A Play of Shadow (3 page)

He eyed the frost on his windowpanes, well aware Jenn Nalynn could have put it there.

Not willingly. She was as brave and good as she was powerful, and did her utmost to keep her magic under control. Magic.

Turn-born.

A person, he reminded himself, the same as any. Bannan swung his feet to the floor, pulling the quilt around his shoulders. A woman grown, full of possibilities and dreams he’d very much like to share. Along with a bed that’d be far warmer this winter with her in it; distracting thought. Bannan shook his head. He didn’t doubt her love or his own. He couldn’t doubt her good heart or intentions.

Jenn Nalynn was the one who needed to be sure. Ancestors Witness, wasn’t her struggle to understand and accept herself the same one he’d fought, when he’d first learned he wasn’t like other children? When he’d first looked into another’s face and seen a lie? When he’d known he’d forever be different?

Truthseer.

Oh, how he’d hated that name, that gift, and the duty it had brought him, to be an interrogator for a heedless prince, to see nothing but darkness. It was only here, in Marrowdell, that he’d come to cherish his deeper sight. For here . . .

Getting up, Bannan tossed aside the quilt and dressed quickly. Here, he thought happily, were marvels, the greatest of all being Jenn Nalynn.

Surely she’d realize that for herself and soon. He glanced wistfully out the window toward the village. “I’d be Beholden if I didn’t have to wait too long,” he told his Ancestors, hopefully listening.

Not that he’d wait idle. There was work to do, he thought with still urgent joy. Work in his own home, by his own hands. The truthseer slid down the ladder to his kitchen, landing with a thump that stirred a grumpy blink from his house toad, warming itself by the stove.

“Fair morning,” he greeted. The worthy creature understood most, if not all, of what it heard and deserved courtesy. Explaining that to Lila, Bannan chuckled to himself, would be an interesting conversation indeed. He stirred the coals before lighting a lantern. “Any sign of our dragon?”

While the toad couldn’t speak so he could hear, it gave a huge and toothy yawn to reveal an eloquently empty mouth, then deliberately shifted closer to the warm metal.

The dragon, usually underfoot at mealtimes, had been scarce since the cooler weather. Were dragons like bears, to sleep the winter? The question, however intriguing, was unlikely to be answered before he had to leave.

Bannan opened the back door and leaned out, looking for his other frequent visitor. That he didn’t see Scourge meant nothing. The old kruar, who looked enough like an ugly horse to pass for one, could hide his vast bulk behind a twig if he chose. And often did, ambush being a game he relished a little too much for a certain man’s comfort.

To save time, and his toes, the truthseer stayed in the doorway and whispered, “Bacon. Baconbaconbacon.” Should bring the idiot beast at a gallop.

Nothing. Good. The kruar and dragon must be hunting, or whatever they did together. An improbable truce kept them from each other’s throats, as would otherwise be their nature and inclination. A shared past, common interests, and—to Bannan’s mind—a mutual disdain for the younger of their own kinds, had them seek each other’s company. Oh, and love of bickering. That too.

Under it all, the truth that neither belonged with their own kind, not anymore. They’d been forever changed: Wisp by his love for Jenn Nalynn, Scourge by his exile as a warhorse for generations of Larmensu riders.

Bannan had been the latest; he was determined to be the last. Beyond Marrowdell, the great beast had not only been mute; he’d forgotten who and what he was. Had he not found the Larmensus, with their ability to see the truth, Scourge would likely still be running loose, cheerfully hunting rabbits. Or men. The distinction seemed irrelevant when the blood lust was on him. The point being, the truthseer knew, that the kruar had come home, penance served and exile ended. And home was where he should stay.

Not that Scourge would agree. “Bacon,” Bannan called again, louder. “Bacon and CHEESE!”

He counted to ten, then grinned with relief and closed the door. “Maybe they won’t notice I’ve been gone.”

The toad gave him a doubtful look.

“I know what you’re thinking. If they do find out, the dragon will raid my larder—again. Which wouldn’t be your fault, in any sense,” he added hastily, house toads having a pricklish pride and, while peerless at keeping vermin out, having no such knack with dragons. Or at least Marrowdell’s.

Humming to himself, Bannan made a quick breakfast of the last of the porridge from the pot, impulsively adding water to soften the crusty bits, then a full measure of fresh flakes to cook in case the dragon did move in—he hated being a poor host. Gulping down cold tea, he packed what little he’d need for travel.

Bedroll. Shaving kit—being beardless had begun as a simple disguise and was now his preference. He picked up his soldier’s cup and folded the handle, tucking that into its usual spot in the saddlebag, then looked around for his sword and pistol.

Both of which he’d left behind in Vorkoun.

“Heart’s Blood,” Bannan swore, shaken. Were the old habits still so close? “I’m a farmer,” he declared, removing the offending metal cup and replacing it with the bulky, fragile, and far heavier one he’d used for his morning tea. Tir would mock him for it.

He didn’t care. However ridiculous, the gesture made him feel better.

Bannan dug into a trunk for his riding leathers; homespun didn’t cut the chill. Ready, he came back to the kitchen and found the toad waiting.

The earnest regard of its oversized eyes made Bannan sit on a stool and shake his head. “You’ll not leave me in peace till I admit it,” he grumbled, hardly fair to the toad. “Heart’s Blood. Here’s the truth, then. The food doesn’t matter. The dragon’s welcome. It’s Scourge I’m worried about. If he catches wind of this, the bloody beast will follow me. We both know it. And he mustn’t. This is where he belongs.”

Where those dreadful scars were the only thing left for Scourge to bear.

Closing its eyes, the house toad tucked its wide chin atop clawed feet, plainly considering the whole business beyond either of them.

The worst thing was, when it came to Scourge?

Bannan knew it was right.

For all their seeming silence, house toads had an abundance of opinion. Expressed, Jenn thought with some frustration, in the most awkward way possible. Like now.

“Will you please move?” she pleaded under her breath.

The Emms’ house toad paled slightly, but didn’t budge from the doorway, its huge eyes locked on hers with desperation in their limpid depths. ~You mustn’t try to leave, elder sister. You mustn’t intervene. Marrowdell relies upon you.~

Toads. “I know all that,” she assured it, gripping the scraps of her patience. “I’m not going to—”

“Your pardon, Jenn?” Gallie looked up from her packing, absently shifting little Loee to a more comfortable spot on her hip.

Wen Treff talked to toads. Jenn wasn’t ready to admit she did as well. “I’m not going—” she repeated quickly “—to have you wear yourself out before the trip begins. Please. Let me carry the rest to the wagon.”

The older woman smiled. “Thank you, Dear Heart. Ancestors Beset and Bewildered, whatever would I do without you?”

Manage in her usual capable fashion, Jenn was sure, smiling back. “Glad to help.” She lifted her armload and teased, “I take it there are no sausages in Endshere.”

Gallie glanced ruefully at the table, covered with more coils of sausages as well as well-filled sacks and baskets. “I’m spoiling them, I know, but I can’t visit Allin and Palma in their new home without Beholding gifts.” Her eyes sparkled. “Won’t they be surprised?”

Surprised would be an understatement, Jenn thought. Gallie and Zehr hadn’t left Marrowdell since arriving with the rest over twenty years ago. “They’ll be thrilled to see you,” she said honestly. “It’s a kind thing you’re doing.”

“It’s no kindness to the horses, Gallie Emms, having you overload the wagon!” Lorra Treff made her entrance from the other room, Frann Nall close behind. Both were dressed for travel in their best heavy cloaks, scarves, and hats. Though their cheeks were equally flushed and foreheads beaded with sweat, neither would be first to admit they’d been a smidge premature in their bundling. “Leave all that.”

“Now, Lorra,” Frann protested. “We don’t have as much ourselves this trip. You said it yourself.”

Gallie brightened. Lorra frowned. Jenn tried to slip out the door over the toad but didn’t make it in time. “We’ve enough. There’s simply no room on the cart for—” Lorra eyed her burden and her frown became a scowl. “—sausages?! Ancestors Misguided and Mad, Gallie Emms, would you have us starve? Let Endshere feed its own.”

At Gallie’s crestfallen look, Jenn curled her arms around her bundle. “They’ve not tasted any as good as these.”

Lorra drew herself up, the tallest feather on her hat collecting a cobweb from the rafter, to Loee’s great delight. “And how would you know, Jenn Nalynn?”

It was true. And cruel.

The air in the room chilled. Frann stopped fanning her face with a ’kerchief and Gallie shivered. Which wasn’t right and Jenn wished for warmth again too quickly, melting the butter in its flowered dish.

Loosening her scarf, Lorra dismissed the oddness with a brisk, “You should have my Davi look at your chimney, Gallie. Where was I?” To Frann.

“On your way to tell your son we’ll be ready,” Gallie informed her, with a frosty glint in her eye. “Not telling me how to pack for a visit with mine.”

The matriarch of the Treffs drew a breath, ready and willing to argue.

A cough distracted her. Frann waved her ’kerchief apologetically. “The damp.”

Jenn hid a smile. Though she’d not stayed abed a day anyone could recall, Frann had what Aunt Sybb called an expressive constitution, her nagging cough sure to arrive once confined indoors with Lorra for the winter.

“Lorra,” Frann continued, “we must keep the house warmer.”

“Psht. It’s so hot my clay’s drying.” Lorra peered at her friend. “Ancestors Foolish and Fraught, how many times must I tell you to sleep with a heated brick?”

“And burn my—?” a second, deeper cough. Above the ’kerchief, Frann’s brown eyes closed briefly, then opened with as determined a light as in either of the other women’s. “We were discussing sausages. As Marrowdell’s appointed trader,” she stated, tucking the ’kerchief away, “the final decision on what goes or returns from Endshere’s fair is mine to make. I see nothing wrong with providing samples,” this with a slow smile, “of wares sure to be in demand next year.”

“Samples?” Gallie echoed, eyes wide.

By her expression, Lorra might have bitten a sour berry, but she gave a reluctant nod. “Your sausages are the best I’ve tasted. Could be there’s a market to be had.”

“You’re most kind, Lorra. Frann. But, Ancestors Witness, I’m not sure I could ever—”

Before Gallie could complete her highly reasonable protest at making sausages for more than Marrowdell’s hungry and grateful population—not to forget one insistent and graceless kruar, who certainly wouldn’t share—Jenn swooped in to grab a second basket. “I’ll take those for you too.”

And rather than argue further with the house toad, Jenn stepped over him, careful of her awkward and tasty burden.

Despite dawn’s warning frost, the day was a splendid one for adventuring. Jenn quelled a touch of envy. As Aunt Sybb would say, to each the path before them and hers simply wasn’t to be the Northward Road.

She’d also say envy was cousin to jealousy, neither being welcome guests. A caution suited to any turn-born, Jenn thought, comforted.

Besides, the sun shone brightly, with nary a cloud in the sky, turning the lingering leaves of the old trees warm russet and giving sparkle to river and windowpane alike. The hedges surrounding the village were bare, but their branches and twigs were more like the sides of a well-woven basket than walls. She’d a fine home, family, and friends. Jenn nodded to Zehr Emms, hurrying up the path to gather his family, and knew herself fortunate.

There’d be treats as well as necessities making the return trip from Endshere, including word from the Lady Mahavar, who wouldn’t miss this final chance before the snows to send letters to her family. Everyone would be safely home again in a mere handful of days.