"Come," he said gaily. "Look upon the land that bred me." He took her by the hand and gestured first to the east. "In that direction lies the Khorakh River—and Fytria beyond that. To the south are some of our richest farmlands, the province of Borbal, where the famous Borbalan Horses are bred. Over there," he waved westward, "lies Tychat, the capital of Cyrnyl; it is there we are heading."
"Why? Why to the capital, Kippen?" Kaela asked urgently.
He hesitated for an instant. "Well, it is to the west that all the great cities lie: Tychat, Pyltal, Karafe, Cyran, Ganhal and furthest to the south, Byfke. The rest of Cymyl is rural, tiny farm villages with no living to be had for minstrels and storytellers."
Kaela felt a sudden chill but she did not speak of it. Instead she shaded her eyes and gazed about. "What's that?" she asked. "It looks like a river."
"No doubt it is," he said with a smile. "Surely you have heard Cymyl called the 'country of six rivers'? That's probably the Samtali—at least, I hope we're no farther east than that. Tychat is two or three days' journey at any rate."
"What's the hurry?" Kaela asked. "We've the whole summer before us, haven't we?"
Kippen merely shrugged and handed Kaela her knapsack. "Shall we walk the sleep out of our limbs before we break our fast?"
Kaela slung the knapsack over her shoulders and took her staff from him. They set out without speaking. Kaela felt an odd foreboding that darkened the brightness of the morning, and Kippen was lost in memories, drinking in the sights and scents of his home. She began to lag behind, for she had ceased to pay attention to the business of walking. She was trying to reason with the dark fear that followed her.
"Kaela," Kippen turned around and called to her. The smile faded from his face, replaced by concern. "Is anything troubling you?" he asked anxiously.
"Well," she hesitated, "yes. But I'm not sure it's reasonable."
Kippen took her by the shoulders. "Tell me," he said very gently.
"I have the feeling sometimes," she began slowly, seriously, "that you—you feel burdened by me. I don't want to be a trouble to you. If you feel you have to look out for me, and if you're weary with it, we should part. I am perfectly capable of looking after myself. I do not want to be your responsibility; nor do I wish to be consigned to some noble family's care. So if you wish to be rid of me, speak plainly, and I shall go my way."
In the silence that followed, her fear leapt forward and suddenly she realized she did not wish to go on alone. She would, if that were his answer, but she would be grieved.
Kippen studied her, then smiled gently. "Be rid of you?" he asked softly. "Oh, Kaela, never think it. But I am a little afraid."
"Of Stafgrym?" she asked.
"Perhaps." He took her hand in his and regarded her tenderly, sadly. "But more so, I think, of the fates." He went on brightly. "As long as we've stopped, why not breakfast here? It's as pretty a place as one could wish." After that, things seemed to return to normal. But Kaela noticed a change, ever so slight. Sometimes, she would find Kippen watching her and when their eyes met, he would look away as though embarrassed. Sometimes, she would look at him and find her face softening into a gentle, tender smile and she would look away, not quite daring to let him see.
They walked all morning, talking and laughing as they always had, but when the silences occurred, they seemed to be another sort of speech, instead of comfortable pauses; and Kaela found she liked the silences more than the gay chatter.
At noon, they forded the Samtali River. It was high with the runoff from the mountains and was swift and cold besides, but they crossed without mishap. Kippen had refused to allow Kaela to cross alone, though she had insisted she was able to take care of herself, and by the middle of the swift-flowing river, she was glad of his anchoring grasp on her wrist, for she was hard put to keep her feet. Once safe on the far bank, they decided to have their lunch and dry out a bit.
Kippen watched Kaela as she sliced bread and meat with her dagger. "Kaela," he said suddenly, frowning, "why were you against our traveling to Tychat? Are you afraid that someone will recognize you and send you back?"
Kaela's hand froze. "I hadn't thought of that," she said softly, then laughed. "God help the man who tries."
He smiled at her then. "Amen."
She caught his eye and smiled back, then quite suddenly they were both sputtering with laughter. Their mirth grew until the riverbank rang with it. They could not check their laughter, for one would stop, then look at the other and both would be off again.
"I'm all for laughter in the spring, but I wonder if this is the exact place for it," said a voice that sounded so sour it belied its words. Kaela spun about to face the stranger, but his dour face and pinched mouth sent her off untactfully into another fit of giggles. Then she saw the badge on his tunic and her merriment perished into silence.
"Yes," the gray, sour little man continued, "I serve Baron Marachor. And you, lad, and this wench of yours are on his land. There is a penalty for trespassing and I wager it is more than you can afford to pay."
Even Kaela had heard of Baron Marachor, called the robber baron. In the legends, he had been endowed with every evil. Kippen, who perhaps knew more of the truth, did not look alarmed.
"I did not know Lord Marachor was in the habit of waylaying minstrels," he said lazily.
The man looked skeptical. "You may be certified," he said scathingly, "but the law does not apply to minstrels' wenches."
"I beg your pardon," said Kaela dangerously, "or perhaps you should beg mine. I am no man's wench. I am a storyteller out of Visin. On your knees, churl, and take it back!" Though her words were quiet, their tone was so compelling that the servant of Baron Marachor began to get to his knees, but he stopped himself.
"On my knees to a mere girl?" he cried indignantly.
Kaela sprang to her feet and forced him down. There was fury in her movements and her eyes were bright and fierce. She laid her dagger across the man's throat.
"Take it back," she said through clenched teeth.
"I—I—I be truly sorry, great lady," he stammered.
Kaela's knife disappeared and she let the man up. "Now, perhaps," she said sweetly, "you will be so kind as to sit yourself down while two weary wayfarers finish their midday meal. And after that, and only after we are finished, we will discuss whether we journey to your master or not."
The man was quite meek and even Kippen's eyes were full of new respect. "Amen," he whispered and they both had to stifle giggles.
An hour later, they were being guided by the servant, whose name was Dorlak, to the robber baron's castle, not as prisoners, but rather as honored guests.
"Do you think it's wise?" Kaela asked Kippen again, in a low voice. "I mean, with all his servants he could easily keep us..."
Kippen replied seriously, but Kaela thought she saw mischief in his eyes. "There is a law in Cymyl, protecting those whose trade leads them to wander. He may test us, but we've nothing to fear. We shall be treated well."
"Then I'd better think up a tale," she said and lapsed into silence.
They arrived at the robber baron's castle just after sunset. Though from the outside, the place had the look of a grim fortress, inside it was merry and warm and more lavishly furnished than the royal palace of Visin. Kaela was amazed, for instead of smoky red torches or thick tallow candles, the great hall was lit by many sconces of thin, white spermaceti candles. There were hundreds of these, so expensive that in Visin they only burned in the chapel. The walls were hung with the most beautiful tapestries, sewn with gold, silver and jewels. In one scene of a knight and a dragon, the monster's scales were ruby and topaz, sparkling in the bright candlelight. The robber baron himself was hardly what she had expected. Round cheeked and merry eyed, with a rich, rumbling laugh, he resembled an innkeeper more than the shadowy evil figure of legend. He was even balding, Kaela was appalled to notice. But her reflections were cut short by a cry.
"Kippen!" a girl's voice shrieked in excitement
and pleasure. "Kippen, dear!"
Then, in a flurry of laces and silks, a fine lady—a girl Kaela's own age—flung herself into the minstrel's arms. The girl was pretty. Beneath a green silk cap she had fiery red hair with not a curl out of place, bright emerald eyes and perfect dainty features with, Kaela noticed with distaste, not a freckle to be seen. Kaela was quite beyond herself; her mouth fell open and a hot wave of emotion swirled about her.
"Alyi!" Kippen exclaimed, with a huge, joyful smile. "Alyi!" He was obviously incapable of speech.
Kaela shut her mouth—biting her tongue—and turned to meet her host with what dignity she could command. After the formal introduction, Kaela nodded in the direction of Kippen and the girl.
"Your daughter?" she asked the lord, and at his nod, she managed a smile. "She is lovely."
"Yes," the baron agreed, "but a dreadful flirt. I will call her off your minstrel."
"My minstrel?" Kaela asked with a lifted eyebrow and a convincingly colorless tone. "Nay, he's no kith nor kin of mine, merely a chance acquaintance of the road. He does as he pleases."
The baron looked at Kaela, puzzled for an instant, then smiled and shrugged. "Nevertheless," he said, "I will call my daughter, for no doubt you should like to wash before dinner. Alyi!"
The girl, with one last lingering look at Kippen, fluttered to her father's side. "Dear Papa?"
"Alyi, take the Lady Kaela—Lady Kaela!" he exclaimed. The hall hushed and the baron looked at Kaela with a question.
"Yes, Kaela," she said, with a little laugh. "I was born on our princess's christening day and was named for her."
"How nice for you, Lady Kaela," bubbled Alyi, "to have a princess's name. But come, we have over an hour till dinner, so there's more than enough time to get ready. And I should like to get to know you better." Alyi linked her arm through Kaela's and marched her out of the hall.
When they were clear of the throng, Alyi spoke again. "Very clever, princess."
"What do you mean?" asked Kaela innocently. "I spoke the truth."
"And convincingly. But I'm no fool, though I may play the part. You resemble your father, and his face is on all the Visin coins. However, I wasn't accusing you; my father got himself into a rather touchy situation and you got him out, very cleverly."
"A touchy situation—how?"
"Why, surely you know? The messengers came through yesterday."
"No!" cried Kaela. "Please tell me."
"The King of Visin declared you guilty of high treason and announced that anyone who sheltered you, knowing who you were, was an enemy of Visin. If such a person had been father, it could mean war. He's very powerful and near the Visin Toll Road. But if you didn't know, you're quick, princess."
"Do stop calling me 'princess,' " Kaela snapped. There was a stricken look in her eyes.
"I'm sorry, pr—Kaela," said Alyi meekly.
"High treason," she murmured, disbelievingly. "But high treason—that's death, Alyi!"
Alyi opened a door and ushered Kaela into a very plush parlor. "These are my rooms," she said. Then unable to contain her curiosity, she exclaimed, "Whatever did you do to anger your father?"
"High treason," Kaela repeated, dazed, then shook herself. "I refused to marry the horrible ogre he had promised me to and ran away instead."
Alyi looked suddenly angry. "When will men learn that women are more than mere pawns to be pushed about a chessboard not of their making? It is so unfair! Why should you or I or any other girl be sold to suit her father's whim? When I hear of such things, I can only thank God my father has enough sense to let me choose my husband."
Kaela sighed. "Princesses have always been pawns, even more so than common folk. But, high treason? Death for refusing their game?" There were tears in her eyes.
"There now," said Alyi gently. "You're safe now. No one will dare to recognize you. We can't afford war, and no one will try to send you back once I've told them why you fled. And Kippen will look after you."
The tears spilled over and Kaela bit her lip, hard.
"Do you not love him?" Alyi asked.
Kaela's face became hot, but she could not answer. "You're not jealous of me?" Alyi asked, incredulous. "Oh silly girl. Kippen and I were children together. When he was up at Tychat with Elyngar and I was being schooled, we used to get into no end of mischief. But I could never wed him. Think how miserable he would be, tied to my lands. Besides, I do not love him. But you do, do you not?"
Kaela found her voice. "Yes," she said simply.
"Come," said Alyi. "You must bathe and then, I will loan you one of my gowns; you are near enough my size. Your clothing must be washed and mended, and I'll have my seamstress make another dress of the same cut. You will stay a day or two?"
Later, before the two descended to dinner, Alyi led Kaela to a mirror for a final inspection. The dress she had borrowed was of deep blue velvet and creamy white silk that suited her well. Her hair was tied with a velvet ribbon and there were sapphires at her throat. She felt peculiar in the wide, flowing skirts, but all the same, she had to admit she made a pretty court lady. Together, they went down to dinner.
Kippen stared at Kaela, amazed, but when she met his gaze and smiled at him, he looked away as though burned. And even Alyi did not see the hurt Kaela felt.
It seemed to Kaela that the feasting went on for ages. Though there were hundreds of tempting dishes to choose from, Kaela found she had no appetite and consequently nibbled in the best dainty, maidenly fashion. She could barely see Kippen from her place between two young gentlemen, much less speak to him, though she could watch Alyi chatting gaily with the young minstrel. Despite Alyi's reassurance, she still felt upset when she heard their laughter. Kaela felt ill and wanted nothing so much as to slip away into a darkened room and from there, into the still darker realm of sleep. But she knew that there must be a tale to pay for the meal, so she tried to soothe herself with a cool drink and pleasant conversation with the young men beside her.
Finally, the feast was at an end and Kaela and Kippen were summoned before the baron. He smiled at them and seated them in chairs before the fire.
"Now," he said, "some music and a tale? Which of you is to be first?"
Kaela looked to Kippen. "Shall I?" she asked.
He shrugged and turned away. "As you wish."
Kaela sat very still and closed her eyes, trying to gather a tale about her. She heard Alyi's bubbling laughter and was filled with sharp, red anger at the foolish ways of foolish women. Then, from the embers of the anger, a tale sprang at her. She caught hold and opened her eyes. Her voice was perfectly natural; indeed, her problems and anguish had receded to make way for the tale. She smiled and spoke.
"I shall tell the tale of 'The Player and the Knave,' " she said with an impish sparkle in her eyes. Then she smoothed her skirt down over her knees and began.
The Player and the Knave
Once, a good while after the sun and stars were kindled in the heavens, there lived a man called Alar. He was considered such a trickster, rake and knave that the town council of Rylat would not allow him to live within the boundaries of its trim, green and cobbled village. He lived instead in a ramshackle hut on the other side of the overgrown orchard that bordered the old churchyard. It was a gloomy, drafty little place with hardly any furniture, but Alar scarcely noticed, it seemed, for he never repaired the roof, nor stuffed the cracks in the chimney, nor replaced the broken windowpanes. He was, they said, a singularly lazy young man.
Although, as people remarked, Alar never did so much as a trowelful of labor, he never went hungry. It was whispered by the romantic that he was the prince of a far country in disguise; it was believed by the foolish that he was a necromancer. The fact was that despite his faults (or perhaps because of them—who can say?), Alar had the gift of great beauty, great enough in fact to snare the hearts of all the maidens in the village. The pretty innocents could not imagine such a pair of large azure eyes hiding evil intent, so they spent a great deal of time
inventing explanations on his behalf. Many went so far as to leave gifts of food on his doorstep, while they told each other, and anyone else who would listen, that Alar was really noble and gallant, that he stole from the wealthy in order to benefit the poor. Older and wiser members of the community shook their heads, for they were sure that Alar was a black-hearted knave and a mischief maker.
Now it happened that there was a particularly beautiful and extraordinarily silly young lady who headed the band of Alar's devoted worshipers. Her name was Malia and she was the daughter of the chief councilman. That gave her the right (or so she thought) to lord it over the other girls, for not only was she the most beautiful and the wealthiest of them, but she also had a powerful family. Malia was a beauty of the traditional sort. She had glossy dark ringlets, white skin, red lips, and her huge, limpid, brown eyes followed Alar's occasional saunters through town with the most ludicrous battings of passionate devotion. She would clasp her dainty hands and flutter her silky eyelashes, moaning and sighing. But whether it was due to her extreme beauty, or to her parents' indulgence, never once was she chided openly for her outrageous behavior. That didn't mean that no one noticed it, though. Lani, one of the plainer and cattier of Alar's admirers, was often heard to hiss, "shameless hussy," or words to that effect, when Malia would wander past, sighing.
On one jaunty spring day, when the marketplace was full of people, Malia among them, a troupe of wandering players came to Rylat, riding in a rickety old cart, painted orange and drawn by two swaybacked, ragged-coated, gray nags. In the driver's seat sat a young maid, holding the reins loosely and chatting gaily with an iron-haired old man. She was quite pretty in a healthy way. Her hair was brown and braided in two thick plaits, each tied with a scrap of brown twine, and her olive eyes sparkled in merry mischievousness. She wore the rough-spun clothes of a peasant and no shoes, but there was a particular grace in the way she held the reins. Malia was struck by it and felt a strange twinge of apprehension.
A Necklace of Fallen Stars Page 9
