Rin reached behind her with one long, flexible arm, and scooped Tildi off her back.
“Time to get down,” she said cheerfully. “I wish desperately to scratch my back!”
With that, the elegant chieftainess of the Windmanes collapsed onto her side and rolled over. Her human half lay upon the grass while her striped horse half writhed, all four legs in the air. Tildi laughed at the look of bliss on her face. Rin let out a breath of pure pleasure.
“Ah, that’s wonderful! I haven’t scented sweetgrass like this since I left home. Do you know sweetgrass, smallfolk?”
“We only get it dried,” Tildi said, plucking a few short blades and holding them to her nose. “It is a popular herb used to stuff pillows to prevent bad dreams. I’ve never smelled it fresh before.”
“Isn’t it delicious?”
“Do you eat grass?” Lakanta asked curiously, sitting down beside Rin.
“Only if I am very hungry,” the centaur replied, rolling over and rising to all four knees. “I prefer grains, but we can eat anything. What shall we be having?”
“I can help cook,” Tildi said at once. If her ability to track the book was wanting, she would at least be able to hold her own with domestic duties. She sprang up to help, but her legs were so wobbly they gave way under her. Sitting down hard reminded her her bottom was numb from hours of jouncing. “I always cooked for my brothers.”
The grim-faced captain shook her head.
“Morag will do mess duty.”
The stooped guard was already unloading a cooking kit from the pack animal. Tildi tottered over.
She looked up into the face under the straggly hair, and was surprised to see that Morag was a man. He had clear, light, hazel-brown eyes, but the eyes were the only feature that seemed normal. For a moment Tildi wondered if he was from another race that had been created by the Shining Ones. His mouth was wide and flat, with snaggled, crooked teeth that held out his lower lip just far enough that he could not avoid drooling just a little. His nose was weirdly pinched, and seemed skewed off to one side. His cheekbones stood out prominently and pointed outward, almost obscuring his ears, which were crushed handfuls of flesh. Morag’s ruddy skin darkened further, and Tildi realized she had been staring.
“I am sorry,” she said. “May I help you cook?”
He shook his head, and the lank hair danced. “No,” he mumbled. “Don’ need.” He clutched the iron cooking pot in huge, bony hands as if using it as a shield to protect himself from her.
“Whatever you say, but please ask if you want an assistant.” The soldier dropped his eyes, refusing to meet hers. Tildi hurried back to the others.
Morag’s twisted face revulsed her, but something in his eyes brought out the deepest pity. She knew of children born with twisted features. They often did not live long. Sometimes their minds were addled. Morag must be intelligent, or he would not be in Halcot’s castle guard. She watched him out of the corner of her eye.
Captain Teryn licked a finger to find a spot downwind of the party and gathered dry wood from the forest. With an ax from the packhorse’s bags, she chopped them efficiently and made a good-sized cooking fire. Morag cut up a large piece of meat from another packet, and arranged them to fry in the pot. He cut up onions and potatoes, set them to cooking with herbs he shook out of square bottles. Tildi watched him, always eager to learn a new recipe or two. The scent that rose from the pot, though, was not encouraging. Had he really put chili pepper and tarragon in at the same time?
Teryn came to them with a skin of wine and an armful of pewter mugs, including one of a size suitable for Tildi. When the captain had finished serving them, Tildi took the opportunity to beckon her over. She spoke in a low tone so it could not be overheard by the other guard.
“Captain, Morag seems very different than other humans I have met?” She made the question as polite a statement as she could. Teryn’s thin lips tightened.
“He’s a good man,” she said tersely.
“I am sure of that,” Tildi said in haste. Teryn set her jaw and stared out over the field, her clear blue eyes narrowing.
“He was normal before the war. You know of that?” She didn’t wait for Tildi to answer. “Close to the end, a terrifying spell overtook some of us trying to cross into Orontae. They were twisted like broken dolls. Such a thing had never happened before. We thought their wizard incapable of attack spells. All of the others who were afflicted died. Sometimes, it might have been kinder—” she stopped herself, and scowled at Tildi. “He is a good man, and loyal. You need not fear him. Or pity him,” she added fiercely. “His Highness holds him in esteem, or he would not serve in Meriote Castle itself.”
“Oh, I am sure he is more than worthy,” Tildi said. “Thank you. I apologize.”
“She was in love with him,” Lakanta said, as soon as Teryn was out of earshot.
“What?” Tildi asked, startled out of her thoughts.
The little blond woman made a half-rueful face at her. “She was in love with him. You can see it all over her face. And he might have loved her, too, who knows? How sad that he was crippled like that.”
“That’s a guess, peddler,” Serafina snapped. “Do you have any reason to believe it’s true, not that it is any of your business?”
“I don’t know it,” Lakanta said cheerfully. “Do you care to scry it for me? I revel in love stories.”
The young wizardess took the suggestion as an insult, to judge by the look on her face. She turned her back on them, and faced her mother, who was sorting through a bag from her saddlepack. The blond trader winked at Tildi.
“Don’t say anything,” Lakanta whispered to her, then raised her voice to a normal level. “Well, Tildi, tell me about your home.”
“It’s an ordinary place,” Tildi said. “The only excitement we have is when a peddler like yourself comes to town. Otherwise, we just live our lives.”
“Sounds dull. But dull can be a relief. Regular meals, you know. Warm, dry bed, knowing where your shoes will be when you wake up in the morning.”
Tildi laughed, but with regret. She had thrown away all of those things, not once, but twice. The first had been a decision made out of anger, grief, and panic, but the second was deliberate and thoughtful, or at least so she hoped. “What about you? What’s it like to travel from place to place with a load of goods?”
“Oh, there’s a touch of the dull about the life, too,” Lakanta admitted, but her eyes twinkled. “But I get my fun out of it. You know, I never want to miss the chance to see new lands. You meet people, sometimes very individual people. Why, let me tell you about the last time I visited Tillerton … .”
Tildi liked her. She was glad that someone like her had been permitted to join the party. Serafina was haughty, like Doctor Jurney’s daughter. Edynn seemed far above Tildi’s station. Though she was kind, Tildi never dared think of having a natter like this with her. The two guards kept to themselves. Rin, now, Rin was an enigma. Tildi liked her, too, but she thought so differently than two-legged people, and she was nobility, as well. Lakanta was approachable, capable, and unflappable. She’d have made Lakanta a friend if they had been neighbors in Clear-beck.
The meal, when it finally came, was overcooked as well as peculiarly spiced. Tildi chewed gamely at her portion of tough meat and under-cooked vegetables, wondering if Morag’s creation was bad or just a recipe from a cuisine that she had never tasted. Out of the corner of her eye she glanced at the others’ faces. To judge by their expressions, her first reaction had been the correct one. Lakanta, too, was munching energetically, trying not to make a face. Edynn cut her food into small bites and was eating them with a long fork while she read a sheaf of documents that she had taken from her saddlebag. Rin tasted the meat, let out a loud snort, and was chewing the vegetables with no evidence of enjoyment. Serafina was not even pretending to eat. She pushed away the blackened offering and sipped moodily at her wine. Teryn did not meet anyone’s eyes. She and Morag finished their meals with d
espatch, then went about tamping out the fire and cleaning up the site.
Thankfully, no one found it necessary to criticize Morag’s lack of skill aloud. He was undoubtedly doing the very best that he could, but Tildi felt there was no need for them to eat bad food all the way along their journey, not with her own skills available. She resolved that she would find a way to get Morag to let her help, at the very least to pull food off the fire before it burned.
Once base hunger was assuaged, she pushed the scraps around her small plate, looking forward to staying at an inn that evening. She had had good luck so far with food at travelers’ rests.
“Who is Teldo?” Edynn’s voice brought Tildi’s head up with a jerk.
“T-T-Teldo?” Tildi stammered out. Her heart pounded.
“Yes,” Edynn said, holding up a scroll. “Olen gave me the articles of apprenticeship when he passed responsibility for your education along to me. I read smallfolk language very well, and I cannot help but notice that the name on the correspondence is Teldo, not Tildi. Is that what you are called at home?”
Tildi felt all the blood drain from her body. What could she say? She knew in her heart that she must not lie to Edynn, but not only were they many days’ ride from the Quarters, they were now many miles from Olen’s home, even if she might be compelled go back once she had told the truth.
“No,” she said at last. “It’s not. Teldo was my brother.”
“Was he? Why did you use his name to write to Olen?”
“I didn’t.” The terrible truth bubbled up from deep inside Tildi, as though it had been waiting months for her to let it free. “He did. He wanted to be a wizard from the time he was a child. He taught me the magic that I knew, but he was the real scholar in our family.”
“I see. He was one of the family members killed by the thraik?” Edynn’s tone was not accusing, but Tildi felt as though she had been caught stealing, which, if she thought about it, she might indeed be. She hung her head.
“Yes,” she admitted.
“How did you come to bring his letter to Olen, then? Why did you not stay in the Quarters? You had a home there? Friends?”
“Do you know of our culture as well as our language?” Tildi asked, phrasing her words carefully. “The attack happened very suddenly. I have little value among my people. I couldn’t inherit my family’s property. The elders were planning to marry me off to a …”—there were no polite words suitable to describe the odious Bardol—“ … someone not of my choosing, and were giving me no option to refuse. I had only a short time to make a decision. I hope you and Olen will forgive me,” she said, hanging her head. “I felt I had no choice but to leave, and Teldo’s letter … he was never going to need it. I did want to study magic, but I thought that Teldo would teach me when he came home again. Once my brothers were dead that was no longer possible. I disguised myself as a boy, and left that very night.”
She told the story as succinctly as she could. The others listened with solemn interest and not a little sympathy, but when she described her stay at the inn in Rushet, Lakanta burst into hoots of laughter.
“Oh, that’s wonderful!” the little woman exclaimed, clapping her hands on her knees. “That’s the funniest thing I’d ever heard in my life! Oh, they’re a kindly group at the Groaning Table, they are. I’ll have to tease Danyn about it next time I go through.”
Serafina gave her a quelling look. “Her family had died violently, and you laugh at her?”
“If anyone had told me such a story, I’d laugh,” Lakanta said. “I don’t deny the terrible things she’s been through. In fact, I think she’s brave as a lion for picking herself up and setting out like that. Still, trying to drink her weight in beer and flirting with the barmaid? It’s like something in a comic song!”
Now that Tildi started to think about it, she could see how ridiculous she must have looked. She smiled timidly at Lakanta, who beamed back.
Edynn nodded. “I, too, can understand why you borrowed Teldo’s identity to get you safely to Overhill. Why not admit this to Olen? You showed the aptitude he requires, and a willing heart. He praises you highly. In fact, there were many times over the last days he considered refusing to let you go. You could have been accepted on your own terms.”
Tildi felt more guilty than ever. “I did not know that until I began my apprenticeship, but a good opportunity never arose to admit it. I wondered how I could bring it up without making him disappointed in me. I was afraid that he would send me away. I don’t excuse the lie. I did try to tell him, once or twice. I am sorry I let him believe an untruth. I knew I could earn my keep if he saw how hard I work. I only used Teldo’s name so that he would consider me as a pupil, because I am only a girl.”
“Never say that,” Serafina said sharply. “Females are the half of creation.”
Edynn’s voice was gentle where her daughter’s was harsh. “You could not know that this is not the custom of the rest of us, Tildi. Olen would have welcomed your confidence. He might even have chuckled about it.”
“I know that now,” Tildi admitted. “I have seen since that it is very different with human women. You are respected, and no one disagrees when you speak for yourselves.” She regarded Edynn and Serafina with envy. If she had known of the differences in culture while she was still at home, she would have been more frustrated with her own situation than she had been, and that was a good deal. “Little wonder that the men keep us from asking too many questions of strangers.”
“Humans are not perfect, either, Tildi,” Edynn said gently. “There are many traditions within the race, and some of them hold life far less dear than smallfolk.”
“I didn’t know that. I’d never been out of the Quarters in my life.” She had never felt more ashamed or ignorant. If the ground had opened up to swallow her at that very moment, it would have been a relief.
“You have much to learn,” Edynn said, with a little smile. “I’ll do my best to help you on the way to wisdom while we are together. Olen will say, as I do, that nothing you have done needs forgiveness. A little omission, as long as you have been honest in all your other dealings, is quite understandable. Shall we begin again?”
“Oh, yes!” Tildi exclaimed gratefully. Edynn rolled Teldo’s letter up into a tight scroll and put it away.
“Very well. Let us make ready to ride again. Perhaps this evening there will be time for a lesson or two. Will that suit you?”
Tildi nodded, her eyes shining.
Edynn was not angry with her. She let Rin swing her up on to her broad back, and did not even notice how sore her seat was, now that the numbness had worn off.
She rode on the rest of the afternoon deep in thought. It became automatic to use her eyes to watch the runes and her hands to guide Rin, though the centaur hardly needed the guidance. Tildi was grateful not to have to speak. She had so much to think about. She felt almost as though she ought to turn around and ride back to Silvertree to apologize to Olen for deceiving him. One day she would. More than before, she felt grateful to have been born into the family she had, who had been tolerant of her dreams and her need to kick over the traces once in a while. Perhaps she was better suited to life outside the Quarters than she had known.
She wondered if Teldo had ever found a mention of smallfolks’ origin in the books he read. She doubted it. He had never so much as hinted it. He liked to share any discoveries with her, and that would be too compelling to keep to himself. It still troubled her to think that she might be less of a being than the trees she saw around her, or the birds on their branches. Still, she was there, at that time and in that place, and she would make the best of it.
Beyond the meadow the forest closed in again, blocking the main road from view. The book thief seemed to have spent as little time as possible in the open. Tildi hardly felt the leaves that brushed her hair and shoulders, barely smelled the fresh sap from broken twigs, scarcely heard birdsong and the scolding of squirrels. Her determination to catch the thief was renewed, but ho
w far away could he be? If only she had known she was following him. Now he had a month’s head start, and could be half a world away. Tildi hoped fervently that he meant no harm, but if that were true, why not leave the book where it was?
Around her, the forest was a steadily fading blur as afternoon turned into twilight.
“We must stop soon,” Rin said, dancing to a halt and letting the others catch up with her.
“But we can still see the runes,” Tildi protested.
“The runes are visible, but alas, they do not light up the ground! I have no wish to break an ankle in a mole hole.”
“You are right,” Edynn said, peering around her. “If we were on open ground, I might say keep going for a while yet, but I won’t risk any of us being injured. I want all of us to stay in the best shape possible. We don’t know when we will come upon our quarry.”
“Providing he is not warned we are following, Mother,” Serafina said, with a disapproving little shake of her head. “If he’s any kind of a wizard at all, and he must be.”
“Ah, you’re right, daughter,” Edynn said mildly. “Once we are settled for the evening we shall see if he has lowered his defenses a little and allowed us a peep at where he is headed. You may assist, Tildi.”
“Thank you, Edynn!”
The elder wizard smiled at her, making Serafina fume. Tildi guessed she was jealous of her mother’s attention.
Lakanta’s sturdy little horse was the last to arrive. The peddler blew strands of hair out of her red face. “Whew, my bumped backside! The inn is not far from here. I’ll be grateful for a bath and a bed, and Melune is greatly deserving of a good rubdown.”
Rin lifted her nose. “I smell food cooking, to the east of here,” she said. “But they do not bury their refuse deeply enough.”
Tildi inhaled deeply, trying to pick up the scent. “You’ve got a far better sense of smell than I do. I can only smell the woods, and me. Wait, you’re right. There’s spoiled meat off that way.” She pointed toward the east, now plunged into twilight.
An Unexpected Apprentice Page 22
