[Lanen Kaelar 01] - Song in the Silence (7 page)

when the lost ones from the past

live and move in light of sun,

Marik of Gundar’s blood and bone

shall rule all four in one alone.’

” ‘What is this gibberish?’ snarled Marik.
‘My blood and bone are within my body. You are the fool, Berys, it is simple
enough to ensure that I never have issue. Then I shall rule Kolmar, I, Marik of
Gundar!’

“Berys never moved, and his voice went cold
and calm. No, Your destiny is merely to bring into being the child who will
rule all of Kolmar—and now the child is mine!’

“I had heard enough. I spoke low but loud,
to shock them and alert Maran. ‘Now.’

“I threw myself at Berys, but I might have
saved myself the trouble. Somehow I’d have thought a master of the Fifth
Circle—there are only seven—would have safeguards against just this sort of
thing, but the luck was with me. I can only guess he couldn’t have summoned the
Raksha with his guard about him. A few cuts that wouldn’t kill him to get him
into position, one deep wound to keep him down, and that was it.

“I turned just in time to see Maran deal
with Marik. He had disarmed her, but she never was much for weapons.”
Jamie grinned then, all the way up to his eyes. “He’d grabbed her right
arm to keep her off balance. Idiot. Spent all that time with her and never
noticed she was left-handed. She hit him in the stomach like the hammer hitting
the anvil. I heard ribs crack from where I stood. He’d doubled over, of course.
Then’ she straightened him out. He dropped like a stone.

“She wrapped the Farseer in her cloak and we
ran for the horses I’d left nearby. May I never again face such a wild ride in
darkness. Our noses were pointed north and west and we followed them, caring
only about putting as much distance as we could between us and them.

“We had been going for some half an hour
when something made me turn in my saddle. There behind us I watched as two red
smears of light streaked towards us in the darkness. They were at about the
same level above the ground as we were, and they were gaining on us far too
quickly.

“The horses saved us, I think. They caught
wind of the things and bolted. I thought they were running before, but sheer
terror is a wonderful spur. We fairly flew.

“And just as well, for despite our speed the
things caught us up. I knew of nothing to do against such creatures, and I had
no idea what would happen, but I learned soon enough. A red mist covered my
sight, and every inch of my skin crawled as though a thousand ants swarmed over
me. The itch swelled from a burning to a knife-prick to a deep stabbing pain. I
never meant to, but I cried out, about the same time Maran screamed.”

He stared deep into the fire. “I don’t know
how we managed to stay on our horses, but we did, and that’s why I’m alive to
tell of it. Who could know that so simple a thing as sheer distance would be
our saving?

“It was sudden as blowing out a candle. The
pain just stopped as we clung to our poor terrified mounts and sped away from
Illara. We slowed and stared at each other in amazement, and together we reined
in and looked behind.

“There behind us in the road were two red
patches of light, dissolving like sugar in rain even as we watched. The horses,
poor things, fell into an exhausted walk once the smell of the demons was gone.
We got down to give them a rest, and because I at least wanted the feel of
solid ground under my feet.

” ‘Jamie, what happened?’ says Maran. ‘I
thought we were done.’

” ‘My first time, too,’ I told her. ‘Why
don’t you try the Farseer?’

“She pulled it out of its swaddling in her
saddlebag and said, ‘Show me Berys.’ As I leaned over her shoulder I saw,
despite the darkness, a dear vision of Berys looking near death, and of
Marikbehind him looking little better. They were being tended by a healer. From
the way Berys was lying, I guessed he’d fainted.

” ‘Is he breathing?’ Maran said, almost to
herself.

” ‘For all of me he is,’ I told her. ‘Did
you think I’d kill him? I admit I was tempted, but I’d had my fill of death in
that place already.’ And suddenly I was crying like an idiot. It had washed
over me, that poor babe, dying alone and terrified that we might live, I still
owe someone for that, you know,” said Jamie thoughtfully. “I swore it
to the child.”

‘He stopped to down his ale, I sat unmoving,
unwilling to break into his thoughts, wondering when he was going to get to the
part that affected me. He kept silent, though, and I couldn’t stand it.
“What happened then?”

“What, am I a bard now?” he asked
lightly. “If I am your hospitality is lacking. I’m starving,” he
said. “It must be two hours past noon.”

I shook myself and looked out the window of the
inn. He was right, noon was long gone. It was still raining, but the sky was
beginning to lighten in the east with at least some hope of an end to the
soaking. The couple in the corner table had finished eating and seemed to be in
the midst of an animated discussion.

Jamie stood and stretched. “I should get out
to the stables and check up on the lads,” he said. “I’ll get the
innkeeper to bring them some of that stew that smells so good, if you’ll
arrange the same for us. I’ll be back soon.”

I ordered the stew and a large loaf of fresh
bread. By the time it had come Jamie was back, bringing with him a whiff of the
stables. It almost smelled homey.

We sat together, as we had always done, and broke
bread together. I found myself blushing for the way I had treated him. Blast
him, he always could see my thoughts clear as daylight.

“So you’re over your horrors, are you?”
he said with a wry smile. “About time, too, ye daft thing.” He leaned
across the little table and took my hand. “I never meant to shock you so,
my girl, but ifs time you learned there’s more to most people than meets the
eye.”

“I know, Jamie. I just thought I knew
you.” I stared at him, trying to see in him all the Jamies I had met:
oldest friend and truest companion, lover of the mother I had never known,
killer for hire, to whom now I owed my life for dispatching but twelve hours
past—the ruffian who would have killed me.

He squeezed my hand. “You do know me, Lanen.
Better than any save your mother.” He let go my hand and grinned.
“Better than you might wish to, I dare say. But at least such friendship
means that after we eat I can finish the tale for you.”

Jamie said it was good stew, but I hardly tasted
it. The instant he was finished with his bowl I whisked it away, filled his
tankard again and sat it squarely in front of him.

“Right. Talk,” I demanded.

He laughed—louder than usual, I suspect the ale
was finally affecting him, though his capacity was legendary—and settled back
in his chair, gazing at me. It was a measuring glance, though I could not think
what he was seeing.

“You know, you’ve been right all these
years. You never did suit Hadronsstead, not from your first breath. We’ve not
talked so much for years, my girl; save just after Hadron died, and I’ve missed
it sore.” His smile broadened. “And you have never ordered me to do
anything your life long. It suits you.” This for some reason struck him as
amusing. “Just like your mother,” he added, laughing rather too
loudly.

I drummed my fingers on the table. This sent him
off into another gale of laughter; and I couldn’t help it—I never could hear
Jamie laugh and not join in. When he finally stopped, wiping his eyes, he sat
and grinned like a cat who’s found the dairy. “As I live and breathe,
Lanen, Maran did that very thing when she was annoyed. Where did you pick that
up?”

“Nowhere. I mean, I’ve always done it,”
I said, surprised. All my life I had gone without any word of my mother, and of
a sudden it seemed that she had some part in me after all. “Jamie, why in
the name of sense have you never told me any of this before?”

He sobered a bit, at that. “I gave my word,
lasso I swore to Hadron that I would not speak to you of your mother as long as
I lived under his roof.”

“But why?”

“Ah, well, that’s the rest of the
story.” His grin broke out again. “And so you’ve brought me round to
it. You’re too damn clever by half, you know. Still, I suppose needs must. I’ve
avoided it long enough.” He sipped at his ale.

“You see, Maran and I were lovers again on
the road away from Illara.” He shot a keen glance at me, keener than rd
have thought him capable of at the time. I kept my face carefully composed.
Whatever it was, I needed to hear it.

“We arrived at Hadronsstead not a fortnight
before Midwinter Fest. We had not—been there a week before Maran realised she
was pregnant. With you. Only,” he said, all his gaiety gonr in the
instant, “she wasn’t at all sure who the father was. Me or Marik.”

Without looking at me, without speaking, he drew
out a small metal flask from his tunic and passed it to me. I took a swig and
let the strong spirits singe my throat. I was glad of the sensation. I think it
kept me from doing something stupid like fainting.

I couldn’t think straight. Jamie’s daughter.
Marik’s daughter. Mariik’s firstborn, promised to demons and to Berys. Maran,
who abandoned me, so careless with her body she didn’t know who my father was.
Maybe Jarnie’s daughter…

All of these were loud and most of them were
frightening, but louder yet and triumphant, a song of release that soared above
the rest, was the glorious thought, Whatever , may be, I am not Hadron’s
daughter! He never was my father. His anger at me was not at me. He despised me
not because I was worthless but because I was another man’s child. Even though
I did not, could not love him, it is not because my heart is barren. Despite
all Hadron ever said and I ever thought, I am not a cold, heartless child. Dear
Goddess, what a relief!

But there had to be more to the tale.

“Jamie, why did Hadron take her in? Did he
not know?”

Jamie sighed. “Ah, Lanen. Well I know you
never saw the softer side of Hadron’s loving, but you must believe me. From the
moment he met her he was smitten. No matter that she was no beauty, no matter
that she had no fortune, no matter even to his strict Ilsan soul that she had
travelled with me for over three years. Her manner was free and her heart was
light, she was a strange grey-eyed Northern woman who stood in truth head and
shoulders above her sisters hereabouts. In a week she had swept him off his
sensible feet, he who had never loved another his life long, with her laughter
and her brave soul. Before the month was out he asked her to marry him. They
were wed a month past midwinter; hardly three weeks after they met.”

He paused, and I had to ask about what he had not
said. “You tell me he loved her, very well, I believe you—but Jamie, what
of what she said to you? What was it—while I live I shall love you best,
something like that.” His face, clouded before, darkened yet more.
“Jamie, I can’t believe it. How could she love him?” When he said
nothing, I asked, “Did she love him?”

He closed his eyes, old pain sharp-etched for an
instant in his face. “I don’t know. She never told me.”

When he looked up I had to look away. The silence
between us danced with shadows, new to me and terrible, but to Jamie they were
old ghosts. He knew them well enough; and though they made him sad, they held
no longer raw grief, only old sorrow. He spoke again sooner than I would have
dreamed he could.

“She wed him, at any rate, and you were born
at the autumn solstice.” His voice grew softer. “I’d never seen Maran
so happy. She had a smile for you that no one else in the world ever saw.”
I glanced at him and saw that sorrow had left him, and now in his eyes and his
voice lived softer memories of her. “I asked her once if she could see in
you anything of me or of Marik, but she laughed and told me that she saw only
herself in little.” He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye.
“Or maybe not so little.”
 
.

“Thanks.”

He snorted. “Wretched women, tall as houses
the pair of you, and mean with it.”

“You think I’m mean now, just you stop
talking and see what it gets you.”

“You’re a glutton for punishment, aren’t
you? I’d have thought this lot was enough for one day,” he said, finishing
his ale. “Speaking of which, how about some more to drink?”

“Of course,” I replied, and called the
girl over. “A pot of chélan, with honey, and two mugs.”

“Chélan? What for?” he asked.

“What do you think? You always told me that
after a long drinking session it helped clear the head. We’ve been at this
since midmorning and it’s near dusk already.” My point was reinforced by
our host, who came round with candles for the tables to banish the gathering
shadows. More folk were coming into the tavern, their day’s work done, to
quench their thirst.
 
.

One corner of Jamie’s mouth twisted up and he
looked at me from under his brows. “And are you feeling the effects of all
this ale, you who never drink more than two pints?”

It hadn’t occurred to me. I was astounded to find
that I was perfectly sober. Jamie laughed at my expression and clapped me on
the shoulder. “You have just learned one of the great rules of drinking,
my girl. When you are deeply concerned, when your heart is troubled by deep
grief or sorrow, drink makes no difference no matter how much you take. But I
will say , chélan sounds good.”