“I have not yet offered,” Brasc said, “but I do so now. I make a guest of this woman and this gnome.” His voice rasped like a rake through gravel, but he had called her ‘woman’ rather than ‘girl’ and Talysse’s heart warmed to him.
The wagoneer held out both hands, palms up. “Welcome, Talysse du Camargue, and Detta of Saldemer Vill. You are guests of my karwan.”
The switch from the formal to the familiar made her heart warm still more. Had she found a protector or a friend?
“Come along,” Jehan said to Talysse. “I am hungry and tired.”
“Go to the convidat,” Brasc said. “Neus will take you in hand.”
“Convidat?” Detta asked as the three left the light of the campfire.
“The guest wagon,” Jehan said.
The guest camp was the same as the others, though here only one person sat at the fire. He stood as they approached.
“Hela, Jehan.” He was young, hardly older than Talysse. The campfire showed him to have silver eyes, with the third eye a deep blue, which he quickly closed. Elves considered talking to strangers with the third eye open to be somewhere between rude and threatening.
“Hela, Neus,” Jehan said. “We have guests.”
“I’ve heard. Now I see them.”
Jehan gestured to small rugs spread on the sand. Elaborate patterns were woven into the wool. “Sit,” he said. “Eat.”
Talysse sat gladly, but she was not hungry. Detta took a bit of bread and made Talysse eat a piece along with a swallow of water. “For politesse,” she whispered as she handed her the cup. The events of the past two days felt like someone was sitting on her shoulders; Talysse yawned widely.
“I apologize,” Talysse said. “I am very tired.”
“I am not surprised,” Neus said. “Jehan is arranging the wagon for the two of you. He and I will sleep out here.”
“Oh,” Detta protested, “it is wrong for me to put you on the ground.”
“The chevalier will have it no other way,” Neus said amiably. “This is the convidat, a guest wagon.” He waved a hand at the dark shape.
“Voilà,” Neus said with a flourish, “our hotel.” He grinned.
“You are most courteous,” Detta said, but she said it to Jehan, who was helping her up the step into the wagon. Talysse followed close behind.
The interior of the wagon was lit by a single candle near the door. The wavering light showed a plain bench running the length of the wagon on either side. Some sort of cloth hung down the sides, and the benches both had blankets on them. It was comfortable enough. Jehan bid them sleep well and blew out the candle.
Talysse expected to fall asleep instantly. Instead, she lay awake listening to Detta’s breathing slow and deepen. In the utter blackness, she felt the rush of events wash over her like a wave. From the moment she leaped from the tower she had been hurtling outward, racing from moment to moment. Now it felt as if a tide had left her here, on an unknown beach, staring back across the days to the white walls of Saldemer. She imagined she saw herself peering through the gate, her hair moving like a silver liquid against her shoulders. Was that truly her?
She seemed such a child, that figure in the gateway—innocent of life, wondering about the world, naïve to deception. Though scarcely a week had passed, Talysse felt herself educated, experienced, and already wearied by the world. Her parents were not where she had thought they would be, and the king was out of her reach. One wizard had abandoned her, and another pursued her. Why should she be so unimportant to one, yet so important to another? She had dragged her tante away from hearth and vill; been taken in by strangers, then put them in danger.
And now where? This parade of elf wagons was off to some place called Bayonne to do something absurd. Washing their wheels. What was that? And where in the world was Bayonne?
More questions. They drifted like smoke through her mind. The blackness now was from her closed eyes. The smoke of questions thickened, and at last she yielded to sleep.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The Trovador
Talysse awoke alone in the wagon, but voices sounded all around her. The shutters of both windows stood open, letting in two squares of sunlight that intersected above her. She stretched awkwardly, between the benches, then got up to stick her head outside. The air smelled of earth, grass, horses—a warm smell, as if the world were an oven. Detta and Jehan stood talking; Neus leaned around the open door.
“You are fortunate in your sleep,” the young routier said. “We get a late start today.”
“Why late?” Talysse was still wiping sleep from her eyes as she hopped down and kissed Detta on her forehead.
“I will put away the blankets,” Detta said. She handed bread and cheese to Talysse. “Eat a little something, my dove.”
“There has been discussion,” Jehan said.
Talysse cocked an eyebrow at him. “Do you want to explain, or do you just expect people to guess what you mean?”
Neus chuckled. “The chevalier is being polite,” he said. “The discussion concerned you.”
“Oh,” Talysse said, abashed. “Is there a problem?”
“There are always problems,” Neus said. “The discussion concerns what to do about them.”
“About me, you mean.”
“Indeed.”
Jehan put a hand on Neus’ shoulder. “The karwan moves soon,” he said. “I’ll explain as we go.”
Neus climbed into the driver’s seat. Jehan indicated they should go inside.
Detta had everything neatly tucked away under the benches, with blankets folded on top to serve as cushions. The wagon lurched into motion as Neus called out to the horses. Jehan climbed inside and closed the door.
“You should know what was said,” Jehan began, “for not everyone has welcomed you.”
“Oh,” Detta said, “I’m sorry.” She patted one cheek of her furred face.
“Don’t pat your cheek,” Talysse said crossly. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”
“No, there is not,” Jehan said. “You have not offended anyone, but you worry some, Talysse.”
“We mean no harm,” Detta said.
“Yet you may cause it,” Jehan replied.
“What do they say?” Talysse asked.
“Some say that the routiers have no reason to anger a wizard, still less to anger the entire Syndicat. They say your troubles are your own, even if you have not made them. That there is nothing the karwan can gain by sheltering you, but it has much to lose. They say perhaps you are a runaway, an escaped servant who has created a story to make herself appear virtuous.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Talysse said. “I never ran away.”
“You flew,” Detta said.
“Other things were said. It doesn’t matter, for Brasc stands in your defense. As do I.”
The addition of those three words, coming after a short pause, warmed her heart.
“I thank you, sieur chevalier,” Detta said. She spoke with such formal courtesy, Talysse had to suppress a smile.
“And now I must go,” Jehan said.
“Go?”
“We are newcomers to the karwan,” Jehan said. He put a hand on the door handle. “I have questions for the wagonmaster, and he will have a few for me as well. Be sure to latch the door behind me.”
Talysse wanted to ask him to explain, but she did not really know what to ask or how to ask it, so she merely sighed and shook her head as he hopped out. She slipped the metal latch.
“I do think he likes being mysterious,” Talysse said.
“He is an elf chevalier,” Detta said. “He embarks upon grave matters.”
“Yes, well.” Talysse shrugged. “He doesn’t really irritate me,” she said, “not as much as I pretend he does. I just wish he would talk more. If he’s to be my—our—champion, don’t you think we ought to know more about him?”
“He has more experience of the world than we do,” Detta said. “Perhaps he behaves wisely in this.”
“You like him, don’t you?” Talysse said. Nothing is easier than to tease a gnome, but sometimes she couldn’t help herself.
“He is an honorable man,” Detta said, ducking her head.
They rattled on through the day. After an hour, Jehan still had not returned, but someone else arrived. The wagon rocked violently as someone grabbed hold and joined Neus in the driving seat. Soon, a high, sweet voice came from the front of the wagon, singing of kingfishers and a sapphire pond—a wistful song oddly strung over a happy melody. Talysse listened for a time.
“I heard that voice last night,” Detta said.
“Me too,” Talysse said. “I think it’s the fellow who was sitting with the wagonmaster.” She added, after a moment, “He sings very well.”
“I like kingfishers,” Detta said. “Such a pretty bird.’
The song ended, but another soon followed, and another after that; he sang for an hour, up there with the driver.
How odd, Talysse thought. Here I sit, bouncing around inside a box listening to songs about birds and a magic stone and troll kings, on my way to who knows where, hunted by a wizard. I wonder if this is what it means to be truly out in the world, to be lost and bounced around. Perhaps I’ll ask Neus. The routiers live like this every day. She wasn’t sure if she altogether liked it, but she knew she preferred it to the familiar tedium of Saldemer.
The wagons stopped at midday. They did not form into a circle but pulled in two lines along a side road, wheels just touching the edge of plowed fields bright with spring wheat. The sun bore down, somewhat shy of hot, but promising more. Talysse could almost feel the ground heating up beneath her.
Neus busied himself with a cooking fire; Detta soon joined him. This left Talysse to meet the owner of the sweet voice. He appeared eager to meet her as well, for he walked directly up to her. He was small and slight, dark-skinned, with black hair and eyes, a close-trimmed beard, and white teeth. His smile seemed to go before him.
“Hela,” he said, “I am Gonsallo.” He bowed gracefully, without pretense.
“Hello,” she said. Not quite sure if she should bow in return, she nodded awkwardly. “I am Talysse.” She gestured toward the new-lit fire. “That is Ardetta, my compagnon.”
“It is with pleasure I meet you, demoiselle Talysse.” He raised his voice slightly and bowed toward Detta, though the gnome had her back turned at the time. “And you also, madame.”
“We heard you singing,” Talysse said.
“You came with Jehan?” The question was half a statement.
“Yes. He is an elf chevalier.”
“New-made, as I hear. Mere days ago, he was a lost spirit.”
“So you know him from before?” Talysse asked.
“Not well, for I joined the karwan only at the Twin Marais.”
“The Twin Marais! That is not so far from Saldemer, our home,” Detta said from over her shoulder.
“We came from there,” Talysse amended, “but it isn’t my home, not anymore.”
Detta’s head went down, but she said nothing.
“Well, so,” Gonsallo said. His eyes shifted uneasily. A silence slid between them.
“Where do you come from?” Talysse asked Gonsallo.
“Montellà, in Cerdanya,” he answered promptly, seeming glad to change direction. “I see you do not know the place. Few do, but I intend to change that. I am a trovador, you see.” He smiled.
“A what?” Talysse asked. “Do you mean a troubador?”
“In your language, yes. In Catalan, it is trovador. We have different traditions and styles than the Provençals or the Aquitains.”
“You play the lute quite well,” Detta said. She left off with the cooking to come over and join them.
“Ah, there is another difference.” He picked up the instrument. It looked like a lute to Talysse, but the body was flat rather than rounded on the back. “This is a cistro,” Gonsallo said, “also called a cittern.” He ran his fingers over the strings, calling forth a quick stream of notes that flew upward like a flight of sparrows.
“Cittern,” Detta repeated. “Lovely.”
“Madame is gracious,” Gonsallo said with a grave nod, but then he added a wink. Detta’s hand covered her mouth.
“You’re not an elf,” Talysse said, “and you ride on the guest wagon. Where are you going?”
A cloud passed over his face. He wiped it away again. “Nowhere in particular,” he replied. “I am making my way as a trovador.”
“With the wagoneers?”
“For now, yes.”
“I thought troubadors sang for great lords.”
“Politesse, Lyssie,” Detta scolded quietly.
“The fortunate do,” Gonsallo said. A rueful smile came and went. “I still seek my fortune.”
“We’re all seeking, I suppose,” Talysse said. “Jehan, us, you. I’m seeking my parents.”
Again the uneasy cloud. Before she could ask about it, Neus called that the meal was ready, and Gonsallo—eagerly, Talysse thought—changed the subject.
“Jehan is a good man,” he said. “You are lucky to have him as a friend.”
“I don’t know that we are friends,” she said. “He is a difficult man.”
Gonsallo laughed. “He is proud. Such men are often difficult.” He cocked an eye at Talysse. “Are you also proud?”
She scowled, then laughed in return. She could see his question was good-humored. “I have been told I’m difficult, so I guess that might come from pride. I’d rather say I’m stubborn.”
Gonsallo handed the first cup of warm soup to Detta, and the second to Talysse, before taking one for himself. Only then did he continue.
“You should say proud over stubborn,” he said. “The proud go their own way, but the stubborn refuse to move at all.”
For some reason she couldn’t identify, this made her uncomfortable. Pride was a word that belonged to kings and warriors. She was unsure what to do with it. The word did not seem to fit her.
“Jehan says I am his geas.”
Gonsallo nodded. “And I was glad to hear it. Now truly he is a chevalier. He has you to thank for it.”
“He has my misfortune to thank,” Talysse said to her soup.
“Ah, malé,” the trovador said. “Such misfortune.”
“Do you mean my parents?”
“I should not speak of that just now,” he said.
She studied his face. Something about him—his dark eyes, or the mouth that seemed always eager to smile—told her he was an honest man. “All right,” she said. “I won’t keep asking. But when you can, will you answer?”
“I will,” Gonsallo said. “I promise. But look who comes. Hela, Master d’Ursay!”
Jehan came striding up. Talysse tried to read his face, but it was like trying to read a stone.
“Have some food.”
“I ate with the wagonmaster,” Jehan said then, as if realizing how he sounded, he added, “but thank you for the offer.”
One look told Talysse there was no point in asking what he had discussed. He would tell her in his own time, or not at all. Was he that way because he was a man? Because he was a grownup? Because he was an elf? Or was it because he was Jehan? He was a puzzle, in any case, and Talysse fancied herself good with puzzles. One way to solve a puzzle was to come at it from a different direction.
“I want to learn how to fight,” she said. She took a matter-of-fact tone, asking for something quite ordinary.
“No, you don’t,” he replied, not looking at her.
Her nose crinkled.
“But I do. I don’t want to just stand around waiting to be captured, and I don’t want to run away.”
He started to answer, but she cut him off.
“Or fly away, if that’s what you’re thinking. We have time now. You’ve no reason not to.”
“I have several reasons,” Jehan said, “though you’re not likely to listen to any of them.”
He walked over to the horses sta
nding in their traces, giving a bit of grass to each. She followed him.
“You haven’t told me any reasons, yet.”
He began making a list with his fingers. “If a man stands unarmed, his enemy can capture him. If he defends with sword and buckler, his enemy must fight.”
“And he might get away,” Talysse interjected.
“Or he might die. Will likely die, unless he is the better swordsman. Two.” He held up a second long finger to quiet her protest.
“One does not learn how to fight. It is not learning a thing like how to tie a ribbon or make a box. You don’t learn how to fight; you become a fighter. It takes months.” He looked at her at last, storm-gray eyes steady. “Years.”
“Everyone has to begin somewhere,” Talysse said. He ignored this.
“Three. I am no teacher. I am too… abrupt.” She thought he had meant to choose a different word. “I have no patience, no experience with teaching.”
Everywhere men block me, she thought. They tell me what is best, where to go, how to speak. They never ask, they only tell.
“If you don’t want to teach me, just say so.”
“I did.”
“Fine. Buon. I’ll teach myself.”
“That would be neither wise nor effective,” Jehan said.
“Then make it so!” Frustration surged within her. She stalked away, but turned after a few, stomping paces. A thought had occurred to her. She turned slowly, for dramatic effect. “I’ll leave,” she said.
His face showed no comprehension.
“I’m your geas,” she said. “How will you become a chevalier without a quest?”
“I shall find another,” he said. He sounded determined, but she had felt the ground between them shift. His eyebrows lowered; the corners of his mouth turned down, and his eyes paled to mist gray.
She laughed. Now he was the one unsure. His eyes had paled to mist gray.
“Why do you laugh?”
“Because,” Talysse said, “I didn’t know an elf could pout.”
A day later, the karwan neared the great city of Montpellier. A number of routiers went into the city together, Jehan along with them. Talysse wanted to go as well, but he told her the Syndicat had a house there and it would not be safe. She agreed, reluctantly. So she spent half a day pacing about the circle of wagons. The elves were courteous enough, but they treated her as an outsider. They greeted her, replied when spoken to, offered food, but no more than that.
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