Wintertide (10 page)

“Aye, I’ve a room for you, Sirrah, but not for the lad,” Khamsin heard him say as she waited patiently in front of the great hearth. There was a good sized fire going inside it. The heat penetrated her clothing. She turned and removed her cloak.

“Well, then, what you have will do for us both,” the Tinker replied, as the innkeeper suddenly stared at something behind him. “I never go anywhere without my little cousin.”

“I can see why,” came the balding man’s droll reply.

The Tinker turned also and smiled. Khamsin smiled back in return, then stretched her arms up over her head as the warmth from the fire relaxed the tension in her body.

“And some people complain about their relatives,” the Tinker quipped as he pressed the required coins into the innkeeper’s soft palm. He was handed a heavy key in exchange.

“Just one room?” Khamsin stood before the large door as the Tinker fit the key into the lock.

“It’s all they have, m’Lady, and at this hour we’re not about to go traipsing around the city in search for another. Besides, the price is reasonable, the food won’t kill you. And I trust Master Verney not to rob me blind if I happen to fall into a drunken stupor at one of his ale-room tables downstairs.”

She followed him hesitantly into the room. There was a four-postered bed along the back wall with the smaller trundle adjacent to it. They camped together for night after night but that was different. She was secure in her bedroll and he, in his. Though there were times she longed for a warmth that couldn’t be provided by their small stone-ringed fire.

But the openness of their outdoor encampments kept her from pursuing her foolish whims, for that was all she considered them to be. Yet here, here was a room with walls. And a door that locked. She’d never been in a bedroom before with anyone other than her husband.

“Do you do that often, fall into a drunken stupor, that is?” It would make his presence more worrisome if he were in an inebriated condition.

He crossed to the window, drew back the curtains and shoved the wooden panes outward. “’Bout once in a blue moon, only.”

She waited until he turned and was involved in unpacking his satchel before she sauntered by the open window and, with a quick glance upwards, checked on the condition of the twin luminaries of the night sky. Both were half-full. And neither was blue.

She had little to unpack and found all she had, including her sword, fit nicely in a small cupboard in the corner. She hung her cloak on a nearby hook. Then, while the Tinker went in search of a pitcher of fresh water, she touched all four corners of the cupboard door with a warding spell. She worried less about her meager wardrobe then she did about her sword.

They returned downstairs for a light supper. Khamsin said little, content just to listen to the Tinker’s recitation of various legends about Noviiya. She found his manner of speech fascinating, his precise choice of words enlivening his descriptions. She giggled unashamedly at his recounting of the antics of Noviiya’s miserly merchants. Then stared, wide-eyed, when his deep voice dropped to a whisper as he described the secret treasure supposedly lost forever in the icy depths of the Great North Sea. She felt she could listen to the sound of his voice forever and she forgot for awhile her real purpose in the City. She let herself get lost in the fantasies he wove before her.

But reality was thrust upon her all too soon when, shortly after supper, she found herself back in their room with the Tinker making preparations for the night. She placed her cloak and vest carefully over the back of a chair. Then clutched the front of her half-unbuttoned shirt self-consciously.

The Tinker regarded her with undisguised amusement from where he sat on the higher bed, tugging off his boots. “Would you prefer if I were to close my eyes?”

“Would be more proper,” she murmured, hearing the foolishness in her statement. This was the man who tended to the bruises left on her body by the grief-maddened Covemen.

“Proper?” His voice was unexpectedly soft. She turned, surprised at the sound. “Nay, little one, would be more proper if I were to take you in my arms and... but I don’t know if you’re ready for that.”

She felt her face grow hot. Was he aware of her attraction to him? Or did he expect her to be willing in repayment for his aid? “Sirrah! Surely you know I’m a widow and recently so. It’s cruel of you to take advantage of…”

“But you’re also a woman. There’s much I could teach you, much we could share.”

“I don’t care for lessons of that sort!” She snatched at the vest she had discarded only moments before. “I thank you for your assistance, but it seems…”

“It seems we’re both overly tired and wont to misconstrue. I mean no disrespect in my words.” He leaned forward, his eyes dark with concern. “Have I hurt you in any way to this point, Lady Khamsin? Have I broken your faith in me?”

She fingered the softness of the vest distractedly and avoided looking at him. “No,” she admitted.

“Then have faith that now and forever, I mean you no harm. Judge me by your heart, my Lady. It’s wiser than you think.”

Warily, she let herself stare into his eyes. They were a cool blue compared to the heat she felt in the room between them. She felt unsettled and ashamed. Not that he’d hurt her. But at what she feared she wanted. “I can’t.”

“And I’m not asking. I’d never take anything from you that you weren’t first willing to give. And I’d never force you to do, or be, anything. Other than what you want to be. In this, if in nothing else, you may place your faith.”

He motioned to the trundle bed next to his own, with its warm coverlet and soft pillow. “Sleep, little one. You need your rest. We have busy times ahead of us.”

Khamsin slipped out of her breeches and let her shirt fall from her arms onto the chair. She stood clad only in her camisole and underpinnings. Swiftly, she climbed under the reassuring weight of the coverlet.

The Tinker cupped his hand around the bedside taper and blew softly, extinguishing the light.

Khamsin listened to him adjust his weight on the bedframe. Then shyly she reached up into the darkness and finding his hand, clasped it for a moment in her own.

*

The next morning they left Nixa behind and set out into the city. Khamsin felt refreshed after a good night’s sleep, though where Nixa slept she didn’t know. She found the gray cat perched on the windowsill in the morning, a haughty expression on her feline features.

“Surveying her kingdom,” the Tinker quipped, all the tension of the previous night now gone.

It was where Nixa still sat even now as Khamsin and the Tinker passed in front of the small fountain outside the inn. Khamsin turned, sending one more motherly reminder to the gray cat to ‘behave’ until she returned.

The Tinker led her down a confusing array of twisting cobblestoned streets and alleyways, stopping here and there to point out some item of interest. Like the elegant tearoom where wealthy ladies, suspected of nobility, sipped steamy liquid from thin, porcelain cups. Khamsin watched in open-mouthed amazement as two young women about her own age were escorted by an elderly gentleman through the wide doorway. She had never seen dresses of the fine fabric they wore; polished muslins and rich brocades, trimmed with eyelets and laces. And all before noon!

“Those are the Princesses Adorna and Ordella, with their great-uncle Fazmir.” The Tinker guided her away with a light touch on her elbow.

“You know them?” Her amazement was genuine.

“Noviiya has an overabundance of Princesses,” he scoffed.

“Are there Healers here, too?” They walked down a short flight of steps. She heard the pounding of the surf over the constant rumbling of the city.

“Some, though most are just fortune-tellers. Their skill lies not in their ability to heal but in their ability to deceive their patrons. And deprive them of their coins.”

“They get paid?” The thought shocked Khamsin.

The Tinker chuckled and his eyes sparkled. “You do have much to learn.”

They were clearly in the more affluent section of the city. The Tinker explained the meticulously cared-for facades around them were residences; some of wealthy merchants, some of government officials. And some of what he called ‘old money.’ Wealthy land-barons with large estates to the North and West who maintained a city address as well. These were all things Khamsin never dreamed of, never knew about back in her small village by the Cove. She walked around in haze of wonder and amazement.

There was also a museum, and farther down the street, a library. When the Tinker explained what a library was, he had to physically restrain his young companion from dashing towards the gate and attempting to gain entry. Though her reading skills were rudimentary, the thought of endless knowledge beckoned to her like forbidden fruit. Only when he made clear to her that the library was not open to the average citizen, but only to those who ruled in the business, government or religious sectors of Noviiya did Khamsin cease her pleading. She stood, forlornly, in front of the spear-tipped locked gate like a chastised child.

“Come, come. There’s much yet to see.” He chucked her affectionately under the chin.

She raised her eyes to his. “It’s not fair that they should keep all that wisdom locked away.”

“Ah, but little one, some people say that knowledge is a dangerous thing.”

The Sorcerer, she felt, would be one of those.

He drew her attention to the turrets of a tall building at the end of the street. “The Governor’s mansion.”

“And that?” She pointed to a two-story building with colorful banners draped over its sides. Like the library, it too was encircled by an iron gate but this one was more elaborate, with scroll-work and curlicues adorning its base. A high arched window topped a wide, ornately carved wooden door. A nattily-attired young man, hawk-faced, in a brocade jacket and braid-trimmed stockings stood almost motionless, facing the street.

“That’s the Games Palace.” At her quizzical expression, he continued. “Another toy for the wealthy and the privileged. It contains many rooms, each relegated to a different game or amusement. There are card games in some, games of skill and chance in others. There’s also a wrestling arena and a sword pit. And other things,” he added, as they made a sharp right before reaching the building they were discussing. “For those who seek their entertainment on more intimate levels.”

The street ended suddenly. Khamsin found herself clasping onto a railing on the cliff’s edge. The dark surf pounded below her, the breakers licking hungrily at the rocks. The wind whistled through the railing. She drew a deep breath of salt and found, for the first time in her life, she was afraid of the sea.

“It’s not like home,” she said.

“No,” the Tinker agreed, his face serious. “No, the sea knows the difference, too.”

She let the wind buffet her back. The edges of her cape flapped lightly and she could feel her short hair dancing around her neck. “I’m keeping you from your business here.”

“Today? No, not today. Today I set aside just for you.”

“That’s very kind of you, Tinker.” The warmth in her words was real.

He tucked a trembling strand of hair around her ear. “Rylan. My name, Khamsin, is Rylan.”

“Then I thank you, Rylan. You’ve shown more than an ordinary kindness to a stranger. It will not be forgotten.”

“You talk as if I’m already a part of your past.”

She shook her head. “No. It’s just that you can’t be part of my present. What I have to do breeds danger. It’s something I must do alone. For all the help you’ve given me, my friend, this, I’m afraid is out of your realm of experience.”

“What do you have to do?”

“Exactly, I’m not sure, which is part of the reason I had to come to Noviiya. The answer’s here, somewhere. And it involves the incidents that we discussed that night at my house. About Dram, and other villages to the South. As well as the raids on my village that not only granted me my life, but my friends and husband, their death.”

“You seek revenge, then?”

“Eventually. But for now I seek someone who can teach me what I need to know. You mentioned there were Healers here in the City. Are there any of great reputation that could provide me with the training I need?”

“In Noviiya? Several, if you’re willing to pay the price.”

“Which is?”

He rubbed his fingers together, as if toying with coins.

“Then they’re not Healers, they’re thieves!” She crossed her arms across her chest in a defiant gesture.

“If it’s knowledge you seek, then why don’t you go to the one who’s the keeper of the Orb of Knowledge? To Traakhal-Armin, to…”

“Rylan, surely you’re mad!” She stepped towards him, her hands outstretched. “For he’s the power behind everything that I oppose. He’s the Sorcerer, the Evil Lord, the Demon-Keeper. He placed the spell of Assignation upon me when I was born, and…”

“And perhaps he was trying to tell you something.” He took her hands.

She shook her head violently. “No!”

Rylan started to speak but a flock of sea-fowl sped through the air, screeching. Khamsin twisted around to look at them, jarred by the sound. His hands clenched tightly over hers.

“Perhaps...” he said again, when she turned back to him but she drew her mouth into a firm line.

“I know you mean well. But what you suggest is impossible.”

“Then, I don’t know, Khamsin. I don’t know how to help you.”

Late that night, while Rylan slumbered under Nixa’s watchful eye, Khamsin slipped down the back stairs of the inn to a small, private garden. In between the day’s laundry hung out to dry and a collection of empty baskets littered with leaves of wilted lettuce and crusts of dry bread, she cleared a small area and set out her amulets as Tanta Bron had taught her. Then she cast her stones, again.

This time a name appeared in the dust. ‘Ciro,’ it read, in the runes of an ancient tongue.

“Ciro,” she whispered out loud and in the distance heard the deep rumble of thunder.

*

She woke to find Rylan already out of bed, his trousers on, a clean linen shirt in one hand. He held a darning needle awkwardly in the other. He winced as he pricked himself with the needle then silently mouthed a curse. She giggled when he placed his finger into his mouth.