by Andre Norton
“Would you have me seek her out, speak with her?” asked Nosh, though she was not inwardly welcoming such action. “Perhaps she still thinks of me as one who caused her pain, though it was meant for her aid and not her peril.”
“True—truth true!” For a long moment Danus held silent as the wagon trundled forward, shaking them near from their seats since here the trace road they followed was cross marked with deep furrows. “Yes, Lady—perhaps if Sofina knew you better…” He did not enlarge upon that but Nosh was alert enough to guess that his northern bride might indeed resent her new husband’s interest in another woman.
Nosh herself had no remembrance of any attachments between man and woman, how such were made, and how much they were guarded by formal custom. The fact that Danus had spent time with her alone when they fingered his collection of stones might indeed have been an error.
Now she needed Danus—the more she thought of being adrift in Kasgar the more she saw the folly of trying to establish herself in a city life of which she knew nothing. But if there was to be conflict in his household, Danus could well change his mind and she would be the loser. Even her companionship with her own sex had been limited. She remembered Ilda from her childhood, and after her there was only Dreen.
True enough the priestess had, at her coming to womanhood, made plain to her the needs and changes of her own body. She knew what happened when man lay with woman—but Dreen had treated that all as dry facts such as might be culled from books. In the refuge none of the outlaws had seemed to consider her any more than they would some lad who had joined their forces—not strong enough to become a full armsmen but with her own uses. After the destruction at the caves most of them, save Layon and the men she had helped to tend, avoided her and she had been left much to herself.
She suspected that Danus had a certain awe of her after the affair of the hawk stone and she knew he respected her talent. Perhaps he had spoken of her to his new wife in a manner which had led Sofina to believe that there was more than awe and respect in the way he regarded her.
No time like the present—things which were put off only grew the harder to face with time’s passing. She twisted about on the seat to face the interior of the wagon.
“I am friend to your lady, whatever she thinks,” Nosh said. “Perhaps if I have speech with her, she will believe that.”
She pulled aside the flap of hide which sheltered the interior from the outer world and dropped down from the seat into that snug, swinging room, for Danus did not protest.
There was light enough. The back curtain of the wagon was looped up a little and the daylight had entrance. Though boxes were stored along the two sides of the wagon bed, there was ample space in the middle. Furs tanned to make coverings formed a soft flooring and there were cushions of cloth, their sides patterned with intricate scrollings of thread in brilliant colors, some of which carried the glint of gold or copper to enhance the thread. It offered such luxury as made Nosh aware of her cobbled clothing, her scratched hands, callused from grass weaving, her weather-browned skin. She had managed to keep her mop of hair in order by fastening it in braids, but looking at Sofina she could guess what a wild thing she must seem.
Though Sofina still rested her arm in a sling to save any pressure on her shoulder wound, she had somehow gotten into a robe—which was far from the drab one Dreen had worn.
This was of a brilliant blue—fashioned from cloth which glistened when the light fell full upon it. In addition it was lavishly patterned on the shoulders and about the hem with the same kinds of thread as showed on the pillows which supported Danus’s wife. The robe was not ankle length as Dreen’s had been but came to the knee, flaring outward in a wide skirt. Beneath that legs and thighs were covered with trousers made full until fastened at the ankles with bands of a green shade which complemented the hue of the robe. Around Sofina’s slender ankles also were wide bands of silver wire, from which dangled bells that tinkled at her every movement. Her sun-fair hair was twined around a green scarf and the whole knotted into a round mound of head covering.
Nosh had not seen Sofina in such clothing before. While she was being treated for her wound she had body covering of a coarser cloth and her hair had matted across her pallet until Nosh had combed and braided it.
Even as Nosh was eyeing the other’s splendor in real astonishment Sofina was surveying her with narrowed eyes, the lids of which appeared too heavy to fully lift. Or perhaps that seeming was brought about by the fact there was a heavy banding of black on their lids to match the black of the narrow, upcurved brows above.
Sofina’s features were strongly marked. Her nose was broad and her mouth large, her cheeks now each bore a round red spot, obviously painted. Nosh found this new facade somewhat disconcerting.
“Lady,”—because she was so ill at ease she spoke first—“it is good to see you so recovered and safe again.”
Sofina’s somewhat thick lips were pursed and now she answered, the trade tongue having with her use a strange accent.
“I have to thank you—priestess.” Somehow she made that sound almost contemptuous as if Nosh claimed what she had no right to. “It was you who found me, they have said—many times”—again that same unpleasant note—“also you tended me well. My lord tells me that you have been an aid to him with this strangeness of the hands. Such I have never heard of before. Is it common in this barbarous country?”
“I am not a priestess,” Nosh answered, keeping her voice level though she could not put any warmth into it, “and I have been told my Lyr-given talent is seldom known. That I could give you aid, and assist Master Danus in his stock sorting, I am glad. For Lyr is one who wishes peace to all, and we who serve Her do likewise.”
Again those black-lidded eyes swept over her. There was a faint curl of what might almost be disgust about the wide, painted lips.
“Peace is always necessary in a well-organized household,” Sofina returned. “I am pleased that you agree with me. If you are not to be reckoned a priestess, then how should we address you while you are one with our clan?”
Nosh noted that Sofina did not use the courtesy “lady,” by which Danus always addressed her. But she had no intention of suggesting that. “My name is Alnosha,” she spoke that one with which Dreen had greeted her so long ago. “Use it as you wish.”
“Alnosha”—Sofina repeated. “Well enough. So—as my lord tells me you will be working with him and living among us, I offer you welcome.”
But she did not; Nosh knew it as if those words had been twisted into the truth. There was no welcome from Sofina.
CHAPTER 14
As the last northern caravan of the season, they had not seen many wayfarers, even the closer they came to Kasgar. Kryn’s knowledge of that city was hazy for, since the breakup of the Great Kingdom after the death of High King Trustan, the remaining center state of that empire had been in a fashion walled off from what had once been a well-known world. He busied himself with questioning the remaining guards and even the drivers of the wagons, learning all that he could about their destination.
At least it was not dominated by a Temple and Templers did not police it. As best he could discover the local religion was a peaceful one. Any difficulties within Kasgar’s ancient walls came from disputes between various guilds—which were mainly legal matters handled by the courts—and the sly attacks of those thieves they called creepers. The latter, he learned, were exceedingly well organized and in the past few seasons had dared to institute a taxation of their own on those who were wealthy.
Many of the guild leaders, those who dealt in more expensive products, turned their headquarters—usually situated in their own houses—into small fortresses, and there were rumors that they even dealt with some Dreamers and small mages for the greater security of power shields.
It was necessary for those entering Kasgar to come with proper identity, to be able to prove they were not vagabonds or rovers. But the fact that he and the two from the refuge would enter as
employed by a well-known merchant would cover that. What he needed most were the supplies and weapons for those at Dast. Too much had been lost at the refuge. Three men, with perhaps three pack beasts, ought to be able to return there at much better speed than the caravan kept.
Kryn did not want to linger in the city—the change of seasons was too close. And, though he had never wintered west of the mountains, he wanted to take no chances on being storm stayed—what he would carry was far too important.
Questioning of the guard gave him the names of those dealers best able to answer his demands—and impatience grew within him as he kept to their schedule of alternating as scouts and guards—though there had been no sign of any of the strange raiders.
Now they came into well-watered country, having twice to ford rivers. There were good-sized garths which he surveyed with bleak envy, remembering those of his own past. The harvests were long since in but there were plows already in the fields, breaking up the earth for another planting, perhaps one meant to withstand the winter.
So at length they wound their way through a straggle of villages which served the outer garths and manors. None of them slept in the inns, though twice, when they were nighted near a village, those off-duty went in to taste the sourish ale which seemed the principal drink of the countryside. Kryn was one of the party the second time—not because he had any wish for drinking; privately he thought the stuff offered by these hedge taverns was such that a single sip or two sufficed and one could then nurse the leather mug in which that liquid sloshed for the rest of the evening. Once more he went for the talk. There was too much unexplained in the immediate past.
The attacks of the raiders, that girl’s suggestion that the rathhawk had been set on Danus’s caravan because of the crystal in his wife’s bridal crown, and then the worst coming upon them because of the taking of that stone from a dead bird. He had no trust in the powers nor in those who dealt with them. And certainly he would be very glad to be riding out of Kasgar again, leaving this Nosh behind.
However, his mind kept turning on questions he did not know who or how to ask. Who kept the rathhawks? Such use of the large predators was totally unknown to any of the Hall lords of his own land. And he could not believe that they were part of the Temple’s program of coercion and control. Had they been so, there would have been no hiding it—too many eyes and ears were always focused on Temple business.
The High King? Again reports of such training would have long ago been common knowledge. And that blasting of the refuge had certainly not been within Valcur’s power. Had he been able to call on such a weapon, the Temple would long since have dominated the whole of the eastern lands.
No, there had to be something behind the Temple, the High King. Was that what was now urging the king’s forces south—for what purpose? By all accounts an army might have to march endlessly to reach territory which had not been blasted into nothingness. There was this story of Razkan—the mage who had pushed the world into chaos. But his time was long past. He must have long since died—even if he had disappeared as legend declared.
But—Kryn’s hand went to the hilt of Bringhope— what if there was one who picked up Razkan’s power to follow even as he, Kryn, had taken up his father’s sword—to wreak vengeance when the time came? There was logic in that. Only, the weapon… no sword had blasted the refuge. Whatever weapon Razkan might have left to his successor was beyond the bonds of Kryn’s imagination here and now.
“It’s a chancy thing…” The words cut through his thoughts, almost as if the speaker had read them. One of the guards leaned forward to reach for one of the salty rolls the tavern keeper had dumped down before them.
“She has a temper, that one!” his command agreed. “She thinks to be a great lady in the city and Danus is the weapon who makes her so. No, she does not take kindly to his offering service bond to this other. I would not like to get to the left side with any Kolossian woman. Did we not see enough of how they hold the household rule?”
“But the other is a priestess. Sofina would not dare meddle with such.”
Kryn realized they were talking of Nosh. So there was trouble between her and Danus’s new wife? Well, that was a household matter and of no concern to him—let them settle it as best they could.
“You will sign again?” The first guard changed the subject.
“Danus has dealt fair with us. Yes, I think I will take bond for another season,” said the other. “What of you, Hold Heir?” He looked to Kryn, who shook his head promptly.
“Back to my lord at Dast,” he answered shortly.
“Outlaws—it is a hard life,” the first guard commented.
“We live it as we can. The Temple knows well how we live—since we make Valcur’s men pay for it.”
“This Valcur—it is him they call the Voice?” half questioned the other guard. “I heard tell of him last season in Kasgar. There were men of his came to the Three. But if he thought to make some trade with them, it came to nothing. They went out of Kasgar like hounds whipped back to the kennel.” He grinned.
“Not all of them, Salser,” countered his fellow. “Just before Master Danus headed out in the spring I set eyes on one of them. In the market he was, like any city man—he had up a table and was selling luck charms…”
Kryn stiffened. “What kind of charms?” he demanded in such a voice as to bring both men staring at him in surprise.
“Didn’t look too close. Me—I carry Cochon’s Arrow.” He plucked out a thong on which was threaded a silver arrow badly tarnished. “Cochon—I burn a pinch of few-flower to him each time I make it back to Kasgar. He’s one to favor a fighting man. No—there weren’t no arrows, nor any knowledge rolls which are Armish’s sign— and none of the Lady’s blue flowers. Odd when you come to think about it. All he had were plain red stones with a spot in the middle which I could not see clearly.”
“Red,” Kryn followed that at once, “like that rathhawk stone?”
The man pursed his lips as if he were considering the matter carefully. “Now that you put it that way, Hold Heir, that thing did have the same sort of coloring. Nobody was buying any—least not when I was passing. And he didn’t do any calling out, just stood there behind his table waiting, as if he didn’t really care whether he sold or not. But I’d take court oath he was one of them as came with the Voice’s people.”
A man of Valcur’s selling luck stones—red ones! Kryn turned that over in his mind. There was a need for warning, but to whom should it be given? Perhaps he could tell Danus of his suspicions and the merchant would pass that along to someone with the authority to look into matters in Kasgar.
The next day’s journey on a road which was now crowded brought them to the city gates. There had been no need to ride scout any more, so the guards and Kryn’s trio matched the pace of the wagons. At the gates there appeared to be something of a bottleneck—a line of waiting, and mostly fuming, travelers had built up. Danus himself mounted one of the riding beasts and went forward to see what was holding up their passage.
It was some time before he returned. The guards who had been lounging about began to gather, their boredom now overshadowed by a questioning wariness. Kryn saw Nosh, perched on the wide seat of Danus’s own wagon, her raffish garments, like his, looking out of place when compared with the clothing of the travelers who were gathering more and more into a crowd.
What would she do here? Kryn wondered. That she had a marketable talent no one could deny, and she had already made a firm connection with Danus for service. But what would she think of Kasgar? He had never carried on any real conversation with her—he had been too wary of what she was. However, he was certain that she did not come from any city. The skills she and Dreen had shown after they joined the band had been those of people accustomed to living off the land. To set such one in a city, which in Kryn’s mind was firmly coupled with intrigue and various undercover dangers, was like flushing a pacer hen with a rathhawk overhead.
Also—there w
as this tale of the amulet seller. What had he heard both Dreen and Nosh say? Power attracts power—she might be sniffed out as if Bozi or one of his kind had been set on her trail. Out of impulse Kryn left the guards and went to her. At least he owed her a warning.
“Dreamer,” he used the common term of the eastern hills.
She looked around, startled, a slight frown lined between her level black brows. She was a thin wisp, with little about her to suggest the woman at all.
“Hold Heir,” she acknowledged him with the old title to which he no longer had any claim.
Might as well give it to her swiftly and as baldly as he could.
“There was one here at the season’s beginning who came with messengers from Valcur. The guard Ruan said that, though those were sent away, this one remained. He was seen in the marketplace selling amulets—red stones with odd centers.”
Her eyes widened and her left hand rose swiftly to press against her breast.
“Red stones…” Her voice was hardly above a whisper. “Thank you, Hold Heir, for your warning. Indeed it may serve me well.”
He shrugged. “We perhaps fight the same enemy…” he returned (but, he said to himself then, not in the same way).
“An enemy unknown, for I do not believe that your Valcur moves entirely by his own will,” she echoed the thoughts he himself held. “But I shall watch well there.” She nodded toward the city walls marching for a lengthy distance to either side of that apparently blocked gate.
Danus returned, using his mount to shoulder a way through the ever-increasing crowd. His head guard Ruan hurried to where the Master merchant was dismounting by his own wagon.
“I do not know what they are seeking for.” The irritation in Danus’s voice was very plain. “But the entire gate guard is on duty and they question fully everyone to enter. Something has happened….” He was frowning. “Janner,” he raised his voice in a call and one of the gearmen came running. “Janner, do you get among those waiting, try to find out what is amiss in Kasgar that they guard it like a guild master’s house!”
