by Ru Emerson
“We can get more distance-glasses from the Narrans,” Erken said. The prospect of something to do took the hard lines from his face. “Bnorn, you still have horns among your guard, haven't you? We could use them to sound alarm, if there's another attack.”
“That's a good idea,” Ifney, too, looked pleased at the thought of some kind of action. “We can use mirrors, too. My herders used them to talk across the hills. Just small rounds of polished steel. Something to fit on a sleeve or in a belt-bag. There are signals. A lot of us know them; we can devise any new ones we need.”
“Fine.” Ylia pushed back from the table. “We lost twelve men last night, We can't afford to do that again.
Levren held up a hand. ‘"Another thing we should begin to consider, now. If there is a true hold of Mathkkra and Thullen, if Lyiadd has sent them against us, we will need to fight them. That will take serious preparation; the last time we fought as a people was three hundred years ago.”
“The Plain—” Ifney began, stopped as Levren shook his head.
“No. Fought as an armed people, not a folk with its back to the wall, trying to save anything it could. We need to train our armed anyway; this merely pressures us to do it now, instead of next year. Or the year after. Maneuvers. Strategy. Tactics.”
Erken opened his mouth, closed it again, Corlin leaned on his hands, gazed at them in turn. “Lev's right. We're few armed, and we've insufficient weapons, insufficient men—and yes, women—to protect us. The Mothers know it's not been long enough since we came alive from the Plain. It seems unfair indeed that we should not be left awhile in peace. But the time and the means aren't left to us to choose. They seldom are. We dare not be unprepared. I will begin training my own in battle maneuvers. Directly after Fest.” He held out a hand. “Erken?”
Erken clasped it. “You know I'll aid. Let's think on what's needed. We can meet after Fest.” He glanced up as one of his men came in, tapped the back of his hand and nodded toward the square. “They're beginning the afternoon crossings. I'm wanted for judging.”
Outside it was clear and hot, and the street was thick with dust. The Narrans—Ber'Sordes still, Ang'Har and H'Lod once again—had moved from the dais and now sat in a patch of shade with Erken, Golsat and Marhan. Those three were judging, and Golsat was indicating the finer points of swordplay to the ambassador. Ylia arrived in time to see Ifney's boy from the morning passes flailing nervously against Bnorn's grandson. The crossing didn't last long, and the boy shrugged ruefully in Ifney's direction as he left the floor. Ifney waited until he vanished into the crowd, rolled his eyes and shook his head.
A cry went up from the end of the bridge as the first of the afternoon footraces began. Ber'Sordes's minstrel, who had been wandering around the square, shook his head at the noise and moved off in the direction of the barracks, where it was quieter. An appreciative crowd followed him.
There was a lull after the second round men's crossings. The square was empty, the women's competition would not begin for another hour, not until the sun was off the square. Marhan leaned over to speak to Erken, who shrugged, and then to Levren. Ylia couldn't hear his question, but the Bowmaster's response reached her: “Don't know. He hasn't been around all day.”
“He was supposed to be here after the—well, he's here somewhere. Blast! I'd better start.” Marhan rose to his feet and strode to the center of the floor.
“The third men's passes will be at first hour tomorrow, and the women's first passes today after the last footrace. In the meantime,” he raised his voice to cut through the babble, “in honor of our guests, who have sat patiently through the sword exercises so far—and,” he added as many laughed, “I grant you, now and again seen good work and often good promise—I would like to offer an exhibition of sword and dagger fighting as it should and can be! To that end, I, Marhan, Swordmaster to the House of Ettel, hereby lay challenge to any who will come against me.” He swept his hat from his head and bowed. There were cheers, a splatter of pleased applause—but no takers. Marhan laughed. “What! D'ye mean let me stand here and look foolish? This is not even to first blood, only a disarming! A contest!” That brought him more cheers and applause, yet still no opponent.
“Erken, what is he doing?” Ylia leaned down to whisper. The Duke shrugged.
“Brelian and he set it up between them,” Levren said. “But I think it was too much for Brel. Fest. Remember last year, who took the whole of the sword contestings!”
“Brendan,” she whispered. “Poor Brel!” Mothers guard you, my Bren, as you now guard my father. She swallowed hard. Do something, don't weep here and now, fool! Marhan was still standing unchallenged in the center of the square, jibing with those watching. “Why don't one of you take him?”
“Not up to it,” Levren said. “My skill is with the bow. I'm no fancy swordsman. But why don't you, my Lady?” He cast a meaningful glance at the brightly clad young man on Ber'Sordes's far side. “Give him a chance to look at you properly!”
“Levren,” Erken warned. So far Ber'Sordes had proven to have keen ears indeed.
Levren just grinned at Ylia. “Well?”
“Corlin could take him, I'd wager,” she began, but her hand was edging toward her dagger.
Levren laughed. “He's not given to display like you and the Duke here are. Go on, this should be fun!”
“Certainly,” she retorted. “Since you get to sit in the shade and watch!” Levren laughed again, jumped to his feet.
“Accepted!” he shouted, and Marhan turned.
“Bowmaster?”
“No, the Lady herself!” Levren gave her a shove and applauded loudly as he resumed his seat. There was momentary silence, broken by a rush of excited whispering, and a few nervous laughs. Not that many had ever seen her fight. They'd seen Marhan. Though he was old, his skill was still renowned.
The Swordmaster himself bowed gravely. “A privilege and an honor, my Lady,” he said aloud, and in an undertone, “This was not what I intended, boy!”
“So?” she said with an impudent grin “Angry with me? Work it off here and now, why don't you?”
“That's—!”
“Sorry. Joke. I'll let you stand out here alone, if you prefer. But wouldn't you like to help me quash the Narran puppy? He won't even think about becoming the Nedaoan consort after this. Particularly when I win.”
“I don't care who you are or why you took the bout,” Marhan grumbled. “I—will not give you the contest!”
“You won't have to, old man,” she laughed, drew her blades, held them high for first touch. “I'm about to take it.” Marhan matched her gesture, and the crowd went silent.
She hadn't taken a formal crossing in nearly a year, except in the Foessa with Brelian, the once. She had never attempted one against any as experienced as Marhan. Oh, they had played at it when he taught her, but this was the real thing, totally different from a practice.
It was fun, for all that. He was good, as good as anyone had ever said, as much fun to duel as her father had been, and they played each other brilliantly, outrageously. She leaped high as he cut at her boots, reached as he spun clear on one heel, back and out of reach; she lunged, would have touched his shoulder but his sword was already there, protecting his back. Nor could she find any opening when she finally began to seriously try. Not at first.
The sun was hot, beating at her eyes. Suddenly, she knew she'd have to try to take him. She couldn't stay out in the open much longer. And for all his age, Marhan seemed to be bearing up better than she.
Somehow, somewhere, she found enough energy to come across the square after him, and Brendan's high-wristed maneuver sent his sword flying. Half a breath later, her own blade spun high and landed at Levren's feet. They stepped apart; Marhan held out a hand. Draw, I think, M'Lady?”
“Draw. If you don't finish me, the sun will!” She gripped his fingers.
“A good trick. Who taught ye that, boy?” he murmured against her ear.
“Trick?” she replied sweetly
. “Accident, old man, I assure you!”
Marhan snorted, went to retrieve his sword. Levren gave her hers back.
“Well done,” Erken whispered. Ylia winked at him as she started for the Tower: the Ambassador's nephew was gone.
It happens often enough; harsh words, thoughtlessly spoken, alienate the closest of kin, or dearest of friends, and accompanying pride forbids that the words be set aside, until the breach is insurmountable. Nor is this strictly human failing, for there are those in my own vast family separated forever by a sudden, stupid explosion of temper and unrecallable words. Or so those exiled from each other see it, that the gulf between them cannot be crossed. Stupid and short-sighted: Often it takes nothing more than emotion as strong in another direction entirely—surprise, joy, relief, a sudden surge of love; one alone or all together—to dispel such feuds as though they never were. I know, for I have seen it happen.
24
By midmorning, second day of Fest, there were six men left for finals the third day, eight women for semi-finals in the afternoon. The square was thereafter taken up, alternately, by archers and knife-throwers.
It had not surprised Ylia at all that Lisabetha was among the eight women; she fully expected the contest to go between ‘Betha and Eveya at the last, and beyond that—well, Eveya was undoubtedly stronger, but Lisabetha was skilled and determined, and she practiced furiously the past 5-day, stealing whatever time she could from weaving and the work on her bride-box to fence with Brelian.
Brelian, his face grey and somber, had appeared the previous afternoon to cheer her. He was still haggard, and abnormally quiet where he sat judging the archers with Levren and Corlin.
The real surprise of the first day had been Lossana. There was dead, astonished silence when she stepped into the square, her grey-touched hair plaited back and tied down with a band, her legs clad in a modified pair of riding breeches that afforded her both modesty and ease of movement. She'd lost to Marckl's daughter, but not by much.
Ylia, freed from judging for the morning, wandered among the stalls, watching the crafters trading with Narrans, bartering with the farmers and fishers. There were three minstrels strolling through the crowd: Bnorn's, a girl ‘prenticed to him and Ber'Sordes's man. There were jugglers and a City man who'd thrilled her as a child on his high stilts. He'd found time and materials to construct the stilts, if not the long skirts that he normally wore over them, and walked on the outskirts of the throng. There were races and contests of various sorts for the children, judged according to age and paid in toys and trinkets.
She took noon-meal in the tower with the Narran Ambassador, the two ship captains and Lord Corlin, partly to set the contracts for ale going out, wine coming in, horses to be brought up-river and Nedaoan plow-harness to go down. Ber'Sordes was excited about carvings he'd found, and eager to deal for them, Willing to exchange coin or the rare swirl-grained chalcedonwood from the south for it. He, Tr'Harsen and Kre'Karst left finally to go scour the stalls again and speak directly with the crafters. Corlin, who had the judging of the afternoon archers along with Levren and Brelian, left moments later.
Ylia drained her cup, refilled it with water and drank that. “Mothers, it's hot!”
'So? If you had sense, you'd stay inside and nap, as I do.’
“And offend everyone in sight, cat!” She rubbed lightly behind the dark ears as Nisana leaped to her lap, then to the table. “Nothing there you'd like, I don't think.”
'I ate earlier, and it's too hot, now. Someone's coming,’ she added, and sat, curling her tail across her feet.
“I don't hear anybody.” But just then the door opened and Marckl stepped inside.
“They told me you might still be here. Lady.” He bowed very low indeed.
“My Lord,” she matched his formality. “I'm glad to see you on your feet again.”
“They say I wouldn't have been, but for your aid,” he replied, bluntly and much more like himself, “My men told me this morning. My wife wouldn't. I remember nothing of it, you know,” he added candidly. “I must have been the first to fall. I don't even remember the creatures coming at us. Serdiv tells me there was a knife and I cried out and fell and he thought me dead. Before he could do anything, they were surrounded. Serdiv says he gave himself up for dead right then. He told me, too, that it was you and the boy, Brelian, who turned matters. I owe you blood-debt.”
“If you see it so, I accept,” she replied. “But all you've done on the road, everything you and your people have done to help with rebuilding more than pays any debt—”
“Anyone would have done that,” he replied impatiently. “There's others have done as much or more.” He scowled at his hands. “Erken tells me you believe the two raids by a single tribe with single intent. That this Lyiadd you spoke of set them against us. Do you still think it?”
“I—yes. That's only my opinion, though.”
“Good enough for me,” he said bluntly. “There'll be no more work done on the road for a few days. My men are unnerved, and I can't blame them. Ten of my sword-sworn dead! These Mathkkra owe me blood price!” He glared at the far wall. “After Fest is over, me and mine would like your permission to search for them.”
“If you want it. We've guard around the valley, but we can always use more. Remember what I told you, though! They're woodcrafty beyond hope of our matching them, and they can hide themselves, from true sight or that I command.”
“Oh, they're good,” he agreed grimly. “But we'll find ’em. We will indeed!” And, with a brief and abstracted bow, he turned and strode from the chamber.
'He makes me hot, just to watch him,’ Nisana remarked sourly.
'Hush, cat. His heart's in a good place.’
'So it is,’ she conceded grudgingly. ‘But can't he slow down and relax?’
'No.’
'All right, silly question. I'm going to find a cool place out in the woods. Call if you need me, but mind it's important!’ Nisana leaped to the window ledge, teetered there a moment, vanished outside.
Ylia swallowed more water, picked up the bit of bread left on her plate, and the last slice of orange on the serving tray before her and ate them. Real bread that doesn't taste of other things. Who'd have thought it such a wonder? A shout went up under the window and horses clattered by in yet another of the races. Dust drifted in through one of the open windows at the far end. She made a face, got up to shut it.
“Lady.” Menfred called from the door. “There's a man out here who'd speak with you, but he won't give his name, and he doesn't have the look of—”
A loud voice overrode him. “Look of what, by all the Mothers at once?” The door was pulled from Menfred's grasp and slammed against the wall. The mountain-hunter clapped the boy across the back; Menfred gasped as the air was driven from his chest, the hunter propelled him back toward the hall. But the boy dug in his heels and caught at the sills with both hands.
Momentary impasse; the hunter was larger and undeniably stronger, but Menfred was determined and was well braced. “There's no danger here,” the hunter's laugh echoed through the room. “I'm not going to assassinate her. She's better than I am, and anyway, I don't want to.” Menfred shook his head. “Lel-'San's spindle, tell him, will you?”
“It's all right, Menfred.” She came up the length of the room. “I'm done with my meal. We can talk in the outer hall.” She pushed past them both, and walked into the hall.
The hunter laughed again as he followed. “This is public enough, isn't it? What, do you doubt me after all?”
“Why should I? You've had a chance or two for my blood before this. You've forgotten appearances,” she added shortly.
“Appearances? What's that mean?” he demanded.
“I can't stay in that room with you, alone. Don't you know that?” Realization widened his eyes and sent a flush up his neck and across his cheeks.
“Never intended that either, dammit,” he finally managed. Ylia laughed. “I never said you did. I said appearances. Y
ou've been a long time away from civilized men and women, haven't you?”
“Now you mention it,” he replied with a sudden grin. His color was still unaturally high. “But you've made me forget, speak of appearances,” and he went onto one knee. “Majesty. By your leave.”
“Yours. Stand.” And, as he remained kneeling, head averted, “What are you doing? If this is a joke, it's heavier than your first. I said get up.”
“No joke. I've come to pledge to my Lady and again be a man of Nedao.”
“You—you what?" She stared down at him. “Bless the man, will you stand up so I can look at you properly? I said to, didn't I?” He stood, she scowled up at him. “My word ought to be enough for you.”
“There is a debt between us. I acknowledged it, you accepted it, and I've come to repay it. It goes against my grain to owe, anyone, in any coin.”
“You don't owe me anything, remember? You helped me save Marckl.”
“Then that is between me and Marckl. You saved my life. That happens to be a matter of reasonable importance to me. And that is between us.”
“Well, then. Tell me what you're fitted for, what you do. I'll find a use for you.”
“Use. Mmmm. Hadn't thought of that. Well.” He rubbed his chin. “I hunt, of course. But from the look of things hereabouts, you won't depend on hunting for your meat much longer.”
“We hope not. We can still use hunters. Golsat—one of my companions from the King's city, you may not know him—is overextended. He could use a skilled hunter.”
“I know Golsat. He was Teshmoran for many years. I didn't know he'd become a King's man, but I'm not at all surprised. Man's good. Well.” He turned away from her, paced across the hall, back again. “I have some arms skills.”
“I've seen you fight.”
“So you have. Corlin of Planthe could have vouched for me. I was one of his armsmen, for a while.”
“He probably still can, if he can recognize your face under that beard,” she said. He clapped his hands together, tilted his head back and roared.
