Authors: Joanne Bertin
Eadain’s voice was younger than Shima had expected. He looked again and saw that what he had taken for lines of age were old lines of pain.
“By the gods, old fellow,” another of the young lords called, “you look like a half-drowned marsh rat.”
A rueful grin took the years off Eadain’s face. He shook his wet brown hair back from his face. “I feel like one, too. But that’s nothing to what this poor little fellow feels like, I’ll wager.”
With that, Lord Eadain carefully slipped one hand into the large embroidered pouch hanging from his belt. When the hand reappeared, it held a tiny kitten, its black fur plastered to its body and its eyes squinched shut. The little mouth opened wide in a plaintive “Mew!” It was a pitiful sight.
“Found him under a hedge not a mile from here,” Eadain said. “I’m not even certain how I heard him with all that rain drumming on my head.”
“Oh, the poor thing!” Lady Merrilee gasped and sprang up from her chair.
A moment later she bent over Eadain’s hand and touched gentle fingers to the kitten’s head. “My lord, if you’ll let me, I’ll see that this poor creature is fed and warmed,” she said, looking up at him.
Eadain just goggled at her for a long moment. Then, recovering, he managed to say, “Ah, yes, my lady. If you would be so kind…”
His voice trailed off as she scooped up the kitten. When she looked up at him once more and smiled, whatever he’d been about to say ended in a strangled gurgle. As Merrilee bore her charge to one of the benches by the fireplace, calling to her sister to please fetch a bowl of milk and a clean bit of cloth, Lord Eadain gazed after her with something of the look of a poleaxed steer.
As Karelinn rose, she leaned over and whispered impishly to Shima, “There goes another one!”
* * *
It was late; few people were left in the common room of the Gyrfalcon’s Nest. Shima knelt to lay a small log on the fire. It caught and flared up, popping merrily; sudden heat washed over his face. Shima rose and went to stand by the side of the hearth, where his clothing would be safe from flying embers. He leaned upon the mantel, smiling down at the two young women seated side by side on the bench before the hearth as they gazed dreamily into the flames.
Soon it would be time to let the fire burn down for the night—but not quite yet. For a little while longer, he would enjoy this quiet time with Karelinn and her sister. The rain drummed a never-ending lullaby overhead; over in the corner, burly Lord Ephris and his lady wife, Kiela, talked softly. The soothing murmur of dainty Lady Kiela’s voice reminded Shima of the cooing of a rock dove. He fought the urge to yawn.
“Dragonlord, may I ask a favor of you?”
Merrilee’s gentle request brought Shima back from the edge of a waking dream. “Of course, my lady. What is it?”
“Ever since a visiting bard sang Bard Otter’s song ‘Dragon and Phoenix’ about the great journey to Jehanglan, I’ve been fascinated with what I could find out about that land. I know you said your tribe is different from the Jehangli, with a different language, but … Do you speak any Jehangli?”
Shima answered, “Yes, I do.” Well enough, he almost added, to trick Jehangli soldiers to their deaths when necessary. But he was afraid that the young women would ask for the story behind it and it was not a thing he wanted to talk about. Spirits help him, he could still hear the screams of those soldiers as the avalanche he’d started took them. Even now he sometimes saw their faces in his worst dreams.
“Would you say something in Jehangli for me, then? Part of a song or poem, perhaps?”
Caught off guard—he’d been back on the hot, boulder-strewn hillside with a Jehangli patrol closing in on him—Shima racked his brains for a moment, then recited the first thing that popped into his head. It was a few lines of something that he’d heard from an itinerant Jehangli storyteller. When he’d finished, he asked, “Well? Was it what you expected?”
Merrilee tilted her head. After a moment she said thoughtfully, “No, it’s not, Your Grace. For some reason, I’d thought Jehangli would be harsh and guttural, with hard sounds like rocks knocking together.
“But that … that was full of the sound of, oh, rushing streams and the wind rustling through leaves. Especially rustling leaves, I think. It was pretty—what was it? It sounded like it might be a poem.”
“It’s part of what the Jehangli call a
juashen,
a story-poem,” Shima said. “I heard it from a traveling Jehangli storyteller. He’d been captured by my people’s allies, the Zharmatians, the People of the Horse. His ‘ransom’ was his stories. I was visiting their camp when the man was brought in, and I stayed to listen. It took many evenings, for he knew a great many tales.”
The huge blue eyes filled with worry. “Oh, dear—I hope they didn’t hurt him.”
Shima smiled. “When they released him, he was richer by two good horses, a little gold, and many furs.”
Merrilee smiled back at him. “Good. But what did those lines say, my lord? Can you tell me?”
“Hmm—it’s not easy to translate, but I’ll try my best.”
He closed his eyes, thought for a bit, then said:
“You ride to join your men,
while I must stay behind.
The sky weeps bitter tears,
but they are as nothing
to the rain in my heart.”
He smiled at her. “It’s much prettier in Jehangli.”
“What is the poem about, my lord?” Merrilee asked. “It sounds very sad.”
“It is. Are you certain you want to know?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” she said firmly.
“Very well, then—I’m no storyteller, but I’ll try.” He looked up at the ceiling for a moment, putting his thoughts in order, making certain he
did
remember the entire tale.
Satisfied, he said, “It’s about a young couple, Amsuro and Lenshi, who must part soon after their wedding. Amsuro, an officer in the army, is summoned to war while Lenshi stays behind, pining for him. Though word soon comes that he’s missing in battle and is presumed dead, Lenshi knows in her heart that Amsuro is still alive.
“But when she goes to search for him, her brothers stop her. It’s not just because it would be too dangerous. A Jehangli noblewoman would never be allowed to do anything like that. They’re very sheltered.
“So for many days and nights Lenshi prays to the Phoenix—the Jehangli worship it—for help. Her prayers are heard—she turns into a swallow and flies off to look for her husband.
“After many years, she finds Amsuro, who is a prisoner of the enemy. But by then she’s been a bird for so long that she can’t change back. Nor can she tell him who she is, for she’s lost the power of speech. All Lenshi can do is sit on her husband’s shoulder or flutter around him. He thinks of her as a pet.
“Eventually Amsuro escapes and Lenshi leads him back to their home. Finding their house empty, Amsuro thinks Lenshi has deserted him. He curses her for a faithless jade and takes a new wife. On his wedding day, Lenshi flies one last time to rest in his cupped hands, then dies of a broken heart.”
Shima looked at Merrilee; the dying firelight glittered on tears standing in her eyes. “I warned you it was very sad,” he said, feeling a little guilty.
“You did, my lord,” she said. “You did, and I thank you for telling it to me, Shima Ilyathan. I think I shall go to my room now. Soot”—the name she had bestowed upon the kitten—“must think he’s been abandoned.” Her voice broke on the last word and she rose unsteadily to her feet.
Karelinn stood up as well. She said “Merri…?” as she slipped an arm around her sister’s shoulders.
It was not enough, or perhaps too much. The tears spilled over; Merrilee pulled away and ran sobbing from the room. Lord Ephris and Lady Kiela turned in their chairs to stare after her in surprise.
Spirits!
Shima thought, bewildered by Merrilee’s reaction.
It wasn’t
that
sad a story—at least not the way I tell it!
He looked to Lord Ephris and Lady Kiela for understanding. They glared in icy accusation as they rose and left the room as well.
Shima leaned back against the wall.
But I didn’t
do
anything!
he wanted to protest. He caught Karelinn’s eye as she turned back. She stared at him, her eyes cold and distant.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he implored. “I did warn her. Should I have refused? I had no idea she was so tenderhearted.”
Karelinn blinked; the frozen stare disappeared, to be replaced by a look of contrition. “I’m sorry, Dragonlord; I didn’t mean to imply it was your fault at all. I—I wasn’t even seeing you—”
She broke off as her father burst through the door. He looked as harried as a fox with a pack of hounds on his tail and no way over the river before it. “Karelinn—what on earth happened to Merri? I saw her just now on her way up to the rooms. She tried to tell me she’s not crying, but I
know
she is. Is she still thinking about that worthless scoundrel?” The harried look disappeared, banished by a frown as Lord Romsley snapped, “You’re supposed to keep her from—”
Karelinn burst out, “And how am I to do that, Father? I can’t tell her what to think!”
Her father glared at her, lips pressed together.
“I—I’m sorry, Father.” Her distressed whisper was hardly louder than the rustle of a leaf.
“The gods know I’m not an unreasonable man, but—”
It was, Shima decided, time to end this. Lord Romsley stopped, flustered, as the Tah’nehsieh Dragonlord stepped out of the shadows.
“Oh, er, ah—hello, Shima Ilyathan. I—I’m sorry I didn’t see you. I beg your pardon.”
“Not at all, Lord Romsley. It is I who should be begging
your
pardon. I’m afraid it’s my fault that Lady Merrilee is unhappy.”
Romsley’s expression shifted to half-indignant, half-astonished. “Eh? What do you mean, Your Grace?”
“Lady Merrilee asked me to recite something in Jehangli. I’m afraid I made a rather poor choice. It was part of a very sad story, and of course she asked me to translate,” Shima said, hoping the man would leave it at that.
So, of course, he didn’t. “What was so sad about it, Your Grace?” Romsley asked.
Shima looked back as innocently as he could while desperately trying to come up with a plausible fib. He
still
didn’t think his telling of the story was anything to weep over—except for a bard. Unfortunately, Lord Romsley’s gimlet stare seemed to bore holes in his mind and all his ideas leaked out before he could catch them.
“The little swallow that had been such a faithful companion in the story died,” Karelinn said into the growing silence. “You know how she is about animals, Father. I’m sure it made her think of poor little Goldwing. She still misses him so.”
“Hrmm, hrmm—yes, that would do it. She’s too softhearted sometimes.” With a sigh of relief, the now reassured Lord Romsley lumbered from the room.
As the Kelnethi lord disappeared through the door, Shima let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Karelinn sank down on the bench and wiped her forehead. They looked at each other and laughed weakly.
“That was close,” Karelinn said ruefully. “Too close.”
“Indeed.” Shima studied her for a moment; he had two questions for her.
She met his eyes, then looked away. “Thank you for taking the blame upon yourself, Shima Ilyathan.”
“It was no more than the truth. Who was Goldwing?”
“Merri’s pet songbird. He was a darling. Aunt Perrilinia’s cat got him—right in front of Merri, too. It was awful and happened just before we left.”
“Then I’m surprised she’s so concerned for that kitten Lord Eadain found. I would think she’d hate cats.”
“Oh, no! Not even Lady Bella, Aunt Perrilinia’s cat. It’s a cat’s nature, after all, to chase birds. If only Aunt Perrilinia’s maid hadn’t left the door to the room open…”
She must have guessed that there was another question lying in wait. Before he could ask it, she jumped up. “I should make certain Merri’s well,” she said with forced brightness as she sidled toward the door. “And bring Soot some milk. If you’ll excuse me, my lord?”
She was away before he could reply. Shima gave her enough time to get up the stairs, then followed. It was late, he was tired—and he could always ask her the next time they were alone.
Five
Near the border between Yerrih
and Kelneth, the dawn was breaking over the Kiltren hills to the east. As the first rays of light spread rosy fingers over the thatched roofs of Grey Holt, a door opened in the main hall of the Beast Healers’ compound and a slender figure slipped out. A heavy, short-legged animal scrambled out just as the door shut once more.
Yawning and rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Pod hurried to the stable for her morning chores. Close on her heels came her familiar, one of the powerful, bearlike woods dogs of the north.
Shaking her head, Pod grumbled, “Bah! Just can’t wake up quite all the way this morning, Kiga.”
She slapped at her cheeks. What if the Guild Master looked out his window and saw her like this? He’d think she was just a lazy slugabed and would never consider her fit to go with the Healwort Guild for Wort Hunter training.
“And I really want to go with them before I’m a journeywoman,” she told her familiar. “Only the best go while they’re still ’prentices—like Conor did. I wonder when they’re coming—d’you think I can talk Gunnis into putting in a word for me? Conor will be so proud if I’m chosen to go.” She stifled another yawn before it could escape and slapped at her cheeks once more.
It didn’t help. Still yawning, she heaved open one of the stout oak doors and slipped inside, Kiga so close, his nose almost touched her boot heels.
Shrill neighs of alarm woke Pod up that last little bit. She jumped, her heart pounding, trying to look everywhere at once in the dimly lit stable for the cause. Was there a fox, a lynx, a wolf—maybe even a snowcat—in here? What
was
it? She couldn’t see anything wrong, but the horses were plunging and kicking in their stalls and neighing like battle trumpets.
It was a long, scary moment before she realized that the frightened horses were none that she knew. And if she didn’t know them, they didn’t know her—or her familiar. She hustled Kiga out of the stable.