Bradley, Marion Zimmer - SSC 03 (26 page)

 
          
They
all looked at each other, but then the tavern-keeper came with platters of
meat. They were too hungry to wonder what they had done to frighten the
barmaid.

 
          
Wess
tore off a mouthful of bread. It was far better than what they had been eating
on the trail.

 
          
"Not
as good as yours, though," she said to Chan in
their own
language. He grinned.

           
The meat was hot and untainted by
decay. Even Aerie ate with some appetite, though she preferred meat raw.

 
          
Halfway
through her meal, Wess slowed down and took a moment to observe the tavern more
carefully.

 
          
At
the bar, a group suddenly burst into raucous laughter.

 
          
"You
say the same damned thing every damned time you turn up in Sanctuary,
Bauchle," one of them
said,
his loud voice full
of mockery. "You have a secret or a scheme or a marvel that will make your
fortune. Why don't you get an honest job
—
like
the rest of us?"

 
          
That
brought on more laughter, even from the large, heavyset young man who was the
butt of the fun.

 
          
"You'll
see, this time," he said. "This time I'm going all the way to the
court of the Emperor. When you hear the criers tomorrow, you'll know." He
called for more wine. His friends drank, and made jokes, both at his expense.

 
          
The
Unicorn was much more crowded now, smokier, louder. Occasionally someone
glanced toward Wess and her friends, but otherwise they were let alone.

 
          
A
cold breeze thinned the odor of beer and burning meat and unwashed bodies.
Silence fell suddenly, and Wess looked quickly around to see if she had
breached some other unknown custom. But all the attention centered on the
tavern's entrance. The cloaked figure stood there casually, but there was
nothing casual about the aura of power and self-possession.

 
          
In
the whole of the tavern, not another table held an empty place.

 
          
"Sit
with us, sister!" Wess called on impulse.

 
          
Two
long steps and a shove: Wess was rammed back against the wall, a dagger at her
throat.

 
          
"Who
calls me 'sister'?" The dark hood fell back from long, gray-streaked hair.
A blue star-shaped tattoo blazed on the woman's forehead.

           
Wess stared into the tall, lithe
woman's furious eyes. Her jugular vein pulsed against the point of the blade.
If she made a move toward her knife, or if any of her friends moved at all, she
was dead.

 
          
"I
meant no disrespect
—
" She almost said
"sister" again. But it was not the familiarity that had caused
offense: it was the word itself. The woman was traveling incognito, and Wess
had breached her disguise. No mere apology would repair the damage she had
done.

 
          
A
drop of sweat trickled down the side of her face. Chan and Aerie and Quartz
were all poised on the edge of defense. If Wess erred again, more than one
person would die before the fighting stopped.

 
          
"My
unfamiliarity with your language has offended you, young gentleman," Wess
said, hoping the tavern-keeper had used a civil form of address, if not a civil
tone. It was often safe to insult someone by the tone, but seldom by the words
themselves. "Young gentleman," she said again when the woman did not
kill her, "someone has made sport of me by translating
'frejqjan,'
'sister.'
'

 
          
"Perhaps,"
the disguised woman said. "What does
frejojan
mean?"

 
          
"It
is a term of peace, an offer of friendship, a word to welcome a guest, another
child of one's own parents."

 
          
"Ah
. '
Brother' is the word you want, the word to speak to men.
To call a man 'sister,' the word for women, is an insult."

 
          
"An insult!"
Wess said, honestly surprised.

 
          
But
the knife drew back from her throat.

 
          
"You
are a barbarian," the disguised woman said, in a friendly tone. "I
cannot be insulted by a barbarian."

 
          
"There
is the problem, you see," Chan said.
"Translation.
In our language, the word for outsider, for foreigner, also translates as
'barbarian.'
" He
smiled, his beautiful smile.

 
          
Wess
held Chan's hand under the table. "I meant only to offer you a place to
sit, where there is no other."

 
          
The
stranger sheathed her dagger, and stared straight into Wess's eyes. Wess
shivered slightly and imagined spending the night with
Chad
on one side, the stranger
on the other.

 
          
Or
you could have the center, if you liked, she thought, holding the gaze.

 
          
The
stranger laughed. Wess could not tell if the mocking tone were directed outward
or inward.

 
          
"Then
I will sit here, as there is no other place." She did so. "My name is
Lythande."

 
          
They
introduced themselves, and offered her
—
Wess'
made herself think of Lythande as "him" so she would not damage the
disguise again
—
offered him wine.

 
          
"I
do not drink," Lythande said. "But to show I mean no offense, either,
I will smoke with you." He rolled shredded herbs in a dry leaf, lit the
construction, inhaled from it, and held it out.
"
Westerly
,
frejdjan."

 
          
Out
of politeness Wess tried it. By the time she stopped coughing her throat was
sore, and the sweet scent made her feel lightheaded.

 
          
"It
takes practice," Lythande said smiling.

 
          
Chan
and Quartz did no better, but Aerie inhaled deeply, her eyes closed,
then
held her breath. Thereafter she and Lythande shared it
while the others ordered more ale and another flask of wine.

 
          
"Why
did you ask me, of
all this
crowd, to sit here?"
Lythande asked.

 
          
"Because.
. . ." Wess paused to try to think of a way to make her intuition sound
sensible. "You look like someone who knows what's going on. You look like
someone who might help us."

 
          
"If
information is all you need, you can get it less expensively than by hiring a
sorcerer."

 
          
"Are
you a sorcerer?" Wess asked.

 
          
Lythande
looked at her with pity and contempt.
"You child!
What do your people mean, sending innocents and children out of the
north!
" He touched the star on his forehead. "What
did you think this means?"

 
          
"I'll
have to guess, but I guess it means you are a mage."

 
          
"Excellent.
A few years of lessons like that and you might survive, awhile, in Sanctuary
—
in the Maze
—
in the Unicorn!"

 
          
"We
haven't got years," Aerie whispered. "We have, perhaps, overspent the
time we
do
have." - Quartz put her arm around Aerie's shoulders,
for comfort, and hugged her gently.

 
          
"You
interest me," Lythande said. "Tell me what information you seek.
Perhaps I will know whether you can obtain it less expensively
—
not cheaply, but less expensively
—
from Jubal the Slavemonger, or from a seer
—
" At their expressions, he stopped.

 
          
"Slavemonger!"

 
          
"He
collects information as well. You needn't worry that he'll abduct you from his
sitting-room."

 
          
They
all started speaking at once, then fell silent, realizing the futility.

 
          
"Start
at the beginning."

 
          
"We're
looking for someone," Wess said.

 
          
"This
is a poor place to search. No one will tell you anything about any patron of
this establishment."

 
          
"But
he's a friend."

 
          
"There's
only your word for that."

 
          
"Satan
wouldn't be here anyway," Wess said. "If he were free to come here
he'd be free to go home. We'd have heard something of him, or he would have
found us, or
—
"

 
          
"You
fear he was taken prisoner.
Enslaved, perhaps."

 
          
"He
must have been. He was hunting, alone. He liked to do that, his people often
do."

 
         
"We
need solitude sometimes," Aerie said.

 
          
Wess
nodded. "We didn't worry about him till he didn't come home for Equinox.
Then we searched. We found his
camp,
and a cold trail
..."

 
          
"We
tried to hope for kidnapping," Chan said. "But there was no ransom demand.
The trail was so old
—
they took him away."

 
          
"We
followed, and we heard some rumors of him," Aerie said. "But the road
branched, and we had to choose which way to go." She shrugged, but could
not maintain the careless pose; she turned away in despair.

 
          
"Apparently
we chose wrong," Quartz said.

 
          
"Children,"
Lythande said, "children, Trejojans
—
"

 
          
"Frejdjani,"
Chan said automatically, then shook his head and spread his hands in
apology.

 
          
"Your
friend is one slave out of many. You could not trace him by his papers, unless
you discovered what name they were forged under. For someone to recognize him
by a description would be the greatest luck, even if you had
an
homuncule to show. Sisters, brother, you might not recognize him yourselves, by
now."

 
          
"I
would recognize him, Aerie said.

 
          
"We'd
all recognize him, even in a crowd of his own people. But that makes no
difference. Anyone would know him who had seen him. But no one
has
seen
him, or if they have they will not say so to us." Wess glanced at Aerie.

 
          
"You
see," Aerie said, "he is winged."

 
          
"Winged!"
Lythande said.

 
          
"Winged
folk are rare, I believe, in the south."

 
          
"Winged
folk are myths, in the south. Winged? Surely you mean ..."

 
          
Aerie
started to shrug back her cape, but Quartz put her arm around her shoulders
again. Wess broke into the conversation quickly.