Quatrain (45 page)

He glanced over his shoulder at the townspeople, most of whom had started to disperse, and then fell in step with Senneth as she began making her way down the hill. “Yes, but there was a cost,” he said. “Now you have been identified as a mystic, and there are those who will hate you for that reason alone, no matter how much good you do for them.”

She shrugged. “That is the true cost of magic,” she said. “And one of the reasons no mystic stays for long in any one place. The welcome tends to disappear very quickly.”

“It shouldn’t,” Degarde said.

They had reached the horses by now, both sets of reins being held by a thin boy who eyed Senneth with frank appraisal. She approached her big gelding with caution, afraid her elevated temperature might cause him to sidle away, but he merely stamped his feet and then turned his head to nose her for a treat.

“Thank you for holding him,” she said to the boy as she swung into the saddle.

“I never watched over a mystic’s horse before,” he said.

“I hope it was not too onerous,” she replied pleasantly. She tossed him a coin, since money sometimes helped people forget what they didn’t like about someone else, and he gave her a brilliant smile.

“Never been touched by a mystic, either,” he said hopefully. She gave him a closer inspection. He looked like he might be ten years old, the curious type who found adventure or trouble wherever he went.

“Eric,” Degarde said in a disapproving voice, but Senneth laughed. Her body was still burning up, but she thought she was cool enough now that she wouldn’t leave a permanent mark if she touched the boy. So she leaned from the saddle and pressed her hand against his smooth cheek. He gasped but held perfectly still, his face a study in delight, fear, and wonder. When she pulled back, the red imprint of her palm was clearly visible on his skin.

“Now you have,” she said. “May you remember the experience a long time.” And she kicked the horse forward and picked her way down the hill, back to the Cordwain house.

Two hours later, a party of six set out on the winding eastern road that would take them over the Lireth Mountains. At first, conversation was wholly about the fire and Senneth’s miraculous ability to control it, but since she contributed nothing but a smile to that particular topic, eventually her fellow travelers turned their attention to other subjects. Senneth still didn’t talk much, but spent the first few hours of the journey forming her opinions of the men Albert had recruited to accompany him on his visit to the Lirrens.

On the whole, she liked them, and she was impressed at how quickly Albert had been able to round up suitable male relatives to enhance his stature with the Lirren traders. One was an uncle, a gaunt, severe man with a watchful face and a quiet way of speaking; Senneth thought he was just the sort who would impress the Lirrenfolk. One was a brother who appeared as genial as Albert, if not quite as prosperous.

Two were nephews born to Albert’s sisters. Seever and Curtis were both in their early twenties, friendly, boisterous, and energetic. They reminded Senneth of half-grown puppies whose feet were still a little too big for their bodies. Still, they could both fight, which she learned over lunch when she invited them to engage in battle against her.

“You can call up fire from your fingertips
and
you can wield a sword?” Curtis demanded. “How many skills can one woman have?”

“Apparently, as many as she likes,” Senneth replied with a grin. “So, yes, I can wield a sword. Now I want to know if you can.”

He looked at Albert, who merely nodded. Albert hadn’t seen her fence, of course, but clearly he had come to the conclusion that she could do almost anything. “Very well,” Curtis said. “But I don’t want to hurt you.”

It was obvious pretty quickly that he wouldn’t be able to, even though he rapidly abandoned the notion that he had to hold his strength in check. They struck and parried for a good ten minutes before Senneth signaled the fight over.

“Not bad,” she said. “You’ve obviously practiced.”

“So have you!” he exclaimed. “Where did a woman learn to fight like that?”

She laughed. “Everywhere I had to.” She motioned at Seever. “Let’s see what you can do.”

Seever wasn’t as strong as Curtis, but he was faster and a little more disciplined. She was quite pleased with both of them when she called a halt to the exercise. “I think the Lirrenfolk will like you,” she said.

“Will they really want to fight with us?” Curtis asked.

“Most Lirren fighters are fairly skilled,” she said. “There’s a lot more day-to-day violence than you’re likely to see here in Gillengaria, so they have to know how to handle themselves. But fighting is also a sport with them, and they’re proud of their abilities. They’ll give you a real challenge—so do your best. They’ll respect you for your effort, even if you don’t beat them.”

They were halfway up the mountains by nightfall and made a sketchy camp. “Don’t bother with a fire,” Senneth said, and used magic to keep them all warm through the night. They were up with the dawn and soon picking their way across the peak. By midday they were halfway down the mountain and within hailing distance of a small party climbing up to meet them.

The two groups came to a halt on a sort of natural terrace, rocky and littered with snow, but relatively level and wide enough to hold them all. There were eight in the Lirren party, including one woman, and Senneth could see on all their faces approval of Albert’s entourage.

She hung back to let the men discuss business. She would mediate if anyone wanted her opinion, but she had already given Albert all the advice she could think of, and she didn’t have any skills particularly helpful at a negotiating table. So she watched the older men of both groups hunker down to parlay, while the three Lirren boys and Albert’s nephews began circling each other and commenting on weaponry. Soon enough, she knew, a friendly scuffle would ensue. At least she hoped it would be friendly.

She approached the Lirren woman, who had picked a spot to begin laying out pans and utensils. She might have been brought along for her sound business insights and good judgment of people, but she was obviously planning to contribute to the success of the expedition by cooking the meals as well.

“I’ll help, if you like,” Senneth offered. “I know a little about Lirren spices.”

The woman looked up from where she was kneeling on the hard ground. Like most Lirrenfolk, she had fine features and a closed, composed expression. These were not people moved to easy smiling. Her hair was a well-brushed brown, just now pulled back in a neat braid. Through the woven plaits, Senneth could make out occasional streaks of lighter blond, dyed into the hair in the pattern of this woman’s clan.

“Indeed, I have seen you at gatherings before this,” the woman replied.

That sharpened Senneth’s interest. She seated herself across from the woman and studied her face more closely. Yes—a little familiar—Senneth might have met her once at a wedding or feast day. “I have kin among the clans, but I don’t believe you are among them,” Senneth said. “I was adopted into the Persal family.”

“I am Derling,” the woman replied.

Senneth had to think a moment, but she was pretty sure the Derlings claimed only friendship with the Persals, not blood ties. “A good family,” she said. “My name is Senneth.”

“Mine is Rinnae.”

“Did we meet during the time I lived on this side of the mountains?”

“There was a feast in my sister’s homestead that you attended with the Persal family,” Rinnae replied. “You helped in the kitchen. There had been rain for days, and yet you made the wet wood burn so that we could bake salt bread and broil the meat.”

“I remember that feast,” Senneth said. The kitchen had been crowded and cheerful, the older women working tirelessly, the younger ones gathered in the corners to whisper about boys and complain about their mothers. “Even with my help, the wood didn’t want to burn! I remember the room being very smoky.”

“And yet the meal was delicious,” Rinnae said.

Senneth nodded. “As are all meals prepared by loving hands.”

Rinnae handed Senneth a small knife and bag of root vegetables. “You might peel and chop those,” she said.

It looked like Rinnae planned to simmer a big pot of soup over a small fire, not a meal that was quick to make. Apparently, she expected the negotiations to go on for some time. Senneth pulled out the first lumpy tuber and began methodically to pare it. “I hope everyone in your family is well,” she said.

It was a traditional invitation to conversation, and Rinnae obliged, detailing her daughter’s upcoming wedding and the antics of her young grandson. “And your family?” she asked in return.

“The last time I heard from Ammet, the Persals were thriving,” Senneth said. “I would be happy to hear it if you have any current news.”

Rinnae gave her a sharp look from dark eyes. “Do you not have family in Gillengaria?” she asked. “Are all of
them
well?”

The question caught Senneth off guard. It was rare that the Lirrenfolk acknowledged that anyone outside of the clans even existed. “I have not been blessed in my blood family, as you have been,” she returned lightly.

Rinnae glanced expressively at Albert and his relatives, now squatting on the ground around some crudely drawn map and arguing in a friendly way with Rinnae’s menfolk. “Did no one on the other side of the mountains adopt you as the Persals did? Are you not kin with the men you accompanied here today?”

“They are friends,” Senneth said. And not even close friends, by any sort of reckoning. If Rinnae realized that Senneth had known them barely a week, she would be astonished at how much effort Senneth had put into their well-being.

Even without that piece of knowledge, it was clear that Rinnae disapproved. “Do you have no one, then, that you would call on as kin, whether born to you or bound to you by ties of deep affection?”

“I am
bahta lo
,” Senneth said. It was a Lirren phrase meaning “above the clans” and usually applied to a handful of restless, solitary women who declared themselves free of family interference. They generally passed their lives as itinerant healers or peacemakers.

“Even a woman who is
bahta lo
occasionally finds a hearth where she can rest,” Rinnae said. “Even a woman who is
bahta lo
sometimes needs the arms of the clan about her.”

It made Senneth feel peculiar to receive such an admonition from a Lirren matron—a stranger, yes, but part of a tradition that Senneth had learned to respect deeply. She felt chastised, vaguely depressed, clearly in the wrong. So she might have reacted if King Baryn himself chided her for misconduct. “I can claim a few souls who love me,” she protested. “I am not entirely friendless.”

“It is not right for anyone to be alone,” Rinnae said sternly.

“I like it,” Senneth said.

Rinnae gave her one long, close inspection before she said, “No. You do not.”

There didn’t seem to be any answer to that, so Senneth didn’t attempt to make one. She and Rinnae worked in near-silence for the next hour, stirring the soup and mixing a loaf of bread. Oddly enough, despite the previous conversation, the silence was companionable, and Senneth felt a sense of deep satisfaction once the meal was ready to serve.

Everyone ate heartily, and, following the lead of the Lirren men, who praised the cooks lavishly, Albert and his relatives thanked Rinnae and Senneth profusely for their efforts. After the meal, the young men engaged in a series of wrestling matches and impromptu duels. Seever and Curtis managed to win about one out of every four contests, which seemed to please everyone, and in between bouts they paused to argue about technique. The older men seemed to ignore the younger ones, but Senneth saw that the Lirren elders always registered when their boys were victorious, and Albert wore a small smile whenever Curtis and Seever triumphed.

It was near dusk, and the wistful colors of a winter sunset were threading their way through the mountains, when Senneth heard the Lirren leader pronounce, “We are agreed, then.”

“We are agreed,” Albert replied.

“We will return here in ten days,” the Lirren man said.

“We will be waiting.”

Almost faster than seemed possible, the Lirrenfolk packed up and broke camp. Rinnae gave Senneth a meaningful look as she nodded farewell, but there were no spoken good-byes as the Lirrenfolk mounted their horses and began weaving their way down the mountain. The Gillengaria men stared after them, a little bemused, as the others disappeared into the deepening dark.

“I wouldn’t want to travel at night through this terrain,” Albert’s brother observed.

“There are some Lirrenfolk who can actually see in the dark,” Senneth said. “They worship the goddess of night and they feel her protection most keenly once the sun has gone down. Don’t be concerned about them.”

“Well,
we’ll
camp here tonight,” Albert said briskly, already turning back toward the fire.