Гарри Тертлдав - The Enchanter Completed

Sunlight slanted through leaded glass to make Aedra Niande’s braids golden and limn her slenderness against brown wainscoting. The sleeves of a slightly threadbare gown slipped back when she raised her hands as if in defense. “What are you thinking?” she cried.

“Or are you?” muttered her father.

He had kept his chair when his daughter sprang up. Ferain had not yet seated himself. Eyes blue like hers, but in a sagging graybeard countenance. Shifted from one young person to the next and settled into a glower at the visitor. They saw rugged features, black hair shorter than was fashionable, a powerful frame well clad in kidskin doublet, silk blouse, tooled leather belt, and linen breeks tucked into substantial half-boots.

“Just what I said,” Ferain answered. “You know I’m a forthright man.”

Aedra clasped her hands together. “Nay,” she whispered. “I beg of the gods—you’ve not gone mad? Surely you jest?”

“Dead serious I am.” Ferain hesitated. “But, uh, mayhap I could’ve put it more softly. I lack your gift of fine words.”

“As well that you do,” snapped Recor Niande. “Always you rush forward like a wild boar. Now do you see how right about him I’ve been, daughter?”

“I—I—” Aedra caught her breath. “Nay, father. He’s kind, is Ferain, and courteous to me, and—and it must take care and forethought to steer among reefs and trade with foreigners.”

“Trade!” snorted Recor.

Ferain glanced around the big, sparsely furnished room. He glimpsed dust here and there. But despite the situation, Recor had stood against his courtship from the first. What, a child of Landholder Foxgrove to wed a common seaman, an agent of merchants? The fact that the Dynasts’ War and its aftermath had ruined him as they did many others in Caronne, until little remained but his town house and a shrunken staff of underpaid slovens, while Captain Grancy had grown modestly prosperous, counted for naught. It was lucky that modern law gave women free choice of marriage.

Aedra rallied. “An honorable man, a strong arm to uphold us,” she said. “Did not Rovald of old rise from lowlier origins to save the kingdom and win the crown?”

There she went again, Ferain sighed to himself: calling on legends, poems, stuff out of books, and what she believed was mystical insight; dreaming of antiquity and unearthly beauties.

Nay, that did her injustice. She had enough strength and wit to manage the household—better than her father could—and, however reluctantly, resist him for the sake of her love. Else Ferain’s yearning would have been no more than a transient lust.

He cleared his throat. “Um, I claim naught so grandiose. I simply feel we two can gain a richer, happier life in the New Lands.” To Recor: “Erelong we’d have wealth to spare, sending monies hither to build House Foxgrove anew.” His pledge to give as much aid as he was able had helped win Aedra’s affection.

The squire was unmoved. “From wilderness and wild men?”

Ferain suppressed an oath and mustered patience. “Sir, you know it’s no longer thus on the seaboard. Colonies flourish.” He launched the speech he had been preparing. “My ship’ll ply between them, bearing furs of Ouranique, smokeweed and pure-bred livestock of Dordonia, cotton and cane sugar of Baray, or whatever, from town to town or to Port Roncitar for transshipment overseas. Such vessels are fewer than are wanted yonder. I’ll gain high profit.Illanda ‘s owners agree.”

Recor reddened. “My daughter crammed into a, a cubicle in a reeling, stinking hull, the one woman amidst a gang of ruffians, to perish miserably when it sinks—” He choked.

“Sir, my sailors may be rough, but they’re trustworthy. Over the years I’ve winnowed out any who were not. True, the passage may prove stiff. But I wager not my life—” Ferain smiled an Aedra—“for never would I risk yours, beloved. I’ve made the crossing more than once, remember. We’ll fare unscathed, save for possible seasickness. Soon afterward you’ll dwell in a goodly home, a lady of more standing than ever you could hope for here.”

“You presume!” said Recor.

Oh, gods of mischief, Ferain groaned inwardly, his tongue had blundered anew. “No offense, sir. I speak not of noble birth but of, uh, what may be attained.”

“You already have your demmed coastwise trade. Why’ll you forsake it?”

“Sir, on the east side of the Ocean the merchant mariners crowd each other and bid down their wares. Also, the Tauran League’s stranglehold on the markets of Croy, its tarrifs and duties—”

“The tradesman speaks. Albeit no tradesman who knew his place would be this foolish.” Recor addressed Aedra. “Think, girl. Supposing all went as well as his cracked pot bubbles of, still, you’d be afar, in a jumble of folk from everywhere and every station in life, an uncouth country without temples, scholaria, traditions, magical lore, any of the graces you treasure.”

“Not so!” protested Ferain. “They have their learning and, and they print books, and the towns are cleaner and merrier than Seilles these days, I can tell you. Freedom’s in the very air. I’ll show you my cousin Lona Tarabine’s letters.”

Aedra had regained balance. “You’ve indeed given thought to this,” she breathed.

He nodded vigorously. “For years. Most thoroughly since I met you.”

She shivered. “And yet—away from what’s old and dear—my greenwood—”

“Oh, erelong we can afford to build a house a ways inland, if you like. No dearth of forest!”

“But my little friends, the shining flower dancers—” Her voice trailed off. Tears trembled on her lashes.

Bitterness surged. “Are they so much to you?’

She winced. “I know not. This is too sudden. I’m bewildered. I must take counsel.”

“Aye, do,” said Recor. “We’ll talk at length, you and I. You may go, Captain Grancy.”

“Nay,” stammered Aedra, “I mean I—must take counsel—with my heart. And with the spirit of the greenwood.”

Oh, nay, thought Ferain. He’d known she sometimes went off woolgathering. But in earnest?

Aedra straightened. Resolution crystallized. Aye, thought Ferain, thus she was. Let her read her ancient books, sing her ancient songs, dream her daydreams, consort with silly Halfworlders and play with harmless minor magics. Who’s perfect? She remained lovely, warm-blooded, clear-headed about mortal matters and as strong at the core as any husband could wish for.

“At once,” she said, “lest I weep and grow afraid.”

“The hour’s too late,” Recor demurred. “Darkness would overtake you.”

She nodded, more calm by the minute. “As it should. The spirit I’d invoke would never come forth by day. The moon’s close to full.” Reverently: “Have the gods given us that?”

“Wh-where’d you go?” stumbled Ferain’s own immediate fear.

“To the Well of Ardair in Samyr Wood. I’ve been there a few times, merely to muse. But it’s known to be charmed. Likelier will I get a sign beside its moonlit clarity than under the roof of a temple.” Aedra came back to earth. “The journey’s as safe by night as by day. Father can affirm how the Duke’s rangers keep rogues at their distance. A preserve of his, after all.”

Recor understood when he must give ground before her. “Very well, if you insist,” he grumbled. “I’ll summon Paer to escort you.”

Temper flared. She stamped her foot. “Never! Nor any other lout. I’m bound for Faerie and holiness.”

Ferain’s pulse quickened. “I’ll go,” he said.

It took her aback. “What? But I meant—”

His will stiffened. “I agree with your father. You’ll not travel alone after dark.”

“I’ve done it before.”