That was only the near edge of the market. The stalls were packed side to side all the way through the square, with little paths between that made them inaccessible to riders on horseback, or even, Jay thought, to claustrophobes. The smells of cookfires and roasting meat and pastry and livestock and sweating people; the din of shouts and laughter and the cacophony of scattered bands of musicians all playing different songs; the sight of fortresses and ancient houses and shops and the pageantry of local costumes untouched by anything resembling clothing from the twentieth century; the feel of thousands of people packed into a tight space walled all around, thronging, surging like a tide. Jay found those sensations overpowering; but the feeling of being somewhere else, of complete immersion in another world, left her shivery and breathless.
Through the artful mayhem, two men appeared; they cantered between the city gates, riding matched chestnuts with arching necks and fiery eyes. The men slowed to a trot as they moved up the road, though they never looked at the people in front of them. It didn't matter; the crowd parted before them like the waters before Moses in a Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer epic, only this was real. Voices grew hushed, hats came off of heads and those heads ducked. No one hawked their chickens or melons at either rider. The dancer stopped dancing, the flute player and the drummer stopped playing; the noise from the more distant parts of the market only made the silence that fell where the men passed more surreal.
But if the reactions of the townsfolk said more to Jayjay about the two men than words ever could have, the actions of the riders said as much. Neither gave any indication that they saw the people who moved out of their path, who bowed, lowered their heads, doffed their caps; from what Jay could see, both men could have been riding alone in a field for all the attention they paid to the scene around them.
She wondered who they were. They wore clothing plainer than most of what she saw on the people around her. Their silk shirts were white and unadorned, their fitted black leather riding breeches showed signs of wear, and their mud-spattered riding boots were utilitarian, but not elegant. Yet they gave the impression of power, of wealth…and of danger. Why?
Were they soldiers? Tax collectors? She couldn't be sure, but from the looks in the eyes around her, she could tell they were to be avoided.
They drew nearer, and she got a better look at them. The nearer man was taller, older, and handsome. He had a rugged outdoorsman's face, tanned skin, broad shoulders. He'd pulled his sandy brown hair back into a short ponytail that only accented the rugged line of his jaw.
The angle of their approach hid the other man behind him until they were nearer. Then Jayjay could see that he was leaner and darker, with the pale skin and intense, ascetic look of a priest or a scholar.
Jayjay couldn't take her eyes off him. "Holy Mary mother of God," she whispered. "I know him."
Sophie had glanced over at her in time to see her lips move. "What did you say?"
The riders drew even with them, and Jay stared, then glanced away before she could get caught. She didn't recognize the fair-haired man, but the dark-haired one—well, he didn't wear glasses and his hair was tousled instead of combed straight and slicked down; and he didn't look the least bit prim. Or fussy.
Sophie poked her in the ribs and she jumped.
"What?"
"I asked you what you said. You got pale all of a sudden. Are you feeling sick?"
"No." Jay frowned after the two men until they rode around a street corner and out of sight. Then she shrugged. "For a minute, I thought I knew one of those men." She breathed deeply. "Everybody has a twin, I suppose. Still, I've never actually crossed paths with anyone's before."
"Really?" Sophie urged her horse forward again, and shouted over the crowd, which had gotten louder as soon as the men were out of sight. "There's a girl I ran into in Raleigh a couple of weeks ago who looks just like you. Well, you're a brunette and she's a redhead, but her hair is a dark red so it isn't so noticeable, and otherwise she looks just like you." Sophie nibbled at the corner of her lip and added, "Except younger. She's five years younger. Maybe ten."
Jay sighed. "And twenty pounds lighter."
Sophie laughed. "Not more than ten. She looks just like you did five or ten years ago."
"Except for red hair." Jayjay chuckled and shook her head. "I got you. But this is different. That dark-haired man looked identical to Amos Baldwell from Peters. You've been to the new bookstore on McDuffie Street, haven't you?"
Sophie shook her head. "I haven't been out book hunting in…" A coldness passed across her face, the briefest touch of death. "In a while."
"Well, the dark-haired guy was a perfect match."
"It happens. Considering where we are, I doubt he's related." Sophie changed the subject with a shrug. "Are you at all hungry? I think I'm going to starve if we don't stop someplace and get a bite to eat. Breakfast with Retireti wasn't enough."
Jay looked in the direction the two men had disappeared. Their arrival had felt important to her.
Momentous. But the feeling passed, and now she wasn't sure if the second man really had looked like Amos; more important, she couldn't imagine why she had thought it important that she thought he did. Sophie was right. Everyone had a twin.
Lunch felt much more important at that moment.
Jayjay pulled out her Fodor's and flipped through pages until she found Zearn. "We've arrived right at the beginning of the Gootspralle Fair. The guide says the fair is dedicated to the spirit of the Machnan troops who heroically defeated the Alfkindir oppressors in Zearn during this, the month of Spralle, winning the town for the Machnan for all time."
"The month of Spralle?"
"Obviously they haven't adopted the Gregorian calendar yet. Not a surprise, considering…" She read down the page. It went on in the same historical vein for about two paragraphs, all "brave Machnan" and "evil Alfkindir," but it didn't say anything about lunch, so she skipped to the useful information. "What counts is that the fair will be going on for about three weeks, and it only started yesterday. We need to get our room early or we won't have a place to sleep." She glanced over Zearn's offerings, then told Sophie, "The Beuslattar and Slattar ong Gwaltmet are the two most highly recommended inns in the reasonable price range." She compared the names with locations on the map. Then she compared the map with her current location. "Okay. Slattar ong Gwaltmet is the closest one. It sound all right to you?"
"What does the guide say about the place?"
"'Slattar ong Gwaltmet'. This delightful old half-timbered inn sits in the heart of the oldest portion of Zearn, across from the Temple of the Iron Heart and only two blocks from Zearn's thriving open-air market. The charming rooms are spacious and the excellent service commends itself."
Sophie arched an eyebrow. "Charming, huh? We had 'charming' last night, didn't we?"
Jayjay laughed. "Um, no. Last night we had 'quaint.'"
Sophie narrowed her eyes and smiled a toothy smile. "Do they use the word 'charming' to describe…what was it? Bugslatter?"
"Beuslattar." Jay checked the entry. "Nope. It's 'vintage.'"
"Oooh. Vintage. I'll betcha 'charming' and 'vintage' are related to 'quaint,' whattaya think?"
"I think you're a cynic."
"I think I am, too…but I'm not waking up face-to-face with fowl again. How does Fodor's describe the outrageously expensive places?"
"Well, Wethquerin Zearn gets Fodor's star for best ridiculously overpriced digs in town." She read down the entry. "... ancient ancestral home of the Sarijanns…sumptuous furnishings…stunning view…" She paused, then looked up and gave Sophie a conspiratorial grin. "All right!"
Sophie leaned forward in her saddle. "What?"
"Hot baths."
"Hot damn, let's go. Which way?"
"Thattaway."
Jay didn't even worry about lunch. If she could just have a hot bath, she would willingly live with her hunger for a while.
Seventeen
"My God, it's breathtaking." Sophie tipped h
er head back so that she could see the steep slate roofs that towered over her. Narrow, tall stained-glass windows glinted out of Wethquerin Zearn's white stone walls, rough-quarried but smoothed by time. A master craftsman had carved the deep bas-reliefs of fierce wolves and slender winged lions into the wooden surface of the brass-bound door. The knocker was a nearly life-sized brass wolf's head that snarled evilly; the metal knocker ran through his upper teeth but didn't quite reach his lower teeth, so that the person who wished to knock on the door had to stick a hand in the wolf's mouth.
"Bet that gives the door-to-door salesmen second thoughts," Jay said. She laughed and brushed her hair out of her eyes. "That is incredibly cool."
"Not precisely a symbol of hospitality, though."
Jayjay didn't seem to be in the least disconcerted. "Nah. This place offers rooms to tourists now, but according to the book, it started out being sort of the county seat for the local nobility."
Sophie loved the place, but she found it intimidating. "I wish we had reservations."
"The only places I could find in the whole country that took reservations were the castle I had us lined up to stay at in Rikes Gate and the one in Dinnos. Every place else, its first come, first served."
"I wonder why that is?"
Jayjay shrugged. "No phones, I guess. Bit tough to call in reservations without them."
Sophie nodded. "That makes sense."
Jayjay reached her hand into the wolfs mouth and knocked. The knocker crashed down like thunder, and Jay dropped it and yanked her hand back. She looked wide-eyed in Sophie's direction and shook her head. "Yeesh! That's pretty dramatic for a lousy knocker."
"A little electricity and a doorbell would be a real improvement, wouldn't it?"
Jay tipped her head and studied the door. "In this case, yes. I do hear someone coming, though, so at least it works."
One half of the massive door swung open on well-oiled hinges and a plump little man in a dramatic red, blue, and gold tabard, black silk doublets and black tights stood before them. His eyes flicked from Jay to Sophie, clearly sizing them both up. He stared at their horses, then back at the two of them again, plainly not liking what he saw. One eyebrow arched and his nose went into the air. He asked a question in short, rapid syllables.
Jay sighed, flipped to the back of her guidebook, and put her index finger beside a line. "Teh-HOO-thin RO-sal eff-EL-due dim-YAH?" Sophie heard the uncertainty in her friend's voice, and realized how intimidated Jay had to be. She usually managed to give the impression that she was completely at home in the most uncomfortable situations.
The little man's nose came down out of the air and his eyes, briefly, showed startlement. Then he pursed his lips and stared from them to the horses and back again. He held out one hand, palm up, in an unmistakable gesture.
"Bribe him, Jay," Sophie said. "Evidently we don't look rich enough to be here."
Jay fumbled through her pockets and came up with two silver coins. She held them out, but the man only frowned and pointed to her guidebook.
"You want this?" Jay stiffened and looked at Sophie. Sophie knew how she felt. That book was their lifeline, and if the man decided to keep it, they were going to be in real trouble. At last, though, she handed it to him.
He held it in both hands, not bothering to open it, and Sophie saw his skin pale. A fine sheen of perspiration broke out on his forehead, and he looked up at the two of them, wearing an expression Sophie had last seen on the deer she caught in her headlights and almost ran down. He shuddered and handed the book back to Jay. "What are you doing here?" he asked the two of them in English, and Sophie first thought he was questioning their right to be at the front door. Then she realized he hadn't said, "What are you doing here," but instead, "What are you doing here," as if he expected them, but not where they were.
Sophie and Jay exchanged glances. "We're looking for a room," Sophie told him, repeating in English what she hoped Jay had said in Galti.
His eyebrow rose again, and he pursed his lips. "You seek lodging for the night? Here? Don't you have a room?"
"No. We don't," Sophie said. "And her guidebook says this is the best place to stay in all of Zearn."
His nod said no one was questioning that. "Since you've come, you shall have a room. Lucky the master arrived earlier. I suppose there's been a mix-up, but he'll explain it, I'm sure."
Sophie noticed that when the doorman talked, he looked like one of those poor actors in a Godzilla movie whose lines had been badly dubbed. His English was flawless, unaccented and colloquial, not even having the stiffness she'd heard in people who had learned the language well but late in life. It lacked the perfection and precision of the fluent nonnative speaker. He sounded American. But she couldn't figure out how he spoke; his lips formed shapes that bore no relationship to the sounds that came out.
The man stepped outside the door and whistled. After a moment, a boy came running; the child was perhaps nine years old, certainly no more than eleven.
The doorman gave him quick instructions—in English, Sophie noted—though the boy nodded and grinned and chattered back in Galti. He looked over at the horses with bright eyes and held out his hands for the reins.
The doorman turned to both women. "He will take your horses for you."
Jay handed hers over without a quibble. Sophie held on to her reins, however, and looked down at the child waiting to receive them. She hadn't enjoyed riding horseback; the memories it had brought back to her had been almost too bitter to bear. She'd done it at first because she hadn't been able to think of anything else to do, and then because as transportation went it was better than walking. Half a day in the saddle had not inured her to the act of riding, but it had made her appreciate the willing, well-trained horse she rode, and the equally good animal that carried her gear. Even though she would not get in a saddle again if given her choice, she still thought the horses deserved better care than they would get from a small, busy boy. She gave the doorman an apologetic smile. "I'm sure he would do a good job," she lied, "but I would prefer to take care of my own horses. I'm particular about their care."
The doorman smiled at her as if he found her unspeakably eccentric. "I know the owners of the animals will appreciate your concern, madam, but all four of these horses are ours. You see the brand on the flank?" Sophie nodded. She'd wondered about the brand since they'd obtained the horses. "That is the Sarijann mark. They come from the Rikes Gate stable instead of the Zearn one…but they are nonetheless Sarijann beasts. And I promise you we will not mistreat them."
Sophie felt her cheeks grow hot. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "I didn't know." What were she and Jay doing with horses that belonged to the royal family, or what seemed to pass for it in these parts? Her previous uneasiness worsened.
The boy led the horses off and the doorman beckoned with a finger. "This way."
They followed him into the enormous entry hall. This isn't your standard bed-and-breakfast, Sophie thought. Light streamed through harlequin-patterned stained glass onto gorgeous room-sized tapestries of hunters chasing stags and bears and armor-clad warriors spearing each other and dying in pools of crimson gore. Spears and shields hung above the tapestries, right below a balcony that ran the circumference of the room. Above the balcony, stuffed heads of dead animals hung in rows.
It wasn't a room; it was an adventure.
"The inn testosterone decorated," Jayjay said, wrinkling her nose.
Sophie nodded, speechless. She couldn't quit staring at all those heads on the walls; she recognized wolves and deer and bear and some sort of giant elk without difficulty, but she didn't know what to make of an entire row of beasts with greyhound faces and curling, tufted ears and close-set, almost-human eyes.
She stopped and stared into those faces, and bile rose in the back of her throat. She gagged and swallowed and turned away, not knowing what the creatures were or why seeing them on the walls made her feel sick.
Jayjay didn't show any signs of a similar response. S
he had stopped a few yards ahead and was staring at one vividly colored tapestry that glinted with bits of gold thread woven in among the rich reds and blues and dull yellows and browns. "Wow! That's a dramatic tapestry!" Jayjay said. The hanging ran most of the length of the stone hall. "Look—the armies aren't the same. The guys with the red, blue and gold shields are men, but what in the world are those things on the other side?"
Sophie looked where Jayjay pointed, and caught a quick glimpse of the details she'd mentioned; men in battle lined up against a foe that looked like it had come straight from hell. Great shaggy brutes in armor stood next to creatures with horns and fangs, and demons riding giant lizards charged down a mountainside with hideous clawed dogs at their sides.
"Allegory?" Sophie suggested, as the doorman hurried them down the hall and into another corridor. "Glenraveners take on Satan's host?"
Jayjay shrugged, her attention already focused on the armor helms sitting atop posts on both sides of the present corridor. Sophie watched her glancing from one coat of arms to the next. Jayjay, for all her strengths as a friend, sometimes had the attention span of a three-year-old.
Marion Zimmer Bradley & Holly Lisle - [Glenraven 01] Page 10
