Sheepfarmers Daughter (17 page)

"You like those, fair warrior? 'Tis mulloch's hide, and goatskin, and the skin of a great snake from across the sea, south of Aare — only a nas, for you."

"No, thank you," said Paks, stunned more by the price than the boots. He smiled and turned away.

Coben stopped to look at a jeweler's display; the jeweler's guards dropped their hands to the hilts of their weapons. Paks looked over his shoulder, eyes wide. A tray of rings, gold, silver, some with bright stones set to them. Most were finger rings, but some were clearly earrings. Another tray held bracelets, and a single necklace of blue stones and pearls set in silver.

"Look at that," breathed Coben, pointing to one of the rings. "It's like a braided rope." Paks saw another that looked like tiny leaves linked together. She wondered what else was in the shop — far too expensive, whatever it was.

One shop displayed clothing; they could see the tailors inside, sitting cross—legged on their platform. Bolts of cloth were piled up behind them. Another shop was hung with musical instruments: two lap—harps, a lute, something twice the size of a lute with more strings, and many more that none of them recognized. In a litter of woodshavings the maker was working on a part, and smiled at them as they peeked in the door. He reached a hand to pluck one of the harps and show its tone. Paks was entranced. She had heard a harp only twice, when musicians came to the fair.

"Can — can you play, as well as make, them?"

His bushy eyebrows rose. "Of course, girl — how else would I know if I'd made them well? Listen — " He unfolded himself from the workbench, lifted the harp, and ran his hands along the strings. Paks had never heard that music before, but shivers ran up her spine.

"Do you know 'Torre's Ride'?" asked Arñe, nudging Paks forward.

"Certainly — three versions. Where are you from?"

"From the north — from Tsaia."

"Hmm." He paused to adjust a tuning peg. Then the thrilling sound rang out, one of the few songs Paks had learned before leaving home. She found herself humming along; Arñe was murmuring the words, as was Coben. The instrument maker finished a verse with a flourish. "There you are. But are any of you players?"

Paks could have listened all afternoon. She shook her head, and Arñe said "No, sir," and he went back to his bench, shaping a little piece of wood with a small chisel. Paks wondered which instrument it was for, and where it would fit, but was too shy to ask. They left that shop and moved on.

She found the surprise for Saben several shops down. Here were trays of religious symbols, carved of the appropriate stone or metal. Most she did not know. The crescent and cudgel of Gird were familiar, and the Holy Circle, and the wheatsheaf of the Lady of Peace. The sword of Tir was there, both plain and cleverly set with a tiny jewel in the pommel. But whose was the leaping fish, or the tree, or the arch of tiny stars? She looked at tiny golden apples, at green leaves, at anvils, hammers, spears, fox or wolf heads, little human figures clothed in flowers (swirling hair made the loop for hanging). Here was the antlered figure of Guthlac, and the double—faced head of Simyits, a harp for Garin, the patron of harpers, and shears for Dort, the patron of sheepshearers and all in the wool trade. Then she saw the little red stone horse, and remembered Saben's words that day in the stronghold. She looked up and found the shopkeeper watching her. She glanced around; Saben was in the next shop, pricing combs for his sisters.

"How much?" she asked. And, "Will it break easily?"

He shook his head. "Not these symbols, lady. And they have all been blessed, by the cleric for each one. They'll bring luck and blessings to those who wear them." Paks doubted this, but didn't argue.

"How much?" she asked again.

"The little horse? The symbol of Senneth, the horse—lord, and Arvoni the patron of horsemen?" Paks nodded. "Five nitis." She was startled and her face must have shown it. He said smoothly, "But for you, lady — you will need luck — for you, I will say four nitis, and two serfs." Paks had never bargained herself, though she had heard her mother and father.

"I cannot spare so much," she said, and looked away, shifting her feet. She sighed. She wanted that horse for Saben, but four nitis — that was four meals like lunch. And she wanted other things, too.

"Three nitis, two nis," he said. "I can't do more than that — " Abruptly Paks decided to buy it. She fumbled in her pouch for the silver.

When she came out, with the horse safely stowed in her pouch, Saben was still looking at combs; Arñe and Coben were rummaging through a pile of copper pots on the pavement. She ducked into the shop with Saben.

"I can't decide," he said, turning to her. "Suli likes flowers, so that's easy — this one — " The comb had a wreath of flowers along the spine. "But for Rahel and Maia, do you think the birds, or the fish, or the fern?" Paks thought the fern was the prettiest, and liked the leaping fish better than an angry—looking bird. He paid for the combs and they walked out. They saw fruit stalls beyond the piles of pots. Early berries, early peaches — they squandered coppers on the fruit, and walked on with sticky fingers. Coben cocked an eye at the sky.

"We'd better be going," he reminded them. They turned back across the square. Paks went to the spicebread stall again, and bought a stack it took both hands to carry. They munched spicebread most of the way back to camp.

As they were going to their posts for duty, Paks gave Saben the little horse. "I remembered you lost your bit of hoof," she said. "I couldn't find a hoof, but maybe the whole horse will do."

He flushed. "It's — it will do well, Paks. Thank you. Was it from the shop next to the comb place?"

"Yes."

"I looked at it, but didn't buy it — you shouldn't have spent so much — "

"Well — " This time Paks blushed. "I didn't — I mean I — umm — "

Saben laughed. "You, too? I bargained myself, but I couldn't get him to go lower than three nitis."

"Three!" Paks gasped and began to laugh helplessly.

"What? What did you get it for?" She shook her head, laughing even harder. A veteran walking by stared at her. Finally she stopped, sides aching. Saben was still watching her, puzzled.

"You should have — " she began, and started laughing again. "Oh, I can't! It hurts — you should have got it yourself— you're the better bargainer — "

"You mean you paid more than that?"

"Not much," she said, still laughing. "As — as a fighter I may be good, but at market—"

"Well, the man tried to tell me it was bad luck to bargain over a holy symbol, so maybe it will be better luck this way." Saben grinned. "Tell you what, Paks — the next time you want something, I'll bargain for you."

"Thanks," she said.

"And by the way," he went on, taking a comb from his pouch. "This one's really for you — the ferny one."

Two months later, as Paks leaned against the wall of the courtyard in a border fort south of Kodaly, she felt well content with her position.

"I agree," said Saben, who was mending a tear in his cloak while she sharpened her weapons, "that it's easier than farming. I've no desire to go back to mucking out barns. But don't forget your first battle just because it's gone so well since."

"I know. That could have ended it — like Effa. But that's the chance we take, as fighters. I wish we could see other good companies too. See how they do things, how they fight. We never can see anything but what's in front of us. It's hard to keep the idea of what we're doing — I mean as a whole — in all that confusion."

Saben shrugged. "I just go for what's in front of me. It makes sense when Stammel shows us with sticks and things, but I can't see it with real people. You can't tell what they'll do. All we can do is follow commands."

"But those who give the commands have to know what they're doing," said Paks.

"We're a long way from that," said Saben drily. "Or are you planning to leave and start your own company?"

Paks stopped a moment, and squinted up at the sky. "No. Or — I don't know. I can't say. No, I suppose not — it's a silly thought. I just — just keep thinking about it. I can't stop. Why the captains put us there, or why their commander never used his archers on the flank, like the Duke did. That was stupid, Saben, that last time. They had the archers, but they held them back where they couldn't see. If they'd been in that wood on the right — "

"I'm glad their commander didn't think of it." Saben looked at his mending and tugged the cloth to test it. "Ah. One more chore done. Are you nearly finished?"

"Sword's done. I notched the dagger yesterday." "I told you you'd honed it too fine. We're on in less than a glass." "I haven't forgotten. I just want to smooth this — one — spot. No, I'll tell you, Saben, what I'd like. I'd like to make sergeant someday. Years away, I know, and only six in the Company, but — I'd like that."

"Well, if you don't lose an arm or leg somewhere, or get killed outright, you ought to do it. You don't get drunk, or lose things, or brawl, or cause any sort of trouble. And you fight well. Now me — "

"Saben, you're as good as I am. Better, even — "

He shook his head. "No, and you know it.
I
wasn't practicing all morning. I do what I'm told, but I don't care enough to learn every weapon in sight and practice every spare minute. You do."

"You don't need much practice; you're already quicker." Paks took a last stroke with her whetstone, wiped the dagger blade carefully with a scrap of soft hareskin, and sheathed it.

"Maybe. I used to be faster than you — but you've gotten better. The thing is, I've got what I want. A life I like, good friends, enough pay for the extras I want. The only other thing would be — " he slid a glance at Paks. When she met his eyes, she reddened and looked down.

"Saben, you know I — "

"You don't want it. I know. Not from me or anyone. Well, I'm not asking: just if you did ever change. If it was just Korryn, I mean."

Paks ducked her head lower and stared at the ground. "No. Even before. I just don't feel that way."

He sighed. "I'm glad it wasn't Korryn. Don't worry; I won't bother you."

She looked up. "You never have."

"Good. I still want to be friends. Besides that, you are — Paks if you ever did have a company, you would be a good commander. I would follow you. I don't think you'll stop at sergeant, if you want more."

Paks blushed, then grinned sheepishly. "Even a warhorse?"

Saben nodded. "Lady Paksenarrion, in shining armor on a great war—horse, with a magic sword — don't laugh at me, companion! Here I'm giving you a good—luck prophecy and you laugh at me. Ha! See if I ever warn you about overhoning your blades again."

"No, but really, Saben — a sheepfarmer's daughter? That's ridiculous!" But her eyes danced to think of it.

"So laugh. Would you rather a bad—luck prophecy? Let's see — "

"No! Don't ill—wish! Let's go; I've got to get ready for guard."

The fort's wall, high above the village, was quiet in the late afternoon. Paks and Saben reported to the sergeant, an Ifoss militiaman, and took their station. West of the fort lay the hay meadows, striped with light and dark green as the second cutting dried in swathes. They walked back and forth, watching the road and tracks that converged on the fort, and looking along the rooftops and lanes below. The sun dropped, touching the woodland beyond the hay meadows.

"Good weather — it's nice up here when it's dry," said Paks.

"Better this watch than the day, though. It's been hot. I wonder how long we'll be here."

"I hadn't thought. Do you think the Duke will get another contract this year?"

"Mmm. While you were working out this morning — "

"Go on, Saben."

"A courier came in — from the northwest. Could be Valdaire. Anyway, he went straight to the captain's chambers, Cully said."

"Wonder what that's about. Valdaire."

"Or anything in between. Maybe one of the others has found where that wolf whatever is."

"There's a fight I'd like to be in."

"And I."

They turned at the corner tower and headed south again along the wall. A cool breeze had come with the falling sun; it brought the scent of hay. Paks stretched. "Umph. I've got a kink in my shoulder."

"What from, this morning?"

"Yes. Hofrin had us working on unarmed combat, and I thought he'd tear my arm loose at the shoulder. Somehow I can't get the hang of it. Either I don't turn the right way, or not fast enough —but I keep ending up on the ground."

"Best stick to sword fighting, then."

"I'd rather, really. But Hofrin says — "

"I know what Hofrin says. Everyone should learn every conceivable weapon and unarmed combat, in case you lose your axe, sword, dagger, pike, spear, mace, bow, crossbow — "

Paks chuckled. "It's not that bad. And I enjoy it — or will, when I'm not spending all my time in the air or on the ground."

"I think," said Saben tentatively," — what I saw when I watched you for awhile, is that you are too direct. You go straight in, just charging ahead, and then — "

"Land in the dust again. You're right; that's what he says, too. I keep telling myself, but when I get excited — bam, there I go. Today, at least, I made it through a few minutes of practice without doing that. Maybe I'll learn."

"I expect so. When — " Saben broke off as they heard a shout from the north wall. By the time the other guards had manned the walls, a trumpet call rang out. Duke Phelan had come; but even at watch—change, later that night, no one knew why. More than a day later Bosk finally explained.

"Ours wasn't the only bunch of wounded hit," he said. "Reim Company — they're small — lost a wagonful, and the guards for it. Atrade caravan was hit, in spite of heavy guard. Golden Company lost some, and they even struck at the Halverics's camp — stupid of them, whoever they are. Anyway, several mercenary companies have each pledged a unit to go hunting, and — "

"We're going!" cried Coben.

"No. We're not." Over the general groan, he said, "The Duke wanted archers. He's taking Cracolnya's cohort, and some of Dorrin's. The rest of us will spread thinner to cover these forts. Half of us will move to the next, where Dorrin's half has been."

Paks, to her disgust, was one of those staying. "Nothing's happened here so far," she grumbled to Saben. "And I'll bet nothing happens now. We'll stay and walk back and forth on the walls while nothing happens, and they get to go find the Wolf Prince or whoever he is, and do some fighting."

He nodded. "At least Coben and those get to go to another fort, and see something new. But I doubt they'll see any fighting there, either."

Both were wrong. In the weeks that they held the line efforts, brigands tried to strike at the villages they guarded and rob the harvest. Every garrison had at least one good fight, and most had more. When the cohort reunited, before the march back to Valdaire and winter quarters, Paks learned that two more of her recruit unit had been killed: Coben, who had been a friend since her first day as a recruit, and Suli, a cheerful brown—haired girl who was Arñe's friend. Eight of them, altogether, had died in their first year of fighting.

"If we lose this many every year," said Paks solemnly, "we'll all be gone in a few years."

"The — the veterans don't lose so many," said Arñe. Her face was still marked with tears.

"We aren't as good," commented Vik. "We've all made mistakes this year. If we live, we'll learn better."

"But it's not the worst ones who get killed. Not all of them. Coben was good — and so was Effa, and Suli." Paks felt a restless anger, and forgot how annoying Effa had been. "It's not fair."

"No," said Stammel behind them. "It's not fair. There's luck in it too. You have to accept that, to stay a soldier. Skill and courage go just so far, and then there's luck."

"Or the gods' will," said Saben.

Stammel shrugged. "You can call it that — it may be that. From what I've seen it could be either."

Paks was still dissatisfied. "But it still seems to me that the better ones should have more chance — "

"Paks, think. The better ones do have more chance—but no guarantee. Look how close you came to being killed. Three of those we lost were among the least skilled. Ilvin stood up on the wall even after Bosk yelled a warning about crossbows: that was stupid. Coben — I know he was your friend, and he was a good, honest, middling fighter—but he never learned to handle himself against a left—handed opponent, and a left—handed man knocked his shield aside and spitted him. Suli, too, was not as skillful as any of you four —just not fast enough."

"But she was as fast as I am."

"She was back north. Paks, you've been training hard; you've improved. You hadn't gone against her lately because Hofrin knew it wouldn't be any work for you. I know it's hard losing friends. It always hurts. If you stay in, you'll have that hurt every year — I have. D'you think I like seeing youngsters I trained get hurt and die? I won't try to tell you how to take it; you'll have to figure out your own way. The Company mourning, when we get back to Valdaire, will help. But wishing it were fair is no help at all." Stammel walked away, and left them to their thoughts.

For a long time they were silent.

There was more to come. The other two cohorts met them two days out of Valdaire, and they heard the tale of the campaign against the Wolf Prince.

"It was bad enough," said Barranyi, with a toss of her black hair. "We marched for days through the woods west of here, up into the foothills, before we came to his stronghold."

"Don't forget what happened in the woods that night, Barra," added Natzlin. She had a bandage around her left arm, and a healing gash on her forehead.

"Oh — yes. One night — I think it was the second — during the first watch, we heard a wild screeching and flights of arrows started falling in the camp. Red Jori — you don't know him; he's a seven—year veteran in our cohort — he was hit in the leg. Others were hit too. We couldn't see anyone, and we were rushing around, with the sergeants bellowing and swearing — and then the Duke himself yelled something I didn't understand. A voice answered him from the trees, and they talked back and forth a bit — still in words I didn't know — and then the Duke told us that it was all over. And I still don't know what that was about, and no one will say!" Barranyi shook her head, glowering.

"Never mind, Barra; tell them the rest of it." Natzlin, as usual, could soothe Barra out of her sulks.

"And how many others were with you?" asked Paks. "We heard other companies were sending troops — "

Barra nodded briskly. "Yes, they did. And that was exciting, meeting those others. Let me think. Reim Company sent about twenty — they're small, Dorrin says. Halveric Company sent a whole cohort of foot, and twenty horse. Golden Company sent — what was it, Natz?"

"Near a cohort, I think."

"And we had some boundsmen from Valdaire; the city's angry that its neutrality was breached, or that's what I heard. Anyway, when we got near the Wolf Prince, we were attacked by horsemen, again and again. If we hadn't had horsemen with us, we'd have been in worse trouble. And Paks, I did see a black and white spotted horse off to one side; I'd bet that was one of his captains."

Paks nodded. "Could have been. Was it smaller than the others?"

"Yes. Then we got to the stronghold itself. Much better designed than those forts we'd been holding. If the Wolf Prince had pulled all his men inside, I don't think we could have broken the place."

"Never regret the stupidity of enemies," said Vik, who had been polishing his helmet as he listened. "There's no gift to compare with it."

Barra glared at him. "I wasn't suggesting that — "

"Please tell us the rest, Barra," said Arñe quickly, "before we die of curiosity."

Barra shrugged, gave Vik a last hard look, and went on. "We had a battle outside the walls, that's all. Fought most of the day. It was hard fighting, but finally they broke and ran for the gate. We got most of'em outside, but enough were left to make the assault a real fight too. Black Sim, of Cracolnya's, was trying to set a ladder when he was crushed by a rock they dropped. Oh — and Paks, Corporal Stephi was killed too. It was on the wall, after we'd gotten up. Two of our men were down, and he was trying to protect them from a rush; he got a spear through the body." Barranyi looked closely at Paks, who felt a strange mixture of relief and regret.

"And then," said Natzlin, picking up the tale, "we fairly took the place apart. It was ugly. Ringbolts set into the courtyard and on the walls — with that spacing we didn't have to guess what for. Dungeons: nasty, stinking, wet holes — like a nightmare. Bones — human bones. And the servants — " Her voice faded away as her eyes clouded.

Barra nodded soberly. "They were pitiful. Not one without old scars and new welts. So we killed 'em all — "

"The servants?" asked Arñe, startled.

"No, of course not. The Wolf Prince and his men. And the Duke searched his rooms for a reason why he'd attack our caravan and the others — I hear he found nothing. And then we came back, and that's all." She stood abruptly and stretched. Natzlin rose more slowly, tucking back a strand of brown hair. "We'd better go back," said Barra. "We're on watch tonight." The two walked toward their own cohort.