they would a herd of panicked sheep. The horses, trained to fight, came on without pause, and farmers and fishers scattered to avoid being trampled.
Jordy counted eight guards in the square. Four others waited with the pack animals and spare mounts at the entrance to the north road. Herri leapt to his feet as one of the riders bore down on the dance square. Ignoring angry shouts to keep clear, the guard jumped his horse into the ring of benches, its hooves narrowly missing heads as people ducked out of the way. He pulled his horse to a stop in front of the musicians, and turned back toward the rest of the guards.
“Here, sir!” the guard called.
Three other riders began to close on the dance area. Jordy pushed past the innkeeper and under the nose of the horse to grab Pross by the elbow. In a low voice, he said, “Run, boy,” and pushed him in the direction of the river.
A boot planted between Jordy’s shoulder blades sent him sprawling. He rolled away from the thudding hooves, heard people scatter all around him. He bumped into an overturned bench and scrambled to his feet. Herri had grabbed the first horse by the bridle. Two mounted guards bore down on the running Pross. Kessit’s outraged cry carried above the confused shouting. “Stop them!”
The rider in the middle of the dance area drew his sword. “Let go, or I’ll remove your hand from your arm.”
“You have no right here,” Herri told him. “You should be at home with your families.”
The young guard laughed. Pross’s pursuers caught his arms and lifted him from the ground. They slowed their horses to a walk and turned back toward the square, the boy struggling in mid-air between them.
Another guard urged his mount toward Herri. Onlookers fell back at the sight of the naked sword ready in his hand. “Don’t be a fool,” he said. “We have any right we choose to take.”
* * *
Ivey took one look at the reckless approach of the leading guard and turned away to quickly scan the crowded square for that distinctive red hair. Where was she? Jenil would skin him if Vray was caught, and leave what was left for Sene. He had seen the girl just a few minutes ago!
People were scuffling in the dancing ring. Herri’s voice carried, although the words were indecipherable in the general noise. Too many horses jostled each other and threatened the people around them. Ivey remembered where he’d seen the girl, sitting near Jordy’s silent wife on a bench against the smithy wall, a quarter of the way around the square from the dancing ring. Keeping close to the wall of the inn yard, he started in that direction, and broke into a run as soon as he could.
He was the only one moving away from the disturbance. A few parents had scooped up children, but curiosity and concern drew everyone closer to the group of riders. He almost missed seeing the tall princess. The diffident girl of the tale-telling had disappeared. She was pale, but the tension in her was not fear. She was furious, and she intended to do something.
He snagged one arm around the girl’s waist and dragged her back against the inn yard wall. “Hold it!” he growled in her ear.
She snapped her head to the right, meeting his eyes. The expression in hers was nearly enough to wither him. “Let go of me!” she shouted.
“Don’t do it, girl.”
Her body went stiff against him. “They have no right to do this. I’m going to stop it!”
“You can’t.”
“Let me go and I will!”
“How? Who do you think you are? Who would they think you are?”
She blinked. “What?”
Confusion caused her to stop resisting him, long enough for him to pull her the rest of the way into the yard. Once behind the wall, they were out of sight of the square, out of the view of any guard who might glance their way. A guard who might notice a red-haired woman, or remember her later.
“Are you really going to command that troop to cease what they’re doing?”
“I have to.” Now she sounded more confused than determined. Her anguished gaze turned toward the sound of raised voices, the harsh laughter. “The boy belongs here. He’s their only son. Dael would never….”
“Send the guard out to steal children? Perhaps not, but that’s not your concern. Do you want to repeat the last three years?” She shuddered and, abruptly, leaned against him. He spoke rapidly. “Jenil could have brought you to Edian, you know. She would have, if she thought you could help by being there. She chose to bring you here. Whatever her reasons, she means you no harm. Stay safe, Vray. Trust us. Stay here with me until the guards are gone.”
Her protest was weak, barely a whisper. “But they need me.”
He patted her shoulder. “These are good people. Strong. They can take care of themselves.”
* * *
Jaea tried to throw herself at one of the horsemen who held her son. Kessit stopped her. “The boy doesn’t want to serve in the guards. Leave him alone!”
“No one asked what he wants. No one’s going to ask what any of you want,” the rider shot back.
Jordy tried to catch the eye of some of the villagers nearest him. Any moment now, someone would notice that they outnumbered the guards four to one. Jordy could just imagine the unplanned rush against the intruders, and the bloody results. He finally got Herri’s attention, and signaled frantically for him to step back.
The leader of the guards was also aware of his position. He raised his voice. “We serve the king. So does this boy. So does anyone we choose. Interfere at your peril.” He turned his head toward the edge of the square. “Torch!” he yelled.
Grinning, two of his men snatched up the nearest torches. One rode for the smithy, the other for the inn. Other guards grabbed yet more torches and swept toward their chosen targets.
The diversion worked perfectly. Children screamed as flaming brands flew over their heads to bounce off the walls of the inn and roll under wooden tables. Herri released his captive with a curse. Five riders piled their torches, and branches torn from nearby trees, against the wide wooden doors of the smithy, which began to smolder. At the inn, dried flowers and gaily colored decorations burst into flame.
For most, the choice was automatic. Everyone knew how to deal with fire.
The villagers scattered, not out of fear of the guards, but to fetch water. Pross was swung up in front of one of his captors. Another rider thundered close behind Kessit and Jaea and tumbled them to the ground. The rest threw torches high into the branches of the trees surrounding the square, where they caught and flickered ominously.
Herri bellowed instructions. Canis knelt beside Jaea and Kessit. At the smithy, Lannal formed a chain of villagers and buckets between his well and the burning door. Jordy found Tob beside him. “Rope from Herri’s stable. Be quick. We have to get into those trees before the fire spreads.”
Tob ran off. Jordy hurried to find some agile assistants and a few hatchets. He spared no further thought for the king’s guards, who cantered off into the night.
* * *
By the time the fires were extinguished, the doors to the smithy were gone, along with their frame and part of an adjacent wall. At the inn, the yard was a shambles of charred wood and trampled food. One outer wall was scorched, but the rest of the building was undamaged. The trees around the square still stood. Rocks, well thrown by Jordy, had dislodged most of the torches before they could catch among the green new leaves. A trio of oaks on the east side of the square lost the entire upper portions of their crowns, thick with last summer’s tinder-dry dead leaves. Villagers had climbed as high as they could to chop away the burning branches and stop the fire spreading to neighboring trees, while people below extinguished the fallen brands.
People left for their homes and farms, neighbors walking with neighbors. Jordy found his wife and children near the inn. Iris and Cyril were seated on a blackened bench, Matti stretched out beside them with her head in her mother’s lap. Tob and Pepper were on the ground, Jordy’s cloak thrown over them. Keyn, now high overhead, lit Cyril’s expression clearly.
“A few more minutes,” Jordy told his wife. “I’ll just look in on Herri.”
He passed through the ruined yard, stepping over or around puddles and debris. In the main room, Herri sat slumped at a table. The minstrel stood nearby, bare-chested, wiping soot from his face with the lower edge of his damp tunic.
“It could have been worse,” Jordy told them. “At least no one was hurt.”
Moons' Dreaming (Children of the Rock) Page 24