He paused for breath and Sorgrad rapidly translated for those unable to follow the wizard’s own speech. When Sorgrad finished, there was a tense moment until Cullam nodded.
“Sikkarl turat en tergeva,” the old Sheltya said curtly.
Usara nodded as one equal to another. “I came to learn what I could of your history and your wisdom. The misunderstandings between lowlands and mountains are longstanding and many arise from ignorance. Knowledge can salve that ignorance and perhaps enable us all to live and work in harmony. As for magic—”
“Silence!” the woman shouted harshly. “You will not speak of such things on pain of death!”
That grabbed everyone’s attention and I slid a hand inside my sleeve to check the knife I kept sheathed there. All my other weapons were up in the room where I had been sleeping, so if I only had one throw it had better be a good one.
Usara’s unruffled calm made a mockery of the woman’s flushed and angry face. He looked briefly at Cullam, at Sorgrad and then turned to Taegan. “I apologize that we have inadvertently trespassed on your hospitality and your good will. We meant no offense. Rather than bring further discord to your house, we will collect our belongings and leave at once. Please accept my most sincere regrets.”
He bowed and made for the stairs. Sorgrad was relaying Usara’s words to Taegan loud enough for everyone to hear, and from the time he was taking about it adding some amends of his own. Taegen’s reply was understandably curt but not outright hostile. Sorgrad bowed deeply and followed Usara.
“Come on,” I said to ’Gren. “Let’s get our kit and clear out. Time to cut our losses and draw again.”
He followed me to the stairwell door where I looked over my shoulder before going up. The Sheltya woman was in the midst of a nervous knot of women and girls, composure restored as she played the gracious lady answering their hesitant questions. Her male companion stood a little awkwardly by the younger men, none of whom seemed to have much to say for themselves. Cullam stayed next to Taegan, exchanging remarks in low voices and directing carefully neutral glances at the woman. The remaining Sheltya were still standing by the door, motionless apart from the breeze plucking at the hems of their cloaks. The one at the back turned a hooded head toward me again and this time I caught a flash of green eyes from within the shadow.
An inexplicable disquiet gnawed at me. These eyes were not the clear green of the Folk, echoing summer leaves, but had the cold pallor of the winter ocean. Why did that worry me so much? Sudden fear sent me fleeing up the stairs like a child seeking the sanctuary of blankets to shut out the night’s terrors. I stumbled on the uneven risers of the steps.
“Slow down!” ’Gren exclaimed, his own boots scraping on the stairs as they spiraled up through the thickness of the wall. “What’s the hurry?”
I paused, breathing heavily. “I—” I found I had no answer. “Why can’t you cursed people build an even flight of steps!”
“Because uneven stairs trip up anyone trying to attack in the dark, why do you think?” ’Gren’s literal-minded approach to life didn’t miss a breath.
“What?” I stared at him.
“Different pattern in every rekin,” he explained readily. “Go up and down them every day, and you never notice. Try being a stranger sneaking up in the dark and you’ll go flat on your nose!”
“And I thought it was just you two who were paranoid.” The thrill of dread had evaporated, leaving me feeling small and foolish. “I’ll meet you back here.”
Going up the next set of stairs, I reached the female floor of the rekin and passed through the smaller rooms set aside for married women until I reached the broad dormitory for girls and guests. I unlocked the little chest set at the end of my allocated bed and took out my kit-bag with a little regret. I’d been looking forward to finding out more about the finely worked Mountain Man locks that were traded the length and breadth of old Empire.
I shed my skirts without any compunction. Since we were already as welcome as a mangy dog, the household could be scandalized by me in my breeches. I wasn’t about to go out into the dusk with only thin wool between the biting insects and me. I also swapped soft shoes for my usual boots, checking the daggers sheathed in the seams and the darts in my belt-pouch. I didn’t trust that loud-mouthed virago down there not to try something to finish us off once we were beyond the shelter of the fess. I wasn’t done with her either, I decided, loosening the dagger beneath my shirt sleeve and unbuttoning the cuff so I could palm the blade in an instant.
’Gren’s double knock on the outer door set me stuffing the rest of my belongings anyhow into my bag. I hurried back to the stairway and found all three of them waiting for me.
“We will make our departure with dignity and courtesy,” Usara said firmly. “I do not wish to cause any more upset.”
“It’s her can’t keep her tongue behind her teeth,” I objected. “What about—”
“We are leaving,” said Usara, cutting me short just as ruthlessly as the woman.
“As long as Cullam is on their side, those other Sheltya can’t make too much trouble for the soke.” Sorgrad laid a hand on my arm, expression somber. “If we do anything to turn the old man against us, these people could find themselves without the help of any Sheltya when they really need it.”
I studied him for a moment. “All right.” I moved to let Usara lead the way down the curving stair, Sorgrad at his heel. As I walked down, I rubbed at my elbow as if I had inadvertently knocked it on the wall. I could feel ’Gren’s eyes on the back of my neck but forced myself not to look at him.
Conversation more normal in pitch and tone was filling the downstairs room now, but everyone still fell silent when the four of us entered. A pathway cleared to the far door in an instant. Usara walked slowly, smiling to either side, for all the world like Messire D’Olbriot gracious to his tenants at a festival supper. Sorgrad followed him, expressionless but uncowed. I did the same, but as we drew level with the Sheltya woman, ’Gren halted.
“Mer dalta enres?” he inquired genially. “Dalrist maires reman ilkreal girast nor surel.”
The woman blinked with startled outrage. The older women looked bemused, some of the girls giggled, and ’Gren took a pace closer to the Sheltya female, mischief in his smile. She stepped back as I moved forward, ostensibly reaching out for ’Gren’s arm. We collided, I apologized profusely and hustled ’Gren past her, hurrying for the door where Usara was waiting, irritation in his eyes, faint suspicion in Sorgrad’s. I kept my head down, hands thrust deep into my breeches pockets, not daring to look at the hooded figures standing to one side.
“Let’s go,” Usara said grimly as we walked through the compound beneath the unseen eyes of sentries. The kenneled dogs had been roused by the disturbance and barked inquisitively, a lantern bobbing through the gloom as someone went to them. We were passed out through the main gate without a word and took the track leading down to the river in continued silence. It was a pale blemish in the dark of the grass, everything colorless in the deep twilight, but with care there was enough light to be sure of our footing, with the brilliant stars and the lesser moon waning to its half in a clear sky. The air was cool but not unpleasantly so, fragrant with the moistness of dew refreshing the sun-parched grasses. We trudged on, the glen featureless in the darkness until the chatter of water over stones told us we were nearing the river. I looked in vain for any paling of the sky but Halcarion’s Crown was still bright on the western horizon.
“Can we cross this without light?” Usara peered forward. “I don’t think this is quite the time for me to raise magefire to show us the way.”
I laughed dutifully at the feeble attempt at a pleasantry but the others stayed silent as we slowly picked our way across the stepping stones, luckily without mishap. I paused to fill my waterskin and the river was as cold as a mother’s curse as I hurriedly rinsed the handkerchief I’d been clutching.
“We’ll keep moving until daybreak,” said Sorgrad suddenly. “We want to get clear of the soke and down to the villages as soon as we can.”
“Then we can plan our next move,” I agreed. I sucked at the shallow cut on the ball of my thumb, tasting the bitterness of the dried blood. Full-time cutpurses carry a sliver of horn to protect themselves from their own blades.
“Then we head down into Solura,” Usara corrected me.
“I think you can lose the lordly tone now that you’ve finished impressing the girls back there.” I was going to have my say now. “What’s the point of going back to Solura? We know they’ve got the knowledge we want up here now. What we need is to set about planning a way to get it!”
The wizard halted, faint light reflecting off his balding head, his face in shadow. “Knowledge isn’t some silver cup you can go about stealing, Livak!”
“Where’s that written, O wise one?” I retorted.
“You can’t say something’s impossible until you’ve tried it, wizard.” ’Gren’s smile was a gleam of white in the darkness.
“Do you have a better plan?” inquired Sorgrad, a creak of leather suggesting he was putting his hands through his belt.
“Curse it, Usara; you were the one complaining about wasting time in the Forest. Now that we know where to look, why delay?”
The wizard ignored me, much to my irritation. “What exactly did that woman say? Did she give any reason for her hatred of our magic?”
Sorgrad’s tone was both light and bitter at the same time. “We are apparently abominations in Misaen’s eyes, a foul betrayal of Maewelin’s goodness, polluting whatever we touch.”
“Oh,” said Usara blankly. He sighed. “If she had a rational argument, no matter how flawed, we might have some chance of pointing out the error in her logic. If it’s a matter of entrenched belief, no amount of reason will prevail.”
“So why bother arguing with her?” I demanded.
Usara peered upward to check the sky. “We should see the first arc of the greater moon tomorrow, shouldn’t we? If we can make it back to Pastamar by the end of For-Summer and as long as certain people have remembered the Soluran calendar doesn’t march quite in step with the Tormalin one, there’s someone I need to meet.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Spit it out, Sandy!”
“What’s in Pastamar?”
Usara shook his head at all our questions. “Given we know Artificers can eavesdrop on conversations from quite some distance, I would prefer to get away from that unpleasant female before I discuss it further.”
That silenced us all. We began the long and weary trudge up the side of the main valley and I struggled to contain my irritation. As soon as Usara was prepared to talk again, my first question would be what did he have planned to make up for having to spend the Summer Solstice in some benighted Soluran backwater. The next was how were we going about getting our hands on the undoubted knowledge of the Sheltya. Usara could give up if he liked, but I wasn’t about to. I owed the bitch that much.
Seven
When our children were young, we moved to the milder lands of Dalasor. Their nurse would sing them to sleep with this song and its words of caution proved most effective in curbing their irresistible urge to wander the boundless plains that surrounded our steading.
The rainbow offers many ways,
To pass beyond the humdrum days,
But so you may be lost.
You cannot see your fate’s disguise,
When jewel colors blind your eyes,
And you will rue the cost.
The shadows open many portals.
Twilight mazes foolish mortals.
Do you dare step inside?
If darkness swallows moon and star,
If no sun shows you where you are,
What then will be your guide?
So keep your feet within the path,
And do not wander from the hearth,
And heed your mother’s charm.
Let well alone the broken light,
The gloom that mimics honest night,
And you’ll bide safe from harm.
Pastamar Town, Solura,
41st of For-Summer (Tormalin Calendar),
27th of Lytelar (Soluran Calendar)
These people really know how to enjoy themselves.” I didn’t bother muting my sarcasm.
“I’ll bet it’s harder than it looks,” ’Gren protested.
We were watching a lad balancing one shaft of wood upright on the end of another. Given both pieces were about as long as my arm but barely thicker than the circle of my finger and thumb, I suppose it wasn’t that easy. The lad got the balance right and the circle of admiring youths around him rapidly broke away. The lad thrust upward, the top shaft soared high, fell back, and he hit it smack in the middle with the piece he still held, a full-blooded blow that sent it away in a soaring arc. A cheer went up and a little boy went scampering down the grassy strip that divided vegetable gardens from the wide muddy flow of the Pasfal. He retrieved the billet of wood and marked where it fell with a piece of stick. The youths were taking advantage of their noon break to practice for the forthcoming Solstice celebrations.
A gate opened in one fence and a woman looked out to see the cause of the commotion. She shouted, and after a few defiant responses the lads drifted away through the alleys that led up to the market square and the high road. A few yelled mocking insults, but only after the woman’s gate was safely closed. The sweet scent of roses floated on the breeze. Most of the fences were covered in pink-edged yellow blooms and we had left our landlady debating when would be the best time to cut hers for the mid-summer door garland. Early enough to steal a march on her neighbors, late enough that the blooms would not drop too soon, that was her dilemma.
“When is the Solstice?” I asked ’Gren as we continued to wander aimlessly upstream, chewing on rough bread and sharp yellow cheese. “I can’t recall when I last saw an almanac.”