Lois Bujold - The Sharing Knife - Beguilement

When she emerged, he escorted her in turn to one of the big downstairs rooms, full of tables with benches or chairs but, at this hour, empty of other people.

In a few minutes, a serving girl came out of the kitchen in back with a tray of ham, cheese, two kinds of bread, cream-and-rhubarb pie, and strawberries, with a pitcher of beer and a jug of milk, fresh, the girl informed them, from the hotel’s own cows kept out back. Fawn mentally added serving girl to her list of potential Glassforge jobs, as well as milkmaid, and set to under Dag’s benign eye. More relaxed than she’d ever seen him, he plowed in heartily, she noted with satisfaction.

They were contesting the last strawberry, each trying to press it on the other, when Dag’s head came up, and he said “Ah.” In a moment, Fawn could hear through the open windows the clatter of horses and echo of voices in the stable yard.

In another minute, the door slammed open and booted footsteps rapped across the floorboards. Mari, trailed by two other patrollers, swept into the dining room, halted by their table, planted her fists on her hips, and glowered at Dag.

“You,” she uttered, and never had Fawn heard one syllable carry so much freight.

Deadpan, Dag topped up his beer glass and handed it to her. Not taking her exasperated eyes from him, she raised it to her lips and gulped down half.

The other two patrollers were grinning broadly.

“Were you trying to give me the fright of my life, boy?” she demanded, plunking the glass back down almost hard enough to crack it.

“No,” Dag drawled, rescuing the glass and filling it again, “I suspect that was just a bonus. Sit down and catch your breath, Aunt Mari.”

“Don’t you Aunt Mari me till I’m done reaming you out,” she said, but much more mildly. One of the patrollers at her shoulder, catching Dag’s eye, pulled out a chair for her, and she sat anyhow. By the time she’d blown out her breath and stretched her back, her posture had grown much less alarming. Except for the underlying exhaustion creeping to the surface; Dag’s brows drew down at that.

He reached across the table and gripped her hand. “Sorry for any false scares.

Saun told me about you finding my messes yesterday. I kind of had my hand full, though.”

“Aye, so I heard.”

“Oh, did you find the Horsefords’ farm, finally?”

“About two hours ago. Now, there was a garbled tale and a half.” She glanced speculatively at Fawn, and her frown at Dag deepened.

Dag said, “Mari, may I present Miss Fawn Bluefield. Spark, this is my patrol leader, Mari Redwing Hickory. Mari’s her personal name, Redwing is our tent name, and the Hickory is for Hickory Lake Camp, which is our patrol’s home base.”

Fawn ducked her head politely. Mari returned an extremely provisional nod.

Gesturing, Dag continued, “Utau and Razi, also of Hickory Camp.” The two other patrollers made friendly salutes of greeting to her not unlike Dag’s. Utau was older, shorter, and burlier, and wore his thinning hair in a knot like Mari’s.

Razi was younger, taller, and gawkier; his hair hung down his back in a single plait almost to his waist, with dark red and green cords woven in.

The older one, Utau, said, “Congratulations on the malice, Dag. The youngsters were all hopping mad that they’d missed their first kill, though. I’d suggested we have you take them all out to the lair and walk them through it, for consolation, and to show them how it’s done.”

Dag shook his head, caught between a low laugh and a wince. “I don’t think that would be all that useful to them, really.”

“So just how much of a foul-up was it?” Mari inquired tartly.

The residue of amusement drained from Dag’s eyes. “Foul enough. The short tale is, Miss Bluefield, here, was kidnapped off the road by the pair I’d trailed from the bandit camp. When I caught up with them all at the lair, I was outmatched by the mud-men, who got a good way into taking me apart. But I noticed that the malice, mud-men, and all, were making the interesting mistake of ignoring Miss Bluefield in the scuffle. So I tossed my sharing knives to her, and she got one into the malice. Took it down. Saved my life. World too, for the usual bonus.”

“She got that close to a malice?” asked Razi, in a voice somewhere between disbelief and amazement. “How?”

For answer, Dag leaned over and, after a glance at her for permission, gently folded back the collar of her dress. His finger traced over numb spots of flesh around her neck that Fawn realized belatedly must be the bruises from the malice’s great hands, and she shuddered involuntarily despite the summer warmth of the room. “Closer than that, Razi.”

The two patrollers’ lips parted. Mari leaned back in her chair, her hand going to her mouth. Fawn had not seen a mirror for days. Whatever did the marks look like?

“The malice misjudged her,” Dag continued. “I trust you all will not. But if you want to repeat those congratulations to the right person, Utau, feel free.”

Under Dag’s cool eye, Utau unscrewed his face and slowly brought his hand to his temple. After groping a moment for his voice, he managed, “Miss Bluefield.”

“Aye,” Razi seconded, after a stunned moment.

“Wildly demonstrative bunch, you know, we patrollers,” Dag murmured in Fawn’s ear, his dry amusement flickering again.

“I can see that,” she murmured back, making his lip twitch.

Mari rubbed her forehead. “And the long tale, Dag? Do I even want to hear it?”

The grim look he gave her locked all her attention. “Yes,” he said. “As soon as may be. But in private. Then Miss Bluefield needs to rest.” He turned to Fawn.

“Or do you want to rest up first?”

Fawn shook her head. “Talk first, please.”

Mari braced her hands on her trousered knees and rolled her shoulders. “Ah.

All right.” She peered around, eyes narrowing. “My room?”

“That would do.”

She pushed to her feet. “Utau, you were up all night. You’re now off duty.

Razi, get some food in you, then ride out to Tailor’s Point and let them know Dag’s been found. Or shown up, anyway.” The patrollers nodded and turned away.

Dag murmured to Fawn, “Bring your bedroll.” Mari’s room proved to be on the third floor. Fawn found herself dizzy and shaky by the time she’d climbed the second flight of stairs, and she was grateful for Dag’s supporting hand. Mari led them into a narrower room than Saun’s, with only one bed, though otherwise similar right down to the messy pile of gear and saddlebags at the foot. Dag gestured for Fawn to lay her bedroll across the bed.

Fawn untied the bindings and unrolled it; the contents clinked.

Mari’s brows rose. She picked up Dag’s ruptured hand harness and held it out like the sad carcass of some dead animal. “That took some doing. I see now why you didn’t bother to take your bow along. You still got your arm?”

“Just barely,” said Dag. “I need to get that thing restitched with stronger thread, this time.”

“I’d rethink that idea if I were you. Which do you want to have come apart first, you or it?”

Dag paused a moment, then said, “Ah. You have a point, there. Maybe I’ll get it fixed just the same.”

“Better.” Mari set the harness back down and picked up the makeshift linen bag and let it drift through her hand, feeling the contents shift within. Her expression grew sad, almost remote. “Kauneo’s heart’s knife, wasn’t it?”

Dag nodded shortly.

“I know how long you’ve kept it aside. This fate was worthy.”

Dag shook his head. “They’re all the same, really, I’ve come to believe.” He took a breath and advanced to the bed, motioning Fawn to sit.