A Gathering Of Stones

9

Waragapur, green and lovely, jewel of peace and fruitfulness.

Truceground re jagged oasis, a place of rest among stony bar-

n mountains agged enough to chew the sky.

Warmed by the firemountain Mun Gapur, steamed by hotsprings, hugged inside hundred-foot cliffs, Waragapur knew only two seasons, summer during the hottest months and spring for the rest of the year. When Brann arrived it was the edge of winter elsewhere, but there were plum trees in bloom at Waragapur, peach trees heavy with ripe fruit, almonds with sprays of delicate white flowers and ripe nuts on the same tree.

Tak WakKerrcarr came down from his Hold and stood on the landing, leaning on an ebony and ivory staff, waiting for the riverboat. He was an ancient ageless man, his origins enigmatic, his skin the color and consistency of old leather drawn tight over his bones, long shapely bones; he was an elegant old man despite being a home to an astonishing variety of insect life and despite the strength and complexity of the stink that wafted from him-apparently he bathed every five years or so. He ignored the stares and nudges of those who came to gape at him (very careful not to annoy him by coming too close or whispering or giggling), ignored the nervous agitation of the boatmen who’d never seen him but had no doubt whom they were looking at. When Brann came off the ship with the passengers stopping here, he reached with his staff, tapped her on the shoulder. “Come with me,” he said, turned and stalked off.

Brann blinked, looked after him. His voice told her who he had to be. It was a wonderful voice, a degree or two lighter than Maksim’s, with much the same range and flexibility. “Jay,” she glanced over her shoulder at the changer, frowned as she saw him curled up on the landing beside their gear, “look after things here.” She hesitated, went on. “Be careful, will you? Don’t trust that thing too much.”

Jaril nodded, gave her a drowsy smile, and got to his feet.

She didn’t want to leave him, but she hadn’t much choice. She walked slowly after Tak WakKerrcarr, chewing on her lip, disturbed by the changes in the boy; after a few steps she shook her head and tried to concentrate on WakKerrcarr. She didn’t know what he wanted with her or how much he knew about why she was here. He’d be dangerous if he took against her; Maksi wouldn’t admit it, but even he was a little afraid of the man. Tak WakKerrcarr. First among the Primes, older than time. Brann straightened her back, squared her shoulders and followed him.

WakKencarr waited for her in a water-garden at the side of the Inn, sitting beside a fountain, one fed from the hotsprings, its cascades of water leaping through its own cloud of steam. She caught a whiff of his aroma and edged cautiously around so he was downwind of her.

He pounded the butt of the staff on the earth by his feet, bent forward until his cheek was touching the tough black ebony. He gazed at her as she stood waiting for him to speak. “Take off that kujjin veil, woman. You’re no Temu press.”

With an impatient jerk, she pulled off the opaque black headcloth; she was happy to get it off, warmth poured more amply than water from that fountain. She smoothed mussed hair off her face, draped the veil over her arms. “So?”

“Got a message for you.” He straightened up, laid his staff across his bony knees. “Fireheart come to see me. Said to tell you watch your feet, but don’t worry too much, you’re her Little Nothin and she won’t let any god do you hurt.”

“God?”

“I’m not telling you what you don’t know.” He crossed his legs at the ankles, wiggled toes longer than some people’s fingers. “That bunch tryin to run you, they’re fools dancin to strings they can’t see.”

“What god?”

He got to his feet. “Said what I planned. Not goin to say more. Well, this. Tell that demon, she don’t play fair, I’ll feed her to the Mountain.” His eyes traveled down her body, up again, lingered briefly on her breasts. “When this’s over, come see me, Drinker of Souls.” A wide flashing smile, one to warm the bones. “I’ll even take a bath.” Chuckling and repeating himself, take a bath sho sho, even take a bath, hee hee, he strode out of the garden and vanished into the orchard behind.

Brann shook the veil out, whipped it over her head and adjusted it so she could see through the eyeholes-and started worrying about Slya’s offer of protection. The god wasn’t all that bright, she had a tendency to stomp around and squash anything that chanced to fall under her feet which could include those she meant to help. Nothing Braun could do about it, except stay as nimble as she could and hope she’d be deft enough to avoid any danger that might provoke Slya into storming to her rescue. She went back to the landing.

She collected Jaril and their gear and marched into the Inn. The Host came running, treating her with exaggerated deference; guests and servants stared or peeped at her from the corner of their eyes; she heard a gale of whispers rise behind her as the Host led her to the finest suite in the house and murmured of baths and dinner and wine and groveled until she wanted to hit him. Tak WakKerrcair was the reason, of course; his notice had stripped away any anonymity she might claim.

When the Host stopped hovering and left the room, she started unbuckling straps. “Serve that toe-licker right if I skipped without paying.”

Stretched out on the bed, Jaril watched Brann unpack the pouches and hang up her clothes. “What did WakKerrcarr have to say?”

She finished what she was doing, went to stand by the window, looking down into the garden where she’d talked to the sorceror. “Message from Slya,” she said. “That I’m not to worry, she’s going to watch over us.”

“Us?”

“All right, me. Same thing.”

“Not really.”

“You think I’d let her…”

“Thorns down, Bramble. Course not.”

She sighed, settled onto the windowseat. “So now we wait. Until the letter is delivered, until the smiglar get here, if they get here, until, until…”

“If they get here?” Jaril lay blinking slowly, without the energy to pretend to yawn. “Relax, Bramble. They want the thing. They’ll come.”

She made a face at him. “Seems to me we’ve changed positions, Jay. I’m the impatient one now.”

He chuckled. “Tell you what, Bramble. Go paddle around the bathhouse awhile. Should be plenty of hot water. You’ll feel better. You know you will.”

“Run away and paddle, mmm? Like a fractious infant, innun? Jay, that wasn’t a very nice thing,to say to me.”

He came up off the bed and ran to her, his sleepiness forgotten, his tranquillity wiped away. Trembling with dry sobs, he wrapped his arms about her, pushed his head against her. “I… I… I,” he stopped, dragged in the air he needed for speaking, “I was just teasing, Bramble. I didn’t mean it like that, you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

She stroked his white-gold hair. “I know, luv. I’ve tripped on my tongue a time or two myself. Just don’t do it again.”

Jaril slept much of the time; Brann wandered about the Waystop gardens until the feel of eyes constantly watching her drove her away from the Inn and into the parklike forest at the base of Mun Gapur.

An hour past midday on the third day, she took a foodbasket the Inn’s cook prepared for her and went into the forest to a place of flattish boulders beside the noisy little stream that burbled past the Inn and tumbled into the river. She spread out a blanket, filled a water jug and settled herself to enjoy a peaceful picnic lunch.

When Tak WakKerrcarr strolled from under the trees, she was sitting with her feet in the water, eating a peach. He settled himself beside her, dipped a napkin in the stream and handed it to her so she could wipe her sticky face and stickier fingers.

She glanced at him, opened her eyes wide. “You’ve parked your livestock.”

He laughed. “So I have. They’re accommodatin little critters.”

His voice sent shivers along her spine. The Grand Voice of a Sorceror Prime. A single word from Maksim could stir her to the marrow of her bones, that WakKerrcarr could do the same when she didn’t even know him… it wasn’t fair. He’d got rid of the stench too. He was tall and lean and powerfully male; she could feel his interest in her, the most effective aphrodisiac there was. “Why?” she said, more breathlessly than she intended, then reminded herself she was a grown woman with more than a little experience in these things.

“The critters? Backs off people I don’t want to talk to. Besides, I like ‘em. You got some time to spare, heh?”

“Seems so,” She frowned as something occurred to her. “Heard from Maks?”

“Not to speak of,” he murmured; he took her hand, moved his thumb across her palm. “Why?”

“I’m worried about him.” She looked down at the hand caressing hers; his skin was a smooth olive, baby fine, there was almost no flesh between it and the slender hand bones.

“There’s reason to be.” He set her hand on her thigh and began stroking the curve of her neck, his long fingers playing in her hair. “And reason not to be. Maks is formidable when the occasion requires it.”

She leaned into his hand, her eyes drooping half-shut, her breath slowing and deepening. “What are you talking about? Tell me.”

“There’s things I can’t say.”

“You can’t?”

“When the gods are at play, a wise man keeps his head down. Or it gets bit off.”

She pulled away from him, jumped to her feet. “Great advice, Tik-tok, I’m sure I’ll follow it.”

“It don’t count when it’s your strings they’re pullin.” He rose with the liquid grace of a man a fraction of his great age, clasped his hands behind his back. “All you can do is dance fast and try keeping your feet.” He smiled at her, his yellow eyes glowing. “You’re formidable yourself, Drinker of Souls.”

“Does he need help? Can you tell me that?”

“He’s doing well enough; don’t worry your head, Brann. You’re fond of him.” He raised his brows. “More than fond, I think.”

“For my sins.”

He moved closer, wary and focused, predator stalking skittish prey, and set his hands on her shoulders, close to her neck, his long thumbs tucked up under her jaw. “For my sins, I want you.”

“Will you help me?”

“No. Not beyond maintaining the Truce.” He moved his thumbs delicately up and down her neck, just brushing the skin. “Must I buy?”

“No.”

“I thought not.”

“You plan to take?”

He curved his hand along her cheek. “I wouldn’t dare. Besides, the sweetest fruit is that which comes freely to the hand. I’m not a rutting teener, Bramble-all-thorns. I can wait. If not now, then later.”

Brann laughed, turned her head, brushed her lips across the palm of his hand. “Rutting ancient. Let it be now.”

“And later?”

“I lay no mortgages on tomorrow.”

“It doesn’t hurt to dream.”

“If you remember that reality is often disappointing.”

“One can always adjust the dream. Come see my house.”

“You mean your bed?”

“That too. Though I’ve never made a practice of confining myself to a bed. Shows a dearth of imagination.”

Someone was shaking her; she groped around, touched Talc’s shoulder. He mumbled something indecipherable, snuggled closer against her. The shaking started again. “Wha…”

“Shute!” Sound of water running. Cold wet slap.

Brann jerked up, clawed the wet cloth from her face and flung it away. “What do you think you’re doing!”

“Bramble, they’re here. You have to get back.”

“Jay?”

“Pull yourself together, Bramble. The smiglar. They’re here. They didn’t wait for a riverboat to bring them. They want you now.”

Brann felt the bed shift as Tak lifted onto his elbow; she shivered with pleasure as his strong slender fingers smoothed along her spine. “Go back,” he told Jaril. “I’ll bring her in a few minutes.”

Jaril snarled at him, hostile, angry; he was close to losing control.

Brann could feel the tides pulsing in him. She caught hold of his hands, held them tightly. “Jay, listen. Listen, luv. You’ve got to be calm. You’re giving them an edge. Listen. Go down and watch them. I’ll be there as fast as I can, I’ve got to get dressed. Do you hear me?”

Jaril shuddered, then slowly stabilized. With a last glare at Tak, he shifted to glowsphere and darted away.

Brann sighed. “I have to see him home somehow. Tak…”

“Mmmh?” His hands were on her breasts, his tongue in her ear.

She relaxed against him for a moment, then pulled away. “No more time, Tik-tok.” She slid off the bed, stood a minute running her fingers through her tangled hair.

“You’ll come here after?” He lay back on the pillows, his fingers laced behind his head, his eyes caressing her.

She padded over to the basin, poured some water in it and began washing herself. Will I come back? I don’t know. Once we ransom Yaril… there’s Maks, I have to find out about him… She began working the knots out of her long white hair. After a moment she chuckled. “First seacaptains, now sorcerors. I wonder if that means my taste in men is improving or worsening.”

“Don’t ask me, m’ dear. You can see I’d be biased.” Brush in hand, she set her fists on her hips and contem-

plated him. “What I see, hate! You wash up lovely, old man.”

“I like you too, old woman. You coming back?”

“I want to. Tak…”

“Mm?”

“This isn’t a condition, it’s just a favor I’m asking.”

He sat up. “Such diffidence, Thornlet. Ask, ask, I promise I won’t let thoughts of past orgies influence me.” He chuckled, slid off the bed and strode to the window. As she began pulling on her heavy widow’s robes, he chirrupped and chirred, calling his little critters to come back and crawl on him.

“The children have to be sent home. As far as I know, Slya is the only one can do that. Would you talk to her for us? They need their own kind, Tik-tok.”

He opened the door to a closet, took out his ancient greasy leathers. “You realize how much more vulnerable you’d be without them?”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“It does to your friends, Thornlet. Slya is very fond of you, more than you know, I think.” He took out his staff, leaned it against the windowsill.

“They’ll either die or go rogue before much longer, Tiktok, what use are they then?”

“You’re sure of that?”

“I’m painfully sure of that.”

“I’ll talk with the Fireheart, I can’t promise anything.”

“I know. She goes her own way and Tungjii help us all.” She folded the veil over her arm. “It’s time.”

“Come back.”

“When I can.”

“Maks?”

“I’ve got to see about him. Do you understand? He’s a dear man.”

“I think I’m jealous.”

“Why? You know where Maksim’s fancies lie.”

“Sex is a delight, love’s a treasure.”

“Aphorisms, old man?”

“Distilled experience, old woman.”

“You’ve had a lot of that, eh?”

“But never enough. Take my hand.”