Thendara House

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  As the young boys carrying water came down the line, she saw the man she had seen this morning, the one they had called Lord Damon, riding along the bare patch. She supposed he was in charge of the whole operation, a kind of engineer.

  “No good,” he said vehemently to someone Magda could not see. “They’ve got to pull out up there and let it burn; it’s gone anyhow, and the best we can do is put all our men down here on this side. That way we can hold the line and keep it from burning over toward Syrtis—there are five villages down there, man!” He looked down to where the workers were straightening their backs for a moment, drinking as the buckets were passed; he saw Magda and gestured to her.

  “You led the horses this morning, didn’t you, lad? Good thinking. I need someone with his wits about him to carry a message to the men on the other side of that ridge up there. Give your end of the saw to that man there—” he pointed—“and come here.”

  She remembered that she had been ordered not to speak to any man; but that could hardly apply to listening to orders given by the man who was bossing the job! He was hardly looking at her; his eyes were troubled, surveying the distant roar and swirl of smoke and fire.

  “Go up along that ridge there, and you’ll come to a gang of men working under a big man, fair as a Dry-Towner; ask for Dom Ann’dra if you can’t find him. Tell him he must pull out all the men along that ridge and let it burn out, it’s hopeless. Tell him I need all the men he has down here on the east side, to keep it from burning over toward Syrtis. Have you got that?”

  Magda repeated the message, pitching her voice as low as she could. “And who shall I say sent the message, vai dom?”

  He looked straight at her for the first time. “Oh, you’re not one of my men, are you? You’re one of the group they sent out from Thendara, right? Tell him Lord Damon sent word. Run along, now.”

  Magda went off as quickly as she could through the heavy tangled underbrush. As she climbed the slope she could see the fire on the other hill they had left that morning, burning down relentlessly toward the new firebreak; where they had breakfasted was all afire now, but there was a long stretch of clean firebreak between the workers and the fire. The stench was horrible, with overtones of roasting meat, and Magda thought of the animals trapped in the fire. As she caught sight of the gang of men, she saw, with them, a gaunt, familiar figure in gray tunic and heavy trousers; Camilla. Magda recognized her only by the low Amazon boots; Camila had tied a sweat-rag over her face, for the dust and heat were temble. She was the only worker on the line who had not stripped to the waist.

  Magda would have spoken to her, but her message was too imperative; she went along the line, looking for a tall fair-haired man. But the smoke was thicker here, rising from the other slope, so she could hardly see; she asked a man hastily “Where is Dom Ann’dra? A message from Lord Damon—”

  The man coughed and pointed through a thick haze of smoke, and Magda plunged into it; behind her someone shouted but she could not distinguish the words. Now she saw, indistinctly, a tall man in a board-brimmed hat, fair-skinned and well over six feet tall.

  “Dom Ann’dra?” she called, and the man turned. “I gave orders no one should follow here—”

  “A message from Lord Damon,” she said quickly, coming up to him, coughed for a moment, then quickly repeated her message. Her eyes were streaming with the smoke. The tall man, Ann’dra, swore angrily.

  “He’s right, of course, but I’d hoped we could save the pastures up here; horses will go hungry this summer! All right, go down as fast as you can, and tell him I’ll have everyone down there in half an hour, got that?”

  Magda nodded, coughing too hard to speak; his face, blackened with smoke, took on a look of concern.

  “You should get out of the smoke as fast as you can, lad. Come this way—” he motioned her along, back toward the workers, taking the hat from his head and waving it in great sweeps.

  “Pull back, men, pull back. Lord Damon needs us below— Raimon, Edric, all of you, grab the tools and get down—” he shouted, abruptly his voice took on a new sound of warning.

  “Hi! Look out there, drop everything and run—breakthrough over there!” Magda stared in horror as a wall of flame leaped from nowhere and came roaring up the little gully she had crossed on her way up here. The thick, choking smoke was suddenly sweeping all around her, and when she started to run she was overwhelmed by coughing, stumbled and fell. Then she was picked up in strong arms and carried to clearer air; Dom Ann’dra set her down after a minute and stared at her.

  “God almighty,” he said but he had spoken in Terran! While Magda stared at him he shook his head and said in the mountain tongue, “Sorry—I mean, we’ve got to make a run for it; have you something you can tie over your face?” Magda ripped at her undertunic; it was no time to think about modesty! The smoke was so thick no one could see anyhow.

  “Good,” he said tersely, and took her hand. “Don’t be scared, I won’t let go of you, but you’ve got to trust me; you might get a bit scorched, but better that than roasted for the devil’s supper! Hang on, now!” Holding hands, they ran directly toward what looked like the center of the fire. Magda felt a blast of heat, smelled her hair singing and searing pain in the soles of her feet; she heard herself screaming, but she ran on, her hand held tight in the big man’s grip. Then they were through the flame and out of the smoke, coughing and choking and gasping. Her eyes were streaming; suddenly the world went dark and she slid to the ground.

  “Ferrika!” she heard Dom Ann’dra bellowing, “Is the healer-woman in the lines? Well, get somebody up here, and make it fast! We’ve got to get this youngster down fast, he risked his life to get through—” and Magda felt herself lifted up; he scooped her up, arms beneath shoulders and knees, as if she had been a child. Then he drew a quick breath, staring down at her in consternation and said in a whisper, “Good God, it’s a girl!”

  She said in a shaky whisper “Don’t—I am all right—put me down—”

  He shook his head. Only then did she realize that he was still speaking Terran. “Put you down, hell, your boots are burned half off your feet. And who are you?”

  “I am a Free Amazon from Thendara—”

  “Yeah,” he said in an undertone, staring skeptically, “that’s what you say. Now who in the hell are you? Intelligence?” His eyes flared at her like steel filings in flame, out of the blackened, grimed mess that was his face. “Whoever you are, you’ve got guts enough for three, girl. Those boots aren’t going to be good for much.”

  Ferrika, the Renunciate Magda had seen briefly in camp, came hurrying toward him; at her side was Camilla.

  “Vai dom, the Amazon from Thendara says the messenger is one of hers and she will take her to her sisters—” She stopped and cried out with compassion as she saw Magda’s burnt boots, the raw blistering of her flesh that showed through. “Sister, let me take you where we can care for those feet—”

  Ann’dra nodded. “Look after her; I’ve got to get these men down to Lord Damon, and you people get off the ridge as fast as you can. I need to find out what Damon needs, and do it right away!”

  Ferrika and Camilla made a chair of their arms to carry Magda. Now she could feel terrible pain in the soles of her feet, but she followed Dom Ann’dra with her eyes.

  Intelligence, huh? And he had spoken Terran, too. Yet Damon seemed to know and accept him as one of them. What was going on here? She was coughing and choking, her eyes were streaming and her chest hurt; she realized that Ferrika and Camilla had set her down on a blanket. Rafaella appeared from somewhere with a stoneware mug of cold water, holding it to Magda’s mouth. Camilla said, “I saw the fire sweep around you, Margali, and I thought you had been killed…”

  Rafaella’s voice was tart. “I notice she managed to fall where there was a handsome man to carry her to safety.”

  “Let her alone, Rafi, can’t you see she’s hurt?” Camilla snapped, “Should she have stayed there to burn? I am not sure I would h
ave had the courage to run through the fire like that, even if the Hastur Lord himself, let alone Dom Ann’dra, held my hand!”

  “Who is Dom Ann’dra?” Magda asked, coughing.

  “Brother-in-law to the Regent; he married the Lady Ellemir’s twin sister,” Ferrika said, and glanced up at the burning ridge, scowling. “What are the leroni about, up there? I heard—” and she broke off abruptly. “Sister, let us dress those feet of yours. And you, Camilla,” she added sharply, “no more work on the lines for you. There is livani tea in the kettle, it is good against the smoke; get yourself a cup quickly, and bring some here for your sister—” She looked into Magda’s eyes, puzzled. “I do not know your name,” she said, “but surely I have seen you before—”

  “You helped me with our blankets this morning,” Magda began, but Ferrika shook her head.

  “No, before that,” she said, and abruptly Magda knew where she had seen the snubbed nose, the freckled, round face and green eyes, before this. The night of her first Training Session, when her mind had drifted to the Sisterhood… and she knew that Ferrika recognized her, too, and was staring at her in puzzlement. She said something in a strange language, but Magda only shook her head, not understanding. Ferrika looked more perplexed than before, but she only said, “Drink this, it will clear your throat.”

  Magda sipped at the hot, sour drink; she made a wry face at the taste, but it did soothe her smoke-rasped throat and somehow it made her nose stop streaming. Camilla, too, was sipping the stuff; she wiped her smoke-blackened forehead with her torn sleeve.

  “Let me see those feet. Are you hurt anywhere else?”

  Camilla knelt anxiously beside them. Magda’s forehead was singed a little, her eyebrows burnt and some of her hair singed, but the burn was not serious. Camilla held her hand while Ferrika gently cut away the ruined boots, scowling.

  “These soft-leather things—you can see why they are not suitable for work on the lines!” Ferrika scolded. They had burnt through quickly, and the last remnants had to be picked away from the burned flesh with tweezers; Magda flinched, but did not cry out.

  “A bad burn,” Ferrika said, “You will do no walking for a day or two. It may be deeper than it looks.” But to Magda’s surprise, she did not touch the burn, only held her hand over the flesh, two or three inches away, first one foot, then the other. When she sighed and straightened, she looked relieved. Magda thought of Lady Rohana, concentrated and serious but not touching Jaelle’s dreadful wound. Laran!

  “Not as bad as I thought,” Ferrika said, “but not superficial either; skin, but no serious burning into the muscle. With proper boots you would not have been hurt at all. I must bandage them, and she must be carried; she must not walk on those feet at all.”

  Tears were streaming down Magda’s face. She thought it must be the aftermath of the smoke. “I came to help and I am a burden—”

  “You are honorably wounded,” Camilla said gruffly. “We will care for you.”

  Ferrika was rummaging in her case of medicines. It looked very like the one Marisela carried. “Bathe her face with this lotion, Camilla, while I dress her feet. But she must not walk on the bandages, either, and we must find her a pair of boots from some old man in the campsite, who can go barefoot without trouble.”

  “I had forgotten,” Magda said with a sharp catch’of breath, “I had a message for the Lord Damon—”

  “Give it to one of the women, then,” said Ferrika, “for you are not going anywhere on those feet.”

  Magda repeated the message to Rafaella, who nodded and hurried away. She lay back, closing her eyes and trying to ignore the pain as Ferrika smeared her feet with some sharp-smelling herb salve, and wound them in thick loose bandages. Camilla gently sponged her face with the cooling lotion.

  “Poor child, when I saw the smoke close round you I was sure you were dead—I thought I had lost you, Margali—” she repeated hoarsely, holding Magda close against her. Magda realized, shocked, that the older woman was almost crying. Camilla rarely showed emotion. But Ferrika straightened up and said, “I must get back to the lines; others need my skill,” and Camilla rose.

  “I too must get back to the lines—”

  “You stay here,” Ferrika commanded, and Camilla looked angrily at her.

  “What do you think me?”

  “I think you too old for this work; you should never have come out,” said Ferrika. “You will be more use in the camp among the women.”

  “I would rather work among the cows!” Camilla said scornfully, and went before Ferrika could say anything more. Ferrika sighed, looking after the elderly emmasca as she strode away.

  “I should have known better, always Camilla must be stronger than anyone, man or woman! Stay here and rest, Margali,” she commanded, and went. Magda lay back on the blanket; her feet hurt less than they had, but the pain was still enough to make her tremble. After a time it subsided to a dull ache; she lay on the blankets, alone except for a woman who was tending the fires at the back, and an old man who lay on one of the blankets, covered up warmly and breathing raucously; when the woman came to look at her Magda cringed, remembering the scorn and contempt one of the women had shown, but the strange woman only said, “You must call out to me if you need anything; more tea?” Magda felt fiercely thirsty and sipped another cup of the hot sour herb drink.

  “I heard that someone had been burned, but I thought it was one of the messenger boys,” she said. She moved her head indicating the old man on the blanket. “Gaffer Kanzel was overcome by the smoke this morning, but he’ll do well enough with rest; what’s his son thinking of, to let the old man come? I must go and tend to the supper—you’re one of the Renunciates from Thendara, no?”

  Magda nodded and the woman said, “I have a sister in Neskaya Guild House; I’ll trade work, one of your sisters is at the next fire, so she can come and be close to you.” She went off and after a minute Keitha came up to her.

  “I heard someone had been burned, but I did not know it was you,” Keitha said, bending over her. “That was a nice woman who sent me here; she says she has a sister who is one of us. And I heard there are Renunciates among the healer-women who are helping here, too—

  “One of them bandaged my feet.”

  “I have a fire to tend, and stew to keep from burning,” Keitha said, “but I will come and bring you drinks—she said you must drink as much as you possibly can. Do your feet pain you much, Margali?”

  “I’ll live,” Magda said, “but they hurt, yes. But go and do your work, don’t worry about me.”

  Reluctantly, Keitha went back to the fire, and Magda lay on her blanket, trying to get into a comfortable position on the hard ground. After a time she fell into an uneasy drowse, waking when the sky was crimson with sunset. Keitha came to give her more of the hot herb-tea and a plate of stew, but Magda could hardly swallow, though Camilla came and skillfully propped her up, and would have fed her with a spoon if Magda had let her.

  “No, no, I am not hungry, I can’t swallow,” she said, “I am only thirsty, very thirsty—”

  “That is good; you must drink as much as you can, even if you cannot eat,” said Ferrika, standing over them, and they looked up to see the slight, dark aristocrat who had been called Lord Damon.

  “Mestra,” he said to Magda, “I am sorry for your injuries; I sent you into danger, not even knowing you were a woman.”

  She said, “I am a Renunciate,” proudly, at the same moment that Ferrika protested, “You know better than that!”

  She spoke without the slightest hint of deference and Lord Damon grinned at her. He looked tired and disheveled; he was chewing on a strip of smoked meat, half-heartedly, as if he were too tired to sit down and eat properly. His face was still grimed with smoke, but Magda noted that his hands were scrubbed clean, as he set the meat aside and said, “Let me look at your wounds, mestra; I too have something of the healer’s arts.”

  And after a whole day fighting fire on the lines he still must go a
round the camp and see who is wounded… well, what would you expect of Damon? For a moment Magda thought someone had spoken the words aloud, but she realized that she had heard them as she was beginning to hear unspoken thoughts. She saw Lord Damon’s face contract slightly as he unwrapped the bandages, and knew, without being told, that he felt, physically, the pain he caused her for a moment. Perhaps he is too tired to shut it out. Then it was gone, and he said quietly, “Painful, I am sure, but not really dangerous. But be careful not to let the bandages get wet or dirty; otherwise the burns will become infected; do you understand that this is important? You must not try to be brave and walk on them, you must let your sisters carry you everywhere; and drink as much as you can, even if it means you must let them carry you to the latrines every hour or two; the burns create poisons in your body and you must rid yourself of them.” His manner was as courteous and impersonal as a Terran Medic’s, and Magda was astonished.

  He straightened to go. “Carry my compliments to the Guild-Mothers in Thendara and tell them that again I have cause to be grateful to the Sisterhood.”

  Rafaella bowed deeply. “You honor us, vai dom.”

  “It is you who honor us,” Damon said, and touched Ferrika lightly on the shoulder. “I will leave you with your sisters for the moment; you know how to get in touch with me if you need me,” he said and walked away. Ferrika went to look at one of the women who had scalded her hand on a stew kettle, and from across the circle of the camp Magda heard her ordering others who had inhaled smoke to drink more of the tea which was kept boiling on great kettles over the cookfires.

  “He doesn’t treat her like a servant,” Keitha said, and there was the faintest hint of criticism in her voice. One of the strange women said, “Maybe she isn’t.”

  “You do not know Ferrika,” said Camilla coldly, “if you are hinting that she is his concubine. She is a Renunciate.”

  “Maybe,” Magda said, “she’s just his friend.” The others gave her skeptical looks, but what Magda had sensed between the Comyn aristocrat—what were the Comyn anyhow?—and the Renunciate was an easy acceptance, a kind of equality she had not yet seen given by any man to a woman on Darkover.