“When Merri heard all this, she confronted Lord Charming. He tried to make light of it. To him, he’d done nothing wrong. It broke her heart that he was not the person she’d thought him to be. Oh gods—how he raged when she told him that she would no longer hear his suit. He was like a madman. Said that if he couldn’t have her, no one would.
“When his kinsman heard why Lord Charming had left Kelneth and that he’d threatened Merri, he turned the craven out. Then Father told Lord Charming that he’d Challenge him if he ever came near Merri again.”
Shima asked, “And is your father a good swordsman, Lady Karelinn?”
She smiled. Like a cat looking at a mouse, Shima thought with amusement.
“Your Grace, Lord Charming was gone by the next dawn.”
Ten
“See that, lad?” Raven said. He pointed to a wooden sign hanging from the branch of a huge old oak at the head of a small lane that branched off the road. It bore the gaily painted image of a brown-and-white cow standing in a patch of sunflowers.
“This is the Spotted Cow. Aunt Yarrow said that it’s a day’s ride to Balyaranna from here. But it’ll be less than that for us, won’t it?” He guided the Llysanyin onto the turnoff to the inn.
Stormwind nodded, but turned his head to look back at the road as if to say, So why are we stopping? It’s early yet.
Raven laughed and patted him. “I know you’re still fresh, but I’m about done in, we’ve been riding that hard. And I’m tired of camping by the wayside to save Aunt Yarrow’s coin. A hot meal and an easy night’s rest will do us both good. Not to mention a bath for me and a good grooming for you. I want us both to look our best when we reach the fair.”
The Llysanyin rumbled deep in his chest as if agreeing. They rode slowly down the lane, baking in the noonday sun.
* * *
A short time later, after a meal and a rest, Raven decided to wander out to the stable to see how Stormwind was faring. Before he could get to the door, it opened and some travelers he had passed earlier that day entered. Raven stood to one side.
Three of the travelers, two men and a tired-faced woman, all dressed as servants, hurried past him. They carried bundles in their arms.
They were followed by another group, likely a family, he thought; an older couple, two young men laughing about “the plow horse” in the stable, and a boy of thirteen or so. One of the young men looked familiar to Raven now that he got a good look at him, but he couldn’t place the man. The boy chewed his lip like one trying to figure something out.
Judging from both clothing and bearing, they were noble. He bowed as they passed him; he was in Cassori now and the highborn folk expected such as their due. They, in turn, ignored him after the barest glance. Servant, their eyes said. Commoner.
All save the boy. He looked back at Raven and fell behind the rest. The woman noticed. “Arisyn! Come along now.”
“Yes, Lady Venna!” the boy said, and scurried after the others.
Guessed wrong, Raven thought with amusement. It wasn’t his mam after all.
He continued on. But when he glanced back as he went out the door, he saw Arisyn standing on the bottom step of the stairs to the sleeping rooms, staring after him.
I wonder what that’s about! he thought a little uneasily as he crossed the courtyard to the stable. Maybe I just remind him of someone and he’s trying to remember who.
After all, fair was fair; he was trying to remember one of the boy’s companions. He pulled a brush from the saddlebag hanging by Stormwind’s stall.
“Move over, lad,” he said, slapping Stormwind’s rump.
Though the Llysanyin had been well groomed, Raven began brushing out his tail; the ritual was soothing for both of them. He hummed under his breath as he worked.
“Ready for the fair?” he asked after a time.
Stormwind nodded.
“I thought it was you!” a young voice said.
Startled, Raven jumped and looked around. Standing in the aisle was Arisyn.
The boy stared at Stormwind, his face screwed up in thought. After a long moment, he relaxed and shook his head. “You passed us on the road. I know that Coryn and Dunric think your horse is naught but a Shamreen, one of those big draft horses from northern Yerrih, but I don’t. Even big as he is and with the feathers, there’s something too refined about him. He’s not a plow horse, I don’t care what they said!”
Arisyn chewed his lower lip in fierce concentration for a moment, then blurted out, “But for the life of me, I can’t figure out what he is!”
And you likely wouldn’t believe me if I told you, my fine young lord, Raven thought. He hid a smile. So the lad fancied himself an expert on horses? Hmm—compared to his two kinsmen or friends or whatever, he is an expert, Raven decided. Stormwind a plow horse, indeed!
Before he could speak, the boy held up one hand imperiously. “No, no—don’t tell me! I want to figure it out on my own.” Then, after a long moment, “Um—but perhaps you could give me a hint? Just a little one, mind you!” he said in a rush.
Chuckling, Raven bowed with a flourish. “As you wish, my lord. Here’s your hint: Those like my lad here are not commonly found.”
The boy’s mouth twitched up in a wry grin. He was a sturdy fellow, with brown hair that fell back from a sharp widow’s peak, and a pleasant, snub-nosed face that Raven liked. “As if I hadn’t guessed that already. Ah, well—it’s my own fault, I suppose. I did say a ‘little’ hint.”
“That you did, my lord.”
Stormwind snorted in amusement.
Before the boy could say anything else, an irritated voice called, “Arisyn! Where are you, curse it all?”
Arisyn groaned and rolled his eyes. “That’s my cousin’s friend, Dunric. I have to go.”
At the door to the stable he turned suddenly and demanded, “Are you going to the fair?”
“I am.”
“Good! I’ll find you there. I will figure this out, you know.”
“I believe you, my lord,” Raven answered.
Eleven
It had been a hard ride to the encampment that served as the Wort Hunters’ starting place for the teaching treks. Pod groaned and stretched in the saddle; Little Brown’s head drooped as he came to a halt. Behind her Kiga shifted on his riding pad and grunted his impatience to set paw to dirt once more.
“Give me a moment, Kiga! There’s no need to get your whiskers in a knot,” Pod complained as she wiped the sweat from her forehead. “First we need to see where we’re supposed to go.”
The rest of the apprentices from Grey Holt pulled up alongside her. Knowing that some of the brothers-in-fur might frighten horses that weren’t used to such creatures, they kept well back from the picket line of the Wort Hunters’ mounts.
Darby’s squirrel, Hazel, was not likely to be a problem, Pod thought, nor Marisha’s raven, Jobbin. But Jeord’s Trebla and her own Kiga almost certainly would be. Even Risla’s stag, Fleet, might spook a horse or two. And often that was all the excuse the other horses in a picket line needed to panic.
“Feh,” Jeord said in disgust. “My tunic feels like it’s glued to me.” He tugged at it. “I hope there’s a stream to swim in.”
“Look,” Risla said. “Someone’s waving us over to him.”
Sure enough, a tall, lean fellow with the weathered look of one who spent his life outside was pointing to a small, shady grove bordering the encampment. They turned their tired horses and rode to meet him.
“Welcome,” he called. As they neared him, Pod realized most of his height was in his legs; she thought they were the longest she’d ever seen. “My name is Fiarin,” he said.
They returned his greeting in tired voices.
As they cared for their horses, Fiarin went from one to the other lending a hand, learning each ’prentice’s name and the name of his or her brother-in-fur, and introducing himself to the animals.
Pod was pleased to see the last; it meant that even if he didn’t regard th
e familiars as “people” the way every Beast Healer did, Fiarin understood the courtesies. And Kiga seemed to like him. The woods dog snuffled the hand held out to him, then bumped his head against it, asking for a scratch behind the ears. Fiarin complied with no hesitation.
Points to him, Pod thought. It’s not everyone who’ll trust a familiar that’s a wild animal—especially a woods dog!
When they were done with the horses, Fiarin led them to tents already set up for them in a line with the Wort Hunters. “And if you like,” he said, “there’s a pond beyond those birches for anyone who wants a swim.”
He grinned at their whoops of joy. “Mind you, though, it’s spring-fed and cold.”
A moment later they’d left him behind. As they raced for the pond, he laughed at their mad dash.
* * *
Refreshed by her swim, Pod sat behind a line of tents and brushed Kiga. The woods dog made little growls and grunts of satisfaction as she worked.
“Have a seat. Want some wine?” a man’s voice asked.
Pod jumped and looked around. There was no one there.
“Don’t mind if I do,” another man answered, and she realized that the voices were coming from the tent next to hers. Relieved that she wasn’t imagining things, she continued working on her familiar.
“Thank you kindly, old fellow. So what did you think of that?”
She knew she shouldn’t eavesdrop, but she was too tired to move. And, she admitted to herself, too curious. What was the mysterious ‘that’?
“Baylor’s news about Currin, and the fire at White River chapterhouse? I think Currin is a damned lucky dog—can you imagine finding a stand that size of King’s Blood! Fifty plants!” A sigh of pure envy followed.
“I once found three plants and counted myself the most fortunate of men,” Second Voice said. “Let us hope Master Heron doesn’t hear of it before he leaves. I swear the man’s been thinking of looking for the old stand.”
“By the gods, you don’t think he’d really do that, do you?” First Voice said, shocked. “He wouldn’t! Not with two youngsters in tow—not even he would be so mad.”
“We hope he wouldn’t.” Second Voice sounded as if he wasn’t as certain.
First Voice went on, “Any road, he won’t hear of it. I saw Baylor stop to tell Mistress Helda the news after he told us. She damn near dragged him off his horse, shaking her head and telling him to shut his mouth. She had that look of hers that says ‘Don’t cross me,’ and Baylor’s not fool enough to do that even for such a fine bit of news as this. So if we keep our mouths shut as well, Master Heron won’t hear of it before he leaves—” Here First Voice paused as if to take a drink.
Master Heron? Who’s that? Pod wondered. She was certain she’d met all of the Wort Hunters and just as certain none was named Heron. She began going over in her mind who it might be.
First Voice continued, “Or about the fire. Do you think it was really as bad as Baylor said?”
“If he’s right, we’re in for a bad time when the lung sickness returns next winter. White River is where the most valuable herbs are kept, after all,” Second Voice said heavily.
Silence followed the last words. Kiga bumped Pod’s hand, reminding her that he was there. She tickled him under his chin and continued brushing.
The conversation in the tent resumed once more. “Then let us hope Baylor is exaggerating—as usual!—and not about Currin. Pass your mug over, lad, and have a bit more wine.”
“Thank you. Heh—when he finds out, Master Heron’ll be so pissed we’ll have to pour him into a bucket! He and Currin have been rivals for years.”
“Gods, yes! I’d forgotten, they’re both so rarely about the chapterhouse.”
“Always out hunting, those two. Old Heron found a patch of twenty or so plants years ago and has lorded it over Currin—and the rest of us—ever since. This will be a sweet payback for Currin when next they meet.” There was a long pause, then, “Oh, to be that proverbial fly on the wall…”
The voice sounded so wistful that Pod nearly laughed.
From the other side of the camp another voice hallooed something Pod couldn’t make out. First Voice yelled back, “What? Oh, very well. We’ll be right there.”
She heard the two men grumble their way out of the tent. The next moment the whole conversation was driven out of her mind when the solid weight of the woods dog slammed into her and knocked her to the ground. He snarled fiercely, his ivory fangs snapping in her face.
Kiga wanted a wrestling match.
* * *
That evening after the meal they gathered around a roaring bonfire, mingling with the Wort Hunters, introducing themselves, learning names, answering questions about their familiars, and asking their own about herbs. Pod found herself talking with Kaeliss, a young journeywoman originally from Pelnar. She seemed entranced by Pod’s white hair, for her gaze kept straying to it as they talked.
“Are you one of the Kelnethi royal family?” Kaeliss finally asked. “Though your name sounds Yerrin,” she added doubtfully.
It was a question Pod was used to, but that didn’t make it any easier to answer. “I don’t know,” she said.
“Didn’t your mother or father ever say anyth—” Kaeliss began.
“I never knew them. I’m an orphan,” Pod said shortly. And for all she knew it was true. Her mother at least was dead; that she knew for certain. As for her father, well, only the gods knew. But “orphan” was better than “bastard.” People looked at you all sideways if they thought you were a bastard, as if it were somehow your fault. She went on, “‘Pod’ is the nickname that Conor and Lin— The two people who found me gave me the name.”
She’d almost said “Linden Rathan” but was suddenly afraid that Kaeliss would either not believe her, or worse, think she was bragging. And everyone always wanted to know all about the Dragonlord. But she’d been so young that her memory was simply of a big man with blond hair and a deep, comforting voice, a man who had been kind to her.
She was saved from more questions by a summons from Master Varron, the senior Wort Hunter in charge of the encampment. “Gather together!” he boomed. “All come to the bonfire, all co-ome!”
Pod quickly stood, thankful for the reprieve. Along with her fellow apprentices and the Wort Hunters, she made her way to the circle of logs around the bonfire and took a seat. Kiga plunked himself down on the ground between her feet. Pod scratched his back and stared into the blazing fire that held back the night around them. Kaeliss took the place next to her.
When they were all settled, Master Varron beamed at all of them. “Welcome all,” he said. “And a special welcome to our friends from Grey Holt. We’re glad Leeston was able to reach you in time so that you could join us, for the teaching journeys begin tomorrow.
“Apprentices and journeymen, Wort Hunters and Beast Healers—you will go in small groups for your journeys so that you may have the fullest attention of your teachers. From this spot a variety of places can be reached on foot: old woods, marshlands, hills and valleys, pine forests—all places where useful and valuable herbs grow. You will learn as much as possible in each area, then return here so that you may have a day or so of rest, then be sent on to learn in a new place. So over time you will learn the herbs of each habitat.
“This is especially important for you young Beast Healers. Once we’re past our apprenticeships, we Wort Hunters often choose to concentrate on plants from a certain area, be it woods or marsh or meadow. But you Beast Healers must go wherever your animal patients are. You need to know about the plants in many different areas.
“And now I shall ask Mistress Helda to give you your assignments.” With that, Master Varron took a seat.
Pod sat up a bit straighter. She recognized the name from the conversation she’d overheard and wondered what such a fearsome woman would look like.
Mistress Helda proved to be an elderly woman with a face seamed with wrinkles. Despite her age, though, she strode briskly to take
her place before the bonfire. She stood, scroll in hand, and surveyed them. “A fine-looking group,” she said approvingly. “A fine-looking group you are, indeed. Luck and good learning to you all.”
She snapped the scroll open and, holding it to the light, began reading in a clear, firm voice. Pod soon noticed that while the apprentice Wort Hunters might go in groups of two or three, the young Beast Healers were never two together. She listened carefully and finally heard her name.
“Pod of the Beast Healers, Kaeliss Ageslin of the Wort Hunters—you will both start with the woodland plants. Your instructor will be Fiarin Smithson.”
Beside her Kaeliss gave a squeal of pleasure. The young Wort Hunter leaned over and whispered, “Hurrah! We’re lucky—Fiarin is one of the most successful Wort Hunters—and I’ve heard that he’s generous with what he knows, not like some others.”
For a moment Pod didn’t know what she meant, then remembered something Jeord had said on the journey here: “Gunnis told me that the Wort Hunters hunt not just for their Guild, but for themselves as well. They’re paid by the Guild for what they find and the competition between them can be harsh.”
The idea of such competition had seemed alien to Pod then, and she wasn’t sure she understood it any better now, even after overhearing that earlier conversation. Still, she supposed she was lucky to get Fiarin rather than the mysterious Master Heron; she still hadn’t figured out who he was. Perhaps tomorrow …
No, tomorrow they would be on their way shortly after dawn—or so Mistress Helda was saying to a chorus of groans.
“To bed with you all! To bed!” Mistress Helda said, shooing them all off.
Soon Pod was wrapped in a light blanket, one hand resting on the softly snoring Kiga. She fell asleep wondering what new plants she would learn about.
Bard's Oath (Dragonlord) Page 9
