DragonKnight (10 page)

“I think she sleeps when we are awake, and she stands guard while we are sleeping.”

“Really?”

“Of course. She is your protector.”

N’Rae nodded. Bardon shook his head. He still found it absurd that the tiny minneken thought she could defend anyone. He led the way down the darkening road, beneath ancient trees rattling their leaves in the light gusts of air.

A clutch of o’rant children clambered in and around the trang-a-nog tree and over and under the swaybacked, splotchy horse.

Bardon asked the group in general, “Is your father at home?”

“He’s sick-a-bed,” answered one.

“Can’t get up,” said another.

“I’ll fetch Ma,” said a scrawny boy whose twin nodded vigorously and then raced the slightly smaller child to the door.

The slender woman with graying hair took the five hundred grood gratefully.

“It’s half of what I won in Hoddack’s race today,” explained Bardon. “If Mig hadn’t trounced your husband, he might have been riding the winning kindia.”

She wrapped the coins in a scrap of cloth and tucked them into her apron. “You could step in for a bit of supper,” she offered.

Bardon smiled. “Thank you, Mistress, but we have another errand and then some work to be done in town.”

As they walked away, N’Rae said, “The horse and the dog were content but hungry.”

Granny Kye looked back over her shoulder. “I imagine the children are the same.”

“Did you not mindspeak?” Bardon asked the granny. He knew Kale might have used her talent to gather as much information as needed from the poor family.

“As little as possible. The older I get, the more I’m inclined to think it’s often an invasion of privacy.”

In memory, Bardon heard his own voice repeating a principle to Scribe Moran.
“Draw the boundary of the mind that keeps you whole and respect the boundary drawn by another.”

Not much farther, they passed a woebegone monarch tree. Many rough stubs showed where limbs had cracked and fallen. Uneven patches of good growth revealed the heart of the tree to be sound. A man and his dog came out to greet them. Blosker took his half of the one-thousand-grood prize money readily.

“I knew that would be one whopper of a race,” said the man who’d given up Ten so Squire Bardon could ride. “I’ve done that course plenty. It’s punishment for rider and kindia.” He grinned and bounced the sack of coins in the palm of his hand. “It’s good to have the money without the soreness you’re going to feel tomorrow.”

Bardon laughed and agreed. Already his muscles ached for a hot bath.

“Why did you come home?” asked N’Rae. “Why didn’t you wait at the finish line to get your money?”

The weathered man pressed the bag of coins against his chest and pondered for a moment before answering. “Why, to give your friend here a chance to do the honorable thing. Then again, Hoddack might not have given the squire here the purse to carry to me. Then the old man himself would have a chance to show his core is aboveboard even if his style of dealing with folks makes you think otherwise.

“Master Hoddack’s a strange boss,” added Blosker. “Prides himself in being honest because his own family weren’t known for being straightforward. When he married to get the farm, everyone thought he would be a stain on the neighborhood. But he’s honorable in his begrudging way.”

Blosker tossed the bag in the air, caught it, and slipped it inside his shirt. “The dame’s father ran the business with a smile. It was right prosperous. Hoddack’s kept it making a profit, but he doesn’t have the genteel feel about him. Works hard, just doesn’t know how to relax and enjoy what he’s worked for.”

Drummerbugs and crickets sang as the three walked back toward town.

“What did you learn, infant?” asked Granny Kye.

N’Rae shrugged.

“I won’t take that for an answer.” The old woman spoke softly as if she did not want to disturb the music of the night air. “Think of the people you saw today. The seven high races have much in common. All are prone to err. Not one of the high races is more righteous than another. Without fail you may count on individuals to sometimes make mistakes and sometimes do things right when dealing with their lot.”

Bardon thought N’Rae would not answer, but eventually her small voice mingled with the cool breeze. “Hoddack does not enjoy his life and seeks to better it. The children of the injured man enjoy without having much. The mother sought to share what little supper she had. It’s choices, isn’t it?”

Granny patted her arm. “Yes, choices.”

Bardon wondered what choices Hoddack would be making. He couldn’t get the last thing Blosker said about the kindia breeder out of his mind.

“Hoddack holds on to an idea like a bodoggin. Once he’s thought of a plan, he don’t give up.”

         
11
         

B
E
P
REPARED

Bardon managed to escape the women to have supper and a bath in his room. Too weary to master his thoughts, he lay in the tub of hot water and drifted from one scenario to another. In one half dream, Paladin arrived and took over the care of the three women, ordering Bardon to return to the mountain cabin. In another, N’Rae’s father strode through the inn door and announced he’d been shipwrecked and just managed to return to Amara. In the last, N’Rae declared her undying love for Holt Hoddack, and the farm boy took over the expedition to the Northern Reach.

He could think of no principle that would allow him to indulge in these fantasies.

“‘A meager man looks to his own comfort first,’” he recited as he hauled his aching body out of the cooling water.

“‘The straight path to easy living is fraught with deception, the worst being in the heart of the man who looks neither right nor left.’” He toweled himself dry with a vigorous rub.

“‘A man moves forward faster if he doesn’t have to look over his shoulder.’” He rubbed in the last of Master Hoddack’s liniment and put on his nightshirt.

The mattress cushioned his sore muscles in a most satisfying manner. Bardon stretched carefully under the weighty covers and stared at the pine-beam ceiling. When a knock resounded on the door, he thought the manservant had come to haul off the bath water. Still, responding to training, he reached for his hunting knife and laid it alongside his leg, on top of the blanket.

“Come in.”

The doorknob turned hesitantly. A narrow line of light appeared as the door creaked open an inch. Bardon’s hand tightened on his weapon.
This is not the way the servant would enter the room.

“It’s me,” said Granny Kye, a second before she pushed open the door. “I’ve brought you tea to ease your aches and help you sleep.”

Relaxing, he sat up awkwardly in the bed to receive the mug.

“Thank you, Granny Kye.”

“You’re welcome, son. I know that not only your overworked body would give you trouble tonight as you try to sleep but also your keenly felt need to do what is right.”

Bardon sipped the tea and chose not to answer.

Granny Kye took a step back but did not turn to leave. “It’s hard to be wise.” The humble woman stood peacefully beside his bed. Her dark eyes gleamed in the candlelight. “I shall tell you something about myself that is unusual for an emerlindian.”

She remained silent, and Bardon wondered if he was required to say something. “Yes?”

“I did not darken as one of our race usually does. People would think I was much younger than my years because of my pallor.”

Her shoulders drooped, and she folded her hands at her waist. “I did not learn from my mistakes. I could not reason out a problem. I could not remember what had been told to me the day before. It was not until I realized that Wulder gave me a different gift of wisdom that I began to mature, to darken.” She sighed and looked the young squire in the eye. “You won’t be able to depend on me to know the answers, to guide you on this journey.”

“You knew there’s a mapmaker in Ianna.”

“Because Paladin told me so a dozen times in the past year.” She spread her hands in a gesture of helplessness. “He also gave me funds for the quest.”

“And you lost them?”

“Oh no! I would never be so careless. I gave them away.” Her face did not reflect any qualms about her misuse of the money.

“If Paladin gave you funds for a specific purpose and you used them for another, don’t you think you have done wrong?”

A whimsical smile lifted the corners of her mouth, and her brown eyes flashed with amusement. “He said they were for needs as I would meet them. Unfortunately, I continually meet people whose needs are greater than my own.”

“Remind me not to let you carry the purse.”

Granny Kye chortled. “See? You already prove that you’re wiser than I am.”

“The coins I left with you on our first morning in Norst?”

“Gone.”

“Gone?”

“Before the day ended.” She paused. “The wheelwright had a need for a new hammer. The kitchen maid has a poorly mother. The boy delivering milk needed sturdy shoes.”

“I see.”

“Also, anything requiring memory is troublesome. However, I am good with herbs, though I sometimes make mistakes.”

Bardon stopped before taking the next sip.

“Oh, the tea’s all right,” Granny Kye assured him. “Jue Seeno helped me.”

He let out a gust of pent-up breath and took another soothing swallow.

“What area is your wisdom in, Granny Kye?”

She beamed. “Painting.”

Bardon considered this for a moment. “You don’t happen to paint murals, do you?”

“No.” She tilted her head and looked curiously at him. “Why?”

“Kale Allerion has seen two murals which turned out to be prophetic.”

“How odd. No, I do portraits, mostly.”

“Portraits? And how does your wisdom show up in portraits?”

“I paint the people as I see them. But when I finish, there’s more there. While I’m painting, the expressions on their faces and the colors around them become clear in my mind. Some people say that the finished picture looks like the inside of the person instead of just what is seen on the outside.”

Bardon nodded. “I had a friend who saw colors around people, and he said they reflected character and inner conflict.”

“He saw them all the time?”

“Yes, but he said he had to focus especially on the colors to read them correctly.”

“I don’t see them with my eyes even when I paint. But some part of me does, because they always end up on the canvas.” Granny Kye still stood relaxed in the same position. “Where is your friend now?”

“In Bedderman’s Bog, at the home of Wizard Fenworth. He’s training to be a wizard. You said ‘mostly,’ Granny Kye. What else do you paint?”

“Landscapes, houses…They rarely turn out very well.” Her face brightened. “Once I painted a neighbor’s house, and in the painting, we saw an odd object under a bush. We went to look, and there was the bracelet she’d lost months before.”

“So you saw something while you painted that couldn’t be seen just by looking?”

“Yes!”

“I agree with you, Granny Kye, that’s definitely a type of wisdom.”

The old emerlindian’s expression clouded. “Not one that’s very useful in the normal way of things. I understand N’Rae much better than most people would, though. She, too, does not fit the typical image of an emerlindian.”

“Mistress Seeno would prefer that she did.”

“Jue Seeno is devoted to N’Rae, but her mannerisms are somewhat abrupt. And you make her a bit nervous.”

“I make her nervous?”

“Decidedly so. Now, are you finished with that tea?” She held out her hand. “Give me the mug. I’ll leave you to your sleep.”

Taking the mug with her, she swept out of the room, saying over her shoulder, “Don’t fret. Trust!”

Amazingly, he put his head down on the pillow and fell into a deep sleep. In the middle of the night, he rolled over and opened his eyes. For a moment he thought he saw a mouse sitting on the windowsill in the moonlight. But he blinked, and it was gone.

Jue Seeno? No, she wouldn’t be out and about disguised as a mouse.
He grinned at the very idea and went back to sleep.

When golden sunlight, instead of the pale glow of the moon, poured through the curtains, Bardon got out of bed stiffly, stretching his muscles with slow, deliberate movements. By the time he shaved and dressed, he could walk without wincing. He joined the ladies for breakfast in the private parlor, and a cup of Granny Kye’s tea finished the job of alleviating the discomfort in his body.

“May I go with you to find passage to Ianna?” asked N’Rae. “We’ll go on the river, won’t we?”

“No, you may not come. Yes, we shall go by the Gilpen River, but the docks are no place for you.” Bardon saw her look of disappointment. “If I find a ship quickly, I’ll return and take you to the market streets.” He turned to include Granny Kye and Mistress Seeno. “Wouldn’t you ladies like to look for some new clothing? You should have something new for everyday wear and perhaps garments suitable for rough traveling.”

He was rewarded for his suggestion. N’Rae’s face took on a flush of pleasure. “Grandmother, can we? Does this mean I’ll get to wear britches?”

“Yes.” Granny Kye watched Bardon stand and push his chair back under the table. “Do you have sisters, young man?”

“Not that I know of. Why?”

“Because you seem to know a lot about what makes young women happy.”

Jue Seeno squeaked, and Bardon bent closer to the table.

“It could,” the minneken said, “also mean he spent a lot of time pleasing the ladies at the Castle Pelacce.”

Bardon straightened abruptly, his face burning. He heard N’Rae giggle as he left the room.

What a pleasure it will be to visit the docks where none of the men have manners, none of the men have bathed recently, and none of the men giggle!
He hurried through the hall and out onto the cobblestone street.

As he approached the riverway, the houses became less well groomed, as did the people. He stopped in a tavern to have a drink and listen to the news. He heard of a small vessel departing the next day and headed out to find the captain. He soon had made arrangements for them to board the ship that night. The
Morning Lady
would weigh anchor before dawn the next day.

The shopping trip with the women tried his patience. He had managed to secure information and passage in less than an hour. The women spent that much time just deciding which street of shops they would visit first. Then they discussed whether Jue Seeno would accompany them or wait at the inn. The prospect of a servant finding the basket and, out of curiosity, peeking inside terrified them. They decided the minneken would go with them but stay in her basket and wait until they returned to view their purchases.

After making the mistake of entering the first haberdashery with the lady shoppers, Bardon waited outside the other stores. He tried to admire the stamina and cheerful attitudes of the two women as they tramped from one establishment to the next and back to compare the quality and price of certain merchandise. He smiled politely at the citizens of Norst who noticed the unusual sight of two country-dressed emerlindians touring the shopping district. By midafternoon he decided he wasn’t as wise as Granny Kye had intimated.
Surely, a wise man would have avoided this expedition.

He gladly toted the packages back to the inn when Granny Kye said they had purchased the few items they would need. The women inspected their purchases, showing the new clothing to Jue Seeno. Bardon thought the little minneken showed a far more pleasant demeanor as she gave her opinion.

“A woman may appear to value things above all else, but don’t try to steal her offspring, friend, or mate.” Principle eighty-seven.
And this, Scribe Moran said, was what made women so hard to interpret.

After they ate a quick supper, Granny Kye insisted they could walk to the pier, but Squire Bardon ordered a horse-drawn vehicle to be their transportation. After a short ride, they boarded the
Morning Lady,
a passenger ship also hauling a cargo of textiles.

Bardon settled his charges in their cabin and then retired to his own. When he pulled the bunk down from the wall, he could barely turn around. Backing into the bulkhead, he scraped his shoulder. The rough wood left splinters in the cloth of his shirt.

Shouldn’t that wood be painted?
He tried to reach over his back to assess the damage and bumped his head on the shoulder, a brace of wood that joined the bulkhead to the overhead. Rubbing his head, he mumbled, “I now know for a fact that I’ve been spoiled by venturing out to sea on one of Sir Dar’s sloops. The ceiling in this hold is too low, the walls are too close, and the light is abominable.”

He fished book two of his Tomes of Wulder from his pack and began to read, finding comfort in the succinct wisdom of the principles and in the ritual of setting his heart to uphold those principles. The real purpose of this exercise was not to refresh his memory of the written words, but rather to regain his focus. In the past several days, he had found himself so busy dealing with problems that he had often proceeded without tagging each action with an appropriate principle.