In the clear dawnlight, moving around the clearing to fetch water for the birds, and taking stock - one of the men should hunt today, to kill something for the sentry-birds, although already they looked better and were preening their feathers and cleaning their feet - Romilly could see the walls of Nevarsin, clear in the light as if they were made of snow or salt. An ancient city, built into the side of the mountain, just below the level of the eternal snow; and above them, like the very bones of the mountain projecting through the never-ending snow, the grey walls of the monastery, carved from living rock.
One of the men whose name she did not know was fetching water for porridge; another was doling out grain for the horses and chervines. The one called Alaric, a heavy glowering man, roughly clad, was the one she feared most, but she could not avoid him completely, and in any case, he must have some feeling for the sentry-birds, he had carried one of them on that crude perch before his saddle.
"Excuse me," said Romilly politely, "but you must go out and kill something for the sentry-birds; if it is killed this morning, by night it will be beginning to decay, and be right for them to eat."
"Oh, so," snarled the man, "So after one night with our good leader you now think yourself free to give orders to men who've been with him this whole hungry year? Which of them had you, or did they take turns at you, little catamite?"
Shocked by the crudeness of the insult, Romilly recoiled, her face flaming. "You've no right to say that to me; Dom Carlo put me in charge of the birds and bade me see they were properly fed, and I obey the vai dom as you do yourself!"
"Aye, I may say so," the man sneered, "Maybe you'd like to put that pretty girl-face and those little ladylike hands to-" and the rest of the words were so foul that Romilly literally did not understand what he meant by them, and was perfectly sure she did not want to know. Clinging to what dignity she could - she honestly did not know how one of her brothers would have reacted to such foulness except, perhaps, by drawing a knife, and she was not big enough to fight on even terms with the giant Alaric - she said, "Perhaps if the vai dom himself gives you his orders you will take them," and moved away, clenching her teeth and her whole face tightly against the tears that threatened to explode through her taut mouth and eyes. Damn him. Damn him! I must not cry, I must not....
"Here, here, what a face like a thundercloud, my lad?" said Orain, his lean face twisted with amusement, "Hurt? What ails ye-"
She clutched at the remnants of self-possession and said the first thing that came into her head.
"Have you a spare glove I can borrow, Uncle?" She used the informal term for any friend of a father's generation. "I cannot handle the sentry-birds with my bare fist, though I can manage a hawk; their talons are too long, and my hand is bleeding still from yesterday. I think I must fly them on a line to try and let them hunt for small animals or find carrion."
"A glove you shall have," said Dom Carlo behind them, "Give him your old one, Orain; shabby it may be, but it will protect his hand. There are bits of leather in the baggage, you can fashion one for yourself tonight. But why must you fly them? Why not give orders to one of the men to catch fresh food for them? We have hunting-snares enough, and we need meat for ourselves too. Send any of the men to fetch fresh food-" and as he looked on Romilly, his reddish eyebrows went up.
"Oh, is that the way of it?" he asked softly, "Which of them was it Rumal?"
Romilly looked at the ground. She said almost inaudibly "I don't wish to make trouble, vai dom. Indeed, I can fly them, and they should have exercise in any case."
"No doubt they should," Carlo said, "So fly them for exercise, if you will. But I'll not have my orders disobeyed, either. Give her a glove, Orain, and then I'll have a word with Alaric."
Romilly saw the flash of his eyes, like greyish steel striking fire from flint; she took the glove and, head down, went to take down Temperance from her block, attach the lure-lines and set them up to fly. She found a cast feather and used it to stroke the bird's breast, at which the great wicked head bent and dipped with something like pleasure; she was making a good beginning at accustoming the large, savage birds to human touch and presence. When she had flown Temperance and watched her pounce on some small dead thing in the grass, she stood and watched the sentry-bird feed; standing on one foot, tearing with beak and claw. Later she flew Diligence in the same way; then - with relief, for her arm was growing tired - the smaller, gentler Prudence.
They are ugly birds, I suppose. But they are beautiful in their own way; strength, power, keen sight . . . and the world would be a fouler place without birds like this, to clear away what is dead and rotting. She was amazed at the way in which the birds had found, even on lines like the lure-lines, their own food, small carcasses in the grass, which she herself had not seen or even smelled. How had the men managed to ignore their real needs, when it was so clear to her what they wanted and needed?
I suppose that is what it means to have laran, Romilly thought, suddenly humbled. A gift which had been born in her family, for which she could claim no credit because it was inborn, she had done nothing to deserve it. Yet even Dom Carlo, who had the precious laran too - everything about the man spoke of easy, accustomed power - could not communicate with the birds, though he seemed able to know anything about men. The gift of a MacAran. Oh, but her father was so wrong, then, so wrong, and she had been right, to insist on this precious and wonderful Gift with which she had been dowered; to ignore it, to misuse it, to play at it, untrained - oh, that was wrong, wrong!
And her brother Ruyven had been right, to leave Falconsward and insist on the training of his natural Gifts. In the Tower he had found his proper place, laranzu for the handling of sentry-birds. One day that would be her place too...
Prudence's scream of anger roused Romilly from her daydream and she realized that the sentry-bird had finished feeding and was tugging again at the lure-line. Romilly let her fly in circles on the line for a few moments, then made contact with the bird and urged her gently back to the ground; she hooded her, lifted her (grateful for the glove Orain had given her, for even through the glove she could feel the fierce grip of the huge talons) and set her back on the block.
As she made ready to ride, she thought soberly of the distance still ahead of them. She would keep as close to Orain as she could; if Alaric should find her alone. . . . and she thought, with terror, of the vast and empty chasms over which they had come the day before. A false step there, a slight nudge, and she would have followed that stone down over the cliff, rebounding again and again, broken long before she reached the final impact at the bottom. She felt faint nausea rising in her throat. Would his malice carry him so far as that? She had done him no harm....
She had betrayed his incompetence before Dom Carlo, whom he evidently held in the highest respect. Remembering Rory, Romilly wondered if there were any men anywhere, alive, who were motivated by anything other than malice and lust and hatred. She had thought, in boy's clothing, she would be safe at least from lust; but even here, among men, she found its ugly face. Her father? Her brothers? Alderic? Well, her father would have sold her to Dom Garris for his own convenience. Alderic and her brothers? She really did not know them at all, for they would not have shown their real face to a girl whom they considered a child. No doubt they too were all evil within. Setting her teeth grimly, Romilly put the saddle on her horse, and went about saddling the other horses for Orain and Dom Carlo. Her prescribed duties demanded only that she care for the birds, but as things were now, she preferred the company of horses to the company of humankind!
Dom Carlo's kindly voice interrupted her reverie.
"So you have saddled Longlegs for me? Thank you, my lad."
"She is a beautiful animal," Romilly said, giving the mare a pat.
"You have an eye for horses, I can see; not surprising, if you are of MacAran blood. This one is from the high plateaus around Armida; they breed finer horses there than anywhere in the mountains, though I think sometimes they have not quite the stamina of the mountain-bred. Perhaps it does her no kindness, to take Longlegs on these trails; I have often thought I should return her to her native country and get myself a mountain-bred horse, or even a chervine for this wild hill country. Yet-" his hand lingered on the glossy mane, "I flatter myself that she would miss me; and as an exile, I have not so many friends that I would be willing to part with one, even if she is a dumb beast. Tell me, my boy; you know horses, do you think this climate is too hard on her?"
"I would not think so," Romilly said after a minute, "Not if she is well fed and well cared for; and you might consider wrapping her legs for extra support on these steep paths."
"A good thought," Dom Carlo agreed, and beckoned to Orain; they set about bandaging the legs of their lowlands-bred horses. Romilly's own horse was bred for the Hellers, shaggy-coated and shaggy-legged, with great tufts of coarse hair around the fetlocks, and for the first time since she had fled from Falconsward, she was glad that she had left her own horse. This one, stranger as he was, had at least borne her faithfully.
After a time they set off, winding downward into the valley, which they reached in time for the midday meal, and then along the gradually broadening, well-travelled road which led into Nevarsin, the City of the Snows.
One more night they camped before they came to the city, and this time, noting what Romilly had done the day before, Orain gave orders to the men that they should groom and properly care for their riding-chervines. They obeyed sullenly, but they obeyed; Romilly heard one of them grumble, "While we have that damned hawk-boy with us, why can't he care for the beasts? Ought to be his work, not ours!"
"Not likely, when Orain's already made the brat his own pet," Alaric grumbled. "Birds be damned - the wretch is with us for Orain's convenience, not the birds! You think the Lord Carlo will deny his paxman and friend anything he wants?"
"Hush your mouth," said a third, "You've no call to go talking like that about your betters. Dom Carlo's a good lord to us all, and a faithful man to Carolin, and as for Orain, he was the king's own foster-brother. Haven't you noticed? He talks all rough and country, but when he wishes, or when he forgets, he can talk as fine and educated as Dom Carlo himself, or any of the great Hastur-lords themselves! As for his private tastes, I care not whether he wants women or boys or rabbithorns, so long as he doesn't come after my wife."
Romilly, her face burning, moved away out of earshot. Reared in a cristoforo family, she had never heard such talk, and it confirmed her opinion that she liked the company of men even less than the company of women. She was too shy, after what she had heard, to join Orain and Dom Carlo where they spread their blankets, and spent that night shivering, crouched among the drowsing stag-ponies for their warmth. By morning she was blue with cold, and huddled as long as she dared near the fire kindled for breakfast, surreptitiously trying to warm her hands against the sides of the porridge-pot. The hot food warmed her a little, but she was still shivering as she exercised and fed the birds - Alaric, still grumbling, had snared a couple of rabbithorns, and they were beginning to smell high; she had to overcome surges of nausea as she cut them up, and afterward she found herself sneezing repeatedly. Dom Carlo cast her a concerned glance as they saddled and climbed on their horses for the last stage of the ride.
"I hope you have not taken cold, my boy."
Romilly muttered, eyes averted, that the vai dom should not concern himself.
"Let us have one thing clearly understood," Dom Carlo said, frowning, "The welfare of any of my followers is as important to me as that of the birds to you - my men are in my charge as the birds are in yours, and I neglect no man who follows me! Come here," he said, and laid a concerned hand against her forehead. "You have fever; can you ride? I would not ask it of you, but tonight you shall be warm in the monastery guest-house, and if you are sick, the good brothers there will see to you."
"I am all right," Romilly protested, genuinely alarmed now. She dared not be sick! If she was taken to the monks' infirmary, certainly, in caring for her sickness they would discover that she was a girl!
''Have you warm clothing enough? Orain, you are nearer his size than I - find the lad something warm," said Dom Carlo, and then, as he stood still touching her forehead, his face changed; he looked down at Romilly sharply, and for a moment she was sure - she did not know how; laran? - that he knew. She froze with dread, shivering; but he moved away and said quietly, "Orain has brought you a warm vest and stockings - I saw your blistered feet in your boots. Put them on at once; if you are too proud to take them, we shall have it from your wages, but I'll have noone riding with me who is not warm and dry and comfortable. Go round the fire and change into them, this minute."
Romilly bowed her head in acquiescence, went behind the line of horses and stag-beasts, and pulled on the warm stockings - heavenly relief to her sore feet - and the heavy undervest. They were somewhat too big, but all the warmer for that. She sneezed again, and Orain gestured to the pot still hanging over the fire, not yet emptied. He dipped up a ladleful of the hot brew and took some leaves from his pouch.
"An old wives' remedy for the cough that's better than any healer's brew. Drink it," he said, and watched while she gulped at the foul-tasting stuff. "Aye, it's bitter as lost love, but it drives out the fever."
Romilly grimaced at the acrid, musty-tasting stuff; it made her flush with inner heat, and left her mouth puckered with its intense astringency, but, later that morning, she realized that she had not sneezed again, and that the dripping of her nose had abated. Riding briefly at his side, she said, "That remedy would make you a fortune in the cities, Master Orain."
He laughed. "My mother was a leronis and studied healing," he said, "and went among the country-folk to learn their knowledge of herbs. But the healers in the cities laugh at these country remedies."
And, she thought, he had been the king's own foster-brother; and now served the king's man in exile, Carlo of Blue Lake. What the men had said was true, though she had not noticed it before; talking to the men, he spoke the dialect of the countryside, while, speaking to Dom Carlo, and, increasingly, to her, his accents were those of an educated man. Contrasted to the other men, she felt as safe and comfortable near him as if she were in the presence of her own brothers or her father.
After a time she asked him, "The king -Carolin - he awaits us in Nevarsin? I thought the monks were sworn to take no part in the strife of wordly men? How is it that they take King Carolin's side in this war? I-I know so little about what is going on in the lowlands." She remembered what Darren and Alderic had said; it only whetted her appetite to know more.
Orain said, "The brothers of Nevarsin care nothing for the throne of the Hasturs; nor should they. They give shelter to Carolin because, as they say, he has harmed none, and his cousin - the great bastard, Rakhal, who sits on the throne - would kill him for his own ambition. They will not join in his cause, but they will not surrender him to his enemies while he shelters there, either."
"If Carolin's claim to the throne is so just," Romilly asked, "Why has Rakhal won so much support?"
Orain shrugged. "Greed, no doubt. My lands are now in the hands of the chief of Rakhal's councillors. Men support the man who enriches them, and right has little to do with it. All these men-" he gestured behind them at the followers, "are small-holders whose lands should have been inviolate; they had done nothing but hold loyal to their king, and they should not have been involved in the struggles of the highborn and powerful. Alaric is bitter, aye - know you what was his crime? The crime for which he lost his lands, and was flung into Rakhal's prison under sentence of losing a hand and his tongue?"
Romilly shuddered. "For such a sentence it must have been a great crime indeed!"
"Only before that cagavrezu Rakhal," said Orain grimly, "His crime? His children shouted 'Long live King Carolin' as one of Rakhal's greatest scoundrels passed by their village. They meant no harm - I do not think the poor brats knew one king from the other! So the great scoundrel, Lyondri Hastur, said that he must have taught his little children treason - he took the children from Alaric's house, saying they should be reared by a loyal man, and sent them to serve in his Great House, and flung Alaric into prison. One of the children died, and Alaric's wife was so distraught with what had befallen her man and her babies that she threw herself from a high window and died. Aye, Alaric is bitter, and thinks good of no one, lad; it is not you he hates, but life itself."
Romilly looked down toward her saddle, with a deep breath. She knew why Orain had told her this, and it raised still further her admiration of the man; he had tolerance and sympathy even for the man who had spoken such ugly things of him. She said quietly, "I will try not to think half so evil of him as he thinks of me, then, Uncle."
But still she felt confused. Alderic had spoken of the Haste-kin as descended from Gods, great and noble men, and Orain spoke as if the very word "Hastur" were an insult.
"Are all the Hastur-kin evil men, then?"
"By no means," Orain said vehemently, "A better man than Carolin never trod this earth; his only fault is that he thought no evil toward those of his kin who were scoundrels, and was all too kind and forgiving toward-" his mouth stretched in what should have been a smile, "bastards with ambition."
And then he fell silent, and Romilly, watching the lines in his face, knew his thoughts were a thousand leagues away from her, or his men, or Dom Carlo. It seemed that she could see in his mind pictures of a beautiful city built between two mountain passes, but lying low, in a green valley, on the shores of a lake whose waves were like mist rolling up from the depths. A white tower rose near the shores, and men and women passed through the gateways, tall and elegant as if wrapped in a silken glamour, too beautiful to be real . . . and she could sense the great sorrow in him, the sorrow of the exile, the homeless man....
I too am homeless, I have cast away all my kin . .. but it may be that my brother Ruyven awaits me in Tramontana Tower. And Orain, too, is alone and without kin....
They rode through the great, frowning gates of Nevarsin just as dusk was falling and the swift night of this time of year had begun to blur the sky with rain. Dom Carlo rode at their head, his cowled hood drawn over his head concealing his features; along the old cobbled streets of the city, and upward along steep paths and narrow winding lanes toward the snow-covered paths that led to the monastery. Romilly thought she had never felt such intense chill; the monastery was situated among the glacier ice, carved from the solid rock of the mountain, and when they paused before the inner gates, under the great statue of the Bearer of Burdens bowed beneath the world's weight, and the smaller, but still larger-than-life image of Saint-Valentine-of-the-Snows, she was shivering again in spite of the extra warm clothing.
A tall dignified man in the bulky brown robe and cowl of a monk gestured them inside. Romilly hesitated; she had been brought up a cristoforo and knew that no woman might enter into the monastery, even in the guest-house. But she had chosen this disguise and now could not repudiate it. She whispered a prayer - "Blessed Bearer of Burdens, Holy Saint Valentine, forgive me, I mean no intrusion into this world of men, and I swear I will do nothing to disgrace you here."
It would create a greater scandal if she now revealed her real sex. And she wondered why women were so strongly prohibited. Did the monks fear that if women were there they could not keep to their vows of renunciation? What good were their vows, if they could not resist women unless they never saw any? And why did they think women would care to tempt them anyhow? Looking at the lumpy little monk in the cowl, she thought, with something perilously near a giggle, that it would take more charity than even a saint, to overlook his ugliness long enough to try and tempt him!
There were comfortable stables for all their riding-animals, and an enclosed stone room where Romilly found blocks and perches for her birds.
"You can go into the city and buy food for them," Orain said, and handed her some copper rings, "But be back in good time for supper in the guest-house; and if you will, you may attend the night prayers - you might like to hear the choir singing."
Romilly nodded obediently, inwardly delighted; Darren had spoken once of the fine singing of the Nevarsin choir, which he had not, in his days as a student, been musical enough to join; but her father, too, had spoken of one of the high points of his life, when he had attended a solemn service in the monastery and heard the singing of the monks. She hurried out into the city, excited and a little scared by the strange place; but she found a bird-seller, and when she made her wants known to him, he knew at once the proper food for the sentry-birds; she had half expected to have to carry a stinking, half-rotted carcass back through the city, but instead the seller said that he would be pleased to deliver the food to the guest-house stables. "You'll be lodged in the monastery, young man? If it is your will, I can have proper food delivered every day for your birds."
"I shall ask my master," she said, "I do not know how long they propose to stay." And she thought this was a fine thing, that such services should be provided; but when he told her the price she was a little troubled. Still, there was no way she could go outside the walls and hunt for food for them herself; so she arranged for the day and for tomorrow, and paid the man what he asked.
Returning through the city streets, grey and old, with ancient houses leaning over the streets and the walls closing around her, she felt a little frightened. She realized that she had lost contact with Preciosa before they entered the gates of Nevarsin; the climate here was too cold for a hawk . . . had Preciosa turned back to a more welcoming climate? The hawk could find no food in the city . . . there was carrion enough in the streets, she supposed from the smell, but no fresh living food for a hawk. She hoped Preciosa was safe....
But for now her charge was the sentry-birds; she saw to their feeding, and there was a large cobbled court where she could exercise them and let them fly. At the edge of the court while she was flying them in circles on the long lines - they screamed less, now, and she realized they were becoming accustomed to her touch and her voice - she saw, crowded into the edges of the court, an assembly of small boys. They all wore the bulky cowled robes of the monastery. But surely, Romilly thought, they were too young for monks; they must be students, sent as Ruyven, then Darren, had been sent. One day, perhaps, her brother Rael would be among them. How I miss Rael!
They were watching the birds with excited interest. One, bolder than the rest, called out, "How do you handle the birds without getting hurt?" He came to Romilly, leaving the clustered children, and stretched out his hand to Temperance; Romilly gestured him quickly back.
"These birds are fierce, and can peck hard; if she went for your eyes, she could hurt you badly!"
"They don't hurt you," the child protested.
"That is because I am trained to handle them, and they know me," Romilly said, Obediently, the boy moved out of reach. He was not much older than Rael, she thought; ten or twelve. In the courtyard a bell rang, and the children went, pushing and jostling, down the hallway; but the boy who was watching the birds remained.
"Should you not answer that bell with your fellows?"
"I have no lesson at this hour," the boy said, "Not until the bell rings for choir; then I must go and sing, and afterward, I must go to arms-practice."
"In a monastery?"
"I am not to be a monk," the boy said, "and so an arms-master from the village comes every other day to give lessons to me and a few of the others. But I have no duties now, and I would like to watch the birds, if you do not mind. Are you a leronis, vai domna, that you know their ways so well?"
Romilly stared at him in shock. At last she asked, "Why do you call me domna?"
"But I can see what you are, certainly," the boy answered, "even though you wear boy's clothes." Romilly looked so dismayed that he lowered his voice and said in a conspiratorial whisper, "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. The Father Master would be very cross, and I do not think you are harming anyone. But why would you want to wear boy's clothes? Don't you like being a girl?"
Would anyone? Romilly wondered, and then asked herself why the clear eyes of this child had seen what no one else could see. He answered the unspoken thought.
"I am trained to that as you are trained to handle hawks and other birds: So that, one day, I may serve my people in a Tower as a laranzu."
"A child like you?" Romilly asked.
"I am twelve years old," he said with dignity, "and in only three years more I shall be a man. My father is Lyondri Hastur, who is a Councillor to the king; the Gods have given me noble blood and therefore I must be ready to serve the people over whom I shall one day be placed to rule."
Lyondri Hastur's son! She remembered the story Orain had told her, of Alaric and the deaths of his family. She pretended to be fussing over the bird's line; she had never had to conceal her thoughts before, and knew only one way to do it - with quick random speech.
"Would you like to hold Prudence for a little while? She is the lightest of the birds and will not be too heavy for your arm. I will keep her quiet for you, if you like." He looked excited and pleased. Carefully hooding Prudence, and sending out soothing thoughts - this little one is a friend, he will not harm you, be still - she slipped the glove over the boy's arm with her free hand, set the bird on it. He held her, struggling to keep his small arm from trembling, and she handed him a feather.
"Stroke her breast with this. Never touch a bird with your hand; even if your hands are clean, it will damage the set of their feathers," she said, and he stroked the bird's smooth breast with the feather, crooning to it softly.
"I have never been so close to a sentry-bird before," he murmured, delighted. "I heard they were fierce and not to be tamed - I suppose it is laran which keeps her so calm, domna?"
"You must not call me domna here" she said, keeping her voice low and calm so as not to disturb the bird, "The name I use is Rumal."
"Is it laran, then, Rumal? Do you think I could learn to handle a bird like this?"
"If you were trained to it, certainly," said Romilly, "but you should begin with a small hawk, a ladybird or sparrow hawk so that your arm will not tire and your fatigue trouble the bird. I had better take Prudence now," she added, for the small arm was trembling with tension. She set the bird on a perch. "And laran can do nothing but help you to make your mind in tune with the bird's mind. But the climate here is too cold for ordinary hawks; for that you must wait till you return to the lowlands, I think."
The boy sighed, looking regretfully at the bird on the perch. "These are hardier than hawks, are they not? Are they akin to kyorebni?"
"They are not dissimilar in form," Romilly agreed, "though they are more intelligent than kyorebni, or than any hawk." It seemed disloyal to Preciosa to admit it, but after the few days rapport with the sentry-birds, she knew these were superior in intelligence.
"May I help you, dom-Rumal?"
"I have mostly finished," Romilly said, "but if you wish, you can mix this green stuff and gravel with their food. But if you touch the carrion, your hands will stink when you go to choir."
"I can wash my hands at the well before I go to the choir, for Father Cantor is very fat and always late to practice," said the boy solemnly, and Romilly smiled as he began portioning the gamy-smelling meat, sprinkling it with the herbs and gravel. The smile slid off quickly; this child was a telepath and the son of Lyondri Hastur, he could endanger them all.
"What is your name?" she asked.
"I am called Caryl," the boy said. "I was named for the man who was king when I was born, only Father says that Carolin is not a good name to have now. Carolin was king, but he abused his power, they said, and was a bad king, so his cousin Rakhal had to take the throne. But he was kind to me."
Romilly told herself; the child was only repeating what he had heard his father say. Caryl finished with the bird-food, and asked if he might give it to one of the birds.
"Give that dish to Prudence," said Romilly, "She is the gentlest, and already, I can see, you have made friends."
He carried the dish to the bird, stood watching as she tore greedily into it, while Romilly fed the other two. A bell rang in the outer court of the monastery, muted softly by the intervening walls, and the boy started.
"I must go to choir," he said, "and then I must have my lesson. May I come tonight and help you feed the birds, Rumal?"
She hesitated, but he said earnestly, "I'll keep your secret, I promise."
At last she nodded. "Certainly, come whenever you like," she said, and the boy ran away. She noticed that he wiped his hands on the seat of his breeches, like any active youngster, quite forgetting his promise to wash at the well.
But when he was out of sight, she sighed and stood motionless, ignoring the birds for the moment.
Lyondri Hastur's own son, here in the monastery - and it was here that Dom Carlo was to meet with King Carolin, with his gift of valuable sentry-birds, and to raise an army in the city. It was not impossible, she supposed, that he might know the king by sight, so if Carolin was in the city in disguise and came near the monastery, he might recognize him, and then...
What do I care which rogue keeps the throne? Her father's words echoed in her mind. But Alderic, who seemed quite the best young man she had ever known beside her own brothers, was Carolin's sworn man, perhaps even his son. Carlo and Orain, too, were loyal to the exiled king. And his councillor, Lyondri Hastur, whatever his son might say, seemed to be one of the worst tyrants she had ever heard about - or so the story of what he had done to Alaric's children seemed to indicate.
And she was Dom Carlo's man, at least while she took money in his service. He should know of the danger to the man he called his rightful king. Perhaps he could warn Carolin not to come near the monastery, while there was a child there who would recognize him and penetrate whatever disguise he might wear. Sharp indeed were the boy's eyes and his laran ... he had seen that Romilly was a woman.
Though I cannot tell Dom Carlo, nor his friend, how I know the child has laran....
She went to the stables attached to the monastery, finding the horses in good hands; spoke briefly to the stablemen about care for their horses, and tipped them, as was proper, with the generous amount of silver and copper Orain had given her for their expenses. After the encounter with young Caryl, she was on her guard, but none of the stablefolk paid any attention to her; one and all they accepted her as what she was, just another apprentice in the train of the young nobleman staying in the monastery. Then she went in search of Dom Carlo, to deliver her warning. In the rooms assigned to them in the guest-house, however, she found only Orain, mending his crudely-sewn boots.
He looked up as she came in.
"Is anything gone wrong with birds or beasts, then, lad?"
"No, they are all doing well," Romilly said, "Forgive me for intruding in your leisure, but I must see Dom Carlo."
"You can't see him now, or for some time," said Orain, "for he's closeted with Father Abbot, and I don't think he's confessin' his sins - he's no cristoforo. Can I do anything for ye', boy? There's no great urgency to work, now the birds are cared for and in good health - take time to see some of the city, and if ye need an excuse, I'll send you out on an errand; you can take these boots to be mended." He held them out to her, saying with a droll grin, "They're beyond my skill."
"I will do your errand gladly," Romilly said, "but indeed I have an important message for Dom Carlo. He-you-you are Carolin's men, and I have just heard that - that someone who knows the king by sight, and might also know some of his Councillors, is here in the monastery. Lyondri Hastur's son, Caryl."
Orain's face changed and his lips pursed in a soundless whistle. "Truly? The whelp of that wolf is here, poisoning their minds against my lord?"
"The boy is but twelve," protested Romilly, "and seems a nice child; he spoke well of the king, and said he had always been kind - but he might know him."
"Aye," said Orain grimly, "No doubt; a new-hatched serpent can sting like an old snake. Still, I know no evil of the child; but I'll not let Alaric know he is here, or he might let son pay for son - if he saw the Hastur-Lord's son, I doubt he could keep his hands from his throat, and I know well how he feels. My lord must know of this, and quickly."
"Would Caryl recognize Dom Carlo, too? Was he around the court so much? Dom Carlo is-" she hesitated, "Is he not one of Carolin's kin?"
"He's of the Hastur-kin," said Orain, nodding. He sighed.
"Well, I'll keep an eye out for the child, and put a word in Dom Carlo's ear. It was thoughtful of you to warn me, Rumal, lad; I owe you one for that." As if dismissing the thought deliberately, he bent and picked up the much-patched boots. 'Take these into the city - and lest you get lost, I'll come along and show you the way."
He linked his arm carelessly through Romilly's as they went out of the monastery guest-house and down through the streets of the old town. The mountain air was biting and cold, and Romilly drew her cloak tighter about her, but Orain, though he wore only a light jacket, seemed comfortable and at ease.
"I like the mountain ah-," he said, "I was born in the shadow of High Kimbi, though I was fostered on the shores of Hali; and still I think myself a mountain man. What of you?"
"I Was born in the Kilghard Hills, but north of the Kadarin," Romilly said.
"The country around Storn? Aye, I know it well," Orain said, "No wonder you have hawks in your blood; so have I." He laughed, ruefully. "Though you're my master at that; I had never held a sentry-bird before, nor will I think myself ill-used if I never set hand on one again." They turned into the doorway of a shop, smelling strongly of leather and tan-bark and rosin. The bootmaker raised supercilious eyebrows at the patched old boots in Orain's hand, but quickly changed his tone when Orain took out his pocket and laid down silver and even copper.
"When would the vai dom be wanting these back?"
"I think they're past mending," Orain said, "But they fit well; make me a pair to the measure of these, for I may be going high into snow country. Have you boots for the far Hellers, Rumal? Ye'll be riding with us to Tramontana, I doubt not."
Why not, after all? Romilly thought. I have nowhere else to go, and if Ruyven is there, or I can get news of him there, Tramontana is my best path.
"Those boots the young sir is wearing, they will never hold up on the paths across the glaciers," said the shoemaker, with an obsequious look at Orain, "I can make your son a stout fine pair for two silver bits."
Only now did Romilly realize how generously Dom Carlo had arranged to pay her for her care and knowledge of hawks and birds. She said quickly "I have-"
"Hush, boy, Dom Carlo told me to see you had what you needed for the journey, as I do for all his men," Orain said, "Let you sit there, now, and let him measure your foot. . . son," he added, grinning.
Romilly did as she was told, thrusting out her slender foot in its shabby too-large stocking. The bootmaker hummed, whistling a little tune, as he measured, scrawling down cryptic notes and numbers with a stump of chalk on the board by his bench. "When do you want these ready?"
"Yesterday," growled Orain, "We may have to leave the city at a moment's notice."
The bootmaker protested; Orain haggled a few minutes, then they agreed on a price and the day after tomorrow.
"Should be tomorrow," Orain said scowling as they left the shop, "but these workmen have no more pride in their craft these days. Humph!" He snorted as Romilly turned. "In a hurry to get back to the monastery, Rumal lad, and dine on cold boiled lentils and smallbeer? After all these days on the road, living on porridge-powder and journey-cake not much better than dogbread, I'm for a roast fowl and some good wine in a cookshop. What reason have ye to get back? The birds won't fly away, now, will they? The horses are warm in their stable, and the monks will give them some hay if we don't get back. Let's walk through the town, then."
Romilly shrugged and acquiesced. She had never been in a city the size of Nevarsin before, and she was afraid she would be lost if she explored alone, but with Orain, she might learn her way about the confusing streets. In any case she could hardly fail to find the way back to the monastery, she need only follow any street straight up the mountain - the monastery was high above the town.
The short winter day brightened, then faded again as they walked through the city, mostly in a companionable silence; Orain did not seem inclined to talk much, but he pointed out various landmarks, the ancient shrine of Saint-Valentine-of-the-Snows, the cave high on the mountain where the saint was said to have lived and died, a forge which, he said, did the best horse-shoeing north of Armida, a sweetshop where, he said with a grin, the students at the monastery chose to spend their pocketmoney on holidays. It was as if she was one of her own brothers, here and free, unconstrained by any of the laws which governed the behavior of women; she felt as easy with Orain as if she had known him all her life. He had quite forgotten the country accent, and talked in a pleasant, well-bred voice, with only the faintest trace, like Alderic's, of a lowland accent.
She could not guess his age. He was certainly not a young man, but she did not think he was as old as her father. His hands were rough and calloused like a swordsman's, but the nails were clean and well-cared-for, not grimy or broken like the other men who followed Dom Carlo.
He must be well-born enough, anyhow, if he had been foster-brother to the exiled Carolin. Her father, she knew, would have welcomed him and treated him with honor as a noble, and though Dom Carlo did not quite treat him as an equal, he showed him affection and respect and sought his advice in everything.
As the twilight gathered, Orain found a cookshop and commanded a meal. Romilly felt inclined to protest.
"You should not - I can pay my share-"
Orain shrugged. "I hate to dine alone. And Dom Carlo made it clear he has other fish to fry this night...."
She bent her head, accepting graciously. She had never been in a public tavern or cookshop before, and she noted there were no women present except for the bustling fat waitress who came and slapped crockery hi front of them and fussed away again. If Orain had known her true sex he would never have brought her here; if a lady, unimaginably, came in here, there would have been all sorts of deferential fuss made, they would never have taken her quite simply for granted. Far less would she be able to lounge here at ease, her feet propped on the bench across from her, sipping from a tankard of cider, while the good smell of cooking gradually filled the room.
No, it was better to remain a boy. She had respectable work, three silver bits for a tenday; no cook-woman or dairymaid could hope to command such pay for any work she could do, and she remembered that Rory's grandmother, telling of her lost affluence, had spoken of the fact that when her husband did not seek her bed, he was sent, quite without worrying about what the dairymaid thought about it, to sleep with the dairymaid as a matter of course. Better to spend all her life in breeches and boots than have that added to the regular duties of a dairymaid's work!
She found herself wondering if Luciella made such routine demands of her women. Well, he must at some times - there was Nelda's son. It made Romilly uncomfortable to think of her father that way, and she reminded herself that he was a cristoforo . . . but would that make such a difference? In the world where she had been brought up it was taken for granted that a nobleman would have bastards and nedestro sons and daughters. Romilly had never really thought about their mothers.
She shifted uneasily in her seat, and Orain said with a grin, "Getting hungry? Something smells good in the kitchen yonder." Half a dozen men were flinging darts at a board hung at the back of the tavern, a few others playing dice. "Shall we have a game of darts, lad?"
Romilly shook her head, protesting that she did not know the game. "But don't let me stop you."
"You'll never learn younger, then," Orain said, and Romilly found herself standing, urged to fling the darts.
"Hold it this way," Orain instructed, "and just let it go - you don't have to push it."
"That's the way," said one of the men standing behind her in the crowd, "Just imagine the circle painted on the wall is the head of King Carolin and you have a chance at the fifty copper reis offered for his head!"
"Rather," said a bitter voice somewhere behind the first speaker, "that the head is of that bloodthirsty wolf Rakhal - or his chief jackal Lyondri, the Hastur-Lord!"
"Treason," said another voice and the speaker was quickly hushed, "That kind o' talk's not safe even here beyond the Kadarin - who knows what kind of spies Lyondri Hastur may be sending into the city?"
"I say, may Zandru plague'em both with boils and the bald fever," said another, "What matters it to free mountain men which great rogue plants his backside on the throne or what greater rogue tries to pry his arse loose from the seat? I say Zandru take'em both off to his hells and I wish 'im joy of their company, so that they stay south o' the river and leave honest men to go about their business in peace!"
"Carolin must ha' done something or they'd never kicked him off the throne," someone said, "Down there, the Hali'imyn think the Hastur are kin to their filthy Gods - I've heard some tales when I travel down there, I could tell you-"
The darts had been forgotten; no one came to take a turn from Romilly. She whispered to Orain, "Are you going to let them talk that way about King Carolin?"
Orain did not answer. He said, "Our meat's on the table, Rumal. Neighbors, maybe we'll have another round later, but the dinner's getting cold while we stand here gabbing," and gestured to Romilly to put down the darts and go to their seat. When the food arrived, and Orain was cutting the meat into portions, he muttered under his breath, "We're here to serve Carolin, lad, not defend him to fools in taverns. Eat your dinner, boy." And after a moment, he added, still in a half-whisper, "Part of my reason for walking about town is to hear how the folk think - see how much support there is here for the king. If we're to raise men for him here, it's urgent there must be popular support so no one will betray us - a lot of things can be done in secret, but you can't raise an army that way!"
Romilly put her fork into the roast meat, and ate in silence. She noted that when he spoke to her, Orain had, without thinking, dropped the rough up-country accent and spoken again like an educated man. Well, if he was the king's foster-brother, as she had heard, that was not surprising. Carlo too must have been high in those councils and one of his loyal men - no doubt he too had lost lands and possessions when Carolin was deposed and fled to the hills. Which reminded her again-
I do not know if Carolin has enemies in the city, but he certainly has at least one in the monastery. I do not think a child like Caryl would do him any great harm, he said the king had shown him kindness; but if Carlo and Orain are expecting to meet the king within monastery watts, there is at least one pair of eyes who would recognize him. They must prevent him from coming there. And Romilly wondered why it should matter to her what happened to the exiled king. As her father had said so often, what did it matter what great rogue sat on the throne, or what worse rogue tried to unseat him?
Orain and Carlo could not follow an evil master. Whichever king they follow, he is my king too! And the story she had heard of the evil Hastur-lord Lyondri had filled her with revulsion. She thought, wryly, that without knowing it, she had somehow become a partisan of Carolin.
"Take that last cutlet, lad; you're a growing boy, you need your food," Orain said, grinning, and called to the serving-woman for more wine. Romilly reached for another cup, but Orain slapped her hand away.
"No, no, you've had enough - bring the boy some cider, woman, he's too young for your rotgut here! I don't want to have to carry you home," he added, good-naturedly, "and lads your age have no head for this kind of thing."
Her face burning, exasperated, Romilly took the huge mug of cider the woman set before her. Sipping it, she acknowledged to herself that she liked it better than the strong wine, which burned her mouth and her stomach and made her head swim. She muttered, "Thank you, Orain."
He nodded and said, "Think nothing of it. I wish I'd had a friend to knock my head out of the winepot when I was your age! Too late now," he added with a grin, and lifting his tankard, drank deep.
Romilly sat listening, full and sleepy, as Orain went back to the dart board; when asked to join him, she shook her head, feeling drowsy, listening to the talk around the bar.
"Well thrown! Whang in the eye of whichever king you don't favor!"
"I heard Carolin's in the Hellers because the Hairimyn are too soft to search for him up here - they might freeze their dainty tailbones!"
"Whether Carolin's here or no, there are enough supporters for his rule - he's a good man!"
"Whatever Carolin's like, I'll join anything which gets that bastard Lyondri the rope's end he deserves! Did ye' hear what he did to old Lord di Asturien? Burned over his head, poor old man, and him and the old lady by the side of the road in their night-gear and bedslippers, if one of their woodsmen hadn't taken 'em in and given 'em a place to lie down in...."
After a time Romilly fell into a doze, in which Carolin and the usurper Rakhal wandered in dreams with the faces of great mountain cats, slinking through the woods and tearing at one another, and the shrill cry of hawks, as if she were soaring far above and watching the battle. She flew over a white Tower, and Ruyven was waving to her from the summit, and then he somehow took wing and was flying beside her, telling her gravely that Father would not approve of it. He said solemnly, "The Bearer of Burdens said that it is forbidden for man to fly and that is why I have no wings." and saying it, he fell like a stone; Romilly started awake, to feel Orain lightly shaking her.
"Come, lad, it's late, they're closing the doors - we must go back to the monastery!"
His breath was heavy with wine, his speech slurred; she wondered if he was able to walk. However, she laid his cloak over his shoulders, and they went out into the crisp, frosty darkness. It was very late; most of the houses were dark. Somewhere, a dog barked in a frenzy, but there was no other sound, and little light in the street; only the pale and frosty light of blue Kyrrdis, low on the rooftops of the city. Orain's steps were unsteady; he walked with one hand on the nearest house-wall, steadying himself, but when the narrow streets opened into a stair, he tripped on the cobbles and went flailing down full-length on the stone, howling with drunken surprise. Romilly helped him up, saying in amusement, "You had better hold on to my arm." Had he made certain his companion would stay sober, so that he would have someone to guide him back to the monastery? Romilly was fairly good at finding a path she had once travelled; she managed to direct their steps upward into the shadow of the monastery.
"Do you know if Carolin is truly in the city, Orain?" she asked at last in a low voice, but he peered with drunken suspicion into her face and demanded, "Why d'ye' ask?" and she shrugged and let it go. When he was sober she would talk to him about that; but at least the wine he had drunk would not unseal his mouth and he would not babble of his mission or plans. As they climbed the last steep street, which led into the courtyard of the monastery guest-house, he held tightly to her arm, sometimes putting a drunken arm around her shoulders; but Romilly edged away - if he held her too close he might, as Rory had done, discover that she was a woman beneath the heavy clothes she wore.
I like Orain, I would rather respect him, and if he knew I were a woman he would be like all the others. ...
As they climbed he leaned on her arm more and more heavily. Once he turned aside from her, and, unbuttoning his trousers, relieved himself against a house wall; Romilly was, not for the first time, grateful for her farm upbringing which had made this something she could accept unblushing - if she had been a housebred woman like Luciella or her younger sister, she would have been outraged a dozen times a day. But then, if she had been a housebred woman, she would probably never have thought to protest the marriage her father had arranged, and she would certainly never have been able to travel with so many men without somehow revealing herself.
At the monastery gates Orain tugged at the bell-pull which announced their presence to the porter at the guest-house. It was very late; for a moment Romilly wondered if they would be admitted at all, but finally the Brother Porter appeared at the gates and, grumbling, let them inside. He frowned and sniffed disapprovingly at the reek of wine which hung around them, but he did let them in, and shook his head when Orain offered him a silver bit.
"I am not allowed, friend. I thank you for the kind thought. Here, your door is this way," he said, and added audibly to Romilly, "Can you get him inside?"
"This way, Orain," said Romilly, shoving him to the door of his room. Inside, Orain looked around, fuzzily, like an owl in daylight "Whe-"
"Lie down and go to sleep," Romilly said, pushed him down on the nearer of the two beds and hauled at his heavy boots. He protested incoherently ... he was drunker than she had realized.
He held her by one wrist. "You're a good boy," he said, "Aye, I like you, Rumal - but you're cristoforo. Once I heard you call on the Bearer of Burdens . . . damn . . ."
Gently Romilly freed her hand, pulled his cloak around him, went quietly away, wondering where Dom Carlo was. Not, surely, still closeted with the Father Master? Well, it was none of her affair, and she must be up early to care for the animals and the sentry-birds. She shrank from sharing the sleeping quarters of the men who attended on Carlo and Orain, so she had chosen to sleep on the hay in the stables - it was warm and she was unobserved; she need not be quite so careful against some accidental revealing of her body. She had not realized, until she was alone again, quite what a strain it was to be always on guard against some momentary inadvertent word or gesture which might betray her. She pulled off her boots, glad of the thick stockings under them, rolled herself into a bundle in the hay and tried to sleep again.
But she found herself unexpectedly wakeful. She could hear the stirring of the birds on their perches, the soft shifting hooves of horses and chervines; far away inside the depths of the monastery she heard a small bell and a faraway shuffle of feet as the monks went their way to the Night Offices, when all the world around them slept. Had Orain some feud with the cristoforos that he would say he liked her, but she was cristoforo! Was he bigoted about religion? Romilly had never really thought much about it, she was cristoforo because her family was, and because, all her life, she had heard tales of the good teachings of the Bearer of Burdens, whose teachings had been, so the cristoforos said, brought from beyond the stars in days before any living man could remember or tell. At last, hearing the muffled chanting, far away, she fell into a restless sleep, burrowing herself into the hay. For a time she dreamed of flying, soaring on hawk-wings, or on the wings of a sentry-bird; not over her own mountains, but over a lowland country, green and beautiful, with lakes and broad fields, and a white tower rose above a great lake. Then she came half awake as a bell rang somewhere in the monastery. She thought, a little ruefully, that if she had had supper within the monastery she would have heard the choir singing-perhaps the only woman who would ever do so.
Well, they would be there for days, it seemed; there would be other nights, other services to hear. How lucky Darren was no longer here at the monastery - even from his seat within the choir, he would have seen and recognized her.
If King Carolin comes to the monastery, young Caryl will recognize him - Dom Carlo must warn him....
And then she slept again, to dream confused dreams of kings and children, and someone at her side who spoke to her in Orain's voice and drowsily caressed her. At last she slept, deep and dreamlessly, waking at first light to the screams of the sentry-birds.
Life in the monastery quickly fell into routine. Up at early light to tend the animals, breakfast in the guest-house, occasionally an errand to be done for Dom Carlo or Orain. Two days later she had her new boots, made to her own measure, and with the pay they gave her - for now she had been in their service ten days - she found a stall where warm clothing was sold, and bought warm stockings so that she could wash and change the ones she had been wearing since Orain had given them to her. In the afternoon she wandered alone around the city of Nevarsin, enjoying a freedom she had never had in the days when she was still the ladylike daughter of The MacAran; in the evenings, when the birds had been tended and exercised again, after a frugal supper in the guesthouse, she would slip into the chapel and listen to the choir of men and little boys. There was one soprano among the boys, with a sweet, flutelike voice; she strained her eyes to see the singer and realized at last that it was small Caryl, the son of Lyondri Hastur.
He wished King Carolin no ill. Romilly hoped that Orain had passed along his message to Dom Carlo and that he, somehow, had gotten word to the king, that Carolin had not come to the city.
Once or twice during the tenday that followed, she went again with Orain to the tavern, or to another, though never again did he drink more than a mug or two of the local wine, and seemed not even a little befuddled by it. Dom Carlo she had not seen again; she supposed he was about whatever business for King Carolin had brought him to this city. For all she knew to the contrary, he had left Nevarsin and gone to warn Carolin not to come here - there was one who would recognize him. She did not think the child would betray Carolin - he had said the king had been kind to him - but his loyalties, naturally, would be to his own father. She did not question Orain. It was none of her business, and she was content to have it that way.
Shyly, she began to wonder; if her father had chosen to marry her to one like Orain, would she have refused him? She thought not. But that was conflict too.
For then would I have stayed at home and been married, and never known this wonderful freedom of city and tavern, woods and fields, never have worked free and had money in my pockets, never really known that I had never been free, never flown a sentry-bird.
She was growing fond of the huge ugly birds; now they came to her hand for their food as readily as any sparrow-hawk or child's cagebird. Either her arm grew stronger or she was more used to it, for now she could hold them for a considerable time and not mind the weight. Their docility and the sweetness she felt when she went into rapport with them, made her think with regret of Preciosa; would see ever see the hawk again?
She seldom saw the other men; she slept apart from them, and encountered them only morning and night, when they all came together for meals in the monastery guest-house. She was quite content that it should be so; she was still a little afraid of Alaric, and the others seemed strange and alien too. It seemed sometimes that the only person to whom she spoke these days, aside from the man who delivered the bird-food and fodder for horses and chervines, was young Caryl, who came whenever he could escape for a few minutes from his lessons, to look at the birds, hold them, croon lovingly to them. With Caryl she was always a little troubled, lest he should forget and thoughtlessly address her again as vai domna - it was a heavy weight of secrets for a child to bear. Once Orain came to the chapel to hear the singing; he took a seat far back and in the shadows, and she was sure that the little boy, in the lighted choir, could not see the face of a solitary man in the darkest part of the chapel, but she remembered that the child knew Carolin and would certainly recognize one of the king's men; she was so agitated that she rose quietly and went out, afraid that the telepathic child would sense her agitation and know its cause.
Midwinter-night was approaching; stalls of spicebread trimmed with copper foil, and gaily painted toys, began to appear in the marketplace, and sweet-sellers filled their displays with stars cut from spicebread or nut-paste. Romilly, homesick at the smell of baking spicebread - Luciella always baked it herself, saying that the servants should not be given extra work at this season - almost regretted leaving her home; but then she remembered that in any case she would not have spent this holiday at her home, but at Scathfell as the wife of Dom Garris - and by now, no doubt, she would have been like Darissa, swollen and ugly with her first child! No, she was better here; but she wished she could send a gift to Rael, or that he could see these bright displays with her.
On the morning before the Festival, she woke to snow blowing into the cracks of the room where she slept, though she was warm in the deep-piled hay. A midwinter storm had blown down, wailing, from the Wall Around the World, and the monastery courtyard was knee-deep in fresh powdery snow. She put on both pairs of warm stockings when she dressed, and her extra tunic, and even so she shivered as she went out into the yard to wash at the well; but the little novices and students were running about barefoot in the snow, and she wondered how they could do it, laughing and gossiping and tossing snowballs at one another. They looked rosy and warm, whereas her own hands were blue with cold!
She went in to care for the riding-animals, and stopped in dismay; Dom Carlo's horse was not in the stable! Had it been stolen? Or had Dom Carlo gone out, into this bitter storm? It was still snowing, a few flakes drifting down now and again from the overburdened sky. As she was lifting forkfuls of fragrant hay to the beasts, Orain came in, and she turned to him in distress.
"Dom Carlo's horse-"
"Hush, lad," he said in a low tone, "Not even before the men. His life could be in your hands; not a word!"
Romilly nodded, and he said, "Good boy. After midday, walk to the town with me; perhaps, who knows, I shall have a Midwinter gift for you, away as you are from home and family."
It seemed as if he must be reading her mind, and she turned away. "I expect no gifts, sir," she said stiffly. Did he know, had he guessed? But he only grinned and said, "Midday, remember." and went away.
At midday Romilly was trying, in the deep snow, to get the sentry-birds to fly a little - they got little enough exercise, in this weather - before they were fed. They screamed rebelliously as she snapped them on lure-lines and tried to encourage them to fly - they were temperamental and did not like the still-falling snow. The snow in the cobbled court, too, was so deep that it came over her boot-tops and trickled down inside, and her feet were cold and her fingers stiff. She was chilled and cross, and even little Caryl's cheerful face could not lighten her mood. She thought, it might, in this weather, be just as well to be a lady by the fire, with nothing to do but make embroidery stitches and bake spicebread! Caryl was wearing only a thin tunic, his arms bare, and his feet were bare in the snow, and she asked crossly, "Aren't you freezing?"
He shook his head, laughing. "It is the first thing the monks teach us," he said, "How to warm ourselves from within, by breathing; some of the older monks can bathe in the water of the well and then dry their clothes by their body heat when they put them on, but that seems a little more than I would want to try. I was cold for the first tenday before I learned it, but I have never suffered from the cold since then. Poor Rumal, you look so cold, I wish I could teach it to you!" He held out his arm to take Prudence, saying seriously, "Come, birdie, you must fly, I know you do not like the snow, but it is not good for you to sit all the time on your perch, you must keep your wings strong."
Prudence flapped away and circled at the end of the line, while Caryl cast out the lure, watching her swoop down. "See, she likes to play with it, even in the snow! Look at her!"
"You are happy," Romilly said sourly, "Do you like the storm as much as that?"
"No, I would like to go out, but in this weather I have to stay indoors, and the arms-master cannot come, so I will miss my lesson at sword-play," said the boy, "but I am happy because tomorrow is a holiday, and my father will come here to visit me. I miss my father and my brothers, and father is sure to bring me a fine gift - I am twelve years old and he promised me a fine sword, perhaps he will give it to me for a Midwinter-gift. And he always takes me walking in the town, so that I can buy spicebread and sweets, and my mother always sends me a new cloak at Midwinter. I have been working very hard at all my lessons, because I want him to be pleased with me."
Lyondri Hastur? Here in the monastery? Her first thought was of Orain and Dom Carlo; the second of their king. Quieting her thoughts carefully, she asked, "Is your father here now?"
"No, but he will come for the holiday, unless this weather should keep him housebound a day's journey away," the boy said, "and Father is never afraid of storms! He has some of the old Delleray Gift, he can work a little on the weather; you'll see, Father will make it stop snowing before it is night."
"That is a laran of which I have not heard," Romilly said, keeping her voice steady, "Do you have it?"
"I don't think so," the child said, "I have never tried to use it. Here, let me fly Temperance while you take Diligence, will you?"
She handed the lure-line to the child, trying to conceal her agitation. Alaric, too, should be warned - or would he try to take vengeance on his enemy, whom he regarded as murderer of his wife and child? She could hardly make conversation with the little boy. And halfway through feeding the birds, she saw the door from the stables open and Orain came into the court. She tried to motion to him to withdraw, but he came into the courtyard, saying, "Not finished with the birds yet, my boy? Make haste, I want your company for an errand in the town," and Caryl turned and saw him. His eyes widened a little.
"My lord," he said, with a courtly little bow, "What are you doing here?"
Orain flinched, and for a moment did not answer. Then he said, "I have come here for sanctuary, lad, since I am no longer welcome at the court where your father rules the king. Will you give the alarm, then?"
"Certainly not," said the boy with dignity, "Under the roof of Saint Valentine, even a condemned man must be safe, sir. All men are brothers who shelter here - this much the cristoforos have told me, Master Rumal, if you wish to go with your master, I will put the birds on their perches for you."
"Thank you, but I can manage them," said Romilly, and took Temperance on her fist; Caryl trailed her with the other bird on his two hands. He said in a whisper, "Did you know he was one of Carolin's men? They are really not safe here."
Romilly pretended gruffness and said, "I don't ask questions about my betters. And you should run along to choir, Caryl."
He bit his lip, flushing, and turned away, dashing barefoot through the snow. Romilly drew a long breath; she would have turned and spoken to Orain, but his hand closed with an iron grip on her shoulder.
"Not here," he said. "Outside these walls; I am not sure, now, that they have not ears, and the ears are those of a certain lord."
Silent, Romilly finished her work with the sentry-birds and followed Orain through the gates of the monastery. The street was white and silent, muffled with the thick snow. At last Orain said, "The Hastur-whelp?"
She nodded. After a moment she said in an undertone, pitching her voice so that Orain had to lean close to listen, "That's not the worst of it. His father - Lyondri Hastur - is outside the city and will be visiting him for the holiday."
Orain's clenched fist drove into his other hand. "Damnnation! And Zandru knows, he's not one to observe sanctuary-law! If he sets eyes-" Orain fell silent. "Why did Dom Carlo have to go away at this time of all times-" he said at last. "Ill-luck dogs us. I'll try and get a message to him."
Silence; even their footsteps were silent in the snow-muffled street. At last Orain said, dismissing it, "Let's go down to the tavern. With such news as this I need a drink, and they have spiced cider in honor of the holiday, so you may drink too."
Romilly said soberly, "Shouldn't Alaric and the others be warned to watch themselves, if the Hastur-Lord is likely to be about?"
"I'll pass a word to them," Orain said, "But for now, no more talk."
In the tavern where Orain had taught her, some days ago, to play at darts, he commanded wine, and hot cider for Romilly; it smelled sweet with spices, and she drank it gratefully and accepted his offer of a second mug. He said, "I have a gift for you - that filthy cloak you wear is hardly worthy of a stable-man's son. I found this in a stall - it's old and worn but suits you, I think." He beckoned to the serving-woman, said "Bring me the bundle I left here yesterday."
He tossed it across the table at her. "A good Midwinter-night to you, and Avarra guard you, son."
Romilly untied the strings; took out a green cloak, spun of rabbithorn-wool, finely embroidered and trimmed with clasps of good leather. It must have been very old, for it had sleeves cut in one with the cape, in a fashion she had seen in portraits of her great-grandsire in the Great Hall at Falconsward; but it was richly lined and comfortable. She flung aside the shabby old cloak she had taken when she fled from Rory's house in the woods, and put on the new one, saying after a moment, embarrassed, "I have no gift for you, Master Orain."
He put his arm round her shoulders. "I want nothing from you, son; but give me the hug and kiss you'd give your father if he were here today,"
Blushing, Romilly embraced him, and touched her lips gingerly to his cheek. "You are very good to me, sir. Thank you."
"Not at all - now you are dressed as befits your red hair and the manner you have of a nobleman's son," he said. There was just enough irony in the words that Romilly wondered; did he know she was a woman? She had been sure, at one time, that Dom Carlo knew.
"That old thing, you can make into a horse-blanket," said Orain, motioning the tapster's boy to make it up into a bundle. Romilly would rather have thrown it away where she need never touch it again, but in this weather horses could not go unblanketed, and the horse-blanket she had, had been meant for warmer climates. Her horse would be grateful for the extra warmth, with this midwinter storm.
There were but few patrons in the tavern this evening; the approaching storm, and the morrow's holiday, contrived to keep most of the men at home, Romilly supposed, by their own hearths.
Orain asked, when she had finished her meal, "Will we have a game of darts, then?"
"I am not a good enough player to make it worth your trouble," she said, and Orain laughed. "Who cares? Come along, then."
They stood, alternately flinging the darts and sipping from their tankards, as the evening passed. Suddenly Orain stiffened, went silent.
"Your turn," Romilly said.
"You throw - I'll be back in a moment," Orain said, his speech slurred, and Romilly thought, he cannot possibly be drunk so early. Yet as he walked away he reeled drunkenly, and one of the sparse patrons of the tavern yelled jovially, "Drunk so early on midwinter-night? You'll not hold your wine on the holiday, then, man!"
She wondered; is he sick? Should I go and help him? One of the things Romilly had carefully avoided, during her weeks in the town, was going inside the common latrine behind any of the taverns - it was the one place where she might possibly be discovered. Yet Orain had been good to her, if he was in trouble, surely he deserved help.
A small voice in her mind said; No. Stay where you are. Act as if everything were normal. Since Romilly was not yet accustomed to the use of her own laran - and it was rare for her to be so much in touch with the feelings of any human, though she now took rapport with her birds for granted - she was not sure whether this were actually a message reaching her, or her own projected feelings; but she obeyed it. She called out, recklessly drawing attention to herself, "Who'd like a game, then, since my friend's overcome with drink?" And when two townsmen came up to her, she challenged them, and played so badly that she soon lost and had to pay the forfeit of buying them a round of drinks. It seemed that at the very edge of the room she could see movement in the shadows - had Orain not left the room after all, but only withdrawn? Who was he talking to? She kept the game going, and by a great effort did not turn to try and see the other figure, tall and graceful, a hood shrouding face and head, moving softly near Orain. But as if she had eyes in the back of her head, it seemed that she could see it, hear whispers .. . her spine prickled and at every moment she thought she would hear an outcry, voices, shouts. Holy Bearer of Burdens, whose day this is, tell me, how did I become entangled in this intrigue, as if it mattered to me which king sat on the throne of the Hali'imyr? Damn them both, outcast king and usurper king. Why should a good man like Orain risk a noose for his neck because one king or another holds the throne of the Hasturs?
If any harm comes to my friend, I will . . . and she stopped there. What could she do? Unlike her brothers, she had no knowledge of arms, she was defenseless. If I escape this night's intrigue, she thought, I will ask Orain to teach me something of the arts of fighting . . . but she laughed and shouted, "Well thrown, whang in the cat's eye," and flung her own dart almost at random, surprised when it landed anywhere near the target.
"Drink up, young'un," said the man who had lost, setting a mug of wine before her, and Romilly drank recklessly. Her head felt fuzzy, and she stopped halfway through the mugful, but they were all looking at her, and against her better judgment, she finished the drink.
"You'll have another game? My turn to win," said one of the men, and she shrugged and gave up the dart. Her neck felt that cold, vulnerable prickle that she knew meant she was
being watched, somewhere undercover. What is going on in that room? Damn these intrigues!
Then Orain was at her side again, clapping her on the shoulder. "Aye, now you have the way of it, but you can't yet teach an old dog how to gnaw a bone - gi'me the darts, lad." He took the feathered darts, poised them, called for wine all around; she saw the excited glitter of his eyes. When the next pair took the darts, he muttered next her ear, "Next round we must get away; I've a message."
She nodded to let him know she understood. The next moment Orain shouted, "What in nine hells do you there, man, your big feet halfway over the line - I won't play darts with a cheating bastard like that, not even at Midwinter-gifts. I will make but not be cheated out of a drink or a silver bit!" and shoved angrily against the man who was throwing. The man whirled drunkenly and swung at him.
"Here, you lowland bugger, who do you call cheat? You'll swallow those words with your next drink or I'll ram them down your throat-" He connected with Orain's chin, and Orain's head went back with a crack; he staggered against the wall, came out swinging furiously. Romilly flung her dart, and it landed in the man's hand as he swung again at Orain; the attacker turned, howling, and barged toward her, hands out as if to strangle her. She moved away, tripped on a barrel and went sprawling in the sawdust. Orain's hand grabbed her, pulled her upright.
"Here, here-" the barman came over, scowling, separating them with rough hands. "No brawling, friends! Drink up!"
"The rotten little bastard threw a dart at me," growled the man, shoving up his sleeve to reveal a red mark.
"You're a baby to bawl at a bee-sting?" demanded Orain, and the barman shoved them apart.
"Sit down! Both of you! The penalty for fighting is a drink for the house, from each of you!"
With a show of reluctance, Orain pulled out his purse, flung down a copper piece. "Drink up and be damned to you, and I hope you all choke on it! We'll be off to a quieter place for drinking!" he snarled, grabbed Romilly's elbow and steered a drunken path toward the door. Outside he straightened up and demanded in a low, quick voice, "Are you hurt?"
"No, but-"
"That's all right, then. Let's make tracks!" He set a pace up the hill that Romilly could hardly follow. She knew she had had too much to drink and wondered, as she staggered dizzily after him, if she was going to throw it up. After a moment he turned and said, gently, "Sorry - here, lad, take my arm," and supported her. "You shouldn't have drunk that last cup."
"I couldn't think of anything else to do," she confessed.
"And you saved my neck by it," he said in a whisper. "Come, perhaps you can get a bit of rest at the monastery before - look," he gestured at the clearing sky, "The snow's stopped. We'll be expected to show at the Midwinter-eve service, any guest at the monastery who's not abed with a broken leg is expected to be there for their damned hymn-singing! And with the weather cleared, that rat Lyondri-" he clenched his fists. "He may well be there, large as life and twice as filthy, sitting smug in the choir and singing hymns like a better man."
Romilly asked, troubled, "Would he recognize you, then, Uncle?"
"That he would," said Orain grimly, "and others than me."
She wondered; can it be that Carolin himself is somewhere in the monastery? Or did he speak of Alaric, whose family had been condemned to death by the Hastur-lord? Or of Carlo, who was certainly an exiled man and high in Carolin's confidence? Orain's hand was beneath her arm.
"Here, lean on me, lad - I'd pretend to be sick and hide in the guest-house, but then they'd hale me off to the infirmary, and find out soon there's nothing wrong with me but a cup too many of their wine."
She looked at the settled snow, cringing in the keen wind that came as the snow had quieted. "Is there truly a laran which can work sorcery on the weather?"
"So I have heard," Orain muttered, subsiding into gloom again. "Would that you had some trace of it, son!"