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Authors: Patricia A. McKillip
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them in the chilled room, while the half-lit forms of Swan, Boar and Lyon watched her silently. Then, faint through the singing winter winds, she heard a shouting at her gates.
Her white brows knit a little, puzzled. She called Ter, then remembered he had gone, so she took Cyrin out with her, and a fiery torch that set the deep snow ablaze about her. The flakes fell in huge, great wheels of intricate crystal that vanished in the torch flame. A man stood cloaked, hooded at the gates, his horse behind him. She moved the torch to light his face behind the bars and beneath the hood his hair flamed.
She sighed. “Oh.” She unlocked the gates, and he stepped into the yard. “Take your horse to the shed on the side of the house; I will keep the others out.”
“Thank you,” he said, the words blowing white in the wind. His shoulders were cloaked with snow that melted in dark trails down his back as he took the torch from her.
He joined her a few moments later in the house. He nodded courteously to Gules as he passed, and to Moriah, curled like a shadow. Sybel took his sodden cloak, hung it to dry beside the fire, and he stood at the hearth, drinking the flame, shuddering.
“That was a long, cold ride from Sirle. Sybel, your house is chilled. Have you been away?”
“No. I have been... I do not know where I have been, but I do not think I have come back yet.” She sat down again, spread her hands to the fire. “Why have you come? You must know by now that Tam is with Drede.”
“I know,” he said. “I came because you called.”
She stared up at him in amazement. He smiled, his chilled face taking color from the warmth, his lean hands cupping the blaze.
“I did not.”
“I heard you. Sometimes, in silence, at night, I hear the voices of things beyond eyesight, like echoes of ancient songs. I heard your voice, lonely in my dreams—it woke me, so I came. You see, I know how it is when you speak a name into an empty room with no one on earth to answer to it.”
She was silent, her mouth open, wordless. He sat down beside her. Moriah rose leisurely, came to lie at their feet and stare at him out of green, inscrutable eyes. Sybel drew a breath and closed her mouth.
“I have never heard of such a thing. What are you? You are a fool in some ways, and yet you know other things that amaze me.”
He nodded, the smile tugging deeper at his mouth. “The seventh son of Lord Steth of Sirle, my grandfather, had seven sons, and I am his youngest. Perhaps that is why I hear things the trees tell as their leaves whisper at moonrise, or the growing corn tells, or the birds at twilight. I have good ears. I heard the silence of your white walls even in the noisy halls at Sirle.”
She looked away from him to the fire. “I see,” she said softly. I did need someone but I did not know it until now. Are you hungry?”
“Yes. But sit still a while, and when I get warm, I will cook something.”
“Can you cook?”
“Of course. I have been alone many times in lonely places with only the cry of a marsh bird or a hawk to answer me when I talked.”
“You have five brothers. Why would you need to go alone?”
“Oh, they hunt with me. But when I need to travel to some forest or lake spoken of in an old tale, to listen to that secret place—they cannot get excited about such things. Once I went to Mirkon Forest, the great black forest north of Sirle, with trees like black stone, and roots dark and swollen above the earth, and I listened to one single falling leaf and I heard the whisper of Prince Arn’s name as it fell.”
A corner of her mouth went upward in her tired face. “So Maelga used to tell Tam such tales at night, when he was little and troubled.”
“Sybel, Rok mocks me when I tell him such things. And Eorth, who is a great, witless dragon, grins at me and hugs me until my bones crack. But I did not think you would laugh at me.”
Her dark eyes slid, hesitant, curious, to his face. “I am not laughing at you. But it crossed my
Her white brows knit a little, puzzled. She called Ter, then remembered he had gone, so she took Cyrin out with her, and a fiery torch that set the deep snow ablaze about her. The flakes fell in huge, great wheels of intricate crystal that vanished in the torch flame. A man stood cloaked, hooded at the gates, his horse behind him. She moved the torch to light his face behind the bars and beneath the hood his hair flamed.
She sighed. “Oh.” She unlocked the gates, and he stepped into the yard. “Take your horse to the shed on the side of the house; I will keep the others out.”
“Thank you,” he said, the words blowing white in the wind. His shoulders were cloaked with snow that melted in dark trails down his back as he took the torch from her.
He joined her a few moments later in the house. He nodded courteously to Gules as he passed, and to Moriah, curled like a shadow. Sybel took his sodden cloak, hung it to dry beside the fire, and he stood at the hearth, drinking the flame, shuddering.
“That was a long, cold ride from Sirle. Sybel, your house is chilled. Have you been away?”
“No. I have been... I do not know where I have been, but I do not think I have come back yet.” She sat down again, spread her hands to the fire. “Why have you come? You must know by now that Tam is with Drede.”
“I know,” he said. “I came because you called.”
She stared up at him in amazement. He smiled, his chilled face taking color from the warmth, his lean hands cupping the blaze.
“I did not.”
“I heard you. Sometimes, in silence, at night, I hear the voices of things beyond eyesight, like echoes of ancient songs. I heard your voice, lonely in my dreams—it woke me, so I came. You see, I know how it is when you speak a name into an empty room with no one on earth to answer to it.”
She was silent, her mouth open, wordless. He sat down beside her. Moriah rose leisurely, came to lie at their feet and stare at him out of green, inscrutable eyes. Sybel drew a breath and closed her mouth.
“I have never heard of such a thing. What are you? You are a fool in some ways, and yet you know other things that amaze me.”
He nodded, the smile tugging deeper at his mouth. “The seventh son of Lord Steth of Sirle, my grandfather, had seven sons, and I am his youngest. Perhaps that is why I hear things the trees tell as their leaves whisper at moonrise, or the growing corn tells, or the birds at twilight. I have good ears. I heard the silence of your white walls even in the noisy halls at Sirle.”
She looked away from him to the fire. “I see,” she said softly. I did need someone but I did not know it until now. Are you hungry?”
“Yes. But sit still a while, and when I get warm, I will cook something.”
“Can you cook?”
“Of course. I have been alone many times in lonely places with only the cry of a marsh bird or a hawk to answer me when I talked.”
“You have five brothers. Why would you need to go alone?”
“Oh, they hunt with me. But when I need to travel to some forest or lake spoken of in an old tale, to listen to that secret place—they cannot get excited about such things. Once I went to Mirkon Forest, the great black forest north of Sirle, with trees like black stone, and roots dark and swollen above the earth, and I listened to one single falling leaf and I heard the whisper of Prince Arn’s name as it fell.”
A corner of her mouth went upward in her tired face. “So Maelga used to tell Tam such tales at night, when he was little and troubled.”
“Sybel, Rok mocks me when I tell him such things. And Eorth, who is a great, witless dragon, grins at me and hugs me until my bones crack. But I did not think you would laugh at me.”
Her dark eyes slid, hesitant, curious, to his face. “I am not laughing at you. But it crossed my
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