The Steerswoman's Road

by Rosemary Kirstein

  At the end, he nodded decisively. “Good. Jann, you work your way inward, and pass the word for a reinforcement for my point. And have them double the middle line in this quarter. There might be a good number of loose goblins wandering around that never reached the fire.”

  “That’s an excellent plan, except for the personnel,” Jann told him. “You work inward and have Orranyn send a replacement for my position, and—” She turned back to Rowan. “In what direction did you leave them?”

  “Southwest.”

  “And for Jaffry’s point as well,” Jann said to Merryk, “and double word out to him to intercept us.”

  “Now, Jann, a sortie dragging train is bull work. I’d do better—”

  “That’s wrong. If we’re going out to meet the odd goblin with a wounded man in tow, we need people who are fast, and that’s me and Jaffry. And if any of the beasts try to break to center, we need someone solid working this point, and that’s you. Nothing gets past you.”

  Merryk rocked on his heels musingly. “That’s true.”

  “And it’s four for one if we should need to drag train. Do we?” This to Rowan.

  Rowan was following the conversation with a great deal of difficulty. “I’m sorry, but you’re using words I don’t understand. Or using them differently than I do.”

  “Can Averryl walk?”

  “Yes, but not easily, nor for long. He’s lost a good deal of blood, and I believe he’s in more pain than he admits to.”

  “We’ll manage.” Jann sheathed her sword and, with a jerk of her chin, directed Rowan to recover her own weapon. Merryk set off at a flat run to the northwest and vanished instantly among the little dells.

  “Lead on,” Jann instructed. Rowan complied, the warrior falling in on her left, one half step behind, Bel’s position in the Inner Lands. It made Rowan feel a bit odd, as if the days had unrolled back to the time when she had been the leader, and the answerer of questions, in the Inner Lands. Her boot slogged into a puddle of goat muck, and the illusion vanished.

  They traveled some time in silence. The whistling wind across the denuded hilltops was a sound so constant that it vanished from her awareness, even as it covered the sounds of their footsteps. Rowan found that she missed the sound and sight of standing redgrass; she had learned to depend on the information it communicated. But a tribe had passed through here, and tribes laid behind them a trail of desolation.

  For the sake of conversation, Rowan tried to frame a question for Jann, one that might not be taken as a threat to her tribe’s security. She was about to ask when a male voice spoke.

  “Fletcher,” it said in a venomous tone, and Rowan could not tell if the word was a name or a curse.

  She just prevented herself from stopping short and turning to face the newcomer, suspecting that it would merely advertise her inexperience. This was Jaffry, she realized, Jann’s son, come to join them as planned. How long he had been walking in their company, she had no idea.

  Jann replied. “If Averryl dies, we’ll make it a blood duel.” She was answered by a surly grunt, and Rowan took a moment to glance back.

  Jaffry was a subdued young man just past boyhood, with his mother’s dark features and a long, angular body. He had fastened his cloak down the front, transforming himself into a loping piebald pillar with a human head. Taking the opposite approach from Merryk, his only visible weapon was an Outskirter sword, its hilt above his right shoulder, and he carried no pack or supplies that Rowan could see. He had assumed a complementary position to Jann’s: on Rowan’s right, two paces behind. The three of them made a lopsided flying wedge, defending against no seen enemy.

  “Shall I make the challenge, or do you want it?” Jann continued. Her son was slow in replying. “Me. He’s beneath you. There’d be no contest.”

  “Ha.” Jann grinned broadly. “A boy should be proud of his mother. And you could use that sword of his. Now this one,” she said, indicating the steerswoman, “she’s got a good sword, too. I’ll tell you now”—this to Rowan—“if you stay around very long, I’ll win it from you. Just to give you fair warning.”

  Rowan silently thanked Bel for the practice sessions. “I think,” she said with a degree of pride and confidence, “that I’ll keep it.” A black pit marked a burnt-out stand of tanglebrush, one of Rowan’s chosen landmarks, and she adjusted her course. They trudged on across the rolling landscape.

  Somewhat later, Jann spoke again. “Perhaps,” she said to her son cheerfully, “the goblins got to Fletcher, as well.”

  Jaffry’s reply was inarticulate, but seemed to contain a hopeful note.

  16

  “And where was Fletcher in all this?”

  Averryl was sitting propped against Bel’s pack, scooping handfuls of gruel to his mouth from a wooden bowl with his good hand, Bel holding the bowl off the ground before him. She eyed Jann at the question, then with a glance warned Rowan to keep her curiosity to herself.

  Rowan was annoyed. Bel had managed to impress upon her that a stranger asking too many questions about details of a tribe’s defense might be taken as a raid scout, and Rowan had successfully controlled her instincts while traveling with Jann and Jaffry. But as much as she disliked not asking questions, she liked less being constantly reminded of the necessity.

  “I don’t know. We relayed at sunset. The goblins were between us, so I tried to work toward Garvin’s position when I found myself surrounded.” He studied the bowl as if it required all of his concentration to do so. “What is this?”

  “I don’t know,” Bel said.

  “Maize,” Rowan provided. “It grows in the Inner Lands. A tall greengrass with edible seeds. You grind the seeds and boil them in water for this kind of gruel.”

  He followed the explanation with pain-bleared difficulty. “It’s good,” he said.

  Jann seemed about to make peevish protest to his changing the subject, then stopped herself and began again, patiently. “You didn’t find Garvin.”

  “There was no sign of him. Here’s something.” He indicated Rowan. “That one.” He was slightly feverish, rambling. “Bel told me. If you ask her a question, she has to answer. Has to. It’s a rule.”

  Jann spared Rowan a glance of perplexity. “That’s stupid,” she said, and with no more consideration dismissed the steerswoman. “Fletcher,” she began again. “Fletcher and Garvin both should have seen your fire from their positions. They should have come to help you.”

  “Then they’re dead. Fletcher’s in heaven and Garvin’s in hell. Can’t help me from there.” Rowan had never heard Outskirters use Christer religious terms; it struck her as odd. Apparently it had the same effect on Averryl. “Funny way to think of it,” he said. He closed his eyes and leaned back against Bel’s pack, abandoning the rest of the gruel. “I’m going to rest now,” he declared.

  Jann made an exasperated sound, but laid one hand on his good shoulder sympathetically. “You do that.” She checked the sun’s position. “We’ll stay here for another two hours,” she told the others, and rose. “We can try to move after that. The tribe may move to meet us, but we can’t count on it. We could be on our own for a week.” She took in Rowan, Bel, and Jaffry in a sweeping glance of confident leadership. “How are our supplies?”

  “Rowan and I have some dry food from the Inner Lands, like that maize flour, and powdered beef. About twenty sticks of bread from the last tribe we met ...”

  “Some goat strips and a bit of rabbit that’s rancid by now,” Rowan added.

  Jann jerked her chin questioningly at Jaffry, who paused, grinned a shy grin, and then from somewhere about his person extracted half a smoked goat leg.

  Jann showed mock admonishment. “Where did you get that?”

  “Had it for days.”

  She beamed. “What a clever boy.”

  They settled in, Bel feeding the fire with lopsided squares of peat. The remainder of the gruel was passed to Jann and Jaffry. The youth’s eyes widened at the unfamiliar taste, and showed reg
ret when the last of it was gone.

  When the meal was finished, Jann bundled her cloak into a cushion for her back and settled against her pack to doze. Bel caught Rowan’s eye, then leaned over and tapped the sole of Jann’s boot to get her attention. “When we reach your tribe, we’re going to claim shelter.”

  Jann sat up quickly, her dark brows knit. “I don’t know about that.”

  “It’s not for you to decide. Unless your tribe has taken to sending its seyoh to work the outer circle.”

  Jaffry was seated facing away from the group, watching the horizon. He turned to give his mother a sidelong look of amusement, then turned away. Jann said to Bel, “I can’t promise anything ...”

  “We don’t need promises from you. We saved your man. And we were wounded, as well. Show her your back, Rowan.”

  The deep scratches itched madly. Rowan made to comply, with some embarrassment, but Jann waved dismissal.

  “I believe you,” she said to Bel. “Well, you know your code, I suppose. I didn’t think so, from her.” She jerked her head in Rowan’s direction. “She looks a bit out of place. It’s odd to see someone like you travel with her.”

  Rowan disliked being referred to in the third person. “We work well together,” she said. “And I’ve learned a few things in the last month. Enough, for example, to eliminate more goblins than I could count at the time.”

  Jann studied Rowan with a gaze that doubted her every statement. “Well,” the warrior said reluctantly, “it’s a sure thing you’ll be given shelter, so as far as I’m concerned, you’re part of us. So I’ll ask you—” She became intent. “Didn’t you see any sign of other warriors when you found Averryl?”

  Bel shook her head. “Averryl and the goblins, that was all.”

  “According to Averryl,” Rowan put in, “the nearest man was due east of him, with another south by southwest. From the course your tribe was following, if the goblins were as spread as Averryl described, the man to the east must have met them first.”

  “It seems like Averryl told you a lot.”

  “Does it matter? If we’re to be given shelter, as you say?”

  Bel was drawing concentric circles among the torn grass roots. “He told me more after Rowan left.” She pointed to her sketch. “Garvin at three, Averryl at four-thirty, and Fletcher trailing at six.”

  Jaffry grumbled near-inaudibly. “Best place for him.” The trailing position was considered safest for warriors of below-standard skill.

  Jann ignored him, studying the circles on the ground. “Garvin could have been driven north and outward. That doesn’t explain Fletcher.”

  “He might have seen the fire,” Bel hazarded, “tried to approach, and was felled himself before he could get close enough to Averryl.”

  “Maybe,” Jann allowed with great reluctance.

  “Or been driven back,” Rowan suggested.

  “Or run,” muttered Jaffry.

  “Enough,” Jann told him without heat. “We’re not trying to prove cowardice.”

  Rowan considered. “What are you trying to prove?” she wondered. It was Bel who answered, head tilted and eyes narrowed speculatively at Jann. “Incompetence.”

  “Perhaps.” Jann leaned back again, arms crossed on her breast. She seemed to be following some inner thought, and her face lost its animation in the motionless pursuit, her dark brows a straight black line across her face, black eyes turning dull as chips of cold coal. The contrast disturbed Rowan; something alive in this woman had drifted to icy stillness. Jann looked, in her quietude, more remarkably like her son.

  Bel watched in puzzlement, but did not interrupt, and Rowan followed her example.

  The silence seemed to settle and spread, and the hot east wind faded, leaving the air cooler, but dull and heavy as iron. The cook-fire snapped as bits of blackgrass in the peat flared minutely, and a tiny rustling betrayed the presence of a ground bug, scavenging nearby. Far above, a hawkbug dipped, rose, and hovered, its wings a blur of pale translucent pink against massing clouds to the east.

  The land to the east sloped and settled to a broad flat plain, brown with redgrass cropped too close to survive. In the distance, lichen-towers marked the banks of an unseen brook, and beyond them the piled clouds grew grayer to the horizon. There, lightning flashed. Rowan counted the seconds for the sound to reach her.

  Eventually Jann remembered the travelers’ presence and roused herself, with some difficulty. “No offense meant to you two,” she began, then roused further, becoming herself, sounding cheerfully nonchalant. “But let’s not talk of it. It wouldn’t help, and it might affect your opinions ...”

  “Our opinions will matter,” Bel told Rowan, “if the tribe accepts us for more than a short time.”

  “Matter how?”

  “If this Fletcher person is alive,” Bel said, “it sounds as if you and I might help decide that he should die.”

  17

  “You kill incompetents?”

  “If enough people die from their incompetence.”

  They were making their way slowly across the land, moving northeast to intersect with the tribe’s presumed course. Bel continued. “You can’t keep an incompetent person in the tribe. And if he’s too stupid to see that he’s incompetent as a warrior and chooses to cross the line by himself, then he’s a danger.”

  “Fletcher’s not incompetent.” Averryl spoke between steps; his left arm was strapped close against his body, and a stiffness seemed to have spread down his entire left side. He limped heavily, moved slowly. “He’s different.” Another step. “Not a crime.” Step. “If he could help ... he would have ... so he couldn’t.”

  “You shouldn’t talk,” Rowan advised. “You need your breath for walking.”

  “Distracts me.”

  Jaffry signaled back, and Jann and Averryl stopped in response, Rowan and Bel following suit. The young man continued forward, then stopped and made broad gestures with his arms to the distance. Far off, Rowan could discern a tiny, gesturing figure. “Can you tell what he’s saying?” she asked Bel.

  The Outskirter shook her head. “It’s different for each tribe.”

  “It’s a scout,” Averryl said. “Maud. Sent back to us.” A pause as more signals were exchanged. “She has supplies, if we need them.” More gestures. “Jaffry’s saying that we don’t.” The communications ended, and the figure angled away. Jaffry beckoned, and the travel resumed.

  Night fell none too soon, and dinner consisted of breadsticks and slices of smoked meat. They soaked Averryl’s bread in water to soften it, and he consumed only a little meat, lying down to eat.

  He watched the darkening skies with eyes too bright. “Rain,” he said. “The weather’s been strange, but I’m learning it. Heat lightning in the east, that means rain.”

  This was against Rowan’s native logic, but contradicted nothing she had seen since entering the Outskirts. Jann was dubious, but to reassure Averryl she permitted Rowan and Bel to pull their canvas rain fly from Bel’s pack. Averryl was bedded down beneath the slanting fly, the others on bedrolls nearby.

  When the rain came at midnight, they gathered around the open sides of the shelter. There was no room for all of them inside; instead they sat on their folded bedrolls, facing inward. Cloaks were arranged so that the hoods lay across the top of the canvas to seal out the rain, the rest of the material draping to the ground down their backs. Averryl slept on, heavily; neither the rain nor the maneuvering woke him.

  Soon it was discovered that Rowan’s cloak repelled water best, and was sufficiently wide to close the entire tall end of the shelter. They used it for that purpose, and Rowan, cloakless, bedded down in the cramped space next to Averryl’s sprawled form.

  Bel and Jann sat in the two remaining open sides. Jaffry found the remnants of a nearby tussock outside and, seating himself on it, transformed himself into a one-man vertical tent by swaddling his cloak about him and pulling the hood down across his chest.

  Outside, chill rain came down
in fine, hissing drops. Inside, the air was warm with the heat of four bodies, one fevered. Rowan curled on her bedroll and felt a bit guilty of her comfort. “I suppose,” she said,

  ((you Outskirters can sleep sitting up.” The sound of her voice seemed not to disturb the injured man.

  The darkness was absolute, and when Jann indicated the invisible Jaffry with a jerk of her head, Rowan understood it only by its sound and her knowledge of Jann’s habits of movement. “On nights like this, away from the tribe, we all sleep sitting up.” She provided the information grudgingly, as if she felt any person ought to know this.

  Bel sounded half-asleep already. “If I didn’t know better,” she murmured, “I’d say it was Rendezvous weather.”

  Jann was annoyed. “We had Rendezvous eight years ago.”

  “Mmn. But the weather ...” Bel sighed a sleepy sigh.

  Rowan couldn’t resist. “What’s Rendezvous?”

  Bel stirred, then forced herself to wakefulness. “Rowan, must you ask me now? I don’t mind your being a steerswoman, but must you make me one, too?”

  “What’s this?” Jann asked.

  “She asked a question. By Inner Lands custom, you have to answer a steerswoman’s questions. Otherwise, they won’t answer you when you ask, and you might need to know.”

  Rowan laughed quietly. “I’m sorry, Bel. Yes, I want an answer, but no, it doesn’t have to be right now.”

  Jann was quiet a moment, then answered, puzzlement in her voice. “Rendezvous is when we meet,” she suppled hesitantly. Bel made a sound of extreme disgruntlement, then noisily adjusted herself into a more comfortable position.

  Having found another source of information, Rowan decided to bother Bel no more, and shifted closer to Jann, talking quietly so that her friend might sleep. “By ‘we,’ you mean Outskirters? More than one tribe?”

  “Yes.” Jann paused again. “Was Averryl right, do you actually have to answer every question?”

  “Yes.”