Lamplight flickered across Una’s face, and Lyf saw in it now the worried look she had marked before. “He left early in the day with our two youngest boys and the dog. He was carting a mite of our brew to the tavern, he said. He would be home afore sunset, he said. And we haven’t seen him since.”
“Maybe he stayed for supper,” Lyf suggested hopefully.
“Maybe. But those soldiers who came through, pillaging for food? They nearly sacked the place. I don’t think they saw the brine rats, but if they did …”
Lyf was confused. “Would that be bad?”
“Tis a sure sign we’re aiding the dragons, lass! We can’t be feedin’ them our stock, you know. We keep the brine rats in an old, dry well and draw them up in buckets. I didn’t see the soldiers look there. But they looked at the dovecote long and hard. Suspicious—so they were. And the neighbors are distrustful of all of Yanil’s comings and goings. And once my youngest son let slip something about brine rats.” Una shook her head. “No. You can’t be staying here now.”
“But … Kaeldra said I could. She said Yanil would welcome us.” Lyf swallowed hard.
“Child.” Una laid a hand on Lyf’s shoulder. “Your eyes— they’re greener than green. There’s no hidin’ them.”
But Lyf didn’t want to leave. Kaeldra had said they should stay here. She had said Yanil would take care of them. Lyf would ask him when he returned.
Una sighed. “But where you will go, I can’t say. My Yanil, he doesn’t tell us about his friends among the dove sign. Some things aren’t safe to know.” She sighed again. She looked haggard now, and old. “I’ve no quarrel with you,” she said at last. “But it’s often I wish Yanil had nothing to do with the dove sign. It is hard—what with fearin’ the soldiers, and fearin’ our neighbors, and fearin’ we might let something slip.”
Then why didn’t you send us away? Lyf wondered, afraid to ask.
But Una, as if reading her mind, said,”I couldn’t just turn you away, now, could I? You and the little lad. There’s no place safe for you—save here.
“But you can’t be staying long. No. You must away again—and soon.”
Lyf bedded down with Owyn and the egg on a straw pallet near the cellar hatch. “In case you should need to hide,” Una said. Gar never did return, but Una went to spy him out and found him sleeping in the byre.
Lyf drowsed fitfully; not even the warm vibration of the egg could comfort her. One worry after another roused her all the night through: that Yanil would not return to take care of them, that Una would send them away, that harm had come to Kaeldra, that the soldiers would come knocking at the door, that the draclings would become restless in the cellar and burn through the hatch.
It was silent in the cottage, and yet whenever Lyf woke, she was aware of an awake presence. She looked round each time to see Una’s dark form outlined against the window.
At last Lyf roused to the sound of voices. Soft, peach-colored light seeped in through the shutters. Lyf rolled over, saw the door swing open, and then Una was throwing herself into the arms of a tall, gray-haired man. Yanil. Lyf felt relief surging through her. He would take care of them now. Two boys crowded round; Una hugged each in turn. A shaggy dog shot into the room, sniffed around Lyf and Owyn.
Then, “Da! You’re come!” And the two daughters came bounding down from the sleeping loft, flung themselves at the man.
The dog was sniffing at the hatch now, growling. It barked.
“Take Pekla out, Hof!” Una said. “Take her out!”
The man, looking over his daughters’ shoulders, caught sight of Lyf. He started, visibly. “By the sun’s blessed rays,” he whispered. He released the girls, took one slow step forward, then turned to Una. “Are they here, then?” he asked. “The beasties?”
“In the cellar,” she said.
The man turned back to Lyf. “So it’s Lyf, is it? And Owyn there beside you?”
Lyf nodded.
“And glad I am to see you,” Yanil said. “You’re all the talk ofTyneth.”
Harper’s Tale
Why would a man betray his own wife’s kin for gold? For as many causes, my lords, as there are traitors. Nysien had been raised as a cosseted, petty prince-proud of his lands, proud of his gold, proud of the honor he was granted on account of them.
Over proud—if you want the truth of it, my ladies.
Then his mother ran off with the reeve. Nysien’s father, fuddled with brew, lost lands and gold in a day to a Kragish warlord. Never mind that the Krags would have seized them in time, no matter how hard-fought the battle.
Kin had betrayed Nysien—now Nysien would betray kin.
Not out of malice to Kaeldra or Lyf, but only that he was nothing without his gold. He might even have persuaded himself that he would do his kin no harm.
What of his fabled rage against the Krags, you ask, my lord? Why would he conspire with his sworn foes?
He did rage against the Krags, but all the while seethed silently against his mother’s and father’s betrayals. And all the while yearned for his old prosperity.
Prosperity—and honor.
Folk did not honor him as before, my lord. This soured, curdled, festered within him.
He was an aggrieved soul and he could not unclench himself from his grievance and he could not see beyond it.
You should pity him, my lord (though I can’t see my way to do it).
And what of Lyf, you ask, my lady?
Patience.
CHAPTER 10
Wolf’s head
All the talk of Tyneth?
“But I’ve never been to Tyneth! Who … ?” Lyf choked off her words, struck by a thought. “Kaeldra. Is she—”
“Last I heard, Kaeldra was well alive, child, and Jeorg with her.”
“But… where is she? Did you see her? And who is talking of me?”
The man Yanil hesitated. His gray eyes, beneath shaggy, black brows, regarded her kindly. All were still now, watching her: the two boys, the two girls, Una. Owyn lay sleeping and did not rouse. “Sit down now, lass,” Yanil said. “The boys and I are sore famished; a little bread and ale will put us all to rights. I’ll tell you my tale while we break our fast—if you promise to tell me yours. And then, if it’s well with you, I’d like to take a peek at those … those draclings of yours”
• • •
Yanil had not seen Kaeldra, as it happened, although all of Tyneth had been buzzing with rumors of her. “I heard tell she was captured by bounty hunters,” he said.
Lyf nodded. “Betrayed by my sister’s husband,” she said, then leaned eagerly forward. “Did you see them?”
But no, he had not. He had heard they might be coming through Tyneth and had waited there long past dark, hoping to see Kaeldra, to find out what he might. But they never came.
“I don’t know where she is,” he said,”though I heard …”
“What? What did you hear?”
“I heard there’s a wolf’s head out on her. I heard they were taking her to the Kragish queen.”
To the queen! Lyf was struck with the truth of this, though she had never dared think it before. And now she remembered what Yanil had said when first he had laid eyes on her. “You said … they were talking of me.”
“Yes; the town’s all ababble about a second green-eyed girl, younger than Kaeldra. I heard that you and the lad were left at a farm west of here, that you were safe at home with your mam, and that you had never been born. They’re laying wagers on you at the inn, lass!” Yanil shook his head, suddenly grave. “I also heard—if you must know—that there’s a wolf’s head out on you. I fear they’ll come searching after you—if they haven’t already.”
“You don’t mean … here?” Lyf asked.
“Hereabouts. It’ll come to here soon enough.”
“Then it’s not safe. We can’t stay.” Lyf felt all within her sag.
Yanil shook his head. He looked, Lyf thought, almost sad. “No,” he said at last. “That you cannot.”
• • •
The day passed in quiet talk and preparations. They must wait until dark to leave,Yanil said. “We can’t risk the trek in daylight. I only hope the hunters go blundering about for a day or so before they think to come here.” Lyf told her story again, and all listened, transfixed.
At the end of it Owyn woke, rubbed his eyes, stumbled across the room to Lyf. She drew him onto her lap; he buried his face in her chest, then peeked out at the strangers thronged round him. The girls soon lured him away, fussing over him, feeding him bits of cheese and apples, scrubbing his face, combing his hair—until he rebelled and fled to the loft.
“Can’t we keep the lad here?” they implored, but Yanil firmly said no, explaining that he’d be safer elsewhere.
Yanil asked to see the dragon egg, then marveled over it, moving his callused fingers lightly over its ridged, yielding surface. “Do you hear the hum?” Lyf asked, and Yanil shook his head, looked wonderingfy at her.
Before long they heard thumpings and scratchings from the cellar; the draclings were awake. Una feared they would get into the baskets of apples and roots, but Lyf told her they did not like them. Nonetheless, Yanil hauled in two more pails of brine rats from the byre. Gar was well, he said, but still sullen. Yanil had sent him out to cut bracken.
Now Yanil set the pails on the floor by the cellar hatch.
“Don’t be lookin’ at me,” Una said. “I wouldn’t go down there again for a bushel of gold croxains!”
“Let me feed them! Let me!” the boys begged.
“No!” Yanil said firmly, then, considering, asked,”Would they bite me do you think? Or flame at me?”
Lyf shrugged. “I can’t speak for them. They do as they will.”
“But you, then? Are you safe with them?”
“They won’t harm me, I’m thinking.”
And so she fed them again, hauling the buckets one by one down the ladder, then tossing rats to the little ones to ensure they wouldn’t go hungry. Owyn scrambled down as well before any could stop him; Lyf scolded him, then relented and gave him some rats to toss.
The draclings were content to sleep again after they ate. Thank the heavens, Lyf thought. Yanil sent the children out to help Gar with the bracken, explaining to Lyf that there was a potter he knew who bought bracken fronds for packing. “It will give me a reason for the journey—and hide you and the beasties as well.”
“Will the potter take care of us?” Lyf asked.
“Nay. There’s another will do that—best not say who till you’re needin’ to know. But she’s a decent soul.”
“We can stay with her then—Owyn and me.” It was a question, though Lyf had not phrased it so.
“Stay?” Yanil raised his shaggy black brows. “Well, the draclings, they must be goin’ north. You know that, lass”.
“Yes, but Owyn and I, we don’t need to …” Lyf trailed off. Yanil scratched his chin, regarded her appiaisingfy. “ Someone else can take the draclings, someone of the dove sign,” Lyf finished.
Safe. She longed to be safe, to hand over the draclings and let someone else take up the burden. She ached to be cared for again.
But now, in Yanil’s eyes she saw … disappointment? Had he hoped she’d be brave, like Kaeldra?
Lyf felt a twinge of bitterness against Kaeidra. Kaeldra was strong. She had always been strong, as long as Lyf had known her. But Kaeldra hadn’t had the fever when she was young. Lyf wasn’t the same as Kaeldra, and Yanil shouldn’t expect her to be!
“You cannot stay long where I’m takin’ you “Yanil said. “But …” He started to say something else, then seemed to think the better of it. His eyes … in them she saw something … was it pity?
And Lyf did not feel safe at all.
When it was nearly dark,Yanil hitched the mule to a cart heaped with bracken-fern and drew it up before the cottage. “There’s brine rats beneath the bracken,” Yanil said. “The beasties’ll smell them, I’m thinking. But once they’re done feeding, do you think you can make them stay?”
“They do as they will,” Lyf said again, “not as I tell them.” Yet often enough, she thought ruefully, they willed to stay with her.
Yanil boosted Owyn over the back of the cart, then made a stirrup with his hands for Lyf. She plunged into the deep, fragrant sea of new green fern. Yanil held out the egg; Lyf stood and slipped it into its carrier.
She watched Yanil stride within the cottage, holding two brine rats by their tails. The children were massed at the window, peering out. Then,”Now!” Yanil yelled, and Lyf caHed,”Come!”
She felt them before she saw them: a roiling in her mind, and now here they came, a dark wave within the cottage, bearing down fast. Yanil sprinted to the door and then, overtaken by the surge of draclings, hurled the brine rats into the cart. Lyf ducked, grabbed Owyn, thrashed her way back through the rustling ferns. Draclings came pouring in over the back rail, burrowed deep into the bracken, snuffled and snorted and slurped. Lyf hoped that all of them had come, but the evening light was dim, and they wriggled about until they were all entangled together—impossible to count.
“Are you well in there now Lyf?” Yanil called. “And Owyn? Are you?”
“Why?” Owyn asked, and Lyf said, “Well enough.”
The cart lurched forward. Lyf rose to her knees and looked back. Dusk had fallen in the valley. Fog nestled among the trees like tufts of combed fleece. All were standing in the doorway now, haloed in the yellow glow from the cottage: Una, the two girls, the three boys. Lyf shyly raised her hand, and the others—all six of them— waved back. A surge of longing swept over her. If only she could be home and safe and cared for. Not cast out, with a wolf’s head on her. Tears welled up in her eyes; she swiped them away. She watched until the cottage faded into darkness, then she sank back down into the bed of bracken.
The ferny-sweet fragrance muted the stench of the brine rats. Owyn yawned and snuggled close. Lyf stroked his hair. She could hear the draclings rustling about, could see curving, ridged backs and long, spiny tails emerge and disappear in the churning bracken.
She leaned back to rest. The bracken was soft, but scratchy. She touched the egg for comfort, but her mind refused to settle. Where were they bound? And where would they go after that? And when would they find refuge at last—someone to do what was needful for the draclings, someone else to take care of her and Owyn?
Lyf tipped her head back, watched the first pale stars glimmer out in the darkening sky. She wondered: Did Kaeldra see them too? Was she alive? Tears pricked again at Lyf’s eyes; this time she let them come.
Something warm against her ear. A stench of brine. She turned to see a dracling—the big, orangy red one—eyeing her. Questioning.
Lyf hastily sat up and wiped away her tears. “It’s no matter. I’m well enough,” she said softly. The dracling cocked his head to one side. Lyf drew her fingers along his snout, up over the hard, bony ridge above his eyes. She scratched at the base of his leathery crest. The dracling nudged at her neck, thrumming.
And a word formed in her mind, a ticklish feeling above and between her ears.
“Skorch. Is that your name?”
A different voice—a she this time:
“Oh, you, little one,” Lyf said. “Your name is Kindle?”
Then a third dracling was clambering onto Lyf’s lap, beside the egg—one of the middle-sized ones, mottled red.
“Hello, Smoak,” Lyf said. She scratched behind his eye ridges. Smoak hiccuped, his breath reeking of brine.
Lyf wondered how they had come by their names. Perhaps from their mothers?
A thrumming arose now, louder and more rumbly than ever before. All around her, draclings
poked their heads out of the bracken, regarded her.
Skorch nudged her cheek, and a questioning filled her mind.
• • •
Some way along, she fell asleep. It was hard to stay awake with the draclings warm and thrumming beside her. True, they wriggled at times, and often the one called Smoak hiccuped hot, brine-stinking breaths. Still, they were oddly comforting, these draclings.
Lyf roused once to a rustling noise, and saw Yanil raking heaps of bracken over the sleeping draclings. “All’s well,” he quickly assured her, “but you mustn’t be seen.” She checked Owyn—still asleep—then lay back and curled up between him and Kindle. A blanket of fragrant bracken swished over Lyf, blotting out the stars. And then the cart was bumping along again.
She woke at last to the sound ofYanil’s whispered voice. “Lyf?”
She started to sit up, but Yanil said, “No, stay down—and keep the draclings still, if you can. I’ll soon return.”.
And before she could ask where they were or whither he was going, she heard the crunch of his boots on dirt, and then a hollower tread—wooden steps—and the unmistakable creak of a hinge.
Something stirred in the bracken; Lyf felt a questioning in her mind.
Silence.
Owyn moaned, turned over, subsided into sleep.
Lyf listened hard to see if she could tell what sort of place they had come to. It was oddly quiet, and yet not completely so. She heard no chirp bugs, no wind stirring in leaves, no faraway bleatings of sheep. And yet she did hear the soft nickerings of horses. And somewhere, at a distance, water murmured. A river, she guessed, or a brook.
Something creaked. The hollow footsteps again. Then boots grating on dirt, and a whispered voice.
“Lyf. You can sit up now.”
She did so, pushing the bracken fronds aside.
Sign of the Dove Page 8
