Firewalk

by Anne Logston

  Kayli smiled and laid the book aside, holding out her hand and letting Randon pull her to her feet.

  “I was more wearied than I thought,” she admitted. “And the fire was pleasant with such a storm outside.”

  “Yes.” Randon glanced at the shuttered window.

  “The storm,” Kayli realized. “That is why you have been so busy of late.”

  “Well, between the slaves and all this rain, I’ll admit I’ve had all I can do and more,” he said with a sigh. “But I told them all that at dinner tomorrow the High Lord disappears and becomes a husband.”

  “Thank you.” The lines of weariness and concern on his face thawed Kayli’s resentment. In truth, Randon had had more to occupy his time and attention than fretting over whether or not to set his wife aside in favor of another—and, she was ashamed to admit, the same should have been true for her. “Although this is no weather for a hunt, or even a pleasant ride in the country.”

  “No, I’m afraid it’s not much weather for farming, either.” Randon sighed. “The north side of the Coridowyn has flooded completely, and the south bank will go soon, there’s no doubt of it. Dozens more fields were washed out by the rain. If the storm keeps up more than another day or two, there’s not going to be a planting left in the area. The farmers can replant, but then there’ll only be one crop this year.”

  “But only this area is affected, is it not?” Kayli asked him. “Other areas will produce their crops as always?”

  Randon shrugged.

  “It won’t cause a famine, if that’s what you mean,” he said. “But that won’t be much comfort to farmers who lose a whole planting, half their year’s income.”

  “Well, then the rains must stop,” Kayli said. “Where are your cloud herders?”

  “Our what?” Randon raised his brows puzzledly.

  “Air-Dedicates or water-Dedicates who specialize in using the wind to move the clouds,” Kayli told him. “In Bregond they bring rain when there has been a long drought, but I see no reason why the opposite should not work.”

  Randon nodded.

  “We have no cloud herders, as you call them,” he said, “but we have mages who specialize in weather magic, and tomorrow they’ll do what they can. Stevann’s afraid there’s magic behind this storm in the first place, and I admit I’m starting to wonder. But let Stevann and his mages worry about that.” He put his arm around Kayli’s waist and squeezed gently. “If you’d like to get out of the room, we could eat in the dining hall. Nobody but us, I promise.”

  As they walked down the stairs, Kayli wondered whether the guards had told Randon that she had listened at the door when he was meeting with his advisers the day before. Surely not, or he would have mentioned it; at least he could not have acted so naturally with her if he knew that she’d heard the advisers’ recommendations. Why had the guards not told him?

  But why should they? She was their High Lady; it was her right to be in the council chamber, and there was nothing strange in her peeping in to see if Randon was there, to listen for a moment to the business discussed. The guards themselves had been too far from the door to hear what was being said. Likely they thought no more of it after she had gone.

  Randon had evidently thought ahead about their dinner, for Kayli found that their places had already been set at the table. She was surprised to see well-minced roasted fowl in her soup; Randon winked when she glanced at him in surprise.

  “I won’t tell Stevann if you won’t,” he said with a grin.

  He had another surprise for her, too, for when they had finished their food, the servants brought small bowls of finely scraped fruit ices. As the cold, sweet-tart delicacy melted on her tongue, Kayli thought blissfully that surely there was no finer flavor in the universe.

  “Since you’re up and dressed,” Randon remarked when they had finished, “I thought you might want to see what we’re doing with the slaves who show up on our doorstep. Unless you’re too tired. Stevann wouldn’t approve.”

  “Oh, no,” Kayli said quickly. “Now that I have already incurred his wrath, I may as well enjoy my misbehavior.”

  Randon drew a cloak around them and led her through the storm to one of the outbuildings behind the castle. As they shook the rain from their hair in the entryway, he explained that the building was a guard barracks.

  “It wasn’t half-full,” he told her. “So I moved the guards to quarters in town. Mind you, most of the slaves are here just long enough to note their grievances, if they have any, and to find out what their skills are so that we can send them on to the appropriate guild.”

  When Randon opened the door, however, Kayli was both cheered and dismayed. The building was comfortable enough—fires warmed the place well, and the cots were thick with warm bedding. What stunned her, however, were the numbers of men, women, and children who glanced up with only dull curiosity as she and Randon stepped inside. Most appeared healthy enough, but some showed marks of recent beatings, and a few were so gaunt that their sunken cheeks and hollow eyes wrung her heart.

  Brother Santee came to greet them; to Kayli’s surprise, he held a tiny baby.

  “Greetings and welcome, High Lord, High Lady,” he said, glancing at Kayli with some surprise. “I had no idea the High Lady was yet up and about.”

  “Well, I am not,” Kayli said, smiling. “At least as far as Brother Stevann is concerned. But what child is this, Brother Santee?”

  “Ah, this handsome lad is Lesett’s new son,” Brother San-tee said, smiling down at the infant “She bore it only yesterday. Her master’s, she says.”

  “Then her master will be questioned under truth spell,” Terralt said, joining them. “And if the child is his, he’ll be made to provide for them both.” He glanced at Randon mockingly. “You agree?”

  “Of course,” Randon said, unperturbed. “I told you you were quite capable of handling this matter. I only came to show Kayli how her folk fared.”

  “Come in, my lady,” Terralt said, bowing elaborately to Kayli. “I’m certain your country folk are eager to throw themselves at the feet of their savior.”

  But in fact the barracks’ inhabitants only stared dully at Kayli as she walked through. So many! And these were only the few slaves sent to the castle already. Doubtless some had already gone on to the guilds. And Tarkesh was only one city in the country of Agrond—Kayli had wanted so much to believe that Seba’s case was a rare incident, but the men, women, and children here gave lie to that hope. She could offer them nothing better than a trade in the land that had enslaved them, a life among strangers. But at least their children, like the babe in Brother Santee’s arms, would be born to freedom.

  To Kayli’s surprise, although men and women from countries other than Bregond were present, there were no Sarkondish in the barracks. She asked Terralt and Randon about this anomaly, but the two men only shrugged.

  “I doubt you’ll find any anywhere,” Terralt said indifferently. “It’s Sarkondish captives who are sold as slaves. The Sarkondish themselves we only meet in battle. And we’ve never taken any of them alive.”

  A knife twisted in Kayli’s heart. She had believed that Bregonds, too, could not be taken alive. Had these folk been too cowardly to take their own lives? Kayli could not humiliate them by asking, any more than she could so hurt Seba. But how many more Bregondish citizens, believed dead by their kin, had survived to find themselves in such straits?

  A hand on her shoulder startled her out of her thoughts; surprised, she turned to face Randon and found his eyes warm with understanding and compassion.

  “This is too much for you, your first day out of bed,” he said gently. “I shouldn’t have brought you out in the rain. Look, you’re shaking. Let’s go back now.”

  Kayli nodded, but turned to Brother Santee.

  “Please, may I hold the child?” she asked.

  “Why, of course.” Brother Santee carefully transferred the small bundle to Kayli’s arms. The baby was red and rather mottled looking, but no
t unappealing for all that. Living at the Order, she had never held an infant, but he was warm and fit neatly into her arms. One day she would hold her own child so; one day her child would root at her breast and stain her tunic with spittle. Kayli chuckled and handed the boy-child back to Brother Santee. The Flame willing, her own time would come soon enough.

  Terralt fell into step beside her as Randon gently led her toward the door.

  “As you’re feeling so well, perhaps you’d have time to dine with Ynea in the next few days,” he said. “Stevann—and your midwife, by the way, in case you thought you were fooling me—won’t let her out of her bed, and she’s lonely.” He gave Kayli a mocking grin. “I’m sure I can find other duties to occupy me so you’ll be spared my distasteful presence.”

  “Thank you for your invitation,” she said gravely, ignoring his last comment “Randon has claimed my time tomorrow, and I his”—no, nothing was going to prevent Kayli from telling Randon of her pregnancy once Stevann had confirmed it—“but the next day I will give the whole of my day to Ynea, if she can receive me.”

  “And providing Stevann doesn’t object,” Randon added sternly. “No more word games with Kayli today, Terralt. She’s exerted herself too much already.”

  Terralt chuckled rather nastily.

  “So I gather,” he said. “Really, Randon, if you don’t want the whole castle knowing you’ve been rumpling the furs with your lady, you shouldn’t go out smelling of your rut”

  Kayli’s face flamed, but Randon must be humiliated; why, he had been with his advisers. And, yes, now that she focused her mind on it, she could smell the dried sweat of their passion on her skin and his.

  “Well, my advisers have been talking of nothing but the necessity of conceiving my heir,” Randon said with a joviality that relieved Kayli. “So I’m sure everyone is happy with the effort Kayli and I have been giving to the task.”

  Thankfully Terralt did not follow them out into the rain, and Randon squeezed Kayli’s arm comfortingly as they walked.

  “Don’t pay Terralt any mind,” he said. “If you saw how hard he’s worked with these people, you wouldn’t begrudge him his little pokes. And if those stodgy old advisers have forgotten what men do with their lovely wives, it’s time they were reminded. Now stop fretting. You’re shaking like a newborn foal.”

  When Kayli woke in the morning, it was to an odd silence. At last she realized what was missing—the thunder outside had stopped, and the constant tap of the rain. Kayli slipped out of bed and padded over to the window, opening the shutters. Bright late-morning sunlight left her blinking, and she leaned out the window to breathe in clean, fresh air and greet the day. Ah, bright and joyous day, and the Flame willing, there would be yet another reason to rejoice!

  Kayli dressed hurriedly in a simple gown and trotted off to find Stevann. She had never actually seen the mage’s workroom, but she found it easily enough.

  “Well, good morn to you,” Stevann said, grinning when he answered her knock at the door. “Not much use in asking how you feel this morning; I can see you’re friskier than any person should be only a few days after arrabia poisoning.”

  “Mages heal quickly, do they not?” Kayli countered.

  “Only if they can perform some kind of magic to heal themselves,” Stevann returned, his expression somber but his eyes twinkling. “And thereby violate their healer’s orders by overtaxing themselves. But there’s no point in lecturing you, as whatever you did has certainly improved your health. So I can guess why you’re here. Yes, you may eat what you like, unless your stomach starts to pain you, and you may get about as you please. Will that suit you?”

  “Indeed it will,” Kayli said, “but in fact it was another request that brought me to you.” She clasped her hands to stop their shaking. “I wish to ascertain whether I have conceived my lord’s child.”

  “You know that’s impossible,” Stevann said gently. “If you’d conceived earlier, you’d certainly have lost the child. And while I don’t know anything about Bregondish magic, I doubt there’s anything you could do to conceive so soon after such a serious poisoning. But I’ll cast the runes again for you, if that’s what you truly wish.”

  “Forgive me, but I must ask you to humor my whim,” Kayli said. “Please. If I have asked in vain, I promise I will not trouble you until you believe a suitable interval has passed.”

  Stevann sighed again, but he resignedly lit his brazier and pricked Kayli’s finger with a silver needle, letting three drops of her blood fall into his silver scrying bowl, then chanted a short spell and poured a little quicksilver into the dish. Immediately the liquid flowed to form a peculiar symbol.

  The mage’s eyes widened; then he scowled and emptied out the bowl, cleaning it thoroughly before he repeated the spell. When the quicksilver responded as before, Stevann, visibly excited, spoke a longer incantation and laid one hand over Kayli’s belly. When he took his hand away, he grinned broadly.

  “Well, your eyes say you already knew what I have to tell you,” he said. “You’re indeed with child, although it’s too soon to say whether it’s a son or daughter.” He chuckled. “I should announce it to the High Lord and his advisers, but you’d never forgive me if you couldn’t surprise Randon, and he’d never forgive me if he couldn’t surprise Terralt. So I’ll keep my peace—for just a little while,” he added sternly. “This news is too marvelous to keep secret.”

  “If you will only wait until Randon and I have a chance to dine together at midday,” Kayli said humbly.

  Stevann only nodded, and Kayli saw for the first time how weary the mage looked. There were great dark rings under his eyes, and his table was stacked with scrolls and books.

  “I believe I have fared better these last days than you,” she said gently. “Was it your magic that ended the storm?”

  Stevann smiled tiredly.

  “No, we owe that to a weather mage named Gerowan, Gated all the way from Keplin’s Downe. No, I’m afraid it’s Lady Ynea who’s been occupying my time, and your midwife’s, too, in case you’ve missed her presence.”

  “Terralt said you had confined Ynea to bed,” Kayli remembered. “Has her condition worsened?”

  “I haven’t confined her to her bed,” Stevann corrected, shaking his head. “The plain fact is that she’s too weak to leave it, goes white when she stands up. Endra has her on a hideous concoction of raisins and beef liver that seems to help—builds up her blood, or so Endra says—but I think it’s too late to do her much good. I wish Terralt had listened to me years ago when I said she should never bear another child.”

  “Surely something can be done for her,” Kayli protested.

  Stevann shrugged.

  “I suggested to Terralt that we bring in other healers to consult. When High Lord Terendal employed me, he wanted a sort of jack-of-all-trades mage who could mix up a potion for his aching joints, forecast the fall harvest, and cast preservation spells on the hams. But that also means that I’m not a specialized healer, and my knowledge of childbearing is limited. Usually midwives handle that hereabouts. But Terralt won’t hear of consulting anyone else, and I doubt anyone would come anyway. Ynea’s case is too chancy, and nobody wants to risk Terralt’s anger if she—if all doesn’t go well.”

  Pride again. Kayli clenched her hands, struggling to keep silent. But what could she say or do? At least Terralt let Endra tend his wife, although Kayli suspected that he permitted that only so he could gloat about discovering Kayli’s ruse.

  But even her concern for Ynea could not dampen Kayli’s happiness. She took her leave of Stevann and hurried back to her quarters to prepare for Randon’s arrival. Thus when he appeared a little before noon, he found Kayli elegantly dressed and coiffed, the covered dishes of their dinner laid ready on the table. He raised his eyebrows and smiled.

  “Well, you look beautiful,” he said. “But what’s the occasion? I’d have thought you’d rather get out of the room.”

  “Brother Stevann has told me I may ea
t what I please,” Kayli said, smiling. “Is that not cause to celebrate?”

  “Well, that’s true,” Randon admitted, sitting down. “All right, let’s enjoy your first solid meal in days, although for me it’s celebration enough that you’re here to eat it.”

  He laughed when Kayli reached for her third venison-and-mushroom pasty.

  “Making up for lost time? If I hadn’t believed you fully healed, I’d know it now,” he said, grinning. “Anybody with an appetite like that must be healthy.”

  Kayli smiled back at him.

  “And Brother Stevann tells me my appetite will only grow,” she said. “Over the next ten cycles of the moon.”

  “Mmm.” Randon sipped his wine; then his eyes widened and he sputtered, spilling wine down the front of his tunic.

  “Ten moon cycles?” he repeated, very carefully. “Do you mean to say—”

  “I mean to say that yesterday, on the hearth furs, I conceived your child,” Kayli said, reaching across the table to clasp his fingers. “Brother Stevann has confirmed it But I wanted to tell you myself.”

  Caution warred with amazement in Randon’s eyes.

  “But Stevann said it wouldn’t be possible for some time, maybe months,” Randon said slowly. “Because of the poison.”

  Kayli flushed, but there was no evading his question now.

  “Yesterday at dawn, I performed a potent ritual,” she said quietly. “I used the Flame to purify myself and ready my body for the conception of a child. The ritual could not make me conceive, but it did place me at the peak of my fertility. I knew you would forbid practicing such potent magic, so I said nothing of it.”

  Randon’s eyes searched her face.

  “Was it dangerous?” he asked slowly.

  Kayli took a deep breath.

  “For one new to such magic, it was dangerous,” she admitted. “I could have been consumed by the Flame, body and spirit alike.” She did not tell Randon just how close she had come to such a fate. Nor did she tell him how seductive, how exquisite she had found the touch of the Flame. Somehow it embarrassed her, as if she had committed an infidelity.