Authors: Joanne Bertin
But the way her mouth twisted on the last words told him she thought him anything but.
Karelinn went on, “He’s a young Cassorin lord we met the year we stayed with our aunt in Pelnar. Wild and reckless he is, ever ready to flirt, handsome, and with an eye for a pretty girl and a fast horse.” She smiled wryly at him. “In short, Your Grace, a young lord like nearly a hundred others I could name for you.”
“I could throw in a few of my fellow tribesmen and some Zharmatians I know, my lady,” Shima offered. “We’d get that hundred and more easily.”
Now her smile lit the world. “Ah, you men—just the same no matter where you’re from,” she teased him. Then, serious once more, she continued. “Then you know exactly the kind of fellow I mean, my lord. He’s the apple of his father’s eye. His mother thinks the very dirt he treads upon is diamonds and gold. Whatever T— Whatever Lord Charming wanted, he got—and more. Much more. All his life, too many people have stumbled over themselves to give him whatever he’s wanted.”
Shima sighed in dismay and shook his head, thinking that he knew where this trail would lead; no doubt Merrilee had fallen in love with this man, and he cared nothing for her, the fool. “My people have a saying: It is neither wise nor kind to spoil a dog, a horse, or a child. Only ill will come of it.”
“Ill did—but I’m getting ahead of my tale. The spoiled child became a spoiled adult. In some ways, Your Grace, it got worse. Women throw themselves at Tir—at Lord Charming. He’s as handsome as Merrilee is beautiful.”
She stopped, frowning at some memory. To encourage her, Shima ventured, “Let me guess: But he’s not as good as Merrilee.”
Nodding, Karelinn said, “That’s it in a golden nutshell, Your Grace. As I said, he’s utterly charming—one of the most charming people I’ve ever met. That’s why almost everyone has indulged him. I swear, sometimes I wondered if he had a ‘little magic’ that blinded many people to his true self.”
Shima nodded. While he’d not met anyone with a talent like that, since he’d been in the north he’d met one or two people with a tiny spark of wizardry in their souls that enabled them to do something that their fellows could not. One of the shepherds that lived near Dragonskeep could call his sheep to him and they would stand like statues for shearing, turning this way and that as he bade them and even rolling onto their backs. “You may well be right.”
She went on. “And there’s, well, not a ‘darkness’ within him—that would be going too far, I think. At least, I hope it would be. Yet I would never trust him as a friend, my lord. He’s the kind who doesn’t give a fig for anyone else—or so I would have said.
“But then he met Merrilee. Aunt Perrilinia said she’d never seen anyone fall so hard in love so fast. I think for the first time in his life that spoiled little lordling cared about another person.”
That
was a surprise. Shima had been certain that the love was one-sided.
Good thing Lleld wasn’t here to lay a wager. I’d have lost,
he said to himself, thinking of the smallest Dragonlord. “What happened?”
Twist, twist, twist; now the ribbon cut into Karelinn’s fingers. Shima leaned over in his saddle and gently took it from her.
“Thank you. I hadn’t even realized…” She inhaled deeply, staring down at the red welts on her skin. “Oh, how he courted Merri! How kind and gentle he was! She began to fall in love with him. Then Father came for a visit. We were supposed to stay for another year, you see, but … Merri told Father she thought of marrying. He was happy for her—he truly was. Sad to lose her, but glad that she was happy.
“Then he asked who the lucky man was. When he heard the name … My lord, it was awful. He turned first red, then white, and raged that no daughter of his would marry such a bullying, sadistic, cowardly cur. I’ve never seen him like that. He has a temper, yes, that we’ve seen often enough. But never anything like that. He was terrifying.”
Shima could well imagine that the bearlike Lord Romsley would be frightening if angry enough. But to turn such rage on his daughter? “Why does he hate the man so much?”
Karelinn laughed, a light, bitter laugh. “But Father doesn’t hate him, Your Grace.”
Shima blinked at Karelinn in surprise. “He doesn’t?”
“Oh, no, Dragonlord—Father
despises
him. Utterly. It seems that Merri’s charming suitor has a cruel streak in him that he’d been careful not to show her. He got into some kind of trouble back home—that was why he was in Pelnar. His father had sent him away to stay with a distant kinsman.
“You see, Lord Charming and his friends often made a game of tormenting those who couldn’t fight back. Most of their victims were peasants, particularly peasant children. Quite safe—who would take their word against that of noble young lords?”
Shima snapped out a curse in his native tongue. “That’s not just cruel,” he said in disgust, “it’s the worst form of cowardice.”
Now the laugh was real. “Almost my father’s exact words, my lord. But one day they made a mistake. The wretches should have looked more closely at the clothes those ‘peasant brats’ had left on the riverbank when they went swimming. Two or three of the boys will bear whip scars until they die, Father said. One is the son of a friend of his, Lord Dunhallow. That’s how Father knew that the tale was true and not just malicious hearsay.
“And,” Karelinn went on, frowning slightly, “there might be worse. Father wouldn’t tell us, because he didn’t know how much was rumor and how much was truth. Merri and I overheard part of it. Whatever happened, it might have been only a tragic accident, or … We never knew for certain. It was something about a horse and a young boy—and the boy died.
“When Merri heard all this, she confronted Lord Charming. He tried to make light of it. To him, he’d done nothing wrong. It broke her heart that he was not the person she’d thought him to be. Oh gods—how he raged when she told him that she would no longer hear his suit. He was like a madman. Said that if he couldn’t have her, no one would.
“When his kinsman heard why Lord Charming had left Kelneth and that he’d threatened Merri, he turned the craven out. Then Father told Lord Charming that he’d Challenge him if he ever came near Merri again.”
Shima asked, “And is your father a good swordsman, Lady Karelinn?”
She smiled.
Like a cat looking at a mouse,
Shima thought with amusement.
“Your Grace, Lord Charming was gone by the next dawn.”
Ten
“See that, lad?” Raven said.
He pointed to a wooden sign hanging from the branch of a huge old oak at the head of a small lane that branched off the road. It bore the gaily painted image of a brown-and-white cow standing in a patch of sunflowers.
“This is the Spotted Cow. Aunt Yarrow said that it’s a day’s ride to Balyaranna from here. But it’ll be less than that for us, won’t it?” He guided the Llysanyin onto the turnoff to the inn.
Stormwind nodded, but turned his head to look back at the road as if to say,
So why are we stopping? It’s early yet.
Raven laughed and patted him. “I know you’re still fresh, but I’m about done in, we’ve been riding that hard. And I’m tired of camping by the wayside to save Aunt Yarrow’s coin. A hot meal and an easy night’s rest will do us both good. Not to mention a bath for me and a good grooming for you. I want us both to look our best when we reach the fair.”
The Llysanyin rumbled deep in his chest as if agreeing. They rode slowly down the lane, baking in the noonday sun.
* * *
A short time later, after a meal and a rest, Raven decided to wander out to the stable to see how Stormwind was faring. Before he could get to the door, it opened and some travelers he had passed earlier that day entered. Raven stood to one side.
Three of the travelers, two men and a tired-faced woman, all dressed as servants, hurried past him. They carried bundles in their arms.
They were followed by another group, likely a family, he thought; an older couple, two young men laughing about “the plow horse” in the stable, and a boy of thirteen or so. One of the young men looked familiar to Raven now that he got a good look at him, but he couldn’t place the man. The boy chewed his lip like one trying to figure something out.
Judging from both clothing and bearing, they were noble. He bowed as they passed him; he was in Cassori now and the highborn folk expected such as their due. They, in turn, ignored him after the barest glance.
Servant,
their eyes said.
Commoner
.
All save the boy. He looked back at Raven and fell behind the rest. The woman noticed. “Arisyn! Come along now.”
“Yes, Lady Venna!” the boy said, and scurried after the others.
Guessed wrong,
Raven thought with amusement.
It wasn’t his mam after all.
He continued on. But when he glanced back as he went out the door, he saw Arisyn standing on the bottom step of the stairs to the sleeping rooms, staring after him.
I wonder what that’s about!
he thought a little uneasily as he crossed the courtyard to the stable.
Maybe I just remind him of someone and he’s trying to remember who.
After all, fair was fair; he was trying to remember one of the boy’s companions. He pulled a brush from the saddlebag hanging by Stormwind’s stall.
“Move over, lad,” he said, slapping Stormwind’s rump.
Though the Llysanyin had been well groomed, Raven began brushing out his tail; the ritual was soothing for both of them. He hummed under his breath as he worked.
“Ready for the fair?” he asked after a time.
Stormwind nodded.
“I thought it was you!” a young voice said.
Startled, Raven jumped and looked around. Standing in the aisle was Arisyn.
The boy stared at Stormwind, his face screwed up in thought. After a long moment, he relaxed and shook his head. “You passed us on the road. I know that Coryn and Dunric think your horse is naught but a Shamreen, one of those big draft horses from northern Yerrih, but I don’t. Even big as he is and with the feathers, there’s something too refined about him. He’s not a plow horse, I don’t care what they said!”
Arisyn chewed his lower lip in fierce concentration for a moment, then blurted out, “But for the life of me, I can’t figure out what he is!”
And you likely wouldn’t believe me if I told you, my fine young lord,
Raven thought. He hid a smile. So the lad fancied himself an expert on horses?
Hmm—compared to his two kinsmen or friends or whatever, he is an expert,
Raven decided. Stormwind a plow horse, indeed!
Before he could speak, the boy held up one hand imperiously. “No, no—don’t tell me! I want to figure it out on my own.” Then, after a long moment, “Um—but perhaps you could give me a hint? Just a little one, mind you!” he said in a rush.
Chuckling, Raven bowed with a flourish. “As you wish, my lord. Here’s your hint: Those like my lad here are not
commonly
found.”
The boy’s mouth twitched up in a wry grin. He was a sturdy fellow, with brown hair that fell back from a sharp widow’s peak, and a pleasant, snub-nosed face that Raven liked. “As if I hadn’t guessed
that
already. Ah, well—it’s my own fault, I suppose. I did say a ‘little’ hint.”
“That you did, my lord.”
Stormwind snorted in amusement.
Before the boy could say anything else, an irritated voice called, “Arisyn! Where are you, curse it all?”
Arisyn groaned and rolled his eyes. “That’s my cousin’s friend, Dunric. I have to go.”
At the door to the stable he turned suddenly and demanded, “Are you going to the fair?”
“I am.”
“Good! I’ll find you there. I
will
figure this out, you know.”
“I believe you, my lord,” Raven answered.
Eleven
It had been a hard
ride to the encampment that served as the Wort Hunters’ starting place for the teaching treks. Pod groaned and stretched in the saddle; Little Brown’s head drooped as he came to a halt. Behind her Kiga shifted on his riding pad and grunted his impatience to set paw to dirt once more.
“Give me a moment, Kiga! There’s no need to get your whiskers in a knot,” Pod complained as she wiped the sweat from her forehead. “First we need to see where we’re supposed to go.”
The rest of the apprentices from Grey Holt pulled up alongside her. Knowing that some of the brothers-in-fur might frighten horses that weren’t used to such creatures, they kept well back from the picket line of the Wort Hunters’ mounts.
Darby’s squirrel, Hazel, was not likely to be a problem, Pod thought, nor Marisha’s raven, Jobbin. But Jeord’s Trebla and her own Kiga almost certainly would be. Even Risla’s stag, Fleet, might spook a horse or two. And often that was all the excuse the other horses in a picket line needed to panic.
“Feh,” Jeord said in disgust. “My tunic feels like it’s glued to me.” He tugged at it. “I hope there’s a stream to swim in.”
“Look,” Risla said. “Someone’s waving us over to him.”
Sure enough, a tall, lean fellow with the weathered look of one who spent his life outside was pointing to a small, shady grove bordering the encampment. They turned their tired horses and rode to meet him.
“Welcome,” he called. As they neared him, Pod realized most of his height was in his legs; she thought they were the longest she’d ever seen. “My name is Fiarin,” he said.
They returned his greeting in tired voices.
As they cared for their horses, Fiarin went from one to the other lending a hand, learning each ’prentice’s name and the name of his or her brother-in-fur, and introducing himself to the animals.
Pod was pleased to see the last; it meant that even if he didn’t regard the familiars as “people” the way every Beast Healer did, Fiarin understood the courtesies. And Kiga seemed to like him. The woods dog snuffled the hand held out to him, then bumped his head against it, asking for a scratch behind the ears. Fiarin complied with no hesitation.
Points to him,
Pod thought.
It’s not everyone who’ll trust a familiar that’s a wild animal—especially a woods dog!