Eye Spy

by Mercedes Lackey

  “Won’t that crack the stone?” she asked. “The heat of the iron, I mean.”

  “That’s one reason why Master Edders chose limestone,” he told her. “Granite might crack. Marble certainly would. Limestone is not as beautiful, but it will do everything we ask of it for this bridge.”

  “I can’t wait until we can start assembling it!” she exclaimed. He beamed at her, and it was quite clear he felt exactly the same.

  Behind her, footsteps approached, and Master Ketnar cleared his throat. She turned. He was wearing a slightly troubled look and was accompanied by her mother.

  Abi cast a quick look at Amily, but there was nothing in her mother’s face that suggested a family emergency, so Abi tamped down on her alarm and waited to hear what Master Ketnar had to say.

  “We have an . . . interesting opportunity that requires someone of your singular abilities, Abi,” said the Master. “But the unfortunate part of it is that it will take you away from seeing the actual construction of your bridge.”

  Wait, what? She clamped down on her dismay as well as her alarm. Best to see what it was Master Ketnar was talking about first before she got herself all wrought up for nothing.

  He gestured to her mother.

  “I know geography was not your strongest subject,” Amily began, with a twinkle in her eye to take the edge off the non-compliment.

  “I hate maps,” Abi sighed. “I mean, I really loathe them.”

  “Well, try to cast your mind back to your geographic studies anyway. The southwestern Border of Valdemar and the northwestern Border of Rethwellan and Menmellith have quite a lot of land between them that none of those countries officially claim,” her mother said. “That’s not to say the land is uninhabited, because that’s definitely not the case, but it’s ruled over by a patchwork of self-styled nobility and independent city-states and even tribal councils. And that means they are all subject to predation from outside forces and fighting among themselves. It’s official policy that the law of Valdemar stops at the Border, so we don’t intervene—unless and until those people come to the Crown and ask for our protection.”

  Abi nodded, still not seeing what this had to do with her.

  “A fortnight ago, a delegation representing over two dozen of these communities arrived at the Court to enquire about just that,” Amily continued. “Valdemar’s protection, and expanding Valdemar’s Border to include them. And, normally, we’d grant it, and send Guard troops and Heralds and the usual functionaries and begin bringing them into the Kingdom. But this time was different. They’re not suffering the kind of predation that would make this step urgent, and they want to know, well, to put it bluntly, just what else we can offer in return for their taxes and fealty.”

  “When the King asked the Council what we could put together, I suggested that the most concrete form of help we could demonstrate would be to have a group of Artificers and Builders show them how we can improve or repair their roads and bridges—and perhaps important buildings.” Master Ketnar smiled. “Our own experience with your bridge certainly demonstrates just how quickly the loss of a bridge or a stretch of road escalates from ‘annoying’ to ‘urgent.’ And to be brutally frank, having you along in this group would certainly make an enormous difference in how quickly we could identify problems and either fix them ourselves with local labor, or lay out a plan for the locals to make the repairs themselves. But this thing needs to be put together quickly, while the weather is still good, and that would mean you wouldn’t be here for the construction of your bridge.”

  Abi bit her lip. Here it was, the chance for some travel, maybe a minor adventure or two (though hopefully nothing as dramatic and life-threatening as what Perry had gone through!), the opportunity to do much more than build a single bridge, and a way for her Gift to be useful in a diplomatic application as well as the practical one. Weigh that against—not seeing her bridge go up. And—

  “The Guild has met and unanimously said that you will be made a Master on the spot if you go, just on the basis of the design of your bridge,” Ketnar continued. “We feel the design alone is a Master Work, and we want there to be no question of your authority among other Masters.”

  “And Master Edders thinks you will certainly be back in time to see the finishing touches put on your bridge,” her mother said persuasively.

  The balustrade, she thought forlornly. Which will be pretty, but not the same as seeing my arch put in piece by piece.

  Still, it was the Crown. And this was not the sort of expedition that should be mounted in anything but good Spring and Summer and early Autumn weather. None of these people would be seasoned travelers; all of them were accustomed to living in comfort.

  Master Ketnar gazed at her encouragingly.

  Fleetingly the fear went through her that he might claim responsibility for the bridge in her absence—

  —but no. For one thing, this was Master Ketnar, who had never been known for such chicanery and who, moreover, had just gotten a commission to design a great, expensive manor on the outskirts of Haven, where the newly rich were now forced to build, given there was no more land available on the Hill. This was a major commission, and the only thing more impressive would be a very large, new temple or sanctuary. And those sorts of commissions came around only once in two lifetimes—or three.

  She sighed. Her mother read her assent in that sigh before Abi could say a word. “You’re doing the Crown a great service, Abi,” she said, happily.

  She didn’t say, “You won’t regret this,” because she knows I will almost certainly regret this many times before the trip is over, Abi thought wryly. If there’s one thing I can count on from Mama and Papa, it’s stark honesty.

  “The Guild will owe you a tremendous favor,” Master Ketnar said, which meant rather more than the Crown getting a “great service.” The Guild Council were the ones who recommended specific Masters for specific projects if someone came to them without a Master in mind. I can do worse than having the Guild owe me a tremendous favor, she thought, feeling a tiny bit better about this whole thing.

  “All right,” she said. And added, giving both of them a hard look, “If I’m killed by a bear, I’ll haunt you forever.”

  * * *

  • • •

  A sennight later, she wasn’t so sure she had made the right decision. Fourteen meticulously carved slabs of limestone had been arranged on either side of the river for the twenty-eight slabs of the whole arch; the smaller keystone for the arch was on the side nearest the Hill. The footings for the two spandrels had been laid and built up to the roadbed. A pair of Master Blacksmiths had complete forges set up on either side of the river to make the dovetails and hurry them red-hot to the arch to hammer them in. A small mountain of lumber had been turned into the scaffolding to support the arch until the keystone was slotted into place. Almost everything was in readiness to begin the bridge itself.

  And she was packing the last of her packs for this trip.

  Not happy, she thought, trying to decide if she should pack in more soap or more underthings, and being reminded by the decision that where she was going, she might have to do her own laundry. In a stream. With frogs and snakes.

  Ugh.

  On the other hand, there were, so Master Ketnar promised, going to be support people along. What that meant, she had no idea. When the highborn went off on journeys, they had carts full of tents and furnishings, and servants who went on ahead to set it all up. They had every sort of servant they’d have at home, and all they did was ride from one set-up encampment to another and arrive at each to find their food cooked, their laundry done, their water drawn—even baths prepared, should one be desired.

  Somehow I don’t think that’s what he meant.

  On the other hand, Heralds traveled only with what they could carry, sometimes a pack-beast, except on rare occasions.

  They did get to stay
in Waystations, which were quite solidly constructed little buildings—

  —which we won’t. We’ll have tents when there are no inns, I guess. And Kernos only knows the quality of the inns down there. We could be sleeping all of us in the one bed, or on the dirt floor of someone’s hut.

  And meanwhile her bridge was going to be built without her.

  But it was far too late to change her mind.

  Dammit.

  As if she even could have changed her mind, after her mother had all but begged her to do this.

  Parents always know what strings to pull. After all, they tied them there.

  On the other, other hand (is that three hands?) she was going to be surrounded by several Master Builders and Artificers, and it was one thing to learn about techniques in a classroom. It was quite another to see them demonstrated under less than ideal circumstances. This would be incredibly educating.

  But . . . tents. And dirty inn floors. And bugs. Ugh.

  She tied up the last of her packs and put it outside the door of the suite for a servant to take down. Take down to what? She didn’t know. No one had bothered to tell her exactly how this expedition had been organized. Was there a wagon? Several? Were they riding wagons or horses? She hadn’t ever ridden anything but a gentle pony, or Rolan. What if they gave her a horse that was determined to scrape her off its back?

  The suite was empty; presumably everyone was waiting at the stable where she’d been told the group was to gather so that they could say goodbye. She collected herself and put on a brave face. No use in allowing her parents to think she was having second thoughts. And third thoughts. Especially not ones as ignoble as fussing over sleeping on a dirty inn floor.

  With fleas.

  She lingered as long as she could, making one last pass over her belongings, trying to intuit if she would regret not having this or that with her on this trek. But eventually there was no point in delaying further. It was time to go.

  The first thing she saw as she left the Palace was the whole family, and Kat, waiting at the roadway halfway between the Royal Stable and the Palace. When they spotted her, they all started moving toward her as a group; she ran toward them, and they all met in a jumbled embrace.

  “Have a great adventure, and come back safe,” Amily said; Mags just reinforced that with a tighter hug.

  “I’ll keep an eye on your bridge for you,” Kat told her. “So you can keep your whole mind on your job.”

  “Thanks.” Abi found herself with a lump in her throat. “I’ll do that.”

  Like his father, Perry said nothing, just squeezed her tight.

  “Bring me back a story,” Tory said. “One Kee will like.”

  “I can certainly do that,” she promised. “Lots of stories.”

  She understood instinctively why they were saying goodbye here and not at the stables. They didn’t want to embarrass her in front of people who were now her peers by making it look like she was a child being sent off by her parents. The other three Masters certainly would not have a knot of family hugging and kissing and asking for stories. So this way she got her goodbye and still retained her dignity.

  Eventually, there was nothing more to say. One more hug, one more kiss, and Kat headed for the Companion Stables and her daily trip down into Haven, Tory followed his mother back into the Palace, and Perry, Larral, and Mags headed for one of the lesser gates into the complex, going—somewhere. She stood quite still as they turned back a last time before moving out of sight, and waved.

  Then, with both anticipation and more than a little anxiety, she made her way to the Royal Stables.

  She cheered up quite a bit when she saw the three-wagon cavalcade waiting for her. Two were wagons with canvas covers that held a lot of packs and other supplies. But one was an old friend.

  This was the caravan that her father and Perry had taken to the Pelagirs, posing as traders. It slept six comfortably. There would be no sleeping on dirt floors with fleas, or under leaky tents. And there were seven people waiting for her, three on the wagons and caravan, all of the riders on sturdy mules (not horses, oh blessed gods!), with a fifth mule saddled and waiting for her. The one sitting on the box of the caravan—was dressed in Herald Whites. But there was no sign of a Companion.

  She ignored that for the moment, and went to greet the others.

  The oldest-looking man, who seemed to be the one in charge, greeted her first. “Abidela! I am Master Vance. This good fellow is Master Padrick, and this is Master Beyrn. And may I say, we are all great admirers of your new bridge, Master Abidela.”

  Master Vance’s hair was pure white, but he was lean and fit-looking, and Master Ketnar must have reckoned he was suited physically for this journey. Master Padrick was as short as she was, stocky, and his brown hair was liberally sprinkled with gray. Master Beyrn was the youngest of the lot, an earnest-looking chestnut-haired young man, probably in his middle twenties. Abi smiled at all of them, and got perfectly friendly responses. She addressed Master Padrick first.

  “I know this caravan,” she said, “and you and I need to toss a coin for which of us gets the top cupboard-bed in the front and which gets the bottom. We’re the only two that will fit.”

  “I give you first choice,” he said graciously.

  “Top, then.” She turned her attention to the fourth rider, a tall, stolid-looking woman with blond hair cut as short as a man. “I’m Abidela,” she said, and waited for this unknown to introduce herself.

  The woman smiled slightly. “I’m Jicks. I’m part guide, part bodyguard, and part cook, since I assume none of you know how to cook. The lads on the other wagons are my squad. We’ll make sure nothing gets at you.”

  She had an odd accent that Abi couldn’t quite place. “Are you from where we’re going?” she hazarded.

  The woman grinned. “Got it in one. Merc company, Hanson’s Harriers. We came guarding the delegation and we three stayed behind when we heard what your King had planned, and as I hoped, he’s not been backward in paying us for work that’s a sight easier than bashing idiots’ brains in. For now, I’ll be taking up the last bunk in your caravan, the boys’ll each sleep in the wagon they’re driving. If you decide you want more privacy, the boys can take the bunks and you and I can sleep in the wagons.”

  Abi nodded, assuming that her father would have done his usual work and gotten a good solid grasp on the reputation of “Hanson’s Harriers” at the very least. Hopefully on Jicks and her “boys” as well.

  She felt a sense of profound gratitude that Jicks was also going to sleep in the caravan. Not that she was getting any sort of . . . uneasy feelings about any of the three Masters, but with Jicks in the picture, she was fairly sure none of them would even feel tempted to abuse their position and make any kind of unwanted overtures to her. Jicks looked as if she could make an ornamental knot out of all three of them.

  “Oh! Well, it’s quite a relief to know you’re prepared to defend us, lady Jicks!” said Master Vance. Jicks gave him a skeptical look, as if to make sure he wasn’t making fun of her, then nodded.

  “Pleasure, Master,” she replied. “’Specially at the rates we’re being paid.”

  When everyone genuinely laughed at that, Abi was sure that they’d all get along as well as any seven people that didn’t know each other.

  Well, that left the Herald, sitting there patiently on the box of the caravan, reins loose in his fingers. Abi tilted her head at him.

  “I’m Herald Stev,” he said. “And I’m here as your link back to the Hill.”

  “I don’t follow, Herald,” said Padrick. “And where is your Companion?”

  “I have an extremely strong Mindspeech Gift, but only with my Companion,” the Herald elaborated. “We actually have not found a distance over which we fail to hear each other. Unfortunately, both his forelegs were broken in an accident. While they healed, it was suggested
that a good use of my ability would be to go with you and send back reports to him. In his turn, he can inform Rolan.”

  “And Rolan can tell my mother, who can tell the Council and the King.” Abi filled that in for the Masters and Jicks, who were all looking baffled. “He can report on our progress and send back orders, using Mind-magic.”

  “Any chance you can get us some help if we get into trouble?” Jicks wanted to know. “You know any other kind of magic?”

  The Herald shrugged. “The only magic I know of is Mind-magic. And as for getting help, I won’t know until we get out there. But be assured I am going to be testing that contingency before things degenerate into an emergency.”

  “Well, my friends, are we ready to start this journey?” Master Vance asked, cheerfully. “The road is not getting any shorter as we linger here.”

  The Stablemaster approached them before the rest of them had a chance to answer and cleared his throat. “Just a word afore ye go. Ye all be riding and driving the best hinnies I’ve ever had the pleasure of havin’ in the Royal Stable, so if ye’ll listen to me a bit now, it’ll ease my mind.”

  “Hinnies?” Master Padrick asked.

  “Stallion father, donkey mother instead of the other way around,” Jicks told him, nodding. “They’re mules, too, they just have a little bit different personality from mules with a donkey father.”

  “Aye, lady,” the Stablemaster beamed. “I see ye know your mules. Hinnies are a little slower, a little more careful about how they move. That’s why I chose ’em for you, since you’ll be traveling over some chancy trails. They’ll be much better over loose rock than mules. All the ones you’re ridin’ are gaited, so they’ll go smooth for ye. And they’ll eat just ’bout anything, where a mule’s more picky. They’re smart, smarter’n horses, and if you’re in danger, trust ’em. They’ll know what t’do better nor you will. If they don’t want to go somewhere, don’t make ’em, it means they know somethin’s wrong even if you can’t see it. The one thing to remember about ’em is this—they’re not stubborn, they’re smart. Be good to them, an’ they’ll be good an’ loyal to you and take care of you.”