More customers appeared as word spread, pushing in and calling for ale and songs. Among the newcomers were half a dozen men in brigandine leather armor and brimmed helmets. Heavy swords were slung from their belts. Alec didn’t need Seregil to point these out as the marines he’d been warned against. They looked like rough customers.
Alec sang for over an hour before Seregil stopped to beg leave for a small rest.
“Stay and mind the harp,” he told Alec, thrusting the instrument into the boy’s hands. “And see that you get some water to wet your throat with. Ale’s good for the spirit but bad for the voice. You’re doing splendidly!”
“But where are—”
“I’ll be back soon.”
Alec watched as Seregil made his way toward the far corner of the room where a tall, broad-shouldered man sat by himself. The fellow’s face was shadowed by a deep hood, but by his worn leather cuirass and the long sword at his belt Alec guessed he made his living as a caravan guard. Seregil exchanged greetings with the stranger and was invited to join him on the bench. They were soon deep in conversation.
Having clearly been dismissed for the moment, Alec let his gaze wander over the rest of the crowd and discovered a drysian sitting near the door. Distinguished by her plain robe and the bronze serpent lemniscate pendant she wore on a leather thong around her neck, she was already surrounded by a small crowd of people seeking healing. They stood quietly, watching with a mixture of hope and awe as she examined an infant lying on her lap. Curious as ever, Alec headed over to join them.
The dark braid that fell over her shoulder as she leaned forward was well streaked with grey, her weathered face set in stern lines, but her hands were steady and gentle as she examined the baby. She ran her hands over the little body, then lifted the child and put her ear to its chest and belly. Grasping the staff that leaned against the bench at her side, she spoke a few soft words over the child, then handed it back to its mother.
“Boil one of these in a cup of clear water each morning,” she instructed, counting out six dried leaves from a pouch at her belt. “Add a little honey and some milk. Cool it and give it to her through the day. When the last leaf is gone, the child will be well. On that day place three copper marks on the altar at Dalna’s Temple and give thanks. You will give me one mark now and the Maker’s Mercy be with you.”
She then went on to deal with the others, sometimes dispensing herbs or charms, sometimes merely praying over the sufferer. Several fishermen ventured near when she had finished with the children, and finally a wealthy merchant couple who timidly presented their young daughter. After the usual examination, the drysian gave the mother a bunch of herbs and charged her to give a silver offering rather than copper, as she had all the others. Without a word, the husband paid her the money and the family left.
Alec was about to turn away when the drysian looked straight at him and asked, “Why do you suppose I charged them more?”
“I—I don’t know,” Alec stammered.
“Because they could afford to pay more,” she stated, and startled him further by giving him a knowing wink. “Perhaps I could be of some service to your master. You’re lodging here tonight?”
“Yes, in the room at the top,” Alec replied, wondering what she would make of Seregil’s sham illness. “Can I tell him your name?”
“That won’t be necessary. Tell him I’ll attend to him later.”
She stood to stretch and her staff slid sideways, clattering to the floor. Without thinking, Alec retrieved it and held it out to her. In the brief moment that both their hands were on it, he felt a strong and not altogether pleasant tremor pass through the wood.
“The blessings of the Maker be with you this night,” she said and disappeared into the crowd.
The singing went on until midnight. Though Alec’s modest repertoire was exhausted long before that, the drinkers called on Seregil to keep playing and a number of them stood to lead the song. When at last the owner announced that he must put the shutters up, the crowd gave the bard and his apprentice a rousing round of applause and most left a coin or two on the table near the door. Well pleased with his investment, the taverner poured them each a final mug of ale and, drinks in hand, they went upstairs.
Collapsing on the bed, Seregil inspected the night’s earnings and passed half the coins to Alec. “We did well. Thirty coppers, two silver. You met Erisa, I noticed.”
“Who?”
“The drysian. What do you make of her?”
“She seemed like any of the others. Sort of—” He paused, seeking the proper word.
“Unsettling?”
“Yes, that’s it. Not frightening, just unsettling.”
“Believe me, drysians can be pretty damn frightening when they choose to.” Before he could expound on the subject, however, the latch lifted and Erisa herself slipped quietly in.
“I thought you’d keep the poor lad at it all night,” she scolded. “I suspect you’re not really in need of my ministrations?”
Seregil shrugged, grinning crookedly. “I could hardly expect to fool you. Alec, run down to the kitchen, will you? We both need something to eat after all that ale, and I’m certain Erisa’s had no time for supper.”
“Just tea and a little bread for me,” said Erisa, folding her arms. Clearly they were both waiting for him to leave.
Ordered about again! he thought as the door closed firmly behind him. He was more intrigued than irritated, however. This drysian must be the mysterious “she” spoken of by the blind man, but who was the hooded swordsman?
Halfway down the passage he hesitated, then crept back as silently as he could to the door.
“A force of fifty was reported heading into the Western Barrens above Wyvern Dug,” Erisa was saying. “Connel spotted them near Enly Ford on the seventh of Erasin, but there’s been no sign of them since.”
“I can understand them courting the mountain lords and trying to get a hold on the Gold Road,” said Seregil, “but there’s nothing in that direction but a few barbaric tribes. What in the world are they after up there?”
“That’s what Connel hoped to learn. He set out to follow them as soon as we heard what was going on. Unfortunately, nothing’s been heard from him, either—Alec, please do hurry with my tea.”
An unpleasant tingling sensation that had nothing to do with the burning of his cheeks engulfed Alec briefly as he hurried downstairs. He took his time heating the water, dreading having to face her again. When he returned to the room, however, she simply thanked him and took her leave.
“Well now, this is a good enough bed, but only wide enough for one. Where are you going to sleep?” Seregil yawned, stripping off his tunic. Apparently he had nothing to say on the subject of Alec’s eavesdropping.
“As your apprentice, I guess I’d be expected to sleep in the stable,” Alec ventured, not relishing the prospect.
“You’re thinking like a tinker’s brat. What good would you be to me out there? Your place is in front of the door in case we have any visitors in the night. Make yourself a pallet.”
As they settled down to sleep, Alec found himself thinking of the drysian again.
“Have you known her long?” he asked, looking up into the darkness.
“Erisa? Oh, yes.”
It became evident after a moment’s silence that Seregil considered this sufficient reply. Alec decided to press on.
“How did you meet her?”
For a moment he thought Seregil had gone to sleep or was refusing to answer, but then he heard the bed ropes creak.
“I had business at Alderis,” Seregil told him. “That’s in Mycena, near the coast. It was a difficult job and I was new at my trade, very young. Anyway, I botched it and got caught. My captors expressed their displeasure most emphatically and discarded what was left of me rather far from the town. They thought I was dead; I remember having a few doubts on the matter myself. When I woke up several days later, I was in a hut and there was Erisa.”
&n
bsp; “I’ll bet she has powers beyond just healing,” Alec said, remembering the sharp tingle from her staff.
“She can control people if she chooses. I’ve seen her do it, though she dislikes the power for the most part. I’ll tell you something, though. She’s saved my life several times, and I hers, but I’m a little nervous around her. You seldom know what a drysian’s thinking, or how they see things.”
“She knew I was listening.”
Seregil chuckled in the darkness. “She’d have known if I was listening. Don’t worry, you do it very well for a beginner. Now you’d better get some rest. We have a busy day tomorrow. You need outfitting, and I want a good look at those soldiers.”
Alec heard the bed creak again. Below their window, waves lapped softly at the pilings, lulling him into a comfortable doze. He was just drifting off when Seregil’s sudden laugh startled him awake again.
“And you’ve got us singing for the mayor!”
5
FRIENDS MET, ENEMIES MADE
Alec sat up blinking as Seregil threw open the shutters early the next morning. Cold air and early sunlight flooded the room. “I doubt you’d have heard a prowler in the night, but you blocked the door nicely,” Seregil observed, tucking his harp under his arm. “While you’ve been snoring the morning away, I’ve been thinking. Your idea of singing for the mayor was an inspiration. That’s where this Boraneus fellow is staying, after all. I have a few things to attend to at the market. Find yourself something to eat and meet me there later so we can see about getting you properly outfitted. Look for me at the swordsmith Maklin’s in an hour if you don’t see me sooner. Now out of my way!”
As soon as he was gone Alec rose and pulled on his boots. Outside, the sun shone across the calm surface of the lake, shimmering around the distant sails that dotted the waters to the horizon.
Anxious as he was to catch up with Seregil, the scents of porridge and frying sausage that met him as he hurried downstairs were too good not to investigate.
“You’re the bard’s ‘prentice, ain’t you?” a woman asked as he paused in the doorway. “Come in, lad! Your master was just here and said I was to see you have all you want.”
Seregil must have been generous, Alec thought as she piled his trencher with plump sausages and oat porridge, then fetched a pitcher of milk and some hot ash cakes to go with it.
“However did you get so thin with a master as kind as that, eh?” She smiled, watching with satisfaction as Alec tucked in to her cooking.
“He only just took me up,” Alec told her around a mouthful. “I had some hard times before.”
“Well, you stick by him, love. He’ll make an honest fellow of you.”
Alec nodded agreeably, though he still had certain reservations on the matter. Leaving a coin of his own on the table when he’d finished, he set off for the market.
“All I have to do is go back the way we came in last night,” he told himself, setting off on foot. But for all his skill in the wilds, Alec had always found towns rather baffling. One narrow, twisting street looked very much like another in daylight and before long he was so turned around he couldn’t even find his way back to the waterfront. Cursing all towns and those who built them, he gave up and decided to ask directions.
Unfortunately, there were few people about. The fishermen had long since gone out, and most of their women were at the market at this hour, or indoors behind their shutters. He’d passed several gangs of children earlier, but the street he found himself in now came to a dead end in a cluster of warehouses and was quite deserted. Nothing to do, it seemed, but retrace his steps and hope for the best.
Turning a corner, he spotted a tavern and decided to try his luck there. He’d almost reached it when the door swung open and a knot of Plenimaran marines spilled unsteadily out into the street. There were five of them, staggering and singing drunkenly in their foreign tongue. Spotting Alec before he could duck back out of sight, they ambled over in his direction.
Giving them a polite nod, Alec tried to hurry past but one caught the edge of his cloak and yanked him roughly into their midst. His captor, a round-faced man with a scar twisting his lower lip, rattled off some sort of challenge, punctuating it by poking Alec in the chest with his finger.
“Stupid drinker!” a taller fellow with a black beard growled, pushing Scar-Lip away and throwing an arm heavily around Alec’s shoulders. His accent was thick but he made himself understood. “What my Soldier Brother says, you is a likely looking man-child to be a marine. Why you don’t join us up?”
“I don’t think I’d make much of a soldier,” Alec replied. Several of them casually felt their daggers. “What I mean is, I’m not old enough, big enough—like you!”
A one-eyed soldier fingered the sleeve of Alec’s tunic. “Nice, nice. You too good be Soldier Brother?”
“No!” Alec cried, turning within the circle of men. “I respect Soldier Brothers. Brave men! Let me buy you a drink.”
Without warning, One-Eye and Round-Face pinioned his arms. The bearded soldier tore Alec’s purse from his belt, emptying the contents into his hand.
“Sure, you buy us all many drinks!” he said, grinning as he inspected the coins. Suddenly his face darkened, and he thrust something up before Alec’s eyes.
It was the Skalan coin; he’d had it out the night before and forgotten to put it back in his boot.
“Where you got this, man-child?” the bearded Plenimaran snarled. “You don’t look no filthy Skalan! What you do having filthy bitch queen money?”
Before Alec could answer, the man punched him hard in the stomach and spat out, “Filthy spy, maybe?”
Maker’s Mercy, not that again!
Gasping for breath, Alec doubled over and they knocked him down into the half-frozen mud of the street. Someone kicked him in the back and his vision blurred with dazzling sparks of pain. Struggling up onto his knees, he prayed that his cloak hid the motion of his hand as he reached for his dagger.
“You, Tildus! It’s early in the day to be out torturing children, isn’t it?”
Alec couldn’t see who’d spoken, but the man’s deep voice carried a welcome north country accent. The marines paused in their sport as the bearded man turned.
“Micum Cavish, greetings! Not torturing at all, just questioning spy.”
“That’s no spy, you damned fool, that’s my brother’s son. Let him go before you strain our friendship!”
Astonished, Alec craned his neck for a better look at this Micum Cavish. Catching sight of the man, he began to understand.
Cavish was the hooded man Seregil had spoken with the night before. The hood was thrown back now to reveal a freckled, strongly featured face under a thick mane of auburn hair. Heavy reddish brows overshadowed his pale blue eyes, and an even heavier mustache drooped over the corners of his mouth. His stance was relaxed, but his right hand, hooked casually into his belt, was in easy reach of his sword hilt. The fate he was outnumbered five to one was apparently not of the slightest concern to him.
“You must forgive,” Tildus was saying, “there is much drink in us. When we see money of the bitch queen here, we get mad, you see?”
“Since when does a single coin make anyone a spy?” Micum Cavish’s tone was bantering, but his hand remained at his belt. “He got himself ’prenticed to a bard not long ago. They pick up all kinds of coins along the caravan route. Up here silver’s silver, no matter whose face it has on it.”
“Mistake, eh?” Tildus grinned tightly, motioning for the others to get Alec on his feet. “Not hurt so much, eh, man-child? You singer, maybe we come hear you sing. Give you good Plenimaran silver! Come, Brothers, we sober up now and not get into some more trouble.” With that he gathered his glowering men and lurched off down the alley.
“Thanks,” Alec said as they gathered his strewn money. At closer range, he was surprised to see that the man’s hair was sprinkled with silver around the temples. “So you’re my uncle Micum?”
The big swords
man grinned. “First thing that came to mind. It’s lucky I happened along when I did, too. That Tildus is a nasty bastard to begin with, and worse when he’s drinking. What are you doing wandering around here alone?”
“I was heading for the market, but I got lost.”
“Just go back up the street, turn left and keep straight ’til you get there.” Favoring Alec with a knowing wink, he said, “I think you’ll find Aren at the second tailor’s to the right of the corner.”
“Thanks again,” Alec called after him as Micum strode away. The tall man raised his hand in a brief salute and disappeared around the corner.
• • •
Alec found Seregil busy haggling over the price of some tunics. Taking in Alec’s disheveled appearance, he broke off quickly and stepped away from the booth.
“What have you been up to?”
Alec’s tale was quickly told. Seregil raised an eyebrow at the mention of Micum’s intervention but made no further comment.
“There’s a good deal of activity in the square today,” he told Alec. “Seems we got here just in time. The Plenimarans are leaving tomorrow and the mayor is holding a banquet tonight in their honor, quite a grand affair. He is, however, somewhat at a loss for entertainment. I’ve just been working out a way to make myself conspicuous.”
“What are you going to do, sing on the steps of his house?”
“Nothing so obvious. There’s a very pleasant fountain right across the street from it. I think that’s close enough, don’t you?”
He concluded his business with the tailor and they set off across the bridge to Armorers Street.
The clamor of hammer on metal there was almost more than Alec could stand, but as they came abreast of a bowyer’s shop, he paused, face brightening noticeably.