THE SOUL WEAVER

by Carol Berg

  He did not comment, just bowed and walked away. What did Karon mean when he said he needed someone whose heart was not engaged with our family? I slammed the wicket gate so hard it bounced back open again.

  * * *

  After a second week of this peevishness, a tentative tap on the study door brought Teriza with news. “A man’s come to see you, my lady. He’s waiting in the small sitting room.”

  Visitors at Verdillon were a rarity. Pausing only long enough to wipe my pen and close the inkwell, I followed Teriza down the wide staircase and into the sitting room. Awaiting me was a sturdy man wearing a thin-at-the-elbows coat of dark blue and holding a soft, wide-brimmed hat in his hand. The flame-colored patch on his coat proclaimed him a sheriff, a local magistrate whose first responsibility was the extermination of sorcerers. Fortunately his weathered face proclaimed him a friend - Graeme Rowan, the sheriff of Dunfarrie.

  “How wonderful to see you, Sheriff. And Paulo will be delighted.”

  “It’s fine to see you, too, my lady,” he said, taking my hand and offering a polite bow.

  I didn’t lie when I said I was happy to see Rowan. Though I had once despised him for his office, he had shown himself to be a faithful ally and a man of honor and integrity. Yet one close glance at the sandy-haired sheriff made it clear that he was not to be the instrument to relieve the tensions of the household. Deep creases lined his ruddy brow. When I sat on a couch that faced the windows overlooking the overgrown lawn and cherry orchard and motioned him to join me, he perched on the edge of the cushions.

  “What brings you so far, Sheriff? Just a visit, I hope.” One says the words.

  “Free to speak plainly, ma’am?” His soft-spoken manner and country accent did not accurately reflect the capabilities of a man responsible for maintaining the king’s law in a sizable district of Leire. Graeme Rowan was easily underestimated.

  “I’ve never known you to do otherwise,” I said.

  The lines in his brow failed to soften at my meager humor.

  “There’s no one but me in the house.” I said. “Tennice is gone to Yurevan for the day. Teriza and Kat are heading off to market. Gerick is most likely in the stables with Paulo, and Radele, our new Dar’Nethi bodyguard, is never far from him.”

  “King Evard wants to see you.” He held out a small folded paper.

  “Evard!” The paper was heavy and stiff, of good quality. Nothing was written on the outside, and the red wax seal bore no device. I turned it over in my hand. “How is that possible?” Almost six years had passed since the day Gerick had been abducted by the Lords, and I had followed him to Gondai and Zhev’Na. I thought I was well buried.

  Rowan’s voice was tight and low. “All I know is that ten days ago, two gentlemen of the Royal Household come to Dunfarrie. Their only interest was your whereabouts. I told them the story we agreed on, that I’d heard naught of you since your nephew’s abduction. I said how I had it straight from the bailiff at Comigor and the sheriff of the district that no trace of you or the boy had ever been found. But these two men said the king believed you alive and that he ‘very much wished to speak with you.’ ”

  Very much wished… That didn’t sound like Evard at all. “How could he know I was alive? And what could he want?”

  “I asked them that. They said only that if I was to ‘happen to run across you,’ then I was to say that your pardon stands and that this matter is with regard to the last conversation you had with His Majesty.”

  “That’s when I told him about the other world and the threat to this world posed by the Lords. I wasn’t even sure he believed me.” Once caught up in rescuing Gerick from Zhev’Na, I had never looked back at my old nemesis, the King of Leire. Our enmity was too deep. His boyhood friendship with my brother had prompted him to issue a pardon for my “crimes” of consorting with sorcerers, but I expected no further favors from him. “So what did you tell them?”

  “That anyone who thought you were alive was an optimist, and anyone who thought you’d be living in Dunfarrie again was a fool.” Rowan fidgeted with his hat, his face knotted into a frown. “For certain they didn’t believe me. The whole business smells bad. That’s why I thought I should bring this myself.”

  I broke the seal. The message was brief and to the point.

  Your counsel is needed. Sunset on the fifteenth day of the Month of Veils. On the arched bridge in your late cousin’s famous gardens. E. R.

  “Windham… he wants to meet in Martin’s gardens at Windham.” I wadded the notepaper and threw it to the floor. “Cheeky bastard! How dare he set foot there!”

  Martin, Earl of Gault, had been my mother’s distant cousin and my dearest friend and mentor when I was a girl. On the same day the king and the Council of Lords had condemned Karon to burn, Evard had executed Martin, his beloved mistress, and Tennice’s brother Tanager, accusing them of plotting with sorcerers to topple his throne. Only chance had allowed Tennice to escape death. No matter who claimed Martin’s land and titles now, the thought of Evard walking in Martin’s gardens was vile. Vile.

  “One more thing,” said Rowan. “The messenger said, ‘Tell her that a search for one missing person may turn up others who should never be found.’ ”

  Cold fear quickly doused my indignation. “Stars of night! Could Evard know about Gerick?”

  “They said no more than I’ve told you. I thought maybe they knew of the three sorcerers living at your place. At least they’re well away.”

  On his first venture to save D’Arnath’s Bridge, Karon had healed three Zhid, restoring the souls that had been stolen from them centuries before. The three had stayed at my old cottage for a while, but were now back in Gondai on a mission for Karon. Out of Evard’s reach, at least. But if the king had any idea about Gerick… that he was Karon’s son… a sorcerer, too…

  I snatched up the letter from the floor and stared at it again. And then there was the matter of Tennice… Rowan watched me, his thumb rubbing the brim of his hat.

  “I can’t let Evard start looking for me,” I said. “Any questioning of my old associations would lead him to Tennice’s father, which could easily point them here. Not only would that endanger Gerick, but Tennice is still condemned.” That my old friend had escaped execution sixteen years ago was only a matter of luck.

  “Perhaps it’s time for you to move on. Away from here.”

  “Where could we go? We can’t hide forever.” Very much wished… Your counsel is needed… “Besides, I’m curious…”

  Perhaps it was the week’s tension that made me so certain I had to answer Evard’s summons, anything to get away from Verdillon and the teeth-on-edge days. For myself, I wasn’t afraid of the king. Even his not-so-veiled threat could not shake my confidence; I believed it nothing but an indication of urgency, a clumsy effort at persuasion. Evard had always been a bully. But his friendship for my brother, proven over and over again, had prevented him from physically harming me. And somehow, on the day I had told him of Tomas’s death and the strange circumstances surrounding it, I had felt that youthful loyalty transferred to me, a gift of grief in a heart that knew little softness.

  No, my only concern in such a meeting would be Gerick’s safety. I didn’t want Evard getting curious about him, yet I couldn’t leave him behind, either; the echoes of my son’s night terrors still rang in my ears.

  “I think I’d best find out what he wants. Gerick will have to come with me. And Radele, too. We’ll travel in disguise, so if Evard is planning a trap, it won’t work, because we won’t arrive in the way he expects. The change will do us good.”

  I mustered my arguments carefully before approaching the others with my idea. But to my astonishment, Gerick threw himself into planning it right away. “Paulo will have to come, too, don’t you think? He’s the best of all of us at slipping in and out of places and getting people to say things they never meant to say. We’ll want to scout out the situation before you meet King Evard.”

  The trees were noisy w
ith chattering blackbirds as Gerick and Tennice and I sat on the lawn that evening, discussing the journey to Montevial. Graeme Rowan had already ridden out for Dunfarrie, convinced I should be shut up in a lunatic asylum.

  “Don’t even think I’ll allow you near this meeting, dear boy!” I said. “You and Radele - and Paulo, too, if he has to come - will stay well out of the way.”

  Though dismayed at the consideration, Tennice agreed that we needed to find out what Evard wanted. “… but if you’re going to do this, discretion and speed must be of first importance,” he said. “Too many together are noticeable. I still say, both young men should remain here.”

  “Gerick and I stay together,” I said.

  “And I won’t go without Paulo.” Gerick’s lean face was animated and determined. “He can travel separately. As a horse trader perhaps. All the better to watch out and not be one of us. And my mother and I - and I suppose the Dar’Nethi shadow must come - we could be… ”

  “… a family looking for a squire’s billet for a son,” I said, caught up in Gerick’s enthusiasm. “It’s the most common reason for a mother and son to be traveling to Montevial. A father dead in the war. The family seeking someone to take the boy under his wing.”

  “Just what Philomena was trying to do for me after Tomas died, before I went to Zhev’Na,” said Gerick.

  He said it so casually. Zhev’Na. The syllables pricked my heart, evoking horror and hope in a confusing muddle. The name recalled so much of grief and despair, yet for Gerick to speak of the Lords’ fortress with equanimity was surely a sign of his healing. He guarded his thoughts so fiercely, I grasped at any sign of progress.

  “Exactly,” I said. “Radele would be the fencing master who’s taught the boy until now. Can we pull it off?”

  “Of course we can,” said Gerick. “I’ll be interested to see Montevial again. My last time there I was eight or nine, when Papa - Tomas - took me to see the ruins at Vaggiere. Actually, I think he wanted to show me his new chambers in the palace more than he wanted to show me the ruins.”

  “I would imagine he did. Tomas was an inveterate show-off.” I smiled at Gerick, and he returned it, a brief, glorious reflection of my brother and Karon all in one. He didn’t smile enough.

  Tennice, as always, was skeptical, but Gerick’s cheerful mood won him over. My old friend unfolded his long legs and got up from the grass, grimacing and stretching his ever-aching back. “I’ll speak to Teriza, get her started on your provisioning.”

  Gerick sprang to his feet. “I’ll tell Paulo. He’ll think it a lark - riding horses all day for weeks.”

  During the discussion Radele had remained unobtrusively in the shade of a myrtle hedge, a vantage from which he could see both the lane from the main road and the service road that led from the stableyard deeper into the parkland. The moment Tennice and Gerick were out of earshot, the young Dar’Nethi confronted me, his face quite solemn. “Madam, you cannot be serious about this fey masquerade, traipsing about the countryside… ”

  I stood and brushed the grass from my skirt. “I’m quite serious. And if you’ve heard so much, then you know you’re to accompany us.”

  “We must wait here for the Prince’s return.”

  “That could be months. King Evard likes getting his way, and if he starts hunting, he could discover this place long before that. I’ll not have Gerick’s or Tennice’s safety compromised. It’s too dangerous to wait.”

  “I don’t think it will be months. Probably only a few days. And in any case, my lord’s commands to me… ”

  “… said nothing about preventing a journey to Montevial, I’m sure. He would never set me any such restriction.”

  “You? Of course not. But he would not have the young Lord… put in such a risky position. The boy must not leave here until the Prince returns.”

  A chill prickled my skin. The young Lord. That’s what they had called Gerick in Zhev’Na.

  “I would never put my son at undue risk, Radele. Our position at Verdillon may not be secure, even now, so Gerick cannot remain here. He needs to be with me. Besides, he needs to get out in the world. He’s not a prisoner.”

  “But the Prince said - ” He stopped abruptly.

  “What did he say?” My fragile patience snapped. “I’ve been waiting for someone to speak of it. Tell me what he said that might preclude our going.”

  The young man flushed and clamped his lips firmly.

  “Then we’ll go. If my husband wishes to find us, he can use the guidestone I wear around my neck, rather than popping in here unexpectedly. If you want to wait for him here, then do so. But if your duty is to protect Gerick, you had best pack your kit.” Enough of secrets and hiding.

  “My duty, my lady, is to defend my world and this one of yours against the Lords of Zhev’Na. I never forget it.” Sparks flashed from beneath his deference, as if my words had struck steel. This was a young man who had fought his first battle at fourteen.

  “I’m sorry, Radele. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.”

  He bowed stiffly. “I’m sure that if any extraordinary dangers manifest themselves along the way, your prudence will call an end to the venture.”

  “You can be certain of it.”

  Radele made no further argument. He also said nothing more about Karon’s orders, though his sidestepping had done nothing to soothe my disquiet.

  Two days later, when we set out in the sultry heat of the early morning, the young Dar’Nethi joined in our playacting with his more accustomed good humor, waxing his blond beard and mustache into stiff curls, claiming that his own fencing master had prized his facial glory in that way. But if anything, the young man had increased his vigilance. I don’t think he ever took his eyes from Gerick.

  CHAPTER 5

  Paulo left Verdillon a day ahead of us. He had proposed shyly that if Tennice were to stake him to a few silver pieces, he could come up with a fair-sized string of horses from Valloreans desperate to sell their stock before it was confiscated by the Leiran army. Taking the horses to Montevial would not only be a benefit to our neighbors and an excellent ruse, but could make us a tidy profit as well. Though we lived modestly, Tennice’s resources were not unlimited.

  Gerick and I rode in Verdillon’s old pony trap, a mode of travel slower than riding our own mounts, but more suited to our roles. I wore a widow’s headcloth and an old-fashioned velvet gown that I’d dragged out of Tennice’s attic. We found Gerick a rakish green cap to hide the color of his hair and outfitted him in threadbare finery suitable for an impoverished youth of gentle family looking to impress someone in the capital. Gerick and I laughed at ourselves when we donned our disguises, and enjoyed our first day on the road as if it were a holiday.

  The town of Prydina, where we were to meet Paulo, had grown up at the meeting of the main north-south route through Valleor and the road that crossed the Cerran Brae, the range of low peaks and sharp ridges that defined the Vallorean border with Leire. Prydina boasted a sizable marketplace, an even larger illicit trade in untaxed Leiran goods, and a full complement of pickpockets, thieves, and beggars.

  We took a room on the outskirts of town at a modest inn called the Fire Goat, a suitably respectable accommodation for an impoverished gentlewoman, her son, and his fencing master. Once the cart was unhitched and unloaded, Gerick and I sat down to supper in the inn’s common room. Radele did not join us. He seemed uneasy with the press of people, saying he’d prefer to watch the horse, the cart, and the inn from outside.

  Despite a long day’s traveling from Verdillon, Gerick was not inclined to go upstairs once we’d finished eating. “We’ve not been anywhere in all these years,” he said, leaning across the scrubbed pine table after the barmaid took away our plates. “Don’t you want to hear some news of the world?”

  He was right. Gerick and I rarely ventured beyond Verdillon’s walls and never to a town of any size. Tennice often rode into Yurevan, always returning with much to say of the newest books at his favorite bo
okseller’s or who was teaching philosophy at the University, but little of politics or gossip. Nothing like the news one could get in the common room of a crossroads inn.

  I ordered us each a tankard of the local ale. As the daylight faded outside the smoke-grimed windows of the Fire Goat, a potboy threw a fresh log on the smoky fire, poking and fussing until it was crackling. The dancing flames revealed all sorts of folk: a ruddy, broad-faced man with a curling red beard, a solitary woman, pinched and pale, with darting black eyes and bad teeth, a heavy-set man, careworn and gray, who slumped over his supper at a table beside three noisy companions. Some eighteen or twenty patrons crowded the little room, and as the ale flowed from the landlord’s barrel, the talk grew louder and less cautious.

  From the sound of it, Evard had made little progress in his attempts to bring Iskeran under Leire’s heel alongside Valleor and Kerotea. The Valloreans in the room, always distinguishable by their fair coloring and somber garb, smiled behind their hands at the stories of the Leiran king’s setbacks. A threadbare merchant pronounced unsettling rumors from Montevial of spies and executions and an entire slum quarter of the city that had been burned by a mob. Other travelers nodded their heads, confirming that the capital city of Leire was an uncomfortable place these days.

  A bony man, a tinker by trade, told a harrowing and unlikely story of getting caught in a bog and being rescued by a pack of wild dogs. The fantastic tale left the company hungry for more stories.

  “Come, let’s each offer a tale or a song,” said the pale woman with bad teeth. “The company will buy a tankard for the one as tells the best.”

  A Vallorean tax-clerk, one of the poorly paid local functionaries reviled as traitorous tools of the cruel Leiran governor, volunteered for the competition. He redeemed his unsavory profession for the evening with a hilarious tale of two Leiran tax collectors being chased all over northern Valleor by an outlaw named ‘Red Eye.’ The pale woman had the landlord refill the man’s mug, not waiting for the voting at the end of the evening.