Springwar (26 page)

The one who’d been inspecting him rocked back on his heels, to peer at him intently over a swath of unkempt beard. There was something odd about his eyes, too, and the general set of his features. It took Eddyn a moment to puzzle out that the eyes were brown—or very dark, in any event—and that the face rather resembled an Ixtian merchant he’d seen on trial back in the autumn, on Sundering Day.

“Who are you?” he blurted. “What’re you doing in … my house?”

The nearer—the man—shot him a glare, but backed away to stand by his … sisters, Eddyn supposed. Twins, by the look of them—or triplets, which was odd, since Ixtians rarely even had twins. And they wore Eronese clothing—of a sort. Cold weather gear, too.

One of the women hunkered down beside him, concern hiding among more aggressive emotions in her face. “We’re seeking shelter,” she said, in accented Eronese. “Same as you. If this is your place—well, forgive us if we say so, but you don’t act like the owner.”

“My clan,” Eddyn replied, wishing at once he hadn’t. In spite of the fact that these folk were a good third smaller than him, they were three to his one, and he was worn out. And something about their bearing said “soldiers.” Soldiers of fortune, he guessed. There was a story here, which he’d as soon they began telling, seeing how he was nominal lord of this manor, and—

“Are you sick?” the nearer woman demanded.

“No, but I’ve—you could say I’ve had an accident.”

“What kind?”

Eddyn thought fast. “I was captured by thieves and held for ransom,” he reeled off recklessly. “I only
just
escaped.”

“Where are these thieves?” the man snapped, motioning to his sister to check the doors and windows.

“Attacked by … birkits,” Eddyn improvised. “I was asleep, and—”

“You’re lying,” the nearer woman said flatly. “But that’s no surprise, given that you seem to be squatting here. There’ll be plenty of time to get your true story.”

Eddyn glared at her. “If you think you’re staying here—”

Metal gleamed. A dagger. “You plan to fight three of us? Big men like you are usually clumsy. And slow.”

Eddyn resisted the urge to add, “And easy to underestimate,” but held his peace instead. The woman was pretty in an exotic way. And, in spite of her gruff tones, not entirely unsympathetic. He needed no enemies now.

“I’m … Dyn,” he volunteered, finally daring to sit up.

“Elv,” the nearer woman supplied, motioning to herself. “Toz.” The man. “Ole.” Her sister.

“You’re also from Ixti,” Eddyn ventured. “I hope for all our sakes you’re not spies.”

“Refugees,” Elv corrected.

“From what?”

“After we eat,” Ole broke in. “Toz, go check the horses. I’ll see if any food survived the fire.”

“Fire,” Eddyn echoed. “I didn’t expect it.”

Toz raised a brow, as he strode toward the door. “So you were waylaid by thieves, who just happened to be killed by birkits within staggering distance of your home hold?”

“Not my home,” Eddyn corrected. “My clan owns it. It owns a lot. I owe you no more explanation when I’ve had none from you.”

“After dinner,” Elv reiterated. “I hope your new lies are better than your old ones,” she added with a wicked smirk Eddyn couldn’t help but find … enticing.

Tozri saw to the horses—bedding them down in proper stalls for the first time since leaving War-Hold. He fed them, too, with proper oats and hay, of which there was plenty. Meanwhile, Olrix did indeed find the makings of a meal: flour and a nice cache of salted ham and smoked fish. Wonder of wonders, there was also butter—and a completely untouched cellar full of wine, beer, and ale of a quality she knew, from her time at War-Hold, meant that this hold belonged to no poor clan. The map had attributed it to Argen, which was Merryn’s clan. This fellow had claimed it was his. She wondered if they knew each other.

“Should we ask?” she queried her sister when the two found themselves alone together.

Elvix shook her head. “He’s got a mystery to him you could cut and serve for breakfast, but I don’t think we need to push him. Frankly, this doesn’t look a bad place to wait out the winter. We’ve still got a lot to learn about Eron, and if we’re sharp, we can get this fellow to tell us everything we want to know without him even knowing it.”

“You clever wench,” Olrix snorted.

“He’s also easy to look at,” Elvix grinned. “And I’ve never seen a man so tall this close.”

Another, louder, snort. “Don’t do it, sister. Kraxxi got an eye for Merryn and look where he wound up.”

Elvix rounded on her. “You think I don’t know? If it weren’t for him, we’d be safely back at War-Hold getting fed regularly, and sleeping warm at night.”

“We could also have gone south—if not for clever Merryn.”

“Not Merryn,” Tozri corrected from the outside door, by which he’d just entered. “That gods-damned snowstorm that came up before we could catch up with her. No way we could’ve chased her down after that.”

“Greatest good for the greatest number,” Olrix spat. “Yes, I know.”

“There was still the hold.”

“And questions every moment. Being watched every moment. We came to Eron to be free. That’s what we’re doing.”

Olrix slammed a mug down so hard the handle broke off in her hand. “I’m hearing nothing I haven’t heard before, and I’m sick of it. I say we go start dinner and then we’ll talk. One of us will. The rest had better do some very good listening.”

“I’ll watch our … host,” Elvix chuckled. “That shouldn’t be hard to do at all.”

Olrix’s only reply was to roll her eyes.

A hand later, Eddyn had gone from lying semiconscious by the fire to slumping groggily in the remains of a low padded chair. He’d also gone from being cold to being nicely warm, courtesy of Toz’s attentions to the fire, and he’d swapped the hopeless gnawing in his stomach for one born of eager anticipation, based on the odors issuing from the stew Ole was making.

Elv was simply watching him, in the guise of polishing her sword. Eddyn stared at it sharply. Swords were both a Smithcraft monopoly and a major Eronese export. He
wondered who had made that blade. He thought of asking, but they were still playing the wary game—with good reason. He had secrets. Clearly these people did, too. But now, in spite of their superior numbers, he had control on his side.

Soon enough Ole was dipping out bowlfuls of a savory fish stew, heavily laced with butter. And soon enough after that, Eddyn was finishing his third bowl, feeling as content as he had since—

He couldn’t recall when, actually. Certainly he’d not felt as in control of his life since his precipitous departure from Gem-Hold.

Toz yawned and refilled his mug. “Looks like we’re all companions of the storm now,” he mused, motioning toward the shuttered window, beyond which snow was beginning to fall, in flakes large enough to impress even Eddyn.

“Good time for your story, then,” Eddyn prompted, as he sopped his bowl with a hunk of way bread.

“Our mother was Eronese,” Ole began, as Elv shifted closer, both to Eddyn and to the fire. “You can see that in our faces when you look, and in the fact that—”

“You’re triplets,” Eddyn supplied. “Ixtians don’t have twins, never mind triples.”

Ole glared at him. “Our story, if you would hear it. We don’t have to tell you anything. We could kill you and destroy the remains and no one would be wiser.”

Eddyn glared back, but refrained from further comment. “Go on,” he said coldly.

“Briefly, then. Our mother was Eronese, and died when we were small, but before she did, she told us stories about our land. She—”

“Sorry,” Eddyn inserted. “What clan?”

“She was a healer,” Toz supplied. “I don’t know who rules them.”

“No one, much,” Eddyn gave back. “They were decimated more than any except Weavers by the plague. Most who practice that art today are not of that blood, if you understand how such things work here.”

Elv scowled. “I understood our mother’s sept was extinct. That’s why she fled to Ixti. To escape the memories.”

Eddyn wasn’t sure whether to believe her, but it made a certain sort of sense. Such things had certainly happened before.

“In any event,” Ole went on, “we were due leave from the army and decided to see the north, so we hired on as guards for the last caravan out. Unfortunately, it was late leaving for reasons that would upset our digestion were we to relate them—and the upshot was that we hit the first snow earlier than expected.”

“It
was
early this year, was it not?” Toz inquired a little too innocently.

Eddyn nodded mutely. “It was in the north. Can’t speak for the south.”

“In any event, a blizzard caught us in the Flat, and we weren’t prepared for it. Many died. Finally a number of us guards decided we’d try to redeem the situation. Most stayed with the caravan, but we three chose to go north seeking help. We found nothing—”

“You should’ve found War-Hold,” Eddyn noted.

“We weren’t equipped to dare the mountains,” Toz retorted. “In any event, we turned back—and found everyone dead.”

“Why didn’t you go back to Ixti?”

“Because we had failed at our duty, and didn’t want to face the disgrace,” Ole told him smartly. “We had few kin there, in any case.”

“And wanderlust,” Toz chimed in.

“So then you
did
stop at War-Hold?”

“Eventually. Their hospitality was reasonable, but … they suspected us of spying, which we didn’t like. We stayed as long as we could tolerate, and then … moved on.”

“I’m surprised they let you go.”

Ole grinned wickedly. “They … didn’t. We went out with a hunting party one day and simply didn’t come back. They didn’t seek us.”

“I’m sure,” Eddyn replied skeptically.

Ole shook her head. “Believe what you will. We kept moving north, looking for the road, but the weather was bad. Finally we decided we’d missed it.”

“So you went to Half Gorge?”

“Again, no. We started that way, but one horse died, and then Ole twisted her ankle and couldn’t travel, so we had to find what shelter we could. We saw a ruined tower and stayed there awhile.”

“And by the time we were able to travel again, we’d decided to push on for South Gorge, since our mother claimed to have come from there.”

“The rest you see.”

“Storms,” Toz inserted. “Snow. Getting lost. Hunger. Hunting that put us farther off the trail.”

Eddyn nodded once, but by the time Elv had refilled his mug, this time with tart, mulled cider, he’d forgotten to ask his next question.

“And how about you?” Elv inquired. “You know the framework of our tale; the rest you can fill in as may be. How came you here? I thought your kind hid out during this sort of weather.”

Eddyn stared at his goblet, wondering if the truth or a lie was better. He settled on possibility.

“You mean when I was robbed?”

“Whatever.”

“I was … unclanned,” he said at last. Which was almost true.

Toz’s eyes narrowed. “Unclanned. That means …”

“That I’m denied any of the rights afforded those of my clan—the right to their comfort, their company, use of their facilities—including this one, except that no one knows I’m using it.”

“And this happened … when?”

“Recently. I’d really rather not discuss it with strangers.”

Ole puffed her cheeks. “As I remember, there are very few things that get you unclanned, one of which is destruction of a masterwork.”

Eddyn felt his breath catch, but hoped no one noticed. “That’s one. Crime against the clan, basically.”

“Was that your crime?”

“I
don’t
want to talk about it!” he flared. “Even if I did, there’s no way you could prove the truth of what I say, and
you’d only believe what you want to, anyway. I will tell you this, however. I don’t consider myself an evil person.”

“Well,” Elv sighed from the floor, where she was already curling up for the night, “I guess we’ll have time to find out, won’t we?”

“How long until spring?” Ole yawned.

“Long enough, and too long,” Toz concluded. “Long enough to winnow truth from any number of lies.” And with that, he, too, stretched himself upon the floor.

Tired as he was, Eddyn couldn’t sleep. He watched the triplets until the fire burned low and wondered if he should leave the hold that very night—there were certainly supplies available—or if he had found himself a new set of friends. He didn’t know which notion was more frightening.

K
ylin felt the tether tense toward the right, and shifted his weight accordingly, following that as much as Rann’s tersely breathless directions, or the sound of his companion’s skis, as Rann skimmed across the snow ahead of him. Air whipped his face, but not wind, for it was still, here among the evergreens. A blessing, that; it had been growing steadily colder since they’d set out at dusk. Too, the near silence allowed him to take better stock of their party—Rann in the lead, proceeding alternately by dead reckoning and a map they’d found at the first way station, that showed a now-disused road between it and the private hold that was their goal; and Strynn behind, continuing, as far as Kylin could tell, solely from strength of will. There was moonlight now, Rann said—two of the three had risen full at midnight—but that scarcely mattered to Kylin, save to increase Rann’s confidence as he led their little party through the forest southeast of Gem-Hold-Winter.