“Fine,” Talysse said, “I won’t talk about it if you’re only going to make fun of me.”
“My apologies,” Jehan said. “I only observed, I did not mean to mock.”
He’s too sincere for me to be angry with him, Talysse thought. “How do you know about them?” she asked. “Detta said her father told her about them.”
“Indeed? Madame’s father is a man of the world, then.”
Detta giggled—foolishly, Talysse thought.
“Are they bandits?”
“Some accuse them of thievery. Occasionally, the accusations are true,” Jehan said with a touch of humor in his voice, “but they are not bandits. They travel over all Europa, and have done so for generations beyond remembering. They buy here and sell there, and thus make their way. They also bring news, from one elf community to another. They are highly regarded by elves everywhere.”
“Sounds like you know them well.”
“We are to watch for the smoke of their campfires,” Jehan said.
“Very well, I’ll ask it as a question. How do you know these particular… what did you call them?”
“Routiers. Drivers. Wagoneers.”
“Wagoneers, then. How do you know them?”
He sighed. “Mademoiselle Obstiné,” he said, without rancor.
“No need to flatter,” Talysse said, smiling.
“I traveled with them for a time. The wagonmaster, Brasc, took me in when I was… lost. Hopeless. For reasons I still cannot fathom, he saw hope where I saw none. He gave me a job of sorts, to protect the karwan—their name for the whole train of wagons—though in truth no protection was needed. He bore my moods and despondency until I had come around enough to care for myself. And he took the karwan to Arles, in part to give me the chance to recover my arms.”
This was as long a speech as she had heard from the elf, but the wash of bitter regret mingled with respect impressed her even more.
“The wagonmaster sounds like a good man. And,” she added after a moment, “a good judge of character.”
“He is.”
“He took you in,” Detta said. “Is that why you hope he will take us in as well?”
“It is,” Jehan said, “though it’s a little more complicated than that. We shall have to make the case.”
“What does that mean?” Talysse asked.
“You’ll see,” Jehan said. “Look, there is the first smoke. Let us go, and save up your questions for later.”
Talysse bit back her next question and stood to follow Jehan. Was she going to have to beg for help? The thought tasted sour, but the thought of campfires and wagons pulled her forward.
The sun had settled behind the western horizon, flooding the sky with color. Blue deepened toward indigo in the east; to the west, a bank of white clouds took on tinges of vermilion and rose. Whippoorwills and nightingales sang. A flight of storks swept overhead, setting up a din as they landed and silencing the chorus of frogs that had been growing in volume with every step.
The karwan lay in an arc of dark wagons with heavy spoked wheels. Some were mere two-wheeled carts with sides but no top. Others were much like transport wagons, with high sides, a wide bed, and a canvas cover. By far the most common, though, were wagons unlike any she had seen. These were four-wheeled, each with wooden walls and a curved wooden roof. Pennants hung along the edge of each roof. Many had windows, and all had a door at the back. Each was painted with a kind of undercoat of a specific color—this one was the color of spring grass, that one sunset orange, another was a summer-haze blue, while still another a cheery sunflower yellow. Onto the base color were drawn designs—some of animals, some geometric or floral, each utterly unique.
Inside the arc of the camp, fires burned brightly. One of these was crowded with people getting their supper, while around the other gathered only a handful. The smell of roasting meat set her mouth to watering. Voices of men wove among those of women, accompanied by the laughter and shouts of children. A clear tenor sang a nonsensical, burbling song about lovers and cakes and hot baths. After the rush and noise of Arles, the whole scene was as peaceful as an afternoon nap.
“It’s lovely here,” Talysse said. “I hope they will take us in.”
“Assuredly they will,” Detta said. “We are in the company of a hero, after all.”
Talysse said nothing to this, awkwardly aware of the smooth skin between her gray eyes.
“Don’t be so sure,” Jehan said. “It is no small matter for the routiers to accept a guest.”
Talysse had feared as much, but Jehan’s gloomy assessment discouraged her.
“They will be eager to help my darling,” Detta said. “Anyone would.”
After Jehan said nothing to this, Talysse said, “Don’t look to him for comfort, tante; he’s gloomy by nature. To hear him talk, everything will always turn out for the worst.”
“Come, let me give you advice, with the earnest hope you will follow it,” Jehan said. “You are not yet welcomed, and among routiers this is a thing taken most seriously. Until you are welcomed, do not speak. Try not to look anyone in the eye, and for all love stare at no one. Stay by me. I’ll go straight to Brasc, the wagonmaster, and put your case to him. Do not speak, do not interrupt, unless Brasc bids you. Do you understand?”
“I do,” Detta said promptly.
“I do,” Talysse said after a hesitation, “but I don’t like it.”
“You are not required to like it. Routiers are proud, with a quick temper, but they are a good judge of people. If Brasc speaks to you, answer honestly. He will know if you try to deceive him. It won’t work and you don’t want to anger him, believe me. From the moment you step inside the wagons, you are a stranger, gadj—foreign—it is not a nice word. If they approve, you will be welcomed. It is an honor. Treat it so.”
“That was quite a speech,” Talysse said. “Am I supposed to be afraid? Because I’m not.” She clenched one fist.
Jehan said only, “Stay close.”
A whinny came from nearby. Detta jumped sideways at the sound.
“Horses,” Jehan said. “They keep them hobbled at night. Nothing to fear.”
“She wasn’t afraid,” Talysse said firmly.
“But I was,” Detta whispered.
They stepped inside the line of wagons. Impressions that had lapped at the edge of her awareness now flooded in. Music came to her, swirled away, mostly as snatches of song, but from further away came a lute accompanied by the same clear tenor voice she had heard before, this time singing in a strange language.
Closer to hand were the smells of cooking—roasting meat accented with thyme and rosemary. Her stomach growled at her. She told it to hush, but it growled again, so loudly that Detta stifled a giggle.
As strong as were the smells and sounds, what Talysse saw put those in the background. She was used to a regulated life, a world in which all came to dinner at a bell, rose to another bell, moved through the day in an orderly progression. The wagoneers were a churn of motion, like the sea in a storm. People sat on the ground, seemingly wherever they pleased. They called out to each other, shouting over one another, singing at random. Children ran among the adults, intent on mysterious games. No one seemed to belong anywhere in particular.
The clothing radiated color in the evening light—sun yellow, spring grass green, sea blue, brick red. The women wore dresses of white that stopped at their ankles, so heavily embroidered they seemed more thread than cloth. Entire scenes tumbled down their backs and arms. Forests spread across mountains, horses pulled wagons across fields, and foxes scampered, all caught up in threads.
The men were every bit as colorful, with wide, black pants whose legs bore complex symbols. Their shirts were of every color—orange, blue, pale yellow—seemingly anything but white. These, too, were embroidered with scenes and glyphs.
Talysse wandered happily through this. Her senses were assaulted and overwhelmed, and she was surrendering joyfully. This was life, she thought, real life. She
had spent her entire existence in a closet, thinking it was the world.
I’ll never go back there, she thought to the oncoming night. Aloud she said, “I could live here.”
“But, Lyssie,” Detta said, “they don’t really live here. Wagoneers don’t live anywhere.”
“They live everywhere,” Talysse said, and even her own voice sounded enchanted. “The wagons are their home, wherever they go. Don’t you see how marvelous it is? I didn’t like Arles one bit.”
“Nor did I,” Detta said. “But how could we live among the wagoneers? I do not know their customs.”
“In the city,” Talysse went on as if Detta had not spoken, “everything is so crowded you can’t see, so noisy you can’t hear, so full of smells it’s one big stink. But here, Detta, I can hear each voice, smell every scent. The city is a swamp. This is a garden.”
“It seems nice,” Detta said, hesitantly.
Jehan spoke just loudly enough to interrupt.
“We come to Brasc’s wagon. Remember what I told you.”
“I know,” Talysse whispered back. Heroic rescuers really ought not be so irritating, she thought.
A stocky elf sat on a stool near the fire. To one side and a little back sat a woman, just visible in the darkness. Still further, the shape of a man who held some sort of instrument in his lap. The campfire tossed shadows with yellow light.
She examined the seated elf, a man so brown he could have been made of the earth itself. The brim of his straw hat turned up at the sides. His hair was the color of old silver. His sight eyes were going gray, but his third eye between them was still sky blue. He stood at their approach.
Jehan stood before him and spoke in a clear voice. “Brasc, peace and greetings.”
“Jehan d’Ursay, peace and welcome,” Brasc said, his voice like iron wheels on gravel. His face was hard and dark.
“I have come to make a request,” Jehan said.
“We welcomed you once before. We will hear you,” Brasc said. “I heard of your victory in the arena. Neus was there and saw. He says you felled armed men with only a quarterstaff.”
“It is so,” Jehan said.
“And I see you have recovered your armor.”
“Also true, wagonmaster.”
“It is well.” Brasc nodded, then stared into the fire silently. Jehan waited. Talysse looked down to scowl, biting her lip to keep quiet when she wanted to blurt out a plea for help. She was pretty sure that would not be wise.
“I welcome you to the karwan, chevalier, but you bring with you more than your armor.” He did not look at Talysse.
“I bring guests,” Jehan said.
“You bring trouble.”
“I do not dispute it.”
Dispute it! Talysse urged silently.
“Trouble with the Syndicat, no less,” Brasc said. “My people wish to have nothing to do with wizards. Why should I risk this?”
“This girl has harmed no one, committed no offense, yet a wizard would hunt her like a wild boar. She has no family, no protector. I ask that we be taken in as guests, as voyageurs. I can only ask as a favor. You said before that you go to Bayonne.”
“To wash our wheels in the Atlantean Sea. It is so.”
“It is possible you go by way of Toulouse.”
“It is one of several possibilities.”
“We would go so far. There, we will ask help from the count.”
“Fulk? Why him?”
“He knows me, after a fashion,” Jehan said. “I shall ask him for a letter to the king, who fights in Gascony against the Picards.”
“Known. Who is she to you?”
“My geas.”
That stopped the conversation for a moment. Brasc glanced behind him at the woman, who was almost invisible in shadow, then turned to Jehan. “This is news indeed.” He looked at Talysse for the first time, the blue of his third eye as bright as daylight. “Perhaps she is worthy,” he added.
“I have sworn to help her find her parents,” Jehan said
“Indeed,” Brasc said.
Talysse thought wagoneers could learn at least a few manners. Or were all elves like this?
Jehan spoke again. “I request these my comrades at the arena be welcomed into the Cierzo Karwan.”
Talysse felt a surge of pride at being called a comrade, even though she did not think she merited it.
“Even the gnome?”
“Ardetta of the Vill de Saldemer,” Talysse broke in. “She is my compagnon.” Then she bit her lip—she could hear the disapproval in the silence, could feel Jehan’s glare. She scolded herself for not being able to keep quiet even for two minutes.
She was still scolding herself as Jehan spoke his next words, though they were about her. He said something about her getting robbed, how she held his banner at the tournoi. Saldemer was mentioned. Her name again. Brasc said something.
“Answer the man. Look up and answer him,” Jehan said.
Detta was tugging at her.
“Art thou elf?” Brasc asked. Talysse did not miss his change to formal speech.
“I am,” she said. She had an odd sensation of tipping over.
Brasc leaned forward, inspecting her face. He placed a blunt finger on her forehead and pressed, then leaned away. “Not elf.”
“I am half-elf,” she said quickly. “My mother is human.”
Murmurs came from the other elves. He considered, rumbling, “Hm, hm.” Then he said, “It is not impossible. It has happened.” He said this as if speaking of something distasteful.
“Where is thy home, demi?”
The use of the term—“half”—made her wince. “I live in the Saldemer Cenobitum,” she said. Hadn’t Jehan already told him this?
“Art thou orphaned?”
“I am donata,” Talysse replied. “Given.” His questions pried uncomfortably at her, as if he were rummaging through her belongings.
“Why does this wizard hunt thee?”
“I don’t know,” Talysse said. She felt small, standing before this man in the flickering firelight. She knew her defenses were going up. Don’t be rude, she counseled herself in Detta’s voice.
“He spoke with thee, did he not? What did he say?”
“He said he wanted to take me to Paris, to learn to be a wizard.” It sounded petty in her ears.
Brasc considered. “Thou hast no wish to be a wizard?”
“I don’t know. But I know I don’t want to go to Paris. I want to find my parents.”
“Are they in my karwan?”
“No. Obviously.”
“Why obviously?”
“Because my mother is human. She’s a great noble lady, and my father is an elf chevalier.”
Brasc’s eyebrows went up and he cocked his head. “Like our Jehan, here,” he said, but he seemed to be thinking of something else.
“Only if he has defeated a giant to save a beautiful woman.” All her walls were up now.
Brasc turned to exchange a look with the other man, the singer, who strummed an odd chord by way of reply.
“So,” Brasc said. He turned back to her as if returning from another conversation. “Thou will not go to see Paris.” A gentle mockery was in his voice. “Why should this wizard pursue thee? Art thou special?”
“I can fly,” Talysse said. Her chin tilted up and her eyes dared him to doubt.
“Verily?”
“Verily,” Jehan said. “I have heard it from gardiens who swear they have seen it.”
When did he talk to Guarin and Ceranne? Talysse wondered. He must have checked up on me.
“The gardiens are no fools,” Brasc said. “They have clear eyes, for humans. So. A demi is rare but not unheard of. A girl who flies is unusual but not impossible. You bring me a rara avis, Jehan.” Brasc smiled at this.
“Indeed.”
“This wizard Saveric grieved me at Arles. His men were discourteous to my people. They beat a man who would not tolerate their insults. On the best of days I would have no tra
ffic with wizards, and this is not the best of days. I do not mind pulling this one’s beard.”
Talysse started to say Saveric’s beard was too short to pull, but Jehan spoke first.
“Do the other wagons agree?”
“I will speak to them later, wheel to wheel. Hospitality has its own rules.”
“Indeed.”
Talysse sensed there was more to this conversation that the words alone. This must be how a horse feels, she thought, when it’s being traded.
“Very well,” Brasc said. “And thy plans now?”
“I’m… not sure,” Talysse said. “First I have to keep out of reach of Saveric.”
“Canst thou best him in battle?”
“I don’t know. I can avoid him, though. I can fly.” Pride silvered her last statement.
“Truly?”
Talysse was pleased to hear honest surprise in that word.
“I have not seen it,” Jehan said, “but I spoke with a gardien who swears it is true.”
Brasc said slowly. “A rare skill,” Brasc said slowly. So, when the wizard gets too close, fly away?”
Talysse nodded, not at all sure that’s what she would do.
“Leaving behind thy compagnon?”
Detta smothered an “eep” with both hands.
“Of course not,” Talysse said, putting one hand on Detta’s shoulder. “I would carry her.”
Detta “eep”ed again. Talysse hoped Brasc would not ask if she had ever done this.
“And should the wizard accost thee inside a building, such as…” He pretended to consider. “…an inn, wouldst thou fly up through the chimney like a starling?”
Now he was just mocking her. She glowered at him.
“Do not be angry merely because I ask thee to think. I would do the same of any warrior.” Here he glanced meaningfully at Jehan before returning to her. “There is no shame in asking for help, no shame in accepting it; there is only shame in believing it is not needed.”
Talysse looked at Brasc for a long time. His third eye had closed; she half expected it to flicker open so he could read her true mind. Hah, she thought, good luck to you there. I don’t even know my mind myself, half the time. But the eye remained closed and her own thoughts remained jumbled.
“We will go with you,” she said at last, because she had to say something. “If you will have us.”
A Child of Great Promise: An Altearth Tale Page 15
