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Authors: Laura Anne Gilman
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who before would not have dared attack the region’s sole safe-harbor. . . .
Kaïnam had abandoned his family, his honor, his future, to find their enemy and set things right again. He had given up everything; he would not allow anything to happen to the one man he thought could accomplish that goal.
Not that Jerzy was showing any weakness now. The Vineart had recovered quickly, what little color touched his skin returning, although his breathing was still too slow and labored. Jerzy had insisted that they be on their way almost immediately, refusing all hospitality with the excuse that Ao would be waiting for them. Kaïnam thought it had more to do with getting away from the site of his collapse.
If so, it was a matter of pride and magic, and not for Kaïnam to inquire about. Once they were back to the wagon, the volunteer guard sent back to his home, Jerzy seemed to have put the entire matter behind him, his mood lightening as they moved further inland, the land rising into low, rolling hills.
Kaïnam noted that the others had picked up his mood: Mahault rode up alongside the wagon, on the other side from Kaïnam, and tucked a sprig of tiny yellow flowers into Ao’s straight black hair. The trader, rather than scowling, secured it better behind his ear and preened, making Mahl and Jerzy laugh. Despite his unease, Kaïnam smiled as well. They had been somber for too long, and would be so again—for now, this moment, laughter was good.
Distracted by his own thoughts, the sound of someone coming up behind them on the road was subtle enough that at first Kaïnam dismissed it as unimportant; they were not hoofbeats, not the heavier-shod tramp of Berengian soldiers, or the wagon creak of a caravan, merely one person, on foot.
One person, and one beast, coming fast.
“Greetings again,” a voice called, just as the others took notice of the noise.
A stranger, but not unknown. He started to turn his horse to face the solitaire, then waited until Mahault turned and rode up beside him, letting her address the other woman. Solitaires were hardly man-haters; they chose the life of the road over one of Householding, but that was a legal matter, not a personal one. Still, she had nearly acknowledged Mahl as a peer, and so Mahl should be the one to respond.
Life in his father’s court had taught him that a show of respect could solve more problems than a fleet of ships at your back. . . . Although he would have been happy with the fleet as well.
“If I may join you on your way?” The woman’s tone was diffident, but her body language said she had no expectation of being refused.
“If your way and ours travel together,” Mahault replied, and Kaïnam picked up both the rhythm of ritual in the words and the slight hesitation as Mahl spoke them, as though she was not certain of the phrasing—or how they might be received. The solitaire nodded once, and made a subtle gesture with her hand, down at her thigh. The hound, Codi, released from whatever bonds held it, loped on ahead.
A sentry. Or a hunter, to flush out anyone—or any thing—waitingahead. For the first time, Kaïnam wondered at the hound’s intelligence. Solitaires bred them selectively and kept the pups for themselves; he had never encountered one before, save at a distance. They looked ordinary enough . . . but then, so did Jerzy. Appearances deceived.
The Vineart had pulled himself out of his slump-seated position when the solitaire rode up and was listening intently as the two women spoke.
“I was on my way to Lord Ranulf’s encampment when I paused in the village,” the solitaire was saying. “He has taken on a full dozen of my sisters to supplement his forces and to use as messengers along the borders of his lands. Now that the illness has passed and there is no risk to my leaving, I plan to join them.”
Mahault looked to Jerzy. The Vineart nodded. “He trains his fighters at Roget’s Stamp, just north and east of here. If that is where you
Kaïnam had abandoned his family, his honor, his future, to find their enemy and set things right again. He had given up everything; he would not allow anything to happen to the one man he thought could accomplish that goal.
Not that Jerzy was showing any weakness now. The Vineart had recovered quickly, what little color touched his skin returning, although his breathing was still too slow and labored. Jerzy had insisted that they be on their way almost immediately, refusing all hospitality with the excuse that Ao would be waiting for them. Kaïnam thought it had more to do with getting away from the site of his collapse.
If so, it was a matter of pride and magic, and not for Kaïnam to inquire about. Once they were back to the wagon, the volunteer guard sent back to his home, Jerzy seemed to have put the entire matter behind him, his mood lightening as they moved further inland, the land rising into low, rolling hills.
Kaïnam noted that the others had picked up his mood: Mahault rode up alongside the wagon, on the other side from Kaïnam, and tucked a sprig of tiny yellow flowers into Ao’s straight black hair. The trader, rather than scowling, secured it better behind his ear and preened, making Mahl and Jerzy laugh. Despite his unease, Kaïnam smiled as well. They had been somber for too long, and would be so again—for now, this moment, laughter was good.
Distracted by his own thoughts, the sound of someone coming up behind them on the road was subtle enough that at first Kaïnam dismissed it as unimportant; they were not hoofbeats, not the heavier-shod tramp of Berengian soldiers, or the wagon creak of a caravan, merely one person, on foot.
One person, and one beast, coming fast.
“Greetings again,” a voice called, just as the others took notice of the noise.
A stranger, but not unknown. He started to turn his horse to face the solitaire, then waited until Mahault turned and rode up beside him, letting her address the other woman. Solitaires were hardly man-haters; they chose the life of the road over one of Householding, but that was a legal matter, not a personal one. Still, she had nearly acknowledged Mahl as a peer, and so Mahl should be the one to respond.
Life in his father’s court had taught him that a show of respect could solve more problems than a fleet of ships at your back. . . . Although he would have been happy with the fleet as well.
“If I may join you on your way?” The woman’s tone was diffident, but her body language said she had no expectation of being refused.
“If your way and ours travel together,” Mahault replied, and Kaïnam picked up both the rhythm of ritual in the words and the slight hesitation as Mahl spoke them, as though she was not certain of the phrasing—or how they might be received. The solitaire nodded once, and made a subtle gesture with her hand, down at her thigh. The hound, Codi, released from whatever bonds held it, loped on ahead.
A sentry. Or a hunter, to flush out anyone—or any thing—waitingahead. For the first time, Kaïnam wondered at the hound’s intelligence. Solitaires bred them selectively and kept the pups for themselves; he had never encountered one before, save at a distance. They looked ordinary enough . . . but then, so did Jerzy. Appearances deceived.
The Vineart had pulled himself out of his slump-seated position when the solitaire rode up and was listening intently as the two women spoke.
“I was on my way to Lord Ranulf’s encampment when I paused in the village,” the solitaire was saying. “He has taken on a full dozen of my sisters to supplement his forces and to use as messengers along the borders of his lands. Now that the illness has passed and there is no risk to my leaving, I plan to join them.”
Mahault looked to Jerzy. The Vineart nodded. “He trains his fighters at Roget’s Stamp, just north and east of here. If that is where you
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