“Straaka would ordinarily be here to bring Miryum back to bond with him. But his betrothal gift is now morally repugnant to him.”
“The horses?”
“Aye, them. Now th’ Sadorians are committed to fair an’ equal dealin’s between human folk an’ beasts, Straaka feels th’ giving of them as not only a shame on him but a grievous insult to Miryum. He has brought th’ horses here personally—escorted them, he says—because he wants to explain to her why th’ gift is withdrawn an’ ask what she will have in their place.”
“You mean…”
“That he expects her to name another gift he can gan to replace th’ first, an’ it has to be a difficult enough thing to obtain to restore his honor. If she simply spurns him, he will take it that his shame is too great to be wiped away, no matter how she puts it, an’ he will have no choice but to kill himself.”
I was appalled.
“I’m afraid Miryum is goin’ to have to say no in some very clever, tactful way or have th’ life of th’ fellow on her hands,” Fian went on.
I felt like throwing my hands up at that. Miryum was famous for her lack of tact, and the devising of her code of chivalry had made her as absurd on the subject of honor as her suitor was. Straaka would certainly seek Miryum out before I returned from Tor, so the only solution was to take her with me.
I farsent to Ceirwan, who said that he would put it to her that I ought to be guarded.
“Don’t encourage her!” I sent, exasperated.
We came to the end of the maze path just as the sun slid free of the mountains. All of the extensive farmlands enclosed by the walls of Obernewtyn were bathed in glistening morning light, and here and there, remaining drifts of snow glowed against the grass.
Fian stopped and drank in the vista with a sigh of appreciation. His eyes traveled lovingly from the orchards on our left to the rich brown fields on our right. Everywhere pale green shoots had pushed through the ground, and leaves on the trees were beginning to unfurl. I had been to the farms only a few days past, yet, all at once, spring seemed to have arrived.
Alad emerged from one of the farm sheds to greet us.
“Greetings, Guildmaster,” Fian said. “I am pleased that ye acknowledge my importance by comin’ in person to welcome me home.”
“Don’t get too excited, lad,” Alad laughed. “I was keeping an eye out for you, Elspeth. One of Rushton’s birds just flew in, and I thought you’d want to know about it at once.”
Alad was smiling, so it could not be bad news, yet my heart constricted with anxiety. “What does it say?”
Alad held out a tiny soiled scroll, and I unrolled it and read: “A request made by a friend was gently refused. Leaving today after meeting with Domick. Home by moon fair. R”
I blinked, cursing Maryon for frightening me. “It seems we were right about the rebels wanting us to join them. It will be interesting to hear why when Rushton gets back.”
We made our way along the orchard path toward the buildings that both Beast and Beastspeaking guilds used for their merges—four barns built around a paved, open courtyard. Alad brought us into this area, where the fire pit now gaped empty and smoke-streaked. Up one end of the courtyard, a vine-covered trellis formed a natural roof, and I saw that there were trestle tables set up under it, laid with cloths and what were clearly the remnants of a substantial meal. Katlyn and a couple of beastspeakers were collecting mugs and plates on trays.
“What has been going on?” I asked.
Alad grinned. “It’s been too long since you worked on the farms, Elspeth. It is seeding time, and today we begin to plant the far fields. The Beastspeaking guild and everyone assigned to us ate a hearty firstmeal before dawn, and they’ve been hard at work for an hour now. But I daresay there is a morsel of one of Katlyn’s pies and some choca left, if you fancied a bite or three.”
Fian gazed wistfully at the food. I left him to it and went to collect Gahltha.
Avra whinnied a greeting as I approached. She made a pretty picture of impending motherhood, framed in trees laden with blossom. Gahltha was by her, nuzzling her neck. Someone must have brushed him, for his winter shagginess had given way to the sleek gleam of his summer coat.
Avra nuzzled my hand affectionately, and I stroked her swollen flank and asked how she felt. She seemed very big to me, but I supposed it was because she was a small horse, as free mountain horses tended to be.
“I feel I carry a galloping herd inside me rather than one foal,” she sent wearily. “I would that it were done, but the oldmares say it is longer with the first foal.”
“You’re sure you don’t mind me taking Gahltha?”
“Rasial will protect me should I need it, but I have nothing more dangerous to do than eat. But you will ride into the lands of the funaga-li. Take care, ElspethInnle.”
“We will not go far into them nor be gone long,” I assured her. “I doubt any funaga-li will even see us.”
She whickered softly in approval and sent that she had found Zidon and Faraf illuminating. “Many beasts say perhaps desert lands are the true freerunning barud. Some equines talk of joining that wild herd.”
“Some should go and report back to the rest,” I sent. “But we will talk later of this.” I gave her a final pat and turned to find Faraf, who had trotted up in the soft grass.
“Greetings, ElspethInnle,” she sent softly, her great, dark eyes reverent.
I smiled and reached out to run my fingers through her mane. “I am glad to see you here at last, little sistermind,” I sent. “It has been a long journey since first we spoke. I wonder that you left the desert lands, though.”
“The funaga there seek/desire fair dealing, but I longed for the greenlands and steephills of my young-days. It is fair/beautiful here, as you promised/told.”
“It is,” I sent. “And I am glad you’ve come.” She looked well, though somewhat thin from the ride. That could be healed by a few good days of grazing. But her flanks were savagely scarred from Malik’s attacks during the Battlegames, and those marks would never fade. Faraf did not blame me for her injuries, but that only made me blame myself the more.
“Alad beastspeaking guildmaster says you ride this day?”
“We can talk when I return,” I promised.
“If you permit, I would ride/go with you.”
I thought she probably needed rest more than another ride, but it was not so strenuous a journey to Tor, and I did not have the heart to say no to her.
“Let us begin, then,” Gahltha sent.
7
BY THE TIME we left Obernewtyn, it was far later than I liked, and we were seven riders and eight horses. A number of Miryum’s coercer-knights had decided to accompany her, and Ceirwan had farsent to Alad for more horses. The knights had been waiting at the gates, clad nominally as gypsies but also wearing their black scarves. Rather than delay us further, I made no protest.
Miryum knew nothing of Jakoby’s arrival, because she had eaten a hasty firstmeal in her chamber when Ceirwan had sent that I wanted her to ride with me. I let Fian explain Dameon’s delay and was interested to see that she showed no reaction at learning of the Sadorians’ arrival. She had apparently forgotten the strange proposal of the year before, and Fian had tact enough not to blurt it out.
I had hoped to discuss Straaka with the coercer during the ride to Tor, but with her four followers hanging on her every word, it was impossible.
We traversed the stretch of tainted earth just beyond the pass; then the track widened to become the main road, which wended its way right through the Land and down the coast, broke at the Suggredoon, and recommenced on the other side, running all the way to distant Murmroth. In that sense, the road we now rode along was the road to all the Land. I would have preferred to diverge immediately and enter the White Valley, but the road traversed a high stone spine, which fell away so steeply on the Valley side that we had no choice but to keep to it until there was a safe descent.
Soon we passed the small
er road leading off to Darthnor and its mines. My anxiety increased, for there was now the danger of running into other travelers.
We increased our pace, and I noted with consternation that several of the places where it had once been possible to enter the Valley were now almost cliffs, with crumbling edges. It occurred to me that we might be wise to somehow improve access to the Valley closer to the pass.
Faraf had fallen behind, and glancing back, I noticed she was favoring a leg.
“She tripped/stumbled in a pothole,” Gahltha sent as we lingered to allow her to catch up.
“I hinder you,” Faraf allowed regretfully.
“Never, little sistermind,” I assured her. “I was just about to suggest a stop.”
Miryum and one of her knights rode ahead to find a place out of sight of the main road. They returned and led us to a grassy glade to the east of the road, where there was a freshwater spring. The coercers built a scratch fire and boiled water for tea while Fian and I mixed a poultice of herbs and mud for Faraf’s leg.
“We will definitely have to stay th’ night at Tor,” Fian murmured as we applied the poultice.
I shrugged. “We’ll wait until this dries, and by then the swelling will have gone down enough to bandage it. See if anyone has cloth with them.”
Miryum brought me a mug of tea, and seeing everyone else preoccupied, I seized the opportunity to speak to her.
The coercer shrugged when I asked if she remembered the tribesman who had proposed to her in Sador, but she paled when I explained that he had escorted Faraf and Zidon to Obernewtyn with the express intention of claiming her as his bondmate.
“He must be mad!” she said incredulously. “I could not believe it was meant as anything other than a joke. How could a man offer a proposal to a stranger?”
“Well, it seems he did. Fortunately, given the Sadorian’s new attitude to beasts, his betrothal gift displeases him, and he means to ask you to name some desire that he can fulfill to replace the horses.”
“I will tell him there is no need for him to honor a betrothal promise to me.”
“I’m afraid he does honor it, and if you refuse, it is very likely that he will kill himself out of shame.”
She gaped at me, and seeing the flush play over her cheeks, it occurred to me for the first time that Miryum might want to accept the proposal.
“Do you want to bond with him?” I asked bluntly.
She looked mortified. “I did not even know his name until you said it!” I caught enough of her thoughts to see that she had ruled out love, feeling herself too plain to inspire it.
“The trouble is that you accepted the horses, so as far as Straaka is concerned, there is only the matter of the gift to be cleared up.”
Miryum shook her head and seemed to wake from a dream. “I will not bond with him nor any man. I am a knight and am sworn to chastity,” she said.
My temper frayed at her sudden reversion to grandiose heroine. “What in blazes is chastity?”
Her color deepened, but she said with less pomp, “It means we cannot give our bodies or minds or hearts to one person, for we are sworn to love all people equally.” Now it seemed there was a pleading look in her eye. “But I do not want him to die.”
I sighed. “At least you need not worry until the moon fair, for I asked Alad to relay the message that you would not give an answer until then. I will speak with Jakoby in the meantime and see what she can suggest.”
Miryum nodded and withdrew to sit, frowning morosely and shaking her head as if she were conducting an inner dialogue.
I was bandaging Faraf’s leg when Gahltha sent a sharp warning that strangers approached. I cautioned the others to do nothing but act like gypsies and bid Gahltha lead the horses out of sight. I was not unduly bothered, since there was more than enough coercive talent among us to deal with trouble.
Five men and one woman leading saddled horses emerged from the trees. The woman had cropped yellow hair and was clad in peasant boots and fawn trousers, a loose tunic belted at her hips. The young man beside her had similarly colored hair and was dressed much the same but with a gorgeous green silk cloak, heavily embroidered at the hem with Council symbols, thrown over his shoulders. Three of the other men wore soldierguard cloaks, and the fifth was a thin, cringing fellow who looked like a farm worker.
“Here be gypsies,” he announced, as if no one would have known it without his saying so.
I rose up and bowed to the young Councilman in the perfunctory way gypsy halfbreeds had with such gestures.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded.
“As you see, we drink tea dangerously,” I said.
“What is she saying?” he asked the woman, as if I spoke another language and must be interpreted.
“She said they are only drinking tea,” she said seriously, but her mouth twitched as if she was trying not to laugh. Her hair, though cut unusually severely for a woman, accentuated the beauty of her face and eyes.
“Who gave you permission to drink tea?” the Councilman demanded. The woman leaned forward and whispered in his ear. “Oh yes. I mean, who gave you leave to drink tea here!”
“I did not know this clearing was claimed to any farm holder. It is not fenced,” I countered mildly.
“It is not fenced,” one of the soldierguards snarled. “But it is claimed sure enough. By Bergold, son of Radost. All the land above Guanette to the western mountains is his, and any who goes there without permission will answer.”
“Fenced land is forbidden to us gypsies, but we may camp for up to three days wherever there are no fences,” I said, quoting Council lore.
“Filthy halfbreed. You dare to speak that way to Councilman Bergold?” The soldierguard unhooked his whip. “I will teach you to mind your manners.”
The young Councilman frowned and waved the man back. “Hold. Are you sure she is being insolent? After all, what she says is true. The land isn’t fenced.” He looked at the woman, and she came forward to his shoulder. “Do you think she is being insolent?”
Her eyes smiled, flickering above sober lips. “She is saucy, brother, but I think not insolent. Gypsies have that in their nature, so they cannot be blamed for it.”
“Yet Father blames you for your nature,” Bergold said. The woman made no response, but the yellow-cloaked soldierguard regarded her with fleeting hatred, which he swiftly masked.
“Well, I suppose one cannot have her whipped if sauce is in her blood,” the young Councilman decided.
“She should be whipped to set an example,” the yellow cloak snapped.
“I think you love your whip more than your manhood, Sestra; perhaps because it performs more willingly,” the woman said. She gave him no chance to reply to her insult, turning back to her brother. “I would release her with a warning, brother,” she advised. “After all, she can spread the word among her kind that this land is now yours, and no one else will trespass.”
Bergold brightened. “That’s so. Well, hear this, halfbreed: I will spare you, for gypsies can’t help their sauce, it seems. But you must show your gratitude by publishing my claim over this land.”
“I will let it be known among such of my people as I meet, and none who know will trespass, but I cannot promise to speak to every halfbreed.”
“The ones you know will do,” the woman said carelessly, now sounding bored. To her brother, she murmured that the word would spread soon enough regardless. “But it might be useful to have Sestra bang a few signposts into the ground along the road.”
“A good idea. See to that, Sestra,” the youth said imperiously. “In fact, we should post notices to ensure that my brother knows where my land ends and his begins.”
Thoughts running loudly under his words told me that Bergold’s older brother, Moss, resented not being given entire charge of the high country and both plots of land, and might well try to take more than his share.
The young Councilman scratched his head vigorously as if having his thoughts rea
d itched him. I withdrew hastily in case he was mind-sensitive, then spoke to distract him.
“Shall we leave the fire alight for you to brew your own tea, sirrah?” I asked, rising.
Bergold shook his head. “I don’t like tea. I don’t suppose you have any ale?”
I caught the eye of his sister, who grinned at me. It was such a mischievous look that I was taken aback. She was entirely unlike any woman I had ever met.
“Well, what do ye make of all that?” Fian asked after we had parted from them and were mounted up on the verge of the road.
“Bergold is clearly a simpleton, but the sister is not, and it seems as if she will keep a tight check on the soldierguards and her brother,” Miryum said.
I was less sure the sister could be so easily summed up, but I only said that I thought Bergold less a fool than simply young and not terribly bright.
“If th’ brother is anything like him, I’d say we have nowt to worry about,” Fian said.
But one of the coercer-knights said rather grimly that the two brothers were as different as night and day. “I lived in Sutrium before I came up here, and I knew Moss by reputation and sight. He was cruel and brutish even as a child.”
“Remember, too, Bergold may be relatively harmless, but Radost is his father,” Miryum pointed out.
Sobered by this, we rode silently until we came upon a place where the cliff had tumbled into a broken ramp that allowed us to leave the main road and make our way at last down to the White Valley. Through the trees, I caught the distant glitter of the upper Suggredoon, and beyond it, the Gelfort Range. There was neither a proper road nor a track once we reached the valley floor, but I was glad to dismount for a while. I loved riding, but I felt far more in touch with the land with it pressed against the soles of my feet. All of my senses seemed to sharpen. I heard small animals scurry away from us and the occasional bird call. Leaves rustled and branches creaked as we passed, twigs snapped underfoot, and whirring insects fell silent. The whole valley seemed significantly more overgrown than when I had last been there.
Reaching the river, we followed its bank until it switched back toward the road; then we set a straight course for Tor. Before long we came upon clear evidence of wagon ruts and recent passage. The coercers who always traveled with the teknoguilders were careful to erase all tracks before this point, but this was deep enough into the valley not to bother since no one would stumble upon them by chance. Here and there along either side of the track, among the tangle of fire-spawned regrowth, dead and utterly blackened trees rose up like shadowy accusers. It seemed the reek of smoke still lay over the place.