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opposite Kivakali, and I, wishing I’d had an opportunity to wash, joined her. We made an odd foursome, Talivane and Kivakali in their finery, Naiji in her dirty hunting garb, and I in my torn and bloodstained traveling dress.
Talivane clapped his hands once. The serving boy hurried over with a tray of porcelain bowls filled with curried lentil soup. I waited a minute for a spoon which did not come, then followed my companions’ example and drank from the bowl. The boy brought two loaves of black bread and a chunk of goat’s cheese. A pitcher of bitter yellow wine followed.
The dinner, though simple, was excellent. The company was not. Naiji chatted of things she had seen in the woods, animals that were out earlier than their wont and plants that grew in formations they had never taken before. Talivane nodded and smiled and acknowledged her every observation without committing himself to an interpretation. Kivakali sat quietly, shoulders slightly slumped, as if to hide herself, only to earn a “Sit as becomes a Gromandiel!” from her husband. She ate little.
“The food’s good,” I said during a moment of silence.
“It’s simple,” said Talivane, “but it pleases me.”
“Can’t get supplies up here, hmm?”
Talivane’s look suggested I would take my meals elsewhere, henceforth. Naiji said, “We sent an expedition east recently. They returned with two wounded guards, no gold, and no goods. They said that bandits fell upon them, but the bandits conducted themselves with military precision. As our people fled, they were cursed for being witches and told to leave the lands of the Kond or die, whichever they preferred.”
“So leave,” I said.
“To go where?” Naiji asked.
“Witchhold,” I offered.
“An interesting myth,” Talivane said. “But I’ve found no evidence that such a city exists anywhere outside of children’s stories. I’d rather try to create Witchhold here than devote my life to seeking a fable.”
I shrugged and returned my attention to my soup, saying, “Never sought, never found.”
Talivane slammed his fist on the table. His wife cringed. He said, “I have obligations, foreigner! Would you have my people wander the world, hated and hounded by all they meet?”
“Did I say they should?”
He stared at me, then said, “If you’re suggesting I’m afraid to set out—”
“I say what I say, Gromandiel. What you infer is not necessarily what I imply.”
He laughed suddenly. “I like you, Rifkin. You’ve got the stupid courage of a good hound.”
“Woof, woof,” I said. Naiji smiled and Kivakali put her hand over her mouth to cover a giggle. When I am charming, I am very charming.
Talivane shook his head. “I’ve sought Witchhold. In person and in print. All I find are references to a land where human and beast are equals.”
Kivakali, musing, whispered, “Go east of dawn and west of night, where high is low and dim is bright, and there the dreams of free folk are, where cold is warm, where near is far.”
With thick sarcasm, Talivane said, “Thank you, my wife.”
Embarrassed, she said, “I heard the song as a child.”
“Which tells me nothing, as that could mean twenty years ago or this afternoon.”
Naiji said, “My heart, you needn’t—”
“I married her,” Talivane said. “Do I not endure her wonderfully well?”
Naiji pursed her lips. Kivakali’s chin was tucked and her small hands, holding a napkin, trembled.
I told Talivane, “I imagine it’s that quality of quiet forbearance that endears you to everyone you meet.”
“Don’t test my patience,” Talivane said. “You’ve seen my power.”
“I’m not your pet, Gromandiel. If you want me to teach your people, fight your foes, or be anything more than your sister’s guard, remember that.”
He shook his head and smiled. “You speak bravely, Rifkin, yet you sold yourself to Naiji in order to live as her dog.”
“She offered a service and told me its price. I
Talivane clapped his hands once. The serving boy hurried over with a tray of porcelain bowls filled with curried lentil soup. I waited a minute for a spoon which did not come, then followed my companions’ example and drank from the bowl. The boy brought two loaves of black bread and a chunk of goat’s cheese. A pitcher of bitter yellow wine followed.
The dinner, though simple, was excellent. The company was not. Naiji chatted of things she had seen in the woods, animals that were out earlier than their wont and plants that grew in formations they had never taken before. Talivane nodded and smiled and acknowledged her every observation without committing himself to an interpretation. Kivakali sat quietly, shoulders slightly slumped, as if to hide herself, only to earn a “Sit as becomes a Gromandiel!” from her husband. She ate little.
“The food’s good,” I said during a moment of silence.
“It’s simple,” said Talivane, “but it pleases me.”
“Can’t get supplies up here, hmm?”
Talivane’s look suggested I would take my meals elsewhere, henceforth. Naiji said, “We sent an expedition east recently. They returned with two wounded guards, no gold, and no goods. They said that bandits fell upon them, but the bandits conducted themselves with military precision. As our people fled, they were cursed for being witches and told to leave the lands of the Kond or die, whichever they preferred.”
“So leave,” I said.
“To go where?” Naiji asked.
“Witchhold,” I offered.
“An interesting myth,” Talivane said. “But I’ve found no evidence that such a city exists anywhere outside of children’s stories. I’d rather try to create Witchhold here than devote my life to seeking a fable.”
I shrugged and returned my attention to my soup, saying, “Never sought, never found.”
Talivane slammed his fist on the table. His wife cringed. He said, “I have obligations, foreigner! Would you have my people wander the world, hated and hounded by all they meet?”
“Did I say they should?”
He stared at me, then said, “If you’re suggesting I’m afraid to set out—”
“I say what I say, Gromandiel. What you infer is not necessarily what I imply.”
He laughed suddenly. “I like you, Rifkin. You’ve got the stupid courage of a good hound.”
“Woof, woof,” I said. Naiji smiled and Kivakali put her hand over her mouth to cover a giggle. When I am charming, I am very charming.
Talivane shook his head. “I’ve sought Witchhold. In person and in print. All I find are references to a land where human and beast are equals.”
Kivakali, musing, whispered, “Go east of dawn and west of night, where high is low and dim is bright, and there the dreams of free folk are, where cold is warm, where near is far.”
With thick sarcasm, Talivane said, “Thank you, my wife.”
Embarrassed, she said, “I heard the song as a child.”
“Which tells me nothing, as that could mean twenty years ago or this afternoon.”
Naiji said, “My heart, you needn’t—”
“I married her,” Talivane said. “Do I not endure her wonderfully well?”
Naiji pursed her lips. Kivakali’s chin was tucked and her small hands, holding a napkin, trembled.
I told Talivane, “I imagine it’s that quality of quiet forbearance that endears you to everyone you meet.”
“Don’t test my patience,” Talivane said. “You’ve seen my power.”
“I’m not your pet, Gromandiel. If you want me to teach your people, fight your foes, or be anything more than your sister’s guard, remember that.”
He shook his head and smiled. “You speak bravely, Rifkin, yet you sold yourself to Naiji in order to live as her dog.”
“She offered a service and told me its price. I
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