Диана Дуэйн - The Door Into Fire

of fire that grew and bent in the wind of his will: as vividly blue as a little child's eyes, with a hot white core like a newsprung star, but gently warm in his hands—
It went out, and he folded his hands together and strove to thank the Power in him, rather than cursing at it for being so feeble. He looked at Segnbora. 'Can you?'
She smiled at him. 'Watch,' she said, and reached out before her as if to support something that Herewiss could not see, hanging in the air. It came before he was ready for it, sudden, brilliant, so bluely brilliant that it outraged his eyes and left dancing violet afterimages: a lightning flash, a starflower, a little sun, hanging in the air between her hands. For a moment there was an odd blue day in the desert, and everything had two shadows, sharp short black ones laid over long dull streaks of red-purple light and darkness. Then the light went out, and Segnbora let her hands fall. 'As you see,' she said, 'I can't maintain it. Maybe I can find work as a lighthouse beacon.'
Herewiss looked up at Dritt, who still sat on his rock, unconcerned, eating; he had spared them no more than a curious look. 'Do you do this often?' Herewiss said.
'Every now and then, in dark places. They've seen it
before, they think it's an illusion-charm. None of them
but Freelorn would know real wreaking from sorcery if it
walked up and bit them; and Freelorn never says anything
about it … And speak of the Shadow, here he comes.'
They stood up, and Herewiss wobbled for a moment, the world darkening in front of him and then brightening as the dizziness passed. He made a mental note to be careful of the backlash for the next couple of days. Four forms on horseback were approaching slowly, and the horse in the lead had a young desert deer slung over its withers.
Herewiss stood there, his hands on his hips, and watched the figure in the saddle of the lead horse. Their eyes met while the riders were still a ways off, and Herewiss watched the smile spread over Freelorn's face, and felt his own grow to match it. The horse ambled along toward the camp, and Freelorn made no attempt to hurry it. An old memory spoke up in Freelorn's voice. 'I hate long goodbyes,' it said, looking over a cup of wine drained some years before, 'but I love long hellos . . .'
(Are you going to do it now?) Sunspark asked, with interest.
(Do what?)
(Unite.)
(Spark, don't ask questions like that! It's not polite.)
The group drew rein and dismounted, and Herewiss glanced at them only briefly. They all looked about the same as they had when he had last seen them. Lang, a great golden bear of a man, slid down out of his saddle like a sack of meal, grinned and winked at Herewiss, and then went over to hug Segnbora; when the hug broke, the two of them got busy starting a fire in the lee of the boulder. Tall, skinny, cold-eyed Moris with his beaky nose swung down from his horse, nodded to Herewiss and spoke a word of greeting; but his eyes were mostly for big Dritt, still up on the rock, and for him Moris's eyes warmed as he climbed up to sit beside him. Harald, a short round sparse-bearded man, staggered past with the deer over his
shoulder. He waved a hand at Herewiss and hurried past him, puffing.
And then Freelorn eased himself out of the saddle. Herewiss went slowly and calmly to meet his friend—

(So where are the progeny?) said someone in the background.
(Sunspark, what within the walls of the world are you talking about?) Herewiss said, prolonging the hug.
(That wasn't union? I thought you had changed your mind and decided to go ahead. You give off discharges like that just for greeting each other? Isn't that wasteful?)
(Sunspark, later.)
They held each other away, and Freelorn was laughing, and sniffling a little too. 'Goddess Mother of us all, look at you!' he said. 'You're bigger than you were. You cheat, dammit!'
'No, I don't. Lorn, your mustache is longer, you look like a Steldene.'
'That was the idea, for a while. Look at the arms on you! That's what it is. What the Shadow have you been doing?'
'I'm a swordsmith,' Herewiss said. 'I hammer a lot. If you want to look like this, you can, but it'll take you a year or so. That's how long I've been at it. Lorn, you twit, what's the use of trying to look like a Steldene if you're going to wear that around?' He nodded at Freelorn's black surcoat, charged with the Arlene arms, the white Lion passant guardant uplifting its great silver blade.
'Who's gong to see it out here?'
'That's not the point. You were wearing it in Madeil, weren't you?'
'No – my other one got stolen out of my saddlebag. Let me tell you what happened—'
'I can imagine. For such an accomplished thief, you get stolen from awfully easily. How many times have I – oh, never mind, come on, sit down and tell me. Tell me everything. We haven't talked since – Goddess! – since not last Opening Night, but the one before. When you came to the Wood.'
'Yeah.' They sat down by a chair-sized boulder and put their backs on it. Herewiss slid an arm around Freelorn's shoulders. 'Let's see, let's see—' Freelorn chewed his mustache a bit. 'After we left the Wood, we went west a ways – stayed in the empty country north of Darthis until spring came. And then south. We made a big wide detour around Darthis, didn't even cross the Darst until Hiriden or so—'
'That is quite a detour. Any trouble?'
'No. That was the interesting thing, though. One Darthene patrol stopped us and I was sure they knew who I really was. I lied splendidly about everything, though, and they let us go. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?'
Herewiss laughed softly. 'Oddly enough, I would. My father has been exchanging letters with Eftgan recently, and the queen is not happy with Cillmod and the cabal in Arlen. Not at all. She told Hearn in one letter that she considers the real Arlene government to be in exile. Right now she doesn't dare openly support or recognize you; she's so new to the throne, and the Four Hundred are still unsure of her. But because of the Oath of Lion and Eagle she feels obligated to do something for you. Those guards may or may not have known who you were – but if they
did, they had orders to let you pass unhindered. You're safe in Darthen, so long as you don't make yourself so visible that they have no choice but to notice you.'
'What about public opinion?'
'I think that may have influenced her a little. Most of Darthen is in outrage over Cillmod having the gall to break Oath. Especially the country around Hadremark, where a lot of people went homeless after the burning, and all the crops were ruined. But Eftgan's
hands are tied. She can't really move against Arlen, or she'd be breaking Oath herself. She's strengthened the garrisons on the Arlid border, but there are ways to sneak past those. She even went so far as to ask the human Marchwarders in Darthen to talk to the Dragons, ask their help – but the answer is pretty unlikely to be the same as usual. The Dragons won't get involved.'
'Granted.'
'So in a way, you're her best hope. The story running in Darthen seems to be that you're alive and traveling around to raise force so that you can get Arlen back. The people seem to approve. They want the Lion's child back on the throne again, as much for their own welfare as for yours.'
Freelorn nodded. '"Darthen's House and Arlen's Hall,"' he recited. ' "share their feast and share their fall—
Forlennh's and Hergotha's blade are of the same metal made, and the Oath they sealed shall bind both their dest'nies intertwined—"' Herewiss finished,
'"Till the end of countries, when Lion and Eagle come again." 'You always did like that one.'
'I recite it nightly,' Freelorn said with a somewhat sour expression, 'and hope that both our countries live through this interregnum.'
They'll manage, I think. But after you went south, what?'
'We went a little more to the west, nearly to the Arlene border—' Freelorn went on, telling of a close encounter with a large group of bandits, but Herewiss wasn't really listening. He nodded and mm– hmmed in the appropriate places, but most of his mind was too full of the sight and nearness of Freelorn – the compactness of him, the quick brilliant eyes and fiery temperament, the bright sharp voice, the ability to care about a whole country as warmly as he
could about one man.
Herewiss suddenly recalled one of those long golden afternoons in Pry don castle. He had been stretched out on Freelorn's bed, staring absently at the ceiling, and Freelorn sat by the window, picking at the strings of his lute and trying to get control of his newly changed voice. He was singing the Oath poem with a kind of quiet exultation, looking forward to the time when he would be king and help to keep it true; and the soft promising melody wound upward through the warm air. Herewiss, relaxed and drifting easily toward sleep, was deep in a daydream of his own – of a future day brightly lit by the blue sun of his own released Flame. Then suddenly he was startled awake again by a shudder of foreboding, a cold touch of prescience trailing down his spine. A brief flicker– vision of this moment, lit by a fading sunset instead of the brilliance of mid-afternoon. The same poem, but not sung; the same Freelorn, but not king; the same Herewiss, but not—
'—and left them in our dust – What's the matter? Getting cold?'
'No, Lorn, it was just a shudder. The Goddess spoke my Name, most likely.'
'Yeah. So, anyway, we left the south-east and came back this way. Stopped at Madeil, and that's where my surcoat got stolen.'
'Your good one, I suppose.'
'Yeah. I don't seem to have much luck with them, do I? They've probably sold it for the silver by now. But word of whose it was got out, and evidently the Steldenes have been feeling the weight of Cillmod's threats, since they sent all those people after us. I didn't believe it. I said to myself, when they came piling up outside that old keep, I said, "Time to call in help." Which I did. Goddess, what a display that was.'
'Thank you.'
'Are you all right? I mean, that messenger, and the fireball, and the Lion – oh, the Lion! That was beautiful. Beautiful. Just the
way He always looks to me.' 'Oh. You see Him regularly?'
'Shut up! You know what I mean. But are you all right?'
'Just a touch wobbly – it'll pass in a couple of days. I never did anything on that scale before. In fact, I didn't know I had it in me. I.guess I found out . . .'
Freelorn laughed softly. 'I dare say. But listen: what have you been doing?'
Herewiss shrugged, trying to think of some way to put a cheerful face on a year's worth of broken swords, wasted time, and pain. He couldn't, and anyway, Freelorn would have caught him at it.
'Forging swords,' he said. 'I got tired of breaking old ones. At one point Hearn offered me Fandere – he thought that since the legend says that Earn forged it, it might be a little more amenable to the Power – but I just couldn't. That sword is older than the first Woodward, and I knew I
would destroy it. It was just as dead to the touch as all the others. So finally I apprenticed myself to old Darg the blacksmith. You remember Darg—'
'I certainly do. The old one-eyed gent with the lovely daughter. I think you had ulterior motives.'
Herewiss laughed. 'No, not really. Meren got married a while after we relieved one another of the Responsibility. The twins will be coming to the Ward for fostering soon, since Mother left no love– children behind her. Goddess, I miss them – they're nine now: though Halwerd always reminds me that he's a quarter-hour older than Holmaern. He helps me with the forging sometimes, working the bellows. I put a forge together up in the north tower, and he watches me working the metal, and asks a thousand questions about tensile strength and temper and edge. He has a blacksmith's heart, that one, and he's going to have to be Lord of the Brightwood after me. I don't think he really approves.'
'The business with swords made of griffin-bone and ivory and such – I take it that didn't work.'
'No. What use is a sword of ivory? It seems that it has to be a working sword. Yet a real sword is an instrument of death – and to make it carry life—'
'You'll find a way.'
'I wish I had your faith in me.'
Freelorn stretched a little, discomfort and concern flickering across his face. 'Well, whatever – you'll keep trying. Where are you going now? Back home?'
'I'm heading east.'
'From here?'
'From here.'
'But Herewiss – listen, it was a brilliant idea to head this far east – even if they'd had their supplies intact, they wouldn't follow us this close to the Waste. But another
fifteen miles or so will take you right up to the Stel—'
'I don't intend to stop there, Lorn. On the way down here I came by some interesting information—' Briefly he told of his encounter with the innkeeper's daughter, and what she had told him. Freelorn nodded.
'There's an Old Place like that down by Bluepeak in Arlen, just under the mountains,' he said, 'though it must not be as haunted, or whatever – the Dragons took it as a Marchward some years ago, and there are human March-warders there too. This place, though – if the Dragons won't go near it, I don't like the idea of your going there. What do you want it for, anyway?'
'There are supposed to be doors, Lorn. It could be that I could use one of them to go across into a Middle Kingdom where males have Flame, and train there. Or if there's no door that goes there already, I might be able to make one of them do it—'
'How?' Freelorn said, all skepticism. 'Worldgates are supposed to be a Flame-related manifestation, since they're partly alive, aren't they? I mean, you need wreaking to open them. When Beaneth went to Rilthor, even though it was Opening Night and a Full Moon, she still needed Fire for the Morrowfane Gate. And there's that story about the Hilarwit, and Raela Wayopener, and it's always Flame—'
Herewiss listened patiently. He had had this argument with himself more than once. 'So?'
'So! I don't think you can do it like that! You need control of Flame, and you haven't got it—'
'You could be right.'
'And-what?'
'What you're saying is true, Lorn, for as far as we know. According to the old stories, which usually have truth in them. But each instance is different. And if you're going to
quote examples, well, what about Beorgan? Despite her expertise and her power and all the information she had access to, she still couldn't have had all the facts. Why else would she have bothered trying to kill the Lover's Shadow, when He was just going to come back?'
'She was driven,' Freelorn said, 'by her desire for vengeance. It blinded her.'
'Maybe. That's not the point. The point is that I have to try. There's no telling till I do. It may be that those doors are set to turn to the use of whatever mind or power comes along. And it
may not. But it's a place of the Old wreaking, which was always Flame-based, and damned if I'm not going to try tapping it.'
'Herewiss, you're not seeing what you're getting into—'
'Lorn, are you scared for me?'
Freelorn, who had been warming to the prospect of a good argument, opened his mouth, shut it, and scowled at Herewiss, a dark stabbing look from beneath his bushy eyebrows. 'Yes, dammit,' he said at last.
'Then why don't you just say so.'
Freelorn made a face. 'All right. But I spent a lot of time in the Archives, and I know more about Flame and its uses from my reading than most Rodmistresses do—'
'Reading about it and having it are two different things. No, Lorn, don't start getting mad. Do you think I don't appreciate all the research you did? But theory and practice are different, and I'm not a usual case. And look at us: half an hour together, after almost a year apart, and already we're fighting.'
'Tension. I'm still nervous from two nights ago.'
'Fear. You're afraid for me.'
'Yes! You want to go poking around in some bloody pile of stones in the middle of nowhere and nothing, a place that was there since before the Dragons came, for
Goddess's sake! – and which they won't go near because it's too dangerous. Damn right I'm afraid! How would you feel if our positions were reversed?'
Herewiss gave the thought its due, and did his best to put himself in Freelorn's place for a moment. 'Scared, I guess.'
'Petrified.' 'And how would you feel if our positions were reversed?'
Freelorn sighed and let his hunched-up shoulders sag. 'Scared too, I suppose.'
'Yeah. But I have to go.'
Freelorn nodded. 'You have gotten a little too big to sit on.' The sudden bittersweet memory rose up in Herewiss: the day after Herelaf died, and Herewiss drowning in a dark sea of pain and self– hatred, wanting desperately to kill himself. Trying and trying to do it, first with the sword that had killed Herelaf, then with anything that came to hand – knives, open windows. Freelorn, filled to overflowing with exasperation, fear for Herewiss, and his own pain, finally knocked Herewiss down and sat on him until the tears broke loose in both of them and they wept to exhaustion, clutching at each other.
'I have,' Herewiss said, setting the memory aside with a sigh. 'Well, then, I'm coming with.' 'Of course,' Herewiss said.
Freelorn's eyebrows went up. 'You sneaky bastard—'
Herewiss grinned. 'It was a good way to make sure you realized what you were getting into before you said yes.'
Freelorn grinned back. 'I'm still coming with you.'
'And the rest?'
'They're with me. We couldn't stop them from coming along. This is better – much better than you going alone.'
'Yes, it is.'
(And what am I, then?) Sunspark said indignantly.
(An elemental, Spark. But people need people.)
(I don't understand that. But if you say so . . .) It went back to its grazing.
'And besides,' Herewiss added, 'I can use someone else who's well– read in matters of Flame and such – you may see things about the place that I wouldn't.'
'I don't want to see any "things".'
'Lorn, please.'
'Did you talk to Segnbora?'
'Yes. Very interesting person. She should be of great help to us too. How did she happen to join up with you? She didn't mention.'
'Oh, it was in Madeil. It was how I found out that my surcoat had gone. We were in this inn, drinking quietly and minding our own business, when in come a bunch of king's guardsmen looking for me! Well, the lot of us got out of there, with the guards chasing us in five different directions. I went down a dead end, though, and the one who'd followed me cornered me there. I was pretty hard pressed, he was a lot bigger than I was, and just a little faster. And all of a sudden this shadow with a sword in its hands just melts out of the alley wall, and fft! the guy sprouts a hand's length of sword under the breastbone. It was her; she'd followed me from the inn. There she stands, and she bows a little. "King's son of Arlen," she says, "well met, but if we don't hurry out of here you're going to be neck-deep in dungeon, with King Dariw's torturer dancing on your head." It seemed a good point.'
'I could see where it would, yes.'
'So off we went, back to the inn again. Up she went, cool as you please, got our things from our rooms. The innkeeper sees her, and he says, "Madam, if you please, where are you going with those?" and Segnbora smiles at him and says, "Sir, if you want every skin of wine or tun of ale in your place to get the rot, ask on. Otherwise—" and out the door she goes, gets the horses from the stables and rides off. We met her a few streets away and got out of there in a hurry.'
Herewiss chuckled. 'I wonder why she did it.'
'I asked her. Evidently she's related to one of the Forty Noble Houses, and she said something about "They may not hold by the Oath, but I do, by Goddess—" I believe her.'
'I think you can.'
Freelorn smiled a little. 'Well, this venture will be safer with all of us along. Damn, I hope you're right about the doors! Suppose there was one into another Arlen where I'm king—'
'You'd be there already. And how would you feel if you were king, and another Freelorn popped out of nowhere to contest your claim to the throne?'
'I'd-uhh.'
'—kill the bastard? Very good. Better stay here and do what you can with this world.'
Freelorn looked at Herewiss and smiled again, but this time his eyes were grave.
'Come on,' he said, 'let's see how dinner is doing.'
Stars shone on them again; this time the warm constellations of spring: Dolphin and Maiden and Flamesteed and Stave. The Lion stood near the zenith, the red star of its heart glittering softly through the still air.
They held one another close, and closer yet, and found to their delight that nothing seemed to have changed between them.
A soft chuckle in the darkness.
'Lorn, you remember that first time we shared at your place?' 'That was a long time ago.' 'It seems that way.'
'—and my father yelled up the stairs, "What are you dooooooooing?"'
'—and you yelled back, "We're fuckinnnnnnnnnnng!"'
'—and it was quiet for so long—'
'—and then he started laughing—'
'Yeah.'
A silence.
'You know, he really loved you. He always wanted another son. He always used to say that now he had one . . .'
Silence.
'Lorn – one way or another, I'm going to see you on your throne.' 'Get your Power first.'
'Yeah. But then we get your throne back for you. I think I owe him that.'
'Your Power first. He was concerned about that.' 'Yes … he would have been. Well, we'll see.'
A pause. A desert owl floated silently overhead and away, like a wandering ghost.
'Dusty?'
Herewiss started a little. No-one had called him by that name since Herelaf's death.
'What?'
'After I'm king – what will you do?' 'I haven't the faintest idea.' 'Really?'
'I haven't thought about it much. I don't let myself.— Heal the sick, I guess, talk to Dragons – make it rain when it's dry – travel around – walk the Otherworlds—'
There was a sinking silence under the blankets; suddenly disappointment and fear flavored the air like smoke. Herewiss was confused by the perception. His underhearing sometimes manifested itself at odd moments, but never without reason.
'Dusty – don't forget me.'
'Forget you? Forget you! How do I forget my loved? Lorn, put it out of your mind. How could I forget you? If only fr—'
Herewiss cut himself off, shocked, hearing the thought complete itself inside his head:'—from all the trouble you've caused me—'
'From what?'
My Goddess. How can I think such things? What's the matter with me!!'—from all the distance I've had to travel to get into your bed . . .'
Freelorn made a small sound in his throat, a brief quiet sigh of acceptance. 'I'm glad you did,' he said.
'Again?' 'Why not? The night is young.' 'And so are we.' 6
Whatever may be said of the Goddess, this much is certain: She enjoys a good joke. For proof of this, examine yourself or any other member of the human race closely –and then laugh along with Her.
Deeds of the Heroes, 18, vi
'I thought you said it was just another fifteen miles.'
'Well, I thought it was . . .'
'Maybe the river changed its banks.'
'The Stel? Unlikely. Maybe I got us lost.'
'Likely.'
The eight of them rode along through country that was becoming increasingly inhospitable. The gently rolling scrub country of southern Steldin had given way to near-desert terrain. It was afternoon, and hot. A steady, maddening east wind blew dust into their eyes, and into their horses' eyes, down their collars and up their sleeves, into their boots and even into their undertunics. Even the most casual movement would sand some part of the body raw.
Herewiss sighed. For the past two hours or so Freelorn had been straining his eyes toward the horizon, swearing at himself for having lost the river. He had been abusing himself so skillfully that Herewiss, in exasperation, had joined in and helped him for a few minutes. Now he was regretting it.
'Lorn, Lorn, the Dark with it,' he said. 'You can't lose the Stel.
If you just go east far enough, you're bound to run into it.'
'It is possible,' Freelorn said tightly, 'to lose just about anything.'
'Including your mind, if you work at it hard enough. Lorn, relax. Worse things could happen.'
'Oh?'
'Certainly. A cohort of Fyrd could find us. Or the Dark Hunt. Or the Goddess could sneeze and forget to keep the world in place, and we'd all go out like candles. Don't be so grim, Lorn. It'll work out all right.'
Freelorn's poor Blackmane, half-blind with the dust, sneezed mightily and then bumped sideways into Sun-spark. Herewiss's mount didn't respond, but Blackmane danced away with a whicker of scorched surprise, nearly throwing Freelorn out of the saddle. He regained his balance and looked suspiciously at the stallion.
'None of our horses care much for that one of yours,' he said. 'What happened to Darrafed?'
'She's home.'
'Dapple?'
'He was with me partway. I sent him back.' 'Is that safe?'
Herewiss laughed. 'Safe? Dapple? He'll probably rescue a princess on the way home.'
'Where did this one come from, then?'
'I don't know,' Herewiss said, which was certainly the truth. 'I found him.' 'I know that look,' Freelorn said. 'You've got a secret.'
Herewiss said nothing, and tried to keep from smiling.
'Sorcerers,' Freelorn said in good-natured disgust. 'Well, have it your way. Where the Dark is the river?!'
'It'll be along. Lorn, you didn't tell me. What were you doing in Madeil?'
'Oh … I was meeting a man who was supposed to know a way into the Royal Treasury at Osta. He had been there as a guard some years back, but he moved to Steldin when my father died and everything was going crazy.'
'Did you meet him?'
'Oh, yes. That was what we had been at the tavern for.
It was about half an hour after he left that the guards came in.'
'Why were you still there?'
Freelorn looked guilty. 'Well … it had been so long since any of us had a chance to get really drunk.'
'So you did it there in the middle of a city, with all those people around who you didn't know? Lorn, you know you get talky when you're drunk . . . What if you'd spilled something?'
Freelorn said nothing for a second, said it so forcefully that Herewiss went after the unspoken thought with his underhearing to try to catch it: … talk about being drunk, it said in a wash of anger, . . . what about Herelaf? And then it was smashed down by a hammer of Freelorn's guilt. How can I think things like that? . . . Wasn't his fault …
Herewiss winced away. Even Lorn, he thought. And then, Goddess, did I do that? If this is the kind of thing I'd be doing with the Power, maybe I'm better without it.
'I'm sorry,' he said aloud. 'Lorn, really.'
'No – you're right, I guess. But we did find out about the way into the Treasury – there's a passage off the river that no-one knows about.'
'What about the guards who are there?'
'There aren't many left who know about it – all the lower-level people have been replaced by mercenaries, and many of the higher levels left in a hurry when Cillmod had me outlawed. They could see the way things were going to be. At present that entrance isn't being guarded.'
'What sort of things do they have there?'
'No treasure, no jewellery – just plain old money. My contact said that there are usually about fourteen thousand talents of silver there at any one time.'
'What are you thinking of?'
'My Goddess, you have to ask?'
'No . . . not really. Lorn, do you think you have any chance to pull this off?'
Freelorn hesitated for a long moment. 'Maybe.'
Caution?! Herewiss thought. He's being cautious? I'm in trouble. 'Are you sure those are rocks?'
'Yes. Lorn, how many people do you think you're going to need to get into the place?'
'Oh . . . my own group will be enough.'
Ten would be better, Herewiss thought glumly, and twenty better
still. More realistic, surely. 'Don't do it,' he said out loud.
'Why not? It's the perfect chance to get enough money to finance the revolution—'
'Your father should be an example to you,' Herewiss said tiredly, 'that no-one supports a dead king.'
'A what?'
Herewiss sighed. 'I'd like to see your plans before you go ahead and do it,' he said. 'Maybe I'll come with and help you. But Lorn! – I don't believe that six people are going to be enough.'
'Seven – There's the damn river!'
'Seven,' Herewiss said softly, watching Freelorn kick Blackmane into a gallop.
(Is he always so optimistic?) Sunspark asked. (Usually more so.)
(Will not this additional foray keep you from getting back to the work you have to do?)
(Yes, it will—)
Herewiss thought about it for a moment. The timing, he thought, until now I had always thought it was coincidental. But the timing is just a little too close — oh, Dark. What can I do?
(What?)
(I was thinking to myself. Catch up with him, will you, Spark?)
(Certainly. That is the river ahead, by the way. I can feel the water. I hope there's a bridge there; I'm not going to ford it in what they would consider the normal fashion.)
(So jump it, Spark. They're already sure that you're not quite natural; a spectacular leap won't give much away at this point.)
They drew even with Freelorn again. 'Look,' he shouted over the noise of the horses' hooves, 'there's a house up ahead—'
'Where?'
'A little to the left. See it?'
'Uh – I think so. The dust makes it hard. Who would live out here, Lorn? There's not a town or village for miles in any direction, and this is practically the Waste!'
'Maybe whoever lives there wants some peace and quiet.'
'Quiet, maybe. Peace? With the Waste full of Fyrd?'
'Well, maybe it isn't, really. How would anyone know? If there's nothing much living in the Waste, there can't be Fyrd, either. Even Fyrd have to live on something.'
'It makes sense. There are so many stories – Lorn, that's an awfully big house. It looks more like an inn to me.'
The rest of Freelorn's people gradually closed with the two of them. 'What's the hurry?' yelled Dritt.
Freelorn pointed ahead. 'Hot food tonight, I think—'
They slowed down somewhat as they approached the river. It was running high in its banks, for the thaw was still in progress in the Highpeaks to the south. Trees lined the watercourse for almost as far as they could see, from south to north. These were not the gnarled little scrub-trees of the desert country, but huge old oaks and maples
and silver birches. Though they leaned backward a little on the western bank, their growth shaped by the relentless east wind of the Waste, they still gave an impression of striving hungrily for the water. Branches bright with flowers reached across the water to tangle with others just becoming green. Somewhere in the foliage a songbird, having recovered from the sudden advent of all these people, was trying out a few experimental notes.
'Is is an inn,' Freelorn said. 'There's the sign – though I can't make out what's on it. Let's go.'
'Lorn,' Herewiss said, 'how has your money been holding up?'
'I am so broke,' Freelorn said cheerfully, 'that—'
'Never mind, I have a little. Lorn, you're always broke, it seems.'
'Makes life more interesting.'
Usually for other people, Herewiss thought. Oh Dark! I'm cranky today.
'—and besides, if I spend it as fast as I get it, then no-one can steal it from me.'
'That's a point.'
Herewiss frowned with concentration as he did the math in his head. Prices will probably be higher out here – say, three– quarters of an eagle or so– and there's seven of us . . . so that's . . . uhh . . . damn, I hate fractions! . . . well, it can't be more than seven. Wonderful, all I have is five. Maybe the innkeeper'll let us do dishes . . .
The inn was a tidy-looking place of fieldstone and mortar, with three sleeping wings jutting off in various directions from the large main building. A few of the many windows of diamond-paned glass stood open, as did the door of the stable, which was set off from the inn proper: A neat path of white stone led down from the dooryard of the inn, past the inn sign, a neatly painted board that said
FERRY TAVERN, and down to the riverbank, where it met a little fishing pier. Just to the right of the pier was the ferry, a wooden platform attached to ropes and pulleys so that it could be pulled across from one side of the river to the other whether anyone was on it or not.
The place was marvelously pleasant after the long ride through the dry empty country. They dismounted and led their horses into the dooryard, savoring the shade and the cool fragrance of the air. The inn was surrounded by huge apple trees, all in flower. The only exception was the great tree that shaded the dooryard proper, a wide-crowned blackstave with its long trembling olive-and-silver leaves. Its flowers had already fallen, and carpeted the grass and gravel like an unseasonable snowfall.
'Goddess, what a lovely place,' Freelorn said.
'I just hope we can afford it. Well, go knock on the door and find out—'
'You have the money, you do it.' 'This is your bunch of people, Lorn—'
The door opened, and a lady walked out, and stood on the slate doorstep, drying her hands on her apron. 'Good day to you!' she said, smiling. 'Can I help you?'
They all stood there for a second or so, just appreciating her, before any of them began considering answers to the question. She was quite tall, a little taller even than Herewiss. The plain wide– sleeved shirt and breeches and boots she wore beneath the white apron did nothing to conceal her figure, splendidly proportioned. She was radiantly beautiful, with the delicate translucent complexion of a country girl and eyes as green as grass. What lines her face had seemed all from smiling, but her eyes spoke of gravity and formidable intelligence, and her bearing of quiet strength and power. She wore her coiled and braided hair like a dark crown.
'Ahem!' Freelorn said. 'Uh, yes, maybe you can. We're interested in staying the night—'
'Just interested?' she asked, raising an eyebrow. 'You're not sure? – Is it a money problem?'
'Well, lady, not really,' Herewiss began, still gazing at her with open admiration. Oh my, he was thinking, I never gave much thought to having more than one loved at a time –but I might start thinking about it now. She's like a tree, she just radiates strength – but she's got flowers, too—
She looked back at him, a measuring glance, a look of calm assessment, and then smiled again. It was like day breaking. 'It's been a long time since anyone was here,' she said. 'Let's take it out in trade. If you're agreeable, let one of you share with me tonight, and we'll call it even. You're leaving tomorrow, I take it—'
They nodded assent.
'Then it's settled. Go on in, make yourselves comfortable. Two tubrooms on the ground floor if anyone wants a bath— I'll help with the water after I've taken care of your horses. Dinner's two hours before sunset. Go on, then!' she said, laughing, stepping down from the doorstep and shooing them like chickens. Bemused, Freelorn and his people started going inside.
Herewiss turned to lead Sunspark toward the stable. 'No, no,' said the lady innkeeper, coming up beside him and reaching across Herewiss to take the reins.
'Uh, he's a little – I'd better—' Herewiss started to say, watching in horror as Sunspark suddenly lifted a hoof to stomp on the lady's foot.
'It's quite all right,' the lady said, and hit Sunspark a sharp blow on the nose with her left fist. The elemental danced back a step or so, its eyes wide with surprise.
The lady smiled brightly at Herewiss. 'I love horses,' she said, and led Sunspark away.
(Be nice!) Herewiss said.
(I think I'd better,) Sunspark replied, still surprised.
Herewiss followed the others inside and found them standing in a tight group in the middle of the cool dark common room, all talking at once. 'All right, all right!!' Freelorn yelled over the din. 'There is no way to arbitrate this; we'll have to choose up for the chance.'
'How about a fast game of Blade-on-the-Table?' Dritt said.
'The Dark it would be fast – it would need six elimination hands, and I want my bath now. Besides, you cheat at cards. It'll—'
'I do nor!'
'—have to be lots. Look, there's kindling over there, and some twigs; we'll draw sticks for it.'
'Fine,' Moris said darkly, 'and who holds the sticks?'
'I'm the only one I trust not to gimmick the draw, so—'
This observation was greeted with hoots of skepticism. 'What about me, Lorn?' Herewiss said. Freelorn looked at him with an expression close to dismay.
'You're right,' he said. 'Go ahead, give them to him –he's got an honest streak.'
Herewiss received the twigs and spent a few moments snapping them to equal lengths, all but one, which he broke off shorter. He turned back to the others. 'Here.'
Freelorn chose first, and made an irritated face; his was long. 'The river I didn't mind losing so much,' he said, 'but this– aagh!'
Dritt chose next, and came up long also, as did Moris and Lang after him. Then Segnbora chose.
'Dammit-to-Darkness,' Freelorn said, with immense chagrin. 'Well, give her our best.'
Segnbora smiled, tossed the short stick over her shoulder for luck, picked up her saddlebags from the
floor, and headed up the stairs to find herself a room. 'See you at dinner,' she said.
'That could have been me,' said Harald softly. 'If I'd just gone ahead of her . . .'He followed Segnbora up the stairs.
Moris and Dritt went away, muttering, to raid the kitchen.
Lang kicked a chair irritably and went outside.
'I wish it had been me,' Freelorn said quietly.
'You're not alone,' Herewiss put an arm around him, hugging him. 'But, Lorn – how long has it been since we had a bath together?'
Freelorn regarded Herewiss out of the corner of his eye. 'Years,' he said, smiling mischievously. 'Though of course you remember what happened the last time—'
'Gee, I'm not sure, it was so long ago—'
'C'mon,' Freelorn said, 'let's go refresh your memory.'
Everyone who had good clothes to wear, or at least clean ones, wore them to dinner that night. They sat around the big oaken table down in the common room and admired one another openly in the candlelight. Herewiss wore the Phoenix surcoat, and Freelorn beside him wore a plain black one, still grumbling softly over the loss of his good Lion surcoat with the silver on it. Lang and
Harald wore plain dark shirts with the White Eagle badge over the heart, for they had been queen's men at the Court in Darthis before taking up with Freelorn. Dritt wore a white peasant's shirt bright with embroidery around the sleeves and collar, a farmer's festival wear; while Moris beside him looked dark and noble in the deep brown surcoat of the North Arlene principality. Segnbora, down at the end of the table, was wearing a long black robe belted at the waist and emblazoned on one breast with a lion and
upraised sword – the differenced arms of a cadet branch of one of the Forty Noble Houses of Darthen.
The food did justice to the festive dress. Dinner was cold eggs deviled with pepper and marigold leaves, roast goose in a sour sauce of lemons and sorrel, potatoes roasted in butter, and winter apples in thickened cream. Moris made a lot of noise about the eggs and the goose, claiming that the powerful spices and sours of Steldene cooking gave him heartburn; but this did not seem to affect the speed with which he ate. There also seemed to be an endless supply of wine, which the company didn't let go to waste.
Once the food was served, the innkeeper took off her apron, sat down at the head of the table, and ate with them. In some ways she seemed a rather private person; she still had not told them her name. This was common enough practice in the Kingdoms, and her guests respected her privacy. But when she spoke it became obvious that she was a fine conversationalist, possessed of a dry wit of which Herewiss found himself in envy.
She seemed most interested in hearing her guests talk, though, and was eager for news of the Kingdoms. One by one they gave her all the news they could remember: how the new queen was doing in Arlen, the border problem with Cillmod, the great convocation of Dragons and Marchwarders at the Eorlhowe in North Arlen, the postponement of the Opening Night feast in Britfell fields . . .
'Opening Night,' the innkeeper said, sitting back in her chair with her winecup in hand. 'Four months ago, that would have been. And the queen would have held the feast all by herself, without any Arlene heir in attendance, as her father did while he was still alive?'
'Evidently,' Freelorn said. Herewiss glanced at Lorn,
watching him take a long, long swig of wine. There was nervousness in the gesture.
'Yet they say that the Lion's Child is still abroad somewhere,' said the lady. 'It's strange, surely, that he never came forward in all that time to partake of the Feast, even secretly. It's one of the most important parts of the royal bindings that keep the Shadow at bay, and the Two Lands from famine.'
'I hear he did show up at the Feast once,' Freelorn said. 'Three years ago, I think. He just barely got away with his life.'
Herewiss had all he could do to hold still. So that's where he was that winter—! And that's where he got that swordcut that took so long to heal! 'Robbers,' indeed—
'—Cillmod had slipped some spies in among the Darthene regulars that went south with the king,' Freelorn was saying. 'The king and the Lion's Child had just gotten to the part of the Feast where royal blood is shed, when they both almost had all their blood shed for them. The king's bodyguards killed the attackers – but Darthen was wounded, and as for Arlen—' Freelorn shrugged. 'Once burned, twice shy. No-one has seen him at a Feast since. Nor did the king ask again. Evidently, Goddess rest him, he wanted to live out the year or so left him in peace, without bringing Arlen's assassins down on his own head. What the new queen will do—' And Freelorn took another long drink.
'If she can't find the Lion's Child,' said the innkeeper, 'what she'll do is moot. Now that she's becoming secure on her throne, he might want to send her some certain word concerning his future participation in the Feast and the other bindings. Seven years is too long for the Two Lands to go without the royal magics being properly enacted. Disaster is just over the mountain, unless something's done.'
'She can't do anything anyway,' Lorn said disconsolately. 'Any move on her part to support the Lion's Child could antagonize the conservative factions in the Forty Houses. Their people are in an uproar over the poor harvests lately, and all they want is to avoid war with Arlen, or anyone else. If the Queen of Darthen gives Arlen's heir asylum or supports him in any way, war is what she'll have. Then she'll go out into the Palace Square on Midsummer Morning next year, to hammer out her crown, and some hireling of the conservative Houses will put an arrow through her, and that'll be the end of it—'
'A queen, like a king, is made for fame, not for long living,' the innkeeper said quietly.
Freelorn's head snapped up. The suspicion that had been growing in Herewiss for some minutes now flowered into fear. She knows, she knows who he is! Oh, Lorn, why can't you keep your mouth shut—!
'It's possible,' Lorn said, so quietly that Herewiss could hardly hear him, 'that the Lion's Child isn't too excited about dying in an ambush, or in someone's torture-chamber. He may be able to do more good alive, even if he's a long way from home.'
That is between him and the Goddess,' the innkeeper said. 'But as for the other, royalty is not about comfort or safety. Painful death, torture, many a king or queen of both the Lands have known them. It's not so many centuries since the days when any king's lifeblood might be poured out in the furrows any autumn, to make sure that a poor harvest wouldn't happen again, that the next year his people wouldn't starve. But that's the price one agrees to pay, if necessary, when one accepts kingship. Put off the choice, and the land and the people that are both part of the ruler suffer. Who knows what good might have
been done for the Two Lands, and all the Kingdoms, if the Lion's Child had somehow found the courage to go through with that Feast three years ago, instead of panicking and fleeing when it was half– finished? He might not have died of the wound he took. He might be king now.'
'Yes,' Freelorn said, looking very thoughtful.
'And as for the queen,' the innkeeper said, 'it wouldn't matter if that was "the end of it" for her, would it? Even if she died in the act of one of the royal magics, she has heirs who will carry on after her. Heirs who know that the only reason for their royalty is to serve those bindings, and the people the bindings keep safe from the Shadow. But as to other heirs to Arlen, who knows where they may be? And who knows what the Lion's Child is thinking, or doing?'
'The Goddess, possibly,' Lorn said.
'Men may change their minds,' the innkeeper said, 'and confound Her. I doubt it happens often enough. But I suspect She's usually delighted.'
Freelorn nodded, looking bemused.
Herewiss looked over at the innkeeper. She gazed back at him, a considering look, and then turned to Segnbora and began gossiping lightly with her about one of her relatives in Darthen.
Freelorn once again became interested in the wine, and Herewiss sighed and did the same. It was real Brightwood white, of three years before, from the vineyards on the north side of the Wood. A little current of unease, though, still stirred on the surface of his thoughts. Where is she getting this stuff? he wondered. It's a long way south from the Wood, through dangerous country. And I've never heard mention of this place — which is odd—
There was motion at the end of the table; the lady had risen. 'It's been a pleasure having you,' she said. 'I could
go on like this all night – but I have an assignation.' She smiled, and Segnbora smiled back at her, and most of Freelorn's people chuckled. 'If one or two of you will help me with the dishes – maybe you two,' and she indicated Dritt and Moris, 'since you obviously liked the looks of my kitchen earlier—'
Everyone got up and started to help clear the table – all but Herewiss, who hated doing dishes or tablework of any kind. Out of guilt, or some other emotion perhaps, he did remove one object from the table – the carafe full of Brightwood white. He went up the stairs with it, into the deepening darkness of the second story, feeling happily wicked – and also feeling sure that someone saw him, and was smiling at his back.
Herewiss's room had a little hearth built of rounded riverstones and mortar. It also had something totally unexpected, a real treasure – two fat overstuffed chairs. Both of them were old and worn; they had been upholstered in red velvet once, but the velvet was worn pale and smooth from much use, and was unraveling itself in places. Herewiss didn't care; they were both as good as kings' thrones to him. He had pulled one of them up close to the fire and was sitting there in happy half-drunken comfort, toasting his stocking feet. The red grimoire was open in his lap, but the light of the two candles on the table beside him wasn't really enough to read by, and he had stopped trying.
A steady presence of light at the far corner of his vision drew his attention. He looked up, and gazing across the bare fields saw the full Moon rising over the jagged stony hills to the east. It looked at him, the dark shadows on the silver face peering over the hillcrests at him like half-lidded eyes, calm and incurious.
He stared back for a moment, and then slumped in the old chair and reached out for the wine cup.
There was a soft knock at the door.
So comfortable was Herewiss that he didn't bother to get up, much less reach for his knife. 'Come in,' he said. The door edged open, and there was the innkeeper, cloaked in black against the night chill.
At sight of her Herewiss started to get up, but she waved him back into his seat. 'No, stay put,' she said. Pulling the other chair over by the hearthside, she sat down, pushing aside her cloak and facing the fire squarely.
Herewiss let himself just look at her for a moment. Beauty, maybe, was the wrong word for the aura that hung about her, though she certainly was beautiful. Even as she sat there at her ease, she radiated a feeling of power, of assurance in herself. More than that — a feeling of certainty, of inevitability; as if she knew exactly what she was for in the world. It lent her an air of regality, as might be expected of someone who seemed to rule herself so completely. A queenly woman, enthroned on a worn velvet chair that leaked its stuffing from various wounds and rents. Herewiss smiled at his own fancy.
'Would you like some wine?' he said.
'Yes, please.'
He reached for another cup and poured for her. As he handed her the cup their hands brushed, ever so briefly. A shock ran up Herewiss's arm, a start of surprise that ran like lightning up his arm and shoulder to strike against his breastbone. It was the shock that a sensitive feels on touching a body that houses a powerful personality, and Herewiss wasn't really surprised by it. But it was very strong—
And he was tired, and probably oversensitive. He lifted his cup and saluted the lady.
'You keep a fine cellar,' he said. 'To you.'
'To you, my guest,' she said, and pledged him, and drank. He drank too, and watched her over the rim of the cup. The fire lit soft lights in her hair; unbound, it was longer than he had expected, flowing down dark and shimmering past her waist. Some of it lay in her lap, night-dark against the white linen of her shift and the green cord that belted it.
'This is lovely stuff,' Herewiss said. 'How are you getting it all the way down here from the Brightwood?'
The lady smiled. 'I have my sources,' she said.
She lowered her cup and held it in her lap, staring into the fire. The wine was working strongly in Herewiss now, so that his mind wandered a little and he looked out the window. The Moon was all risen above the peaks now, and the two dark eyes were joined by a mouth making an V of astonishment. He wondered what the Moon saw that shocked her so.
'Herewiss,' the lady said, and he turned back to look at her. The expression she wore was odd. Her face was sober, maybe a little sad, but her eyes were bright and testing, as if there was an answer she wanted from him.
'Madam?'
'Herewiss,' she said, 'how many swords have you broken now?'
Alarm ran through him, but it was dulled; by the wine, and by the look on her face – not threatening, not even curious, but only weary. It looked like Freelorn's face when he asked the same question, and the voice sounded like Freelorn's voice. Tired, pitying, maybe a bit impatient.
'Fifty-four,' he said, 'about thirty or thirty-five of my own forging. I broke the last one the day I left the Wood.'
'And the Forest Altars were no help to you.'
'None. I've also spoken with Rodmistresses who don't hold with the ways of the Forest Orders or the Wardresses of the Precincts, but there was nothing they could do for me either. But, madam, how do you know about this? No-one knew except for my father, and Lorn—'
He looked at her in sudden horror. Had Lorn been so indiscreet as to mention the blue Fire—
She shook her head at him, smiling, and was silent. For a while she gazed into the fire, and then said, 'And how old are you now?'
'Twenty-eight,' he said, shortly, like an unhappy child.
The lady rubbed her nose and leaned back in her chair until her pose almost matched Herewiss's. 'You feel your time growing short, I take it.'
'Even if I had control of the Power right now,' Herewiss said, 'it would be starting to wane. I'd have, oh, ten years to use it if I didn't overextend myself. Which I would,' he added, smiling a little at himself. 'Oh, I would.'
'How so?' She was looking at him again, a little intrigued, a little bemused.
Herewiss drained his cup and stared into the fire. 'Really! If I came into my Power, there I'd be, the first male since Earn and Healhra to bear Flame. That is, if the first use didn't kill me. Think of the fame! Think of the fortune!' He laughed a little. 'And think of the wreaking,' he said, more gently, his face softening, 'think of the storms I could still, the lives I could save, the roads I could walk. The roads . . .'
He poured himself another cup of wine. 'The roads in the sky, and past it,' he said. 'The roads the Dragons know. The ways between the Stars. Ten years would be too high an estimate. Better make it seven, or five. I'd burn myself out like a levinbolt.' He drank deeply, and set the cup down again. 'But what a way to go.'
The lady watched him, her head propped on her hand, considering.
'What price would you be willing to pay for your Power?' she asked.
The question sounded rhetorical, and Herewiss, dreamy with wine and warmth, treated it as such. 'Price? The Moon on a silver platter! A necklace of stars! One of the Steeds of the Day—'
'No, I meant really.'
'Really. Well, right now I'm paying all my waking hours, just about; or I was, before I had to get Freelorn out of the badger– hole he got himself stuck in. What more do I have to give?'
He looked at her, and was surprised to see her face serious again. Something else he noticed; there was an oddness about the inside of her cloak. … He had thought it as black within as without, but it wasn't. As he strained his eyes in the firelight, there seemed to be some kind of light in its folds, some kind of motion, but faint, faint – He blinked, and didn't see it, and dismissed the notion; and then on his next look he saw it again. A faint light, glittering—
No, – it must have been the wine. He rejected the image.
The lady's eyes were intent on him, and he noticed how very green they were, a warm green like sunlit summer fields. 'Herewiss,' she said, her voice going very low, 'your Name, would you give that for your Power?'
Of all the strange things he had heard so far, that startled him badly, and the wine went out in him as if someone had poured water on the small fire it had lit. 'Madam, I don't know my Name,' he said, and wondered suddenly what he had gotten himself into, wondered what kind of woman kept an inn out here on the borders of
human habitation, all alone—
He looked again at the cloak, with eyes grown wary. It was no different. In the black black depths of it something shone, tiny points of an intense silvery light, infinite in number as if the cloak had been strewn with jeweldust, or the faint innumerable stars of Healhra's Road. Stars—?
She looked at him, earnest, sincere; but the testing look was also in her eyes, the look that awaited an answer, and the right one. A look that dared him to dare.
'If you knew it,' she said, 'would you pay that price for your Power?'
'My Name?' he said slowly. Certainly there was no higher price that he could pay. His inner Name, his own hard-won knowledge of himself, of all the things he could be-But he didn't know it. And even if he had, the thought of giving his inner Name to another person was frightening. It was to give your whole self, totally, unreservedly; a surrender of life, breath and soul into other hands. To tell a friend your Name, that was one thing. Friends usually had a fairly good idea of what you were to begin with, and the fact that they didn't use it against you was earnest of their trustworthiness. But to sell your Name to a stranger-to pay it, as a price for something – the thought was awful. Once a person had your Name, they could do anything to you – bind you to their will, take that Name from you and leave you an empty thing, a shell in which blood flowed and breath moved, but no life was. Or bind you into some terrible place that was not of this world. Or, horrible thought, into another body that wasn't yours; man or beast or Fyrd or demon, it wouldn't much matter. Madness would follow shortly. The possibilities for the misuse of a Name were as extensive as the ingenuity of malice.
But—