Accepting at last she could do no more, Gwynn stumbled to her own bedroll. She cast one more glance at her patient, quite satisfied with her work.
“Pleasant dreams, Southron,” she told him quietly.
Then she drifted off to sleep with a faint smile, convinced it must be a good omen for her first real adventure to have shown up so soon.
10
CHAPTER TWO
It was his horse’s deep whinny that woke him, but Shae didn’t open his eyes immediately. He listened carefully, heard the crackle of a fire, and then realized he was covered with a blanket, although the comforting weight of his blades was missing. Talon must have found help, he told himself, since I am still alive. I don’t hurt anymore either, so he must have found a healer.
Opening his eyes to mere slits, Shae saw misty early morning light filtering through budding oaks and willows above him. His tack and saddlebags lay beside him, along with his brig and neatly piled weapons. Something was digging into his side, and when his fingers closed around it, relief flooded through him when he recognized the pouch he had carried close to his heart. Talon grazed quietly a few yards away next to a well-groomed red roan gelding with a flaxen mane and broad white blaze. He silently reached for his sword and wrapped his hand around the hilt before turning his gaze to the fire.
A fair skinned young woman was asleep on the other side of the fire, her raven hair escaping from a long, thick braid. Intricate knotwork over a blue ground decorated her blanket, her tack and an odd shaped case of oiled leather.
She looks young to be an accomplished healer, he thought, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to complain. I’m alive and out of pain. I don’t care if she’s barely out of 11
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swaddling bands.
Shae sat up without a sound, returning his blade to the ground beside him. He pushed his blanket back and found himself shirtless. He fingered the blood-stained holes in the brig while looking at his arms and legs. The fact that the wounds were closed didn’t startle him; he had plenty of experience in making use of a healer’s ability to accelerate healing. It was always expensive, since serious wounds left the healer exhausted and unable to care for anyone else for several days, but it had always been worth the price he paid.
“Harkir’s Forge,” Shae swore the Southron oath aloud, “no one ever rid me of the scars.”
The woman stirred at the sound of his voice, sighed and rolled to face away from the fire. The sigh died off into something that sounded like a mutter of complaint. He grinned; his brother always did the same in the morning.
Shae was the early riser; Laef hated to get up and would delay the inevitable until the last possible moment.
He reached for his saddlebags and found one of his two remaining shirts. The damaged brig would still serve in a pinch, but he didn’t feel much like putting it back on, so he left it to the side to roll up with his blanket. There was little he could do about the slashes in his breeches, but Rathgarven had tailors; he would have more before long. He returned to his saddlebags, hid the pouch at the bottom and began a search for his rations. After missing a meal last night, Shae was ravenous. His brush with death had done nothing to his normally hearty appetite, and he devoured three dried apples, a large chunk of cheese, and four strips of dried beef.
The fragrance of the apples reached the roan and drew him to the fire. He nosed at the woman’s blanket, becoming more insistent when he received no initial response. The gelding blew on her face, nudged at her cheek, 12
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and pulled on her blanket. Finally, she sat up, snatched back the blanket, and glared at her horse.
“Damn it, Rogue, what are you doing?” she demanded indignantly. “The sun is barely up!” Her speech had the distinctive lilt of the far Westlands and even in complaint, contained a fae clarity and harmony. It was a voice that could command a crowd’s attention with a whisper. Shae identified it easily; only one people in Balahar sounded like that when they spoke.
“In truth, lady bard, the sun has been up for over an hour.” His clipped Southron baritone sounded harsh in contrast to her melodic soprano. She started and turned to stare across the fire. Her eyes were a glittering gray that seemed to reflect the silvery morning light around them, a stunning contrast to her black hair and fair skin.
“Great Mother Ariadwen, you’re awake!” she gasped.
“I wasn’t sure you would get to wake up when your horse found me last night. How do you feel, Southron?”
“Much better than I last remember,” he assured her.
He leaned forward and extended his hand. “I’m Shae, Brashaen’s son.”
“Gwynn ferch Gryffyn,” was her response when a slender, long fingered hand disappeared into Shae’s. Smaller though it was, he felt the strength and calluses built by years of instrument playing, along with the sharp notched nails she had gained from plucking harp strings.
“Well met, Gwynn,” he said, releasing her hand.
“Where do I find the healer? I owe someone quite a debt.”
“I-I don’t know,” Gwynn stammered. She peered around the fire. “Perhaps she left already.”
“Without payment for her services?” Shae asked.
“She’s not like any healer I’ve ever met. What was her name?”
“I don’t think she mentioned it. You were near death; 13
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there wasn’t a lot of conversation going on.”
Shae’s sharp stare caught the flicker in her eyes. “Lies do not become you, lady bard,” he told her sternly. “Why do you attempt them?”
Gwynn lifted her eyes to his but was unable to meet his daunting sapphire gaze for more than a moment. “Why do you think I’m lying?” she whispered.
“Southrons are perceptive, but you are a very bad liar,” Shae said. “Now tell me why you tried.”
She sighed and raised her eyes to Shae’s once more.
“I didn’t want you to know who healed you.”
“Why?” he demanded.
“I did it.”
“Bards don’t heal—” Shae burst out, but then he remembered some of his more advanced education. “Not people anyway,” he amended.
“I know that!” Gwynn exclaimed with exasperation.
“Why do you think I’ve never let anyone else know what I can do? Do you think I wanted to be kept at home in Inishmore and studied like some moldy old tome?”
He realized that nothing could be worse to a bard than forced confinement and found an unexpected bond with the young woman across from him. The thought of being trapped against his will was horrific to him. “I understand, but don’t try to lie; you’re really bad at it.”
“I’m pathetic at it,” Gwynn agreed. “Even as a child, I couldn’t swipe a sweet without confessing.”
“You don’t seem too far beyond childhood now,”
Shae told her.
“I will have you know that I am nearly twenty-one!”
Gwynn squeaked, her eyes flashing in annoyance.
“Your pardon, venerable bard.”
Gwynn smiled at his mock apology. “So, tell me how old you are, venerable Southron.”
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“Twenty-seven,” Shae murmured, slightly stunned at the beauty of her smile, but then his look turned serious once more. “But I still have to know. How did a bard manage to heal me?”
“Every living thing creates a song merely by existing.
You, me, Rogue over there, the grass we’re sitting on, all things have a life song. When someone or something is hurt, I can hear which notes of their life song are out of tune.”
“How did you use that to heal me?” he asked, still puzzled by her explanation. Then his expression darkened when a new thought struck him. “That sounds like magic, and you should know, Southrons abhor magic.”
“There is magic in all things, but especially in music.
I have learned how to put the sour notes of a life song ba
ck in tune,” Gwynn said modestly. “That was all that I did for you.”
“You make it sound simple.” Shae shook his head in disbelief.
“To you, using a weapon is simple. Making music is what I do; healing you was not hard,” Gwynn assured him.
“So, I owe you my life.” It was not a question. Shae already knew the truth. The realization that he owed her a frightening debt struck him like a physical blow.
“I suppose, you were very weak when you got here,”
she replied quietly.
“I can never repay you for the saving of my life, but how can I compensate you? Healers are quite expensive, especially ones who save someone from death,” Shae pointed out.
“I have never priced one. I could hardly charge the usual rate, anyway; I didn’t benefit from the expertise of training. Are you bound for Rathgarven?”
“Strangely enough, I am.”
“Then buy me the finest bottle of red wine the house 15
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can offer in Rathgarven’s best inn, and we’ll call it even,” she declared.
“Fair enough,” Shae agreed. It seemed Gwynn’s sense of sport was like his own. “I must say you’re affordable. I’ll be happy to throw in dinner as well.”
“Why don’t we start with breakfast? I can see that you’re ahead of me,” Gwynn chuckled when she pointed at the apple cores and cheese rind next to Shae’s blanket.
“Then catch up.” He tossed his last apple across the fire at Gwynn.
She snatched it deftly in midair and laughed. “I like you, Shae, Brashaen’s son. I have needed a little excitement in my life, and I would wager exciting things follow Southrons like a pack of wolves.”
“Excitement is not always as much fun as you might think. I’m living proof that too much of it can be unhealthy.”
“Goddess bless, I can’t believe I haven’t asked!”
Gwynn exclaimed. “What happened to you? Should I saddle my horse and gallop toward Rathgarven, grateful that no one tried to smother me in my sleep?”
“No, you are safe enough now. I retrieved something someone had stolen. He sent some friends to try and get it back,” Shae chuckled.
“And?” Gwynn prompted when he did not continue right away.
“Thanks to you, I’m alive, and thanks to me, they are not.” Shae’s grin had become decidedly wolf like.
“How many of them were there?”
“Just four.”
“Four?” she gasped. “How did you manage that?”
“I got two with my bow, one with my sword, and Talon took the fourth for me.” Shae’s even white teeth flashed when his grin widened. “Four to one are difficult odds. That I survived, although I needed help to do it, is an 16
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accomplishment. I like beating the odds.”
“Who doesn’t?” Gwynn’s voice was full of fervent agreement. “See, I knew a Southron had to live an exciting life.” “Sometimes, I could do without it; it can be unhealthy, even for me.”
“I will try to remember that,” Gwynn said reaching for her saddlebags. Going to the stream, she brought water and made the last of her tea to go with her breakfast. She offered Shae a cup, and he couldn’t help but inhale the marked fragrance.
“I haven’t had snow mint tea since I broke my arm,”
he said.
“When was that?” Gwynn asked.
Shae’s brow furrowed. “It was just before my ninth birthday, when I fell off my father’s destrier.”
“Nine?” Gwynn stared at him. “I still rode ponies at nine. Why did your father let you ride his war horse?”
“He didn’t let me do anything of the sort. My brother and I were out in the paddock, and Laef dared me to get on Nolan. We coaxed him to the fence, and I jumped on. I hadn’t yet learned how unhealthy my brother’s dares could be or how sensitive a well-trained war horse was. When my heels hit him in the sides, Nolan took off like he had been shot in the butt with an arrow.” Shae shook his head in bewilderment at the memory of his youthful folly. “I stayed with him for five or six strides and then just slid off over his tail. I landed on my arm, spent several weeks in a sling, and drank a lot of snow mint tea. My mother wouldn’t let the healer do more than set the break; she said it would be a good lesson on the consequences of thoughtless action.”
“Your mother sounds much stricter than mine!”
Gwynn exclaimed. “She would rage at a healer to make things right whenever I had the slightest sniffle. I can’t 17
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imagine what she would have done if I ever managed to break a bone. Snow mint does help you heal more quickly, but I like it for its other property; it helps me wake up in the morning.” After they finished their second round of tea, Gwynn stood and groaned when she stretched. “I hate to sleep on the hard ground more than a night or two,” she complained.
“A bit delicate are you, lady bard?”
“I’m not delicate. I’m spoiled,” Gwynn corrected him crossly.
“I beg your pardon,” was the sarcastic response when Shae rose easily to his feet.
Gwynn stared at him in awe, the top of her head barely reached Shae’s shoulder. “Great Mother Ariadwen, I was right! You and that beast you ride are monsters! Tell me, when a Southron is under contract, does your employer feed you or do you prefer to hunt your own prey?”
Shae’s left eyebrow rose quizzically when he looked at Gwynn, noticing for the first time how small she was. “Hunt it? Surely not, I just growl at prey, and it falls over dead from sheer fright.” His eyes held a formidable gleam above his feral grin.
“Why is it I find myself believing you when you say that?” Gwynn asked with a shudder. “You’re the first Southron I have had the pleasure to meet. Are you the usual size?”
“My clan has greater height than some of the others.
My father and brother are about the same height I am, and my mother is a few fingers shorter.”
“And, where are they?” Gwynn asked, curiosity easily overcoming her sense of tact.
“My parents live in our capital Teryn; they teach. My little brother calls the court of Hasdran home.”
“I bet he stays busy.” Hasdran had been torn by civil 18
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strife for many years; things had only begun to settle down under the strong, but enlightened, rule of its current queen.
“Very.” Shae’s grin still had its wolf like quality, but it died suddenly, and his eyes narrowed. “I’ve already told you more about me than most people ever learn. How did you manage that?”
“Bards tend to invite confidences,” Gwynn assured him.
“Ah.” Shae didn’t sound reassured. “What about your family?”
“My mother Viviene was the household bard of the Baron of Holger. I was raised on his estate outside of Epiris in Wexrin until I was twelve. Then my father Gryffyn took me to Inishmore to finish my studies. I lost my mother in the fever epidemic that struck Wexrin later that summer; I guess I was lucky to have left when I did.”
“It wasn’t your time. What of your father?”
“I haven’t seen him since he left me with my grandmother in Inishmore. He promised to return before I began my Journeyman’s testing, but he never arrived. I’ve had no word of him in years.” Shae was surprised at her candidness and how easily she spoke of her losses. It was not in his nature to be so open about grief.
“I’m sorry—” he began, but Gwynn cut him off.
“I appreciate the thought, but it is well accepted in Inishmore that bards often just disappear; they might die in a flood or in a fall from their horse on a treacherous path.
There is never a day that goes by when I don’t miss them, of course, but my parents have been lost to me for a long time now. It cannot be changed, so it must be endured.”
“Southrons believe much the same,” Shae observed, amazed to find yet another bond with someone so different than himself.
“Are you ready?�
�� Gwynn asked when she began 19
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rolling her blankets.
“I’m always ready.” He too began to roll blankets.
Bedrolls secure, Gwynn doused the fire while Shae buckled on his sword belt. When he went to saddle Talon, he realized the stallion had been carefully groomed; there wasn’t a sweat mark or speck of blood anywhere on his shining black coat.
He turned to Gwynn who saddled her gelding a few feet away. “I suppose I should thank you once more,” Shae said awkwardly, his debt to her had grown greater. “You not only healed me, but you took care of Talon, too. Most people are nervous about handling a Southronbred war horse.”
“Horses love me; Grandmother always said I had a way with them. He deserved the care. He was the one who really saved your life, since he brought you to me.” She led Rogue over and rubbed the stallion’s forehead. Talon sighed with pleasure and lowered his head into her caress, resting his nose gently against Gwynn’s chest.
Shae stared at them in astonishment. “He tends to be reserved around people he doesn’t know. He acts like he’s known you forever.”
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