by John Dalmas
It threatened to be a long afternoon, not having slept the night before, and in the pleasant warmth, Varia dozed off and on in the saddle. Clearly Cyncaidh's method of changing from night travel to day travel was to ride all day. They were seasoned riders; no one would fall out of the saddle simply because he dozed. And when they did camp, no one would have trouble falling asleep.
The country here was as much open farmland as woods, but even where the road passed through fields, maples, oaks, or tuliptrees shaded it. It was a better road than any she'd seen in the Rude Lands, ditched through low stretches, with a bridge or white oak culvert where it crossed a stream. In the soft stretches, rock and clay had been dumped, covered with gravel and leveled, to prevent miring and rutting.
The towns had no defenses; not even a bailiff's stronghold or a reeve's stockade. Varia hardly noticed. Repeatedly her lids slid shut, her mind drifting dreamward from lack of sleep.
In mid-afternoon, Cyncaidh, who seemed an iron man, took pity on them and stopped at a large crossroads inn. A sign outside proclaimed that the bedding was boiled with every change of users, and each room treated by sorcery to destroy possible vermin. An expensive place then; Cyncaidh's expedition, she decided, must be well financed.
It was early enough that they had a choice of rooms. Cyncaidh's choice, not hers. Off a larger room there was a smaller, without an independent exit. The larger, Cyncaidh would share with Caerith. The smaller was hers, complete with undersized chairs and a low table, clearly intended for children. But the bed was long enough.
She looked at the door-all that would stand between her and Cyncaidh when night came. It had no bolt. She didn't like the twinge of excitement that accompanied the thought. Don't be silly, she told herself. If he was going to try something like that, he'd have done it days ago.
She looked for some thought to displace it, and escape came to mind; each day now was a day in the wrong direction. She went to the window and peered out thoughtfully. I could use bedding as a rope, and climb down into the courtyard tonight. Or jump, as far as that's concerned! It's not as far as I dropped from the palisade, escaping the Cloister.
The problem was, she'd still have to get out of the courtyard. And if she did, then what?
Wait, she told herself, and see what opportunities time provides. Maybe when they're done questioning you-maybe they'll let you go. Maybe even with a horse, and money to eat with. Cyncaidh seems decent; he might do that. It seemed to her he would.
Someone knocked-Caerith, with clean traveling clothes for her, obtained from the innkeeper, who also kept a small store for travelers. Clean clothes and word that the inn provided baths-two of them, actually, one for women. They went downstairs together and crossed the courtyard. The tub she found was scarcely large enough for four or five-women travelers would be few-but she'd have it to herself, with bathing utensils, towels, a small bowl of soap and one of sweet-smelling oil, all neatly arranged along a low bench. The tub was oval, with a ledge to sit on, and its distinctive tiles were surely Cloister made, arriving through who knew what avenues of trade. She fiddled with the water gates. The flow was fast, both the hot and the cool, for this was limestone country, with great flowing springs, and abundant good oak to heat water with. She stripped while it filled, then stepped down into it.
It was the most luxurious bath she'd had since she'd left the old Cloister at Ferny Cove. Her scalp, its hair less than an inch long, she scoured thoroughly under water. The rest of her she scrubbed till her skin was pink, then soaked some more at her leisure, relaxing, watching her toes peek out at her from the water.
When she'd soaked long enough, she toweled off, and tried on the new clothes. They were a reasonable fit, and included a light tunic with a hood that would hide her scalp. She was grateful for that. She left, to find Caerith waiting, still unbathed. For the first time his aura reflected sexual thoughts; perhaps he'd fantasized sharing her bath. It was nothing like the aura of a Xader or Corgan though; more like that of Curtis in adolescence. She discovered she felt a sisterly fondness for the half-ylf.
"When do you get to bathe?" she asked.
He smiled ruefully. "As soon as I deliver you to the Cyncaidh for safekeeping."
She surprised herself by laughing for the first time in more than a year, and they sauntered together across the courtyard, toward the wing they were housed in, Caerith carrying her dirty clothes. "What if your Cyncaidh's still in the bath?" she asked.
He shook his head. "The enlisted men, perhaps. But he'll have been quick so I won't have to wait. He's a rare commander, the Cyncaidh."
She said nothing more. When they got upstairs, Cyncaidh was waiting, scrubbed and in uniform, damnably attractive. She went into her room and found a clean, soft cotton sleeping-shift on the bed. Though it was still afternoon, she changed into it, lay down, and rather quickly slept.
Caerith's knocking drew her reluctantly from sleep. "It's almost time for supper," he called. She dressed and found him uniformed, and they went downstairs together. There were several alcoves off the dining room, and the soldiers, their commander and prisoner, were shown to one of the larger. Their conversations were quiet, perhaps because their commander was seated with them. When Varia had finished, she sat quietly watching him, observing her own response to his attractiveness. You'll have to live with it, deal with it, she told herself. It's physical, that's all. Not love like you feel for Curtis. Just ignore it.
When most were done, Cyncaidh excused those who wished to leave. Varia waited till Caerith had finished his rhubarb cobbler, then left, the half-ylf a step behind.
"Can we go to the river bank and sit awhile?" she asked.
"Certainly, my lady."
My lady. He sounds like Cyncaidh, she thought. The river passed perhaps a hundred yards from the inn, forty yards wide and of uncertain depth, a thinly milky blue from dissolved limestone. Someone, presumably the town fathers, had put out split-log benches, and they sat on one, the late sun behind them off their right shoulders.
She touched the bronze lozenge on Caerith's collar. "What does this signify?" she asked.
"That I'm a sublieutenant in the imperial army."
"An officer! I'd assumed you're only half ylvin."
He nodded. "That's right, my lady."
"What's it like, being half ylvin?"
He looked at her with dark brown eyes, good-looking in his clean uniform, young in years as well as appearance, his brown hair washed and brushed now. "The Sisters are half ylvin, aren't they?" he countered.
"In our ancestry, rather more than half. But we're a people of our own. We don't live under ylvin domination."
He let that pass, turning instead to her question. "Life as a half ylf? Hmm. There's no simple answer. Too many variables-who your father is, your mother, their ranks… It's my father who's full ylvin, a baronet's son who was captain of the governor-general's guard in the Kingdom of Quabak. My mother was the human, a daughter of the regent. It was a minor political marriage, but a happy one."
"So you grew up in the Marches?"
"No. When I was four, my father was transferred to Duinarog, the imperial capital. I grew up within a mile of the imperial palace, wanting to be a soldier."
"And what was that like, growing up in"-she paused over the name, realizing she'd never heard it before, and finding that strange-"in Duinarog?"
He laughed, something he hadn't done in any conversation they'd had till now. "Ask me again when you have a day to spare. Mostly it was good."
"Was there prejudice? Because your mother wasn't ylvin?"
"Sometimes. Children can be cruel. But nothing troublesome. I had good friends."
"And your career?"
He thought about his answer. "I'm unlikely ever to attain high rank, though such things aren't unheard of. But then, few of my cadet class will, though only three of us were half ylvin. You hope for a good commander and serve diligently, and if he notices your service favorably, he'll see to your development and advancement."
>
"And you were assigned to serve Cyncaidh?"
"Not initially. The Cyncaidh is a general; he commands the 2nd Legion. I served in its 3rd Cohort, under Colonel Lonuaigh. Then I learned of a confidential mission I could apply for." He exposed a smooth forearm. "Except for having little body hair, I hardly look ylvin at all, and I'd had certain training." He shrugged. "Colonel Lonuaigh recommended me."
His aura suggested he'd become uncomfortable with the subject, so she changed it. "I've assumed your commander's name is Cyncaidh," she said. "Yet you refer to him as 'the Cyncaidh,' as if it's his title."
"The Cyncaidh family is one of the noblest in the Empire. They rule a large domain on the Northern Sea-a sweet water sea bigger than all the Marches combined. Cyncaidhs have been regents, ministers of state, and chief counselors. One was even a pretender to the throne, in the Time of Troubles, though I'm sure the family doesn't boast of it." Sublieutenant Caerith grinned at that, then rearranged his face. "I hope you won't tell him you know."
"Would he be angry with you?"
"He'd be disappointed in me. It would seem I gossiped."
"You still haven't said why you refer to him as 'the Cyncaidh.' "
"It's simply custom. Whoever is head of the family is referred to as 'the Cyncaidh.' "
Varia examined what he'd told her. In Farside terms, it was equivalent to learning that a reconnaissance patrol, a squad, was being led not by a sergeant or lieutenant, but a general-a general who was also governor of New York! And she was his prisoner. "Then why," she asked, and waved vaguely southward, "was he leading this patrol?"
"My lady, I don't know; truly I don't. And if I did, I couldn't talk about it. Nothing against you, you understand; I admire you as much as he does. But it wouldn't be proper."
Admire you as much as he does. The comment introverted her. After a minute Caerith spoke again. "We should go back to the inn now. This conversation has outgrown us."
I'm not sure "outgrown" is the word, she thought as they walked, but I certainly don't know where it might take us from here.
The next day they replaced their packhorses, and each day after that made at least twice the distance they had on any day south of the river. They traveled by daylight, no longer had to make and break camp, and the summer solstice was at hand, so the days were long. And happily cool, with skies that held only small and transient clouds. On the third such day, they arrived for a late supper at Fort Ternass, where an imperial garrison was stationed. They'd resupply there, Caerith said, and get fresh horses, ylvin horses. They had, he commented, a long way to travel yet.
***
Before they left the next morning, Cyncaidh brought a young woman to Varia, a girl lightly tanned and rather pretty, with honey-blond hair. "My lady," he said, "this is Hermiss. Her father is a professor, supervisor of the local commons school. I've obtained her services as your traveling companion and lady-in-waiting; it's time to give Lieutenant Caerith other duties. Hermiss has been employed as the companion of Colonel Faimler's daughter, who's at Port Arligh just now, visiting her grandmother. I trust you'll enjoy each other's company."
The move took Varia completely by surprise. She wondered if Caerith had asked his commander to be relieved. Meanwhile Hermiss crossed her hands on her chest and dipped a slight bow. Varia didn't know whether to reply in kind, then decided not to; she was, after all, "your lady." The girl's act was probably the equivalent of the curtsies she'd read about on Farside, and seen in movies. "I'm happy to meet you, Hermiss," she said instead. And thought: I have absolutely no idea how to relate to you, girl. We may look the same age, but I've got perhaps twenty-five years on you, and twenty times the experience. Our lives have been totally different.
It struck her then that she'd never before spoken with a woman in this world except Sisters; this girl had a whole area of experience that she didn't. Her smile surprised both Hermiss and Cyncaidh. "I'm sure we'll have some interesting conversations," she added.
Fort Ternass was on another major crossroads, and instead of continuing north, they turned west. The weather turned too, from dry and pleasantly cool, to sodden and cold. At intervals they met thunderstorms, and between storms it still rained, sometimes hard. The countryside seemed abandoned. Most travelers had holed up in inns, and farmers were staying indoors. In the pastures, cattle and horses grazed humpbacked, rain streaming from them.
Cyncaidh's party was the exception; they rode despite the rain, as if they had to be somewhere by a certain time. Which might have been true; no one had confided in Varia. She'd thought of asking Cyncaidh, then decided not to; she felt too ill at ease with the attraction he held for her. She also thought of asking Caerith, but told herself no; if she wasn't willing to ask Cyncaidh, she'd do without knowing.
At least they stayed at inns.
As for the interesting conversations she'd expected with Hermiss-on the road they were too rain-beaten to talk much, and the first two evenings they'd ridden late. The third day started a bit better, with snatches of sunshine in the morning, and they did talk a bit. But after noon, sporadic showers fell, soaking their breeches where their knees peered from their rain capes, the moisture proceeding coldly upward by capillarity to their hips, chilling their spirits as well as their bodies.
As afternoon rounded into evening, a coming storm darkened the sky in the west, like early dusk. The clouds pulsed with lightning, and soon were near enough that their thunder could be heard. Wind had begun to gust and swirl when an inn came into sight at a crossroads ahead. Cyncaidh shouted an order and they began to canter, slowing at the last minute, thudding into the hoof-churned yard. Stable boys ran out through the first skirmishers of rain to help the soldiers with the animals, while Varia and Hermiss slid down and ran inside, to stand panting and red-cheeked in the potroom.
Poorly-lit and steamy with moisture, it was already mostly full of travelers, men. They were the only women, and stares, leers, and randy comments were the order of the moment. The men inside didn't know about the soldiers. A twentyish potboy came over and said loudly, "If you're here to do a little business, you'll owe the house a half share." Then guffawed, smirking around at the men seated there. There were whistles and cat yowls; mugs banged on tables.
Varia would never know why she said what she said next. Perhaps it was a reaction to the smart-mouthed potboy: If he wanted an uproar, so be it. Whatever the reason, she said it loudly: "We'll eat first. Then, if you can let us use a bed…" The cat yowls and whistles swelled, and there were shouts of "you can use ours!" followed by laughter.
They sat down at a table, and Varia quickly realized how seriously she'd erred, for several of the bolder men came leering to their table, leaning over them and making propositions. Hermiss was big-eyed with fright, and Varia, feeling responsible, stood up abruptly.
"You've got us wrong!" She said this loudly too. "We want the bed for sleeping!" That turned most of the yowling to laughter, and for the moment disarmed the more aggressive. Then someone called, "She's playing with you, Barney!" and one of the men grabbed her.
"Just a little kiss to start with," he said, and pushed his stubbly face in hers. She grabbed him rather as she had Xader, though much less strongly. The electric charge she gave him wasn't as strong, either, but he screamed, leaping backward with a force that astonished everyone but Varia, to lay curled on the floor mewling.
"Come on, Hermiss," Varia said, "let's get out of here."
No one got in their way, and outside, they stood under the entryway roof, watching rain pour down. Lightning struck nearby with a tremendous snap! BLAM! that shook the porch and almost knocked them down.
A minute later Cyncaidh came loping longlegged through the deluge and stopped near the two girls, grinning like a boy. "We made it just in time! I'm not sure what the possibilities are for lodging though." With his head he gestured toward the stable. "There were barely stalls enough for our saddle mounts. The remounts and pack animals are tied in a shelter without walls." He looked at the two women m
ore closely now, examining their auras, especially Hermiss's. "What's wrong?"
"I said something stupid," Varia told him.
He peered at her a moment, then went in, leaving them outside. Two of the soldiers loped up, also drenched and grinning, nodded to the girls and followed their commander.
"What's going to happen?" Hermiss said timidly.
"Nothing." I hope. "Wait here."
Varia went back in, her senses turned high. The air was a mixture of resentment and caution, but gratefully she sensed no impending violence. The man she'd grabbed had made it to hands and knees, to puke out his supper and ale on the plank floor. There wasn't one whistle or cat yowl. She stood behind Cyncaidh, who was waiting to arrange for seating and beds, and murmured: "I'm afraid I caused some trouble."
"I've noticed." His tone was dry, acid.
"I didn't intend to."
"I'll take your word for it."
The innkeeper came out then, and recognizing Cyncaidh as an ylf, nodded deeply, almost a shallow bow. Food, he said, was no problem. But as for rooms…
When his troops had gathered at the table, Cyncaid told them they'd bed in the hayloft that evening. And no doubt pay for it, Varia thought. She wondered if she was to blame, and decided she probably wasn't; the place was simply full. Then Cyncaidh turned to her and told her a bed of hay was being made for Hermiss and herself in a box stall normally used for storage.
The meal proved barely edible, perhaps as repayment for what the innkeeper considered ylvin troublemaking. The soldiers endured it glumly. The Cyncaidh, by contrast, was grim, not glum. From his aura, Varia surmised that he was irked with her for putting the ylver in a bad light.
The rain still poured thick and cold when they left the building, but as the two girls ran through it, Hermiss laughed in a sort of high glee. She'd eaten little but the bread and cheese, trimming the mold off, and had had a single mug of ale. Varia decided the girl's mood was more an aftereffect of the initial excitement than of drink.