Silver May Tarnish

by Andre Norton

  “What of them? I know you chose not on strength of arm.”

  “That I did not and you should be glad of it. The man and his children came from a dale which the invaders found. His wife died as they fled. He was wounded and the injury healed awry since they had no healer. He cannot use his arm though he can grasp with the fingers. But he is a decent man, loves his children well, and moreover he is skilled.”

  “What skill?”

  “He is a leather-worker. He can prepare hides or furs, and his children, too, begin to learn. Already the elder boy can mend footwear and cobble boots which are none so poor.” I rejoiced in that. Such skills were useful in any dale.

  “If you have done as well with the others then have you done very well.” My tone was hopeful.

  “I think we have done not so ill.” Meive looked pleased. “The lame man is a potter. He can make dishes, cups, anything we require so long as we have clay. And that we have.”

  “I saw none?” I said in surprised question.

  “Yet it is there. I can show him once he is settled in. The two who led the pony are sister and brother. They have no skill but are young and willing to work. Their mother is dead and their father died with their lord in the war. They did not like his heir, though I suspect it was more a case of his heir liking the girl too greatly. Therefore they took their pony and cart with their goods and set out to find another place. They are used to beasts and the work of the land. I thought to give them the sheep to tend. I think they will do well:”

  “And the last two? What are their skills?”

  “They have abilities and knowledge we may use.” There was something in her voice which said she felt here was a bargain. I waited. “Both spin finely. One weaves. See the cloak she wears.” I had seen. It was very beautiful, of a soft green hue, the shade of beelove leaves in early Spring.

  Meive was speaking again. “I have rarely seen so tight and neat a weave. The other sister is a dyer. The cloak’s color is of her doing. But Lorcan, both can shear also. Are we not fortunate?”

  I caught up her hand. “That was well done. We captured the sheep while you were gone. We have almost twenty to be our flock and yearlings to feed us during the Winter chill. So, we shall have plates from which to eat, mugs we may drink from. Leather and furs, woolen hangings and bedding, why, almost do we have all a dale requires.”

  “What else would you have then?”

  I shrugged. “A horse-master, a weapons-master. A keep passage to the inner vale, Hogeth’s being uninterested in us, the death of all bandits …” I went on, becoming more outrageous in my desires until I had her laughing. I thought how beautiful she was when her face and eyes lit with joy. Would that I might always bring her laughter. Would that she was mine. But of those wishes I did not speak.

  The nine who were new to Honeycoombe settled in quickly. They rejoiced in cottages of their own, the sisters taking over what had been the weaver’s cot and which still, in a room to one side, contained the large cloth-width loom. They had brought with them two smaller hand looms, dye-pots, dye-sticks, cakes of the dyes created, and other minor items. Within the week they had shorn the sheep we had and while one wove, the other was exchanging information on local herbs and dyes with Meive.

  Meive set the sister and brother to tending the sheep. They would learn to shear from the older women and also save them the harder, rougher work of being out with the flock. They took a tiny cot, and settled in there with obvious content.

  The leather-worker had received a vast stack of dried hides and furs gathered over the past months since we had arrived back in Honeycoombe with Levas and his men. I had seen to it nothing was wasted nor ill-done, so he was pleased with his raw materials. He took a larger cot so he and his three children would have room both to live and work. The elder boy was already taking boots from us to mend, replacing worn-through soles and nailing on new heels. The two younger children had joined Elesha’s pack and added their sharp eyes to the sentry duties—something they enjoyed, since the other children at once explained the benefits. It was not long before the new children had earned their first sweets and loudly approved the system.

  The potter took a greater time to be ready. Levas and I would have built him a kiln save that Meive knew of one in Merrowdale. To Merrowdale we went, returning in triumph with a kiln ready to use. It was then Meive revealed another secret I had not known.

  “This way.” We went where she led until she halted at a distant comer of the inner vale. “Can you dismount and walk a few paces on foot, Master Elban?” The potter nodded, peering eagerly about him. We raised lanterns as Meive led the way. To my surprise she walked forward into a shallow depression in the cliff-face. At the back she turned sharply into shadows and vanished. I was close behind her, an arm ready in case our potter stumbled. Within the shadows lay a turn in the cave, behind which was a second wider cave, the back wall of which was of strange appearance. Our potter limped forward to scrape a handful of its substance into his hands.

  “Clay, of fine quality. How does it come here? Is this some store?” I lifted a lantern to light the wall and could answer.

  “I think it is natural. See, Elban. The wall here has fallen away and behind is clay. I think the lower under-side of the hill here is clay, and with a piece of the rock fallen the clay oozes through.”

  Meive was nodding. “We have known of this since first Honeycoombe was settled. Tomas, who had some small skill, made dishes for everyday use. Sometimes he took a pony-load of the clay to Merrowdale. They would exchange our clay for the right to fire in their kiln other work Tomas had done. The lord of our dale had finer things but they came from further North.”

  Elban smiled gently. “Your Tomas had only small skill, that is true. I have seen some of his work in the cot I was given. It holds the shape required without leaking and that is all one can say of it. But I trained under a master potter. I will make you such plates and dishes as will sell to traders. Better yet, when the land is more settled, let you take a load of my work, well packed in straw, and offer them to daleslords.” As we talked we had moved back to stand outside the cave. I signaled Meive that she should leave us. When she was gone I turned to Elban.

  “I believe you can. But why come here where you are far from lords and markets? Why not remain in the North and reap the rewards of your skill?” I looked into his face and made my own stern. “You hide a secret. You are not the first to think our dale a refuge. So long as you have done no evil my lady and I would not drive you forth. Let you tell me why it is you chose Honeycoombe.”

  His look was bitter. “Because in the North, where the invaders came and stayed for whole seasons, too many know what I am. The son of the enemy. How think you I gained my lame foot? Was it my fault some sneaking spy of Alizon came into the North? Many years ago they looked first towards the dales. One came to my dale pretending to be an honest trader. He cozened my mother, who was barely a woman. She lay with him believing his lie of love, and I was born. I have never been of great size and strength, so once I was of age I was apprenticed to a potter.

  “He was a good man and a fair master. He taught me well and I had a talent for the work, so what I did sold and I could keep my mother in comfort. Until Alizon came again. Then the men of my dale remembered; they saw my thin body, my fair hair, and they called me an enemy within their gates. One night they came hunting. Before dawn my mother was dead, slain by a blow gone awry as she tried to protect me. I was lamed. My lord said he would have no trouble-maker in his dale and sent me forth.

  “By then the war raged and all hands were against a man who was of Alizon blood. I dyed my hair and kept a hooded cloak about me when I went abroad, but still some would always suspect and I must flee again. In the end I sought out the South where the hounds had never come or where they had been only briefly. I hoped here I might find a home again.” The bitterness in his voice sharpened like a whetted knife. “Will you now drive me forth for the sin of being my mother’s son and her a vict
im of Alizon herself?”

  I reached for the mule’s reins and turned him so Elban could mount more easily. Then I faced the potter. “There are none of us here who have not know fear or unjust grief. Shall we send them from us for that? Mount and ride to your home, Elban, Potter of Honeycoombe.”

  I said no more before turning to walk before the mule, but as I turned I stole a glance at him. The mule moved to follow. Aye, after me rode Elban with the first smile I had ever seen upon his face. I had never seen a brighter one.

  XV

  In the last days of Fall, Levas rode out. With him went a string of all the mounts we could spare. We had traded away carefully those beasts which left with Meive for the cross-roads. She had exchanged the six taken and Dogas’s two for three good young mares and supplies. Now Levas sold our bandit’s gleanings and returned with a fine colt of a strain being bred by a lord in the North. There was Arvon blood in the animal but also something of the Waste. The colt had both strength and speed, and the endurance and ability to survive on little water and less feed. His foals should be an asset to Honeycoombe.

  Within our dale the people had worked hard. I believed with so many grazers gone we would have stored feed and pasture enough for the snow months. Winter came after Levas had returned, bringing with the first heavy snow a great relief to me. Honeycoombe was well South so that the snows came early. The dale had never been easy to find, so said Meive. But with many of the passes closed and the thin trail over the higher hills blocked we should not need to fear Hogeth nor any outlaw band. None but the utterly desperate moved in Winter. It was too easy to die without adequate shelter. But we had wrought well. Within Honeycoombe all was snug, each cot with its store of firewood, ample food, and a watertight roof. There were now twenty-four of us. I had talked in turn to each adult, explaining to them of Elban. Elesha set the tone for her tiny clan.

  “The poor man cannot help it. And as for his mother, what? A young lass is cozened by a rogue. How is this a reason to murder his mother and drive him from his home? His lord should think shame.” After that, for a few weeks she went out of her way to help him ready his cottage. Elban accepted graciously, so they became friends. Our leather-worker was neither so kind nor so accepting, but, intimidated by Meive’s glare, he shut his mouth after the first hasty words and said no more.

  As for Levas, that experienced blank-shield warrior only grunted at the news.

  “I guessed. What of it? Alizon fought well enough. If every fighter went around killing everyone whose parentage he disapproved there’d be damn few left.”

  I had to grin at that. He was right enough. I used his words to the sisters, who agreed and swept into agreement also the two who had joined them. Our leather-worker and his family might have made trouble, still remembering the loss of a wife and mother, and the crippling of their father. But seeing how the rest of us thought, while they might never accept Elban, at least they continued silent. Thus it was as a fairly united group that we settled into the season of snows.

  That first Winter was one I think I shall never forget. Most evenings we gathered to eat in the keep’s great hall. After food we would take turns to tell old stories, sing songs, and several times the children had learned a small play to act for us. Small Isa was oft the lead in that activity.

  Elban had spoken only the truth about his skills. In the short time before Winter he had fired several loads of plates, bowls and dishes, mugs and cups for us. They were of a quality I had only previously seen on a lord’s high table. We praised them honestly so that Elban beamed, laying a part of the quality on the fineness of the clay. We had sited his kiln in a building separate from his cottage. Elban knew what he wanted for his workshop and thus we had taken apart one of the old cattle shelters, which was stone. It had been rebuilt by his home. Elban lined the small stone building with clay inside to fill every chink between the stones, so that even in the depths of Winter, as long as the kiln was hot, he was able to continue his work there without freezing. Nor, between the materials used and the care Elban took, was there danger of fire.

  The sisters, Betha and Lirwas, had taken the weaver’s cot, which was larger than usual, with more rooms. Thus they had ample room to set up their looms permanently and dye skeins of wool in their dye pots. They opened two of the rooms to the land, and once Winter came so did their sheep, huddling into the shelter provided and enjoying the warmth which came through the wall between them and the cottage.

  Before the snows became too deep, Meive and I took the mules, more sure-footed in the treacherous footing, and went to the place beyond our inner valley. We dismounted and I spoke quietly.

  “We come to tell you of what passes.” There was a stirring within the crevice of the cliff-face. The reply was slow.

  “Why?”

  “Do not neighbors talk together?” Meive said quietly. “It is only courtesy that they should do so. It is also good sense. How should one neighbor know if what they do may not trespass on another if she does not speak of what she does and plans? And what if there is danger, or feud with another dale? Should you not know?”

  The tone became more welcoming at that. “Speak then. I forget some of your customs, but, may I offer a guest cup?”

  “Of your courtesy,” Meive agreed.

  We drank from strange guest cups then. A sort of spiced warming wine in tall fluted containers made of a light wrought metal. They were beautiful and the wine, though unknown to us, tasted light and fruity with a clean aftertaste which cleansed the palate. We honestly praised both wine and the beauty of the containers, our remarks bringing greater warmth to the voice as it addressed us.

  “Be welcome to my home, be fortunate in your plans. I listen, speak and be heard.” So we talked. Now and again the voice commented and always the words were sound. Then it fell silent for some time before it spoke again. “I am weary.” Meive rose at once from where she was sat on a small convenient flat-topped boulder.

  “A good neighbor knows when it is time to leave. We have not told our people of this place, nor shall we. Lorcan believes you have safeguards which mean they see it not?”

  “He is right. None may enter but you and he, since you have gifts which permit it, to each his own.” Meive turned to stare at me, then at the direction from which came the voice.

  “Lorcan has some gift also, what is it?” There was no reply. She asked again. There was nothing: even the feeling that said someone was there had vanished. She looked at me. I handed her the reins of her mule.

  “Let us go.” So we did, cantering across the valley of the voice into Honeycoombe’s inner vale and thence to the keep. But as we went Meive speculated. If it was true I was permitted entrance to the voice’s home because I, too, had a gift, what could it be? I saw her remember, then.

  “Lorcan, once you wondered if that one might not be in some way related to her who was saved from Pletten. Could that be your ‘gift?’ That you come of a line which once aided one of her kin?”

  She said what I had thought. “Berond said the girl’s kinmale told my great-grandfather that they were long-lived and that they did not quickly forget a debt owed. It may be the voice is kin also or knows them or the tale.” I grinned and shrugged. “How does one know about someone who is no more than a voice and a shadow?”

  “She gave us guest cups.”

  “She did. But tell me, Meive. Did you see how the cups came or went?”

  My lady stared at me then. “No. Lorcan. I do not even remember thinking it strange. I just turned and found the cup already in my hand. I put it down on my boulder between mouthfuls. When it was empty it was gone, yet that, too, aroused no wonder in me. We have been bespelled.”

  “No harm was done us. It was we who came uninvited so I daresay we have no cause to complain,” was all I could think to say.

  Meive was practical. “That is so, besides which, Winter closes in. There is no need to hunt stock in the voice’s place. Let us stay away from it until Spring.” So we agreed and still we s
poke to none of our comrades about the hidden place. The voice agreed it was truly hidden. Both Meive and I, too, had long since learned that to allow a sleeping dog to slumber undisturbed is usually far wiser.

  Winter passed quietly. We had our small joys, one when Manon came to Meive saying she wished her lady to approve a wedding between Manon and the new shepherd. That permission Meive granted most happily. Thus we had two weddings: one between Levas and Vari after the first snows, and the second towards Spring. Between them lay Mid-Winter’s night and fair feasting as we celebrated the rise of the year towards Spring. I found then that roast goat-kid is very tasty when glazed with honey.

  I did not know from Meive, but I had guessed at her fear she would not do well as daleslady. She was wrong. I think at first our people deferred to her because Honeycoombe had been her home and she knew her home well from cot to keep. Then, too, they respected her for her gifts and her warriors. But perhaps her gifts gave her more, a natural air of authority which guided without offense so that, over the Winter, more and more those within our dale looked to her. I rejoiced to see it, and to see also how she met that expectation.

  From the first I had respected her courage and good sense. I was uncertain when I had begun to truly love her, but I had long since known I wished her to be to me more than a liege-lady. It was heart’s lady I would have her, but I was afraid to speak in case she saw it as a demand outside dales custom. I had no family to approach her, to ask her privately how she felt about me; I could not ask her that question myself, if she did not desire me how could she answer honestly and to my face?

  It would not be quite dales etiquette for her to broach the subject to me, but less a breach of that than if I approached Meive myself. So I waited patiently; if she loved me, she would find a way to tell me her desires, if she did not—well, that was ill news I could wait forever to hear.