Dena rose immediately, but Marta hesitated.
“Would it be possible to have access to the main archive before we leave this place? My mother often spoke of it.”
Seb smiled. “And you are indeed your mother’s child. Of course you may.”
§
When Seb and Alanthea were alone again, Alanthea shook her head. “Strange.”
“What is?” Seb asked.
“Many things, but especially those two. Similar experiences and they both want exactly the same thing, and still they are at loggerheads.”
“Perhaps because they both do want ‘exactly the same thing,’ as you said.”
“Nonsense. I’m no witch, but I do know that a Law of Power is not like an exalted position or a unique bit of jewelry—if one achieves it, that doesn’t prevent another from doing the same thing.”
“You heard them—it’s not a Law, but Marta does possess something, some link to the goal that Dena lacks. It doesn’t take a seer to recognize that the girl is seething with resentment,” Seb said.
“True. And whether it is toward Marta or herself, that won’t make any difference when she lashes out. And you know she will. I’ve known bowstrings less tightly stretched than that poor child.”
“That can’t be helped. They each have their own part to play in each other’s quest. You know that.”
“Actually, you know that. I only know that I trust you, as we asked Marta to trust us. May neither of those trusts be misplaced.”
“Just as I trust my friend. Who has never once let me down in all the years I’ve known him.”
Alanthea looked grim. “I thought he was the one responsible for your curse.”
Seb just shrugged. “I knew there would be consequences. I can’t blame him for failing as I did to understand what they were. No matter. It hasn’t been such a complete burden as all that. Still, I would see it ended.”
“If I am still alive on that day, I will mourn for you.”
Seb smiled at her. “Don’t. Have a goblet of really good wine and sing my favorite song. That’s what I would do.”
§
Marta, Sela, and Prince Dolan were gathered in Marta’s quarters when the acolyte arrived bearing a long bundle wrapped in oilcloth. Prince Dolan unwrapped it rather hastily, but it only took Sela a few seconds to verify the contents.
“That is Sunlight-on-Water. There is no doubt in my mind,” she said.
Oddly enough, there was no doubt in Marta’s mind either. She felt the pull that she recognized as the echo of a Law as soon as the bundle was brought into the room.
That wasn’t happening before. At least, not like this. I am very close.
“An audience with the abbot is a rare thing,” Prince Dolan said. “What else was said, if you don’t mind my asking?”
Marta related everything she could remember, including her encounter with Dena. Prince Dolan listened in silence, and when Marta was finished, Sela was the first one to speak.
“What did he mean by that?”
“I thought it was all clear enough,” Marta said, letting a little of the weariness she felt creep into her voice, but Sela shook her head. I don’t mean the bargain you made with the Order. I mean that bit about calling you a Lady, and ‘she doesn’t even know, does she.’ That’s what the prioress said, wasn’t it?” What is it you don’t know?”
“You could fill an ocean with what I don’t know. It probably wasn’t important,” Marta said.
Prince Dolan looked thoughtful. “Perhaps…Lady Marta, I hope you’ll forgive an indelicate question, but who was your father?”
Marta frowned. “Mother never said. I never asked.”
Sela frowned. “You were never curious?”
“My mother was a witch,” Marta said. “That is not how those things worked.”
“What do you mean?” Sela asked.
“Male or female, have you ever heard of a witch marrying?”
“Only as a cautionary tale,” Prince Dolan admitted, and Marta nodded.
“Exactly and, as you noted, there was a reason for that. No one is exempt from the strictures of the Arrow Path—no one. Not the witch’s husband or wife, or their friends if they had any, and not their children. You simply cannot ask a witch for anything without the risk of making a contract and paying whatever price the Power demanded for it. It’s why we usually live alone and are very careful in our associations. You both understood the rules, fortunately, or learned them quickly enough. Simple questions are one thing, but to ask for something that the witch has to give, other than an answer? It’s a very fine line. Yet if you remain near me long enough, sooner or later you would get careless. Now imagine what it was like for me growing up.”
“Oh,” Sela said. “I didn’t think about that.”
“I learned that hard lesson very early on in my life. I could never ask my mother for anything for fear that I would invoke a contract. If I was hungry I would say so and she would feed me. If I wanted this or that I would say so, and perhaps I would get it, perhaps not. She did her best and I never wanted for anything, but there were lines I could not cross. I actually said it once, a long time ago ‘I wonder who my father is,’ and she never answered, and I understood that the request would have a price. I didn’t wonder again, at least not out loud. In time I stopped wondering at all.”
“She didn’t want you to know.” Prince Dolan said.
Marta shook her head. “She didn’t want to complicate my life any more than it was already,” Marta said. “I—“ she stopped then. “Oh.”
“What is it?” Sela asked.
“Do you really want the answer to that?” Marta asked.
“I think I don’t,” Sela said carefully.
“And you just made my point,” Marta said dryly. “But in this case, it’s all right. In this case. I just realized something I should have understood a long time ago—my mother never had anything resembling a lover. I would have known.”
“But there had to be someone—“ Prince Dolan began, but Marta cut him off.
“It was a contract, Highness. I know that now. Someone wanted something from her and I was the price. My mother never told me who my father was because it simply did not matter.”
“Maybe there was another reason,” Sela said softly.
“Perhaps. That doesn’t matter, either.”
Prince Dolan bowed. “Lady Marta…for what little it may be worth--I’m sorry.”
Marta managed a smile. “Can we…perhaps, talk about something else now?”
Prince Dolan pointedly studied his notes. “In your possession: Shave-the-Cat, Leafcutter, and Sunset. Now we add Sunlight-on-Water, on loan from the Kuldun Order. In our armory at Mataria: Sunrise and Bonebane. I thought that number included Part-the-Breeze, but I was in error. Its whereabouts are currently unknown…at least to us. Whoever took it from the armory doubtless knows where it is, or at least who they sold it to, if they did. We need to discover who that was…how do we do that?”
“Actually, that might not be as difficult as you suppose,” Sela said.
Marta frowned. “Go on.”
“Well, I only have His Highness’ drawing to go by, but we’ve already established that whoever copied the sword was a master, yes?”
“It fooled me completely,” Prince Dolan said. “Take that for whatever if might be worth.”
“Quite a bit, actually,” Sela said. “Highness, it has long been clear to me that you easily qualify as an expert—in order to fool you, the copy had to be of very high quality. My father often spoke of other smiths whom he admired, and as you might suppose, that was not a very long list—I think it very likely that the copy of Part-the-Breeze was done by one of them.”
Dolan frowned. “That makes sense. Who were they?”
“He mentioned Master Danyok of Caldyrn.”
Dolan sighed. “He died two years ago, so I hope it was not him. Who else?”
“Well, there was Master Odan from Borasur-Morushe….”
/> “A very fine smith, but he did several pieces for my father and I’m certain I would have recognized his handiwork. I could be wrong, but I don’t think he is the one.”
“That leaves Master Collas the Younger.”
“I don’t…oh. By any chance are you referring to Brother Collas? He has a forge within the compound.”
Marta raised an eyebrow. “What would a monastery need with a swordsmith?”
“Well, if I’m right about his identity, he considers himself more of a metallurgist than a smith—a trait I believe he shared with your father, Lady Sela. Besides, is there any field of study that the Kuldun Order has no interest in? If so, I’ve yet to discover it.”
“Point taken,” Marta said. “At least, from their reputation. Can we arrange an audience?”
“We could do that,” Dolan said, smiling. “Or we could just show up and volunteer to help. He’s forever short-handed.”
§
On the mountain peak that rose above the monastery, there stood a statue in sandstone. It was alleged to be of Amatok in his scholar avatar, but time and the weather had softened the details of it until the image could just as easily have represented a melting snowman. Perched on its head that morning, a gull named Kel and a raven named Bonetapper were in deep conversation.
“So. How is your mistress taking to the arrangement?” asked the raven.
“I’m guessing no better than yours?”
The raven shrugged its wings. “Hard to say. She hasn’t spoken much about it. I would say that she appears annoyed, but then she usually does.”
The gull sighed. “I could say the same of my own mistress…when she’s not actively angry, that is.”
“Temper?”
“More like a chronic condition,” the Kel admitted. “Don’t ask me why. Whatever it was happened long before our association. What about yours?”
Bonetapper appeared to think about the question. “She is seldom angry, but I have seen it once or twice. It was usually bad tidings for whatever or whoever had made her that way.”
“I can imagine. So. I think we need to come to an understanding, as the situation is requiring us to join forces, at least for now.”
“I think it is the ‘for now’ part that requires it,” Bonetapper said. “As we both know it won’t last.”
“True. If she orders me to kill you, I’ll do it,” Kel said.
“You’d try,” Bonetapper said. “As would I, if our situations were reversed. But she won’t, unless she’s a great deal more foolish than I believe. If she forced you to kill me and you succeeded, then she would inherit my debt, witch or not.”
“I used that as more an example than anything,” Kel said. “As I said, just so we understand one another.”
“Oh, I think we do. Our obligations, if not necessarily our loyalties, are clear. So why are you in service?”
“I was slated for hanging. Mistress Dena helped me escape, and that was her price.”
“That sounds familiar,” Bonetapper said dryly. “You were innocent, I suppose?”
“Not even a little,” said the gull. “Were you?”
“Not a whit, not even less than a whit. I think we both have reason enough to be grateful, and yet….”
“And yet what?”
“And yet I sense that your association with the Lady Dena goes beyond gratitude or obligation. I think you actually have some feelings for her. Am I wrong?”
Kel seemed to consider. “Say rather that she is very powerful, but very young. When one is older one does tend to view the mistakes of the young with a paternal gaze. Mistakes…well, everyone must make their own, I suppose, though sometimes it is hard to hold one’s tongue. Is this a bad thing? Your mistress is rather young herself, I note.”
Bonetapper just shrugged. “In years, yes, but otherwise? Sometimes I think Marta never was young, even as a child. And that I do think is a bad thing, or at least would be, if she was anyone other than who she is. I do advise her as that is part of my remit, but she does not always listen. A good deal of the time she is wise not to have done so, but then if I such a wise person I would not be where I am.”
The gull laughed, which was an odd sound even to Bonetapper’s raven hearing. “Another thing we share. Farewell for now. I hope we don’t have to kill one another…or anyone else.”
“That would be nice,” Bonetapper said. “No promises, of course.”
The two servants flew back to their respective mistresses, trying not to think about what was coming. Neither Bonetapper nor Kel pretending to know, but neither, in their separate musing, could see how it would end other than in tears.
§
As they had agreed, Marta’s party informed Dena of their intentions before they visited with Master Collas. Now Marta. Sela, and Dena were all watching with some amusement as Prince Dolan of Borasur-Morushe sweated as he worked the bellows of Master Collas’ forge like an apprentice smith.
Master—or rather Brother—Collas was a jovial, thick-muscled man of about fifty, who actually seemed delighted to see them, even in addition to Prince Dolan’s forced labor, but he was in no hurry to get to the point that interested his visitors.
“I’ll be pleased to look at anything you’d care to show me,” he said, “as soon as I’m done with this piece. It’s a rather delicate object I mean to present to the abbot upon his latest retirement and I’m at a crucial phase. Highness, if you would be so kind?”
Marta frowned. Latest retirement?
“Master Collas—“ she began, but the old man shook his head.
“In a moment, child.”
Sela leaned close. “He reminds me of my father…at least in some of his more annoying tendencies.”
Marta smiled and summoned her patience. After all, Prince Dolan had warned them of Collas’ eccentricities. Knowing the prince’s interests, it did not surprise her that Dolan was on relatively familiar terms with the old smith. What did surprise her was the deference Dolan gave to him. While Marta could not claim to have known very many princes in her time—indeed, she’d met more kings that princes—not for the first time she had consider that he was not typical of the breed. She still had yet to decide if this was or was not a good thing, but after their time together she was leaning toward the former.
The object that Brother Collas was so carefully crafting seemed, at first glance, to be little more than a sliver of steel no thicker than the shaft of a goose quill. Marta noted that there were several hammers hanging on iron pegs in the smith’s workshop, some so large that they would likely need more than one person to swing them. But the one Brother Collas used now was so tiny that, even on the small piece of steel that he was was working, Marta could hardly tell if any one blow had any effect at all. Yet Brother Collas was very intent on each strike, and raised the steel to examine closely on every other blow. He finally grunted, apparently satisfied, and signaled to Dolan on the bellows.
“A bit more strenuously, Highness, if you please.”
Dolan sped up the bellows until Collas was satisfied. At that point the smith placed the steel back into the forge until it was glowing an orange color just starting to shift to yellow, at which point he plucked it out, quickly grasped the opposite end with a small pair of tongs and…well, later Marta would think of it as no more than a flick of the man’s wrist, but in that instant the steel shaft twisted in on itself to form a smooth spiral, at which point Collas quenched it in an oil bath. When he pulled it out again it held the spiral shape. Collas eyed it critically for several long seconds and finally nodded, apparently satisfied.
“That will polish up nicely…oh, you can stop now, Highness. Thank you for your assistance.”
Dolan let go of the bellows handle with obvious relief. “Don’….don’t mention it,” he managed, trying to catch his breath at the same time and not quite succeeding.
Collas wiped down the piece of steel with an oily cloth. “So. I guess we should finally get to the reason, Highness, that you and your charming co
mpanions have come to see me.”
Marta frowned. “Brother Collas, why do I have the feeling that you already know?”
“I do have a strong suspicion, so I won’t dissemble on that point, but I would like to hear from you first,” Collas said.
“Brother Collas, it’s about a sword—“ Dolan began, but Marta interrupted.
“I ask your pardon, Highness, but there is another question I would like to ask first. With Brother Collas’ permission?”
“You may ask me anything, Black Kath’s Daughter, though you’ll have to pardon me if I prove to be…discreet, on some issues.”
“You said that your project today was a gift for the abbot’s latest retirement. May I ask how often he retires?”
“Oh, every fifteen years or so. It depends on whether there is another groomed and trained to take over at the proper time. Sometimes there isn’t, and the abbot does find that annoying—like the rest of us, he prefers his own studies to the running of a monastic complex, but someone has to do it. This is his second tenure during my lifetime. I’ll likely be dead before the next one.”
Sela frowned. “But…I’ve met the man he can’t be much past fifty or so.”
Collas smiled. “Oh, yes he can, and by quite a bit.”
“How much of a bit?” Marta asked.
“I don’t claim to know for certain, but judging from the time his name appears in the annals, I’d say he’s at least two hundred years old. Probably much older.”
“That’s not possible,” Dolan said.
Collas’ smile didn’t waver. “I know. Absolutely impossible, but no less true. The brothers and sisters here who make medicine their field of study are completely baffled, but I know the real reason for his longevity. The prioress knows as well. It’s a good thing we’re all so good at secrets.”
“But you’re telling us,” Sela pointed out.
“That’s because you’re supposed to know. It’s not as if we tell everyone who visits us. In fact, the abbot has to remain in seclusion if the visitor happens to be someone who knows him from a prior time and might ask questions. That can be quite inconvenient, but fortunately it doesn’t happen often.”
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