by Diane Duane
“Maybe the river changed its banks.”
“The Stel? Unlikely. Maybe I got us lost.”
“Likely.”
The eight of them rode along through country that was becoming increasingly inhospitable. The gently rolling scrub country of southern Steldin had given way to near-desert terrain. It was afternoon, and hot. A steady, maddening east wind blew dust into their eyes, and into their horses’ eyes, down their collars and up their sleeves, into their boots and even into their undertunics. Even the most casual movement would sand some part of the body raw.
Herewiss sighed. For the past two hours Freelorn had been straining his eyes toward the horizon, swearing at himself for having lost the river. He had been abusing himself so skillfully that Herewiss, in exasperation, had joined in and helped him for a few minutes. Now he was regretting it.
“Lorn, the Dark with it,” he said. “You can’t lose the Stel. If you just go east far enough, you’re bound to run into it.”
“It is possible,” Freelorn said tightly, “to lose just about anything.”
“Including your mind, if you work at it hard enough. Lorn, relax. Worse things could happen.”
“Oh?”
“Certainly. A cohort of Fyrd could find us. Or the Dark Hunt. Or the Goddess could sneeze and forget to keep the world in place, and we’d all go out like candles. Don’t be so grim, Lorn. It’ll work out all right.”
Freelorn’s poor Blackmane, half-blind with the dust, sneezed mightily and then bumped sideways into Sunspark. Herewiss’s mount didn’t respond, but Blackmane danced away with a whicker of scorched surprise, nearly throwing Freelorn out of the saddle. He regained his balance and looked suspiciously at the stallion.
“None of our horses care much for that one of yours,” he said. “What happened to Darrafed?”
“She’s home.”
“Dapple?”
“He was with me partway. I sent him back.”
“Is that safe?”
Herewiss laughed. “Safe? Dapple? He’ll probably rescue a princess on the way home.”
“Where did this one come from, then?”
“I don’t know,” Herewiss said, which was certainly the truth. “I found him.”
“I know that look,” Freelorn said. “You’ve got a secret.”
Herewiss said nothing, and tried to keep from smiling.
“Sorcerers,” Freelorn said in good-natured disgust. “Well, have it your way. Where the Dark is the river?!”
“It’ll be along. Lorn, you didn’t tell me. What were you doing in Madeil?”
“Oh … I was meeting a man who was supposed to know a way into the Royal Treasury at Osta. He had been there as a guard some years back, but he moved to Steldin when my father died and everything was going crazy.”
“Did you meet him?”
“Oh, yes. That was what we had been at the tavern for. It was about half an hour after he left that the guards came in.”
“Why were you still there?”
Freelorn looked guilty. “Well … it had been so long since any of us had a chance to get really drunk.”
“So you did it there in the middle of a city, with all those people around who you didn’t know? Lorn, you know you get talky when you’re drunk … What if you’d let something slip?”
Freelorn said nothing for a second, said it so forcefully that Herewiss went after the unspoken thought with his underhearing to try to catch it: …talk about being drunk, it said in a wash of anger, …what about Herelaf? And then it was smashed down by a hammer of Freelorn’s guilt. How can I think things like that? Wasn’t his fault.
Herewiss winced away. Even Lorn, he thought. And then, Goddess, did I do that? If this is the kind of thing I’d be doing with the Power, maybe I’m better without it.
“I’m sorry,” he said aloud. “Lorn, really.”
“No—you’re right, I guess. But we did find out about the way into the Treasury—there’s a passage off the river that no one knows about.”
“What about the guards who are there?”
“There aren’t many left who know about it—all the lower-level people have been replaced by mercenaries, and many of the higher levels left in a hurry when Cillmod had me outlawed. They could see the way things were going. At present that entrance isn’t being guarded.”
“What sort of things do they have there?”
“No treasure, no jewelry—just plain old money. My contact said that there are usually about fourteen thousand talents of silver there at any one time.”
“What are you thinking of?”
“My Goddess, you have to ask?”
“No… not really. Lorn, do you think you have any chance to pull this off?”
Freelorn hesitated for a long moment. “Maybe.”
Caution?! Herewiss thought. He’s being cautious? I’m in trouble.
“Are you sure those are rocks?”
“Yes. Lorn, how many people do you think you’re going to need to get into the place?”
“Oh… my own group will be enough.”
Ten would be better, Herewiss thought glumly, and twenty better still. More realistic, surely. “Don’t do it,” he said out loud.
“Why not? It’s the perfect chance to get enough money to finance the revolution—”
“Your father should be an example to you,” Herewiss said tiredly, “that no one supports a dead king.”
“A what?”
Herewiss sighed. “I’d like to see your plans before you go ahead and do it,” he said. “Maybe I’ll come with and help you. But Lorn!—I don’t believe that six people are going to be enough.”
“Seven— There’s the damn river!”
“Seven,” Herewiss said softly, watching Freelorn kick Blackmane into a gallop.
(Is he always so optimistic?) Sunspark asked.
(Usually more so.)
(Won’t this additional foray keep you from getting back to the work you have to do?)
(Yes, it will—)
Herewiss thought about that for a moment. The timing, he thought, until now I had always thought it was coincidental. But this timing’s just a little too close—oh, Dark. What can I do?
(What?)
(I was thinking to myself. Catch up with him, will you, Spark?)
(Certainly. That is the river ahead, by the way. I can feel the water. I hope there’s a bridge there; I’m not going to ford it in what they would consider the normal fashion.)
(So jump it, Spark. They’re already sure that you’re not quite natural. A spectacular leap won’t give much away at this point.)
They drew even with Freelorn again. “Look,” he shouted over the noise of the horses’ hooves, “there’s a house up ahead—”
“Where?”
“To the left. See it?”
“Uh—I think so. The dust makes it hard. Who would live out here, Lorn? There’s not a town or village for miles in any direction, and this is practically the Waste!”
“Maybe whoever lives there wants some peace and quiet.”
“Quiet, maybe. Peace? With the Waste full of Fyrd?”
“Well, maybe it isn’t, really. How would anyone know? If there’s nothing much living in the Waste, there can’t be Fyrd, either. Even Fyrd have to live on something.”
“It makes sense. There are so many stories—Lorn, that’s awfully big for just a house. It looks more like an inn to me.”
The rest of Freelorn’s people gradually closed with the two of them. “What’s the hurry?” yelled Dritt.
Freelorn pointed ahead. “Hot food tonight, I think—” They slowed down somewhat as they approached the river. It was running high in its banks, for the thaw was still in progress in the Highpeaks to the south. Trees lined the watercourse for almost as far as they could see, from south to north. These were not the gnarled little scrub-trees of the desert country, but huge old oaks and maples and silver birches. Though they leaned backward a little on the western bank, their growth shaped by the relentl
ess east wind of the Waste, they still gave an impression of striving hungrily for the water. Branches bright with flowers reached across the water to tangle with others just becoming green. Somewhere in the foliage a songbird, having recovered from the sudden advent of all these people, was trying out a few experimental notes.
“It is an inn,” Freelorn said. “There’s the sign—though I can’t make out what’s on it. Let’s go.”
“Lorn,” Herewiss said, “how has your money been holding up?”
“I am so broke,” Freelorn said cheerfully, “that—”
“Never mind, I think I have enough. Lorn, you’re always broke, it seems.”
“Makes life more interesting.”
Usually for other people, Herewiss thought. Oh Dark! I’m bad-tempered today.
“—and besides, if I spend it as fast as I get it, then no one can steal it from me.”
“That’s a point.”
Herewiss frowned with concentration as he did the math in his head. Prices will probably be higher out here— say, three-quarters of an eagle or so—and there’s seven of us… so that’s… uhh… damn, I hate fractions!… Well, it can’t be more than seven. Wonderful: all I have is five. Maybe the innkeeper’ll let us do dishes…
The inn was a tidy-looking place of fieldstone and mortar, with three sleeping wings jutting off in various directions from the large main building. A few of the many windows of diamond-paned glass stood open, as did the door of the stable, which was set off from the inn proper. A neat path of white stone led down from the dooryard of the inn, past the inn sign, a neatly painted board that said FERRY TAVERN, and down to the riverbank, where it met a small fishing pier. Just to the right of the pier was the ferry, a wooden platform attached to ropes and pulleys so that it could be pulled across from one side of the river to the other whether anyone was on it or not.
The place was marvelously pleasant after the long ride through the dry empty country. They dismounted and led their horses into the dooryard, savoring the shade and the cool fragrance of the air. The inn was surrounded by huge apple trees, all in flower. The only exception was the great tree that shaded the door-yard proper, a wide-crowned blackstave with its long trembling olive-and-silver leaves. Its flowers had already fallen, and carpeted the grass and gravel like an unseasonable snowfall.
“Goddess, what a lovely place,” Freelorn said.
“I just hope we can afford it. Well, go knock on the door and find out—”
“You have the money, you do it.”
“This is your bunch of people, Lorn—”
The door opened, and a lady walked out, and stood on the slate doorstep, drying her hands on her apron. “Good day to you!” she said, smiling. “Can I help you?”
They all stood there for a second or so, just appreciating her, before any of them began considering answers to the question. She was quite tall, taller even than Herewiss. The plain wide-sleeved shirt and breeches and boots she wore beneath the white apron did nothing to conceal her figure, splendidly proportioned. She was radiantly beautiful, with the delicate translucent complexion of a country girl and eyes as green as grass. What lines her face had seemed all from smiling, but her eyes spoke of gravity and formidable intelligence, and her bearing of quiet strength and power. She wore her coiled and braided hair like a dark crown.
“Ahem!” Freelorn said. “Uh, yes, maybe you can. We’re interested in staying the night—”
“Just interested?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “You’re not sure? Is it a money problem?”
“Well, lady, not really,” Herewiss began, still gazing at her with open admiration. Oh my, he was thinking, I never gave much thought to having more than one loved at a time—but I might start thinking about it now. She’s like a tree, she just radiates strength—but she’s got flowers, too—
She looked back at him, a measuring glance, a look of calm assessment, and then smiled again. It was like day breaking. “It’s been a long time since anyone was here,” she said. “Let’s take it out in trade. If you’re agreeable, let one of you share with me tonight, and we’ll call it even. You’re leaving tomorrow, I take it—”
They nodded assent.
“Then it’s settled. Go on in, make yourselves comfortable. Two tubrooms on the ground floor if anyone wants a bath— I’ll help with the water after I’ve taken care of your horses. Dinner’s two hours before sunset. Go on, then!” she said, laughing, stepping down from the doorstep and shooing them like chickens. Bemused, Freelorn and his people started going inside.
Herewiss turned to lead Sunspark toward the stable. “No, no,” said the lady innkeeper, coming up beside him and reaching across Herewiss to take the reins.
“Uh, he’s a little—I’d better—” Herewiss started to say, watching in horror as Sunspark suddenly lifted a hoof to stomp on the lady’s foot.
“It’s quite all right,” the lady said, and hit Sunspark a sharp blow on the nose with her left fist. The elemental danced back a step or so, its eyes wide with surprise.
The lady smiled brightly at Herewiss. “I love horses,” she said, and led Sunspark away.
(Be nice!) Herewiss said.
(I think I’d better,) Sunspark replied, still surprised.
Herewiss followed the others inside and found them standing in a tight group in the middle of the cool dark common room, all talking at once. “All right, all right!!” Freelorn yelled over the din. “There is no way to arbitrate this; we’ll have to choose up for the chance.”
“How about a fast game of Blade-on-the-Table?” Dritt said.
“The Dark it would be fast—it would need six elimination hands, and I want my bath now. Besides, you cheat at cards. It’ll—”
“I do not!”
“—have to be lots. Look, there’s kindling over there, and some twigs; we’ll draw sticks for it.”
“Fine,” Moris said darkly, “and who holds the sticks?”
“I’m the only one I trust not to gimmick the draw, so—”
This observation was greeted with hoots of skepticism. “What about me, Lorn?” Herewiss said. Freelorn looked at him with an expression close to dismay.
“You’re right,” he said. “Go ahead, give them to him—he’s got an honest streak.”
Herewiss received the twigs and spent a few moments snapping them to equal lengths, all but one, which he broke off shorter. He turned back to the others. “Here.”
Freelorn chose first, and made an irritated face; his was long. “The river I didn’t mind losing so much,” he said, “but this—aagh!”
Dritt chose next, and came up long also, as did Moris and Lang after him. Then Segnbora chose.
“Dammit-to-Darkness,” Freelorn said, with immense chagrin. “Well, give her our best.”
Segnbora smiled, tossed the short stick over her shoulder for luck, picked up her saddlebags from the floor, and headed up the stairs to find herself a room. “See you at dinner,” she said.
“That could have been me,” said Harald softly. “If I’d just gone ahead of her…” He followed Segnbora up the stairs.
Moris and Dritt went away, muttering, to raid the kitchen.
Lang kicked a chair irritably and went outside. “I wish it had been me,” Freelorn said quietly. “You’re not alone.” Herewiss put an arm around him, hugging him. “But, Lorn—how long has it been since we had a bath together?”
Freelorn regarded Herewiss out of the corner of his eye. “Years,” he said, smiling mischievously. “Though of course you remember what happened the last time.”
“Goodness, I’m not sure, it was so long ago—”
“Come on,” Freelorn said, “let’s go refresh your memory.”
•
Everyone who had good clothes to wear, or at least clean ones, wore them to dinner that night. They sat around the big oaken table down in the common room and admired one another openly in the candlelight. Herewiss wore the Phoenix surcoat, and Freelorn beside him wore a plain black one, still
grumbling softly over the loss of his good Lion surcoat with the silver on it. Lang and Harald wore plain dark shirts with the White Eagle badge over the heart, for they had been Queen’s men at the Court in Darthis before taking up with Freelorn. Dritt wore a white peasant’s shirt bright with embroidery around the sleeves and collar, a farmer’s festival wear; while Moris beside him looked dark and noble in the deep brown surcoat of the North Arlene principality. Segnbora, down at the end of the table, was wearing a long black robe belted at the waist and emblazoned on one breast with a lion and upraised sword—the differenced arms of a cadet branch of one of the Forty Noble Houses of Darthen.
The food did justice to the festive dress. Dinner was cold eggs deviled with pepper and marigold leaves, roast goose in a sour sauce of lemons and sorrel, potatoes roasted in butter, and winter apples in thickened cream. Moris made a lot of noise about the eggs and the goose, claiming that the powerful spices and sours of Steldene cooking gave him heartburn; but this did not seem to affect the speed with which he ate. There also seemed to be an endless supply of wine, which the company didn’t let go to waste.
Once the food was served, the innkeeper took off her apron, sat down at the head of the table, and ate with them. In some ways she seemed a rather private person; she still had not told them her name. This was common enough practice in the Kingdoms, and her guests respected her privacy. But when she spoke it became obvious that she was a fine conversationalist, possessed of a dry wit of which Herewiss found himself in envy.
She seemed most interested in hearing her guests talk, though, and was eager for news of the Kingdoms. One by one they gave her all the news they could remember: how the new queen was doing in Arlen, the border problem with Cillmod, the great convocation of Dragons and Marchwarders at the Eorlhowe in North Arlen, the postponement of the Opening Night feast in Britfell fields…
“Opening Night,” the innkeeper said, sitting back in her chair with her winecup in hand. “Four months ago, that would have been. And the Queen would have held the feast all by herself, without any Arlene heir in attendance, as her father did while he was still alive?”
“Evidently,” Freelorn said. Herewiss glanced at Lorn, watching him take a long, long swig of wine. There was nervousness in the gesture.
