Magic Casement

1

The wind is in the south, we shall have rain.

So Rap’s mother would have said. Probably it had been true, where she had come from, but it was not true in Krasnegar. The wind was from the south, off the land, so it was going to be another fine day. It was the north wind, from the sea, that brought rain, or snow more usually. His mother used to have many strange notions like that, Rap knew now, although he could not remember very much of her. He could hardly recall what she had looked like, but he could remember some of her strange notions.

One of those was to wash every morning. That was not always easy in Krasnegar. Sometimes in winter the ice was so thick that it had to be broken with an ax, but in summer it was pleasant to wash in the mornings, and at any time he liked the habit. It made him feel good, so he did it, although most of the other men laughed at him or called him crazy or said it was unhealthy. A few of them never seemed to wash at all, but he liked the tingle he got from water and the way it wiped the sleep off his skin. And he often thought of his mother as he did it.

That morning he had not even bothered to take a bucket of water indoors. He was standing bare-chested by the trough in the shadowy, dewy stable yard when old Hononin came marching out, pulling off his shirt. Rap felt uneasy. Being shirtless out in the fields was all right, but Krasnegarians were puritanical about dress, and he felt uncomfortable at being discovered in a state of seminudity. Seeing the old man like that was even worse, and quite unprecedented. His skin hung loose on him and a patch of gray hair in the middle of his chest looked as if it might have fallen off the bald spot on his scalp. Rap wondered if he ought to leave, but he merely moved respectfully to the far end of the trough and said nothing.

The little old hostler seemed even more gnarled and grumpish than usual and he did not speak, either, just thrust his whole head into the trough. That explained matters.

He emerged spluttering and shivering, then started cupping water with his hands and rinsing his armpits and shoulders.

“The big one’s fixed,” he growled without looking at Rap. “Want you to take it out before the next tide.”

Rap looked around to make sure there was no one behind him. There wasn’t. Well! The sunlight brightened. A wagon ride was a much more enticing thought than more sentry duty, even if Thosolin did not indulge himself in other petty testings. South to the mainland, where there was more to keep a man occupied… But Inos expected to go riding and she would not have many more chances before she left. He felt a sudden, nasty pang and told himself to grow up and be manly. There was some evil in every good, as the priests said, and a man must obey orders.

He thought tides. It would need fast work to rig up four horses. “Who’s driving?”

“You.”

“Me!”

“Deaf today?” Hononin splashed his face again.

Rap took a deep breath. Then another. He tried to speak calmly. “Who’s going to mother me?” Ollo, probably. He was around and he had brought the big one in.

“No one.”

Rap put his head in the water to give himself time to think. It proved to be a stupid idea, like being kicked. It filled his ears and ran up his nose and he came up feeling much worse than when he went in. But then he had not been drinking last night. Maybe it felt better than a hangover. He gasped and spat.

It had not helped his thinking much.

Why the change of plan? The second wagon also would be fixed before evening.

One wagon by itself was unusual, if the driver ran into trouble on the causeway on a rising tide, then he might need another team—quickly! Or a good sorcerer, as the saying went. One man alone was unusual, too. And a beginner? By himself? Rap had held the reins often enough on the easy bits, but that was all. Why him at all? Why not Jik or Ollo, who knew what they were doing? Why him by himself?

Perhaps Hononin had heard about the testing yesterday. He might be frightened that Rap had impressed Thosolin and would be taken away from the stables to be a man-at-arms. Or perhaps the hostler did not want one of his hands treated like that again.

Yet Rap had never been trusted with a wagon on his own before, or not far, at least. Certainly not for the whole trip. He shivered with tingles of excitement. He would be one of the drivers, then—perhaps only the junior driver, but more than a stableboy. He could eat at the drivers' table! Man-at-armsing could wait awhile—he was young yet.

“You can do it, can’t you?”

“Yes,” Rap said firmly, and tried to look matter-of-fact. He could handle it. “You’ll see me down the hill, though?”

“Can you do it?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then,” Hononin said. “I trust you, even…” He began wiping his face with his shirt and walked away. The rest of the sentence remained unspoken or was lost in the shirt.

I trust you, even… Even what?

Snowball had loosened her right front shoe. Rap went and told Hononin; Hononin cursed and headed for the castle commons. Apparently the farrier was not there, because the man who arrived to deal with the matter was Rap’s friend Kratharkran, the smith’s apprentice, ostentatiously wiping crumbs from his mouth and pouting at being dragged from important business. Although his father was an imp, Krath was more jotunnish than most jotnar and had been sprouting like a snowdrift lately. Rap had spoken with him the previous evening, but in his leather workclothes he seemed to have grown more overnight.

Despite his height, he had an absurdly squeaky voice. He peered down at Rap with disbelieving blue eyes. “How long have they trusted you with a wagon?”

“As long as they’ve trusted you with a hammer!”

They grinned in mutual satisfaction, and Krath set to work. When he had fixed the shoe, he solemnly asked Rap’s approval, calling him “driver.”

Equally solemnly, Rap thanked him and said it was a nice piece of work, which it was. Krath agreed and wished him luck, then strode off to resume his meal.

All of which had been very businesslike and felt good, but by the time Rap had the team harnessed and ready, he knew he was going to be cutting the tide very close. He found the old man counting sacks in the feed room.

“I’m ready,” he said, trying to look and sound relaxed.

“Go, then.” Hononin did not even turn around.

“You don’t want to look it over?” The old man never, ever, let a wagon go off down the hill without a personal inspection, not even if Ollo or Jik was driving. And surely he would want to look at Snowball’s shoe?

He still did not turn, obviously mad about something. “Just go!” he barked. “Don’t miss the tide!”

Rap shrugged and left. He had not even been given the inevitable warning to take care through the town. Most odd!

Hurrying back to the yard he met Fan on her way to feed the chickens. He asked her to tell Inos that he had to rush off.

Shivery with excitement, he climbed up to the bench. Before he could crack his whip, he heard a high-pitched shout behind him. Lin was running across the yard with a bag in his one good hand. He looked up hopefully at Rap. “Want some company?”

“Sure,” Rap said. Lin was a terrible gossip, but bearable. No one could find anything useful for him to do since he broke his arm. “What’s in the bag?”

Awkward with his cast, Lin clambered up to the bench. “Cheese, mostly, and a bit of leftover mutton. Rolls.”

Rap’s inside was too jumpy to want food yet, but he should have thought of it for later. “Enough for both of us?”

Lin nodded solemnly. “The old man said you’d had no time for breakfast.”

Rap lowered his whip again. “What’s into him today?” he demanded. “He’s acting odd! Since when has he cared if I missed my breakfast? Why’s he running me out of town like this?”

Lin had great ears for scandal. His dark eyes twinkled. “You were holding hands with Inos last night.”

“So?” Rap asked uneasily. “What’s that to do with him?”

“Nothing, Rap. Nothing.”

“Out with it!”

Lin giggled. “Her daddy noticed.”

I trust you, even if others don’t.

Rap slammed the brake handle fiercely, cracked his whip much louder than he had meant to, and sent the wagon rumbling forward.

Between the castle gate and the harbor were fourteen hairpins. Going down was easier than coming up with a load, but it was still tricky. Rap had watched it done often enough, but he had never been allowed to handle brake and reins in the town. It was odd that Hononin had not known that.

The first two were easy, but he breathed a hearty sigh of relief when they had rounded the third, which was canted steeply. A wagon out of control could be almost as bad as a shipwreck. He was aware that Lin was watching him closely and hanging on very tight with his good hand. Fortunately it was still very early and there were almost no pedestrians around to mangle.

Four and five were not too bad. Six was a horror, with the wagon standing on its head above the team, wheels scratching on cobbles. Too close to the wall, the unloaded, too-light rig started to slither sideways. Rap discovered that he was soaked with sweat and needed two more hands than the Gods had given him.

The next one was the worst.

He was going to catch the tide. He was not going to make a mess of this. If he failed he would never forgive himself, and Hononin would never trust him again. And Inos would hear how he’d run over pedestrians or smashed up a wagon or even knocked in the side of a house and killed horses—it happened sometimes.

Trust yourself, his mother had said. If you don’t, who will ?

He yelped, pulled the reins, tightened the brake, and the rig stopped. Silence. Lin looked at him curiously. “What’s wrong?”

Rap wiped an arm across his streaming forehead. He was panting as if he’d run all the way up from sea to castle. “Listen!”

Lin listened and his eyes widened—clopping hooves and the rumble of iron on cobbles. Then it grew suddenly louder and another team appeared ahead of them, crawling round bend number seven, horses wide-eyed and steaming, hugging the buildings to have room to swing their load through the curve. Then came the wagon, with the driver shouting curses and a load of new peat dribbling water off the back. Nasty stuff, fresh peat. It was heavy and it could shift, but peat couldn’t be stacked over the winter in that climate, so the first loads were always still wet.

“Boy, if we’d met that…” Lin said, and shivered. Sometimes it could take hours to straighten out a meeting on one of the bends, backing the load down the hill—jackknifing it, even.

The oncoming team straightened up and began to move faster. Jik was the driver. He grinned and then showed surprise when he saw only Rap and Lin. Struck dumb by the thrumming of wheels, he pointed back down the hill and held up one finger. Rap nodded and signaled zero and tried to look as if he did this all the time. Then Iki had gone and Rap reached for the brake again.

“Rap!” Lin said. “How did you know?”

Rap hesitated. How had he known? His own team had been making far too much noise for him to have heard. Could the horses have heard and sent him a signal with their ears, a signal that he had seen without knowing? Not likely at all. Could he have caught a reflection in a window? The sun was shining on the windows, so that was not very likely; either. But he had known. He had been quite certain that there was a wagon coming at that corner. That was rather an eerie feeling. How had he known?

“Just one of the things you youngsters have to learn,” he said. “You go scout for me.”

Lin made an obscene suggestion. He studied Rap with a very puzzled expression for a moment before jumping down and heading for the corner.

They were losing time. Lin was clumsy with only one good arm, and Rap had to stop dead each time he needed to come aboard, then stop again to let him off before the next hairpin. They finally met the second wagon between twelve and thirteen, and then it was a fast run down to the harbor.

There were few ships there that day. The sun blazed hard from quicksilver water, the gulls were bobbing and preening, and the air bore the tangy scent of fish and seaweed. A very slight breeze was ruffling the surface, but there were no waves. Anxiously Rap eyed the causeway ahead.

“Too late!” Lin sighed.

“Not much swell,” Rap said stubbornly. “I’ll risk it.”

He stood up and thumped the reins on the horses' backs, urging them to a canter, wondering if Lin would demand to be let off. He would not be able to swim with that cast on his arm, but Lin probably did not know how to swim anyway. There was no point learning—a man died of cold in a few minutes in the Winter Ocean.

Then Rap remembered that he could not swim, either.

Lin did not speak. The wagon picked up speed, thundering along the top of the quay toward the long curve of the causeway that led to the distant shore. Most of it ran over land—low islands and rocks, dry land except in the big winter storms—but there were four low spots and the tide was already running over three of them. The wagon bounced and rolled and sent seabirds screaming; then there was water on both sides of the way and Big Damp was coming up ahead.

Rap took that one at full speed. It was straight and shallow and he did not sense any worry from the horses. Water shot out in silver sheets and salt spray splashed in his face and then they were safe on the other side, Duck Island. It had been deeper than he had expected, though.

Lin, still sitting and thus lower than Rap, had been soaked. He whistled and then laughed, a little nervously.

“I hope that new wheel stays on,” he remarked.

Little Damp was still dry, except for a few spray pools, where wavelets were starting to splash over.

Now they were climbing over Big Island, and Rap slackened the pace so as not to heat the horses. But he stayed standing.

The rocks and shingle alongside the road gave way to the harsh, stubborn grasses that enjoyed the challenge of living so close to the sea, and for a moment the water was out of view. Then the wagon rolled roughly over the crest and started steeply down. Ahead lay the main stretch of causeway… except that most of it wasn’t there.

Lin squealed, “Rap!” and straightened up.

Rap had not expected the gap to be quite so wide yet. Already the blue tide was pouring through, shiny and beautiful under the sunshine. He had never seen this, except from shore. The wind was strong now and cold, whipping the horses' manes, but the waves were very small. The raised roadway ran out into the sea ahead for a short way and then dipped under. Far away to the left, jutting out from Tallow Rocks, was the other end.

There were two bends in the road. Somewhere.

“Rap, you can’t!”

“Get off, then!” Rap snapped, without slowing the wagon. He was not going to sit for six or seven hours on Big Island and be laughed at for the rest of his days. In truth, he was already too late to stop, for the roadbed was raised and there was no room to turn; this part would be underwater in an hour or so. Backing up would be tricky. Then hooves started splashing and he saw eight ears begin to flicker with alarm. He could calm horses by singing to them—not that he had any sort of a voice, but horses were not music critics. He started singing the first thing that came into his head.

I traveled land, I traveled sea…

“Rap!” Lin howled. “You’ll go off the road! Stop, for the Gods' sake!”

“Shut up!” Rap said, and went back to singing. The horses' ears rose again as they listened to him. They kept splashing their big hooves and the wagon continued to roll steadily forward. A couple of swimming gulls watched intently, bobbing up and down as the waves flowed under them.

Maiden, maiden, maiden, oh…

Far off to his left, two fishing boats were setting sail from the quay, and Rap wondered what they thought of this strange horsedrawn vessel plying their harbor. There were a couple of big rocks coming up on his right, green with weed and purple with mussels, being lapped by the small waves, and he knew about how far those were from the road. A fraction more to the left…

There was just enough wind to make the water ruffled and impossible to see through, but he could tell where the edges were by the way the waves surged over them. It was safer than it looked, he told himself.

Lin was starting to whimper.

I gave her love, I gave her smiles,

I wooed with all my manly wiles.

The rocks floated past on the silvery water, and the swell was beginning to trouble the horses, coming well up their legs now, over the wagon axles. They were finding the wagon hard to pull. They were towing it.

The water was deeper. The waves no longer showed the edge very clearly.

“Turn, Rap!” Lin sobbed. “We’re at the bend, Rap! We must be! We’ll go off!” He rose to his feet, awkwardly holding the seatback with his one good arm. They were going to get wet boots in a minute. “Rap! Turn!”

Rap was not sure. Distances were deceptive when they were all covered with water and there were no landmarks at hand. He was thinking of the road itself, beneath the water, two stone walls filled in level with shingle and rocks, greeny blue, probably, with the strands of weed waving in the current. There would be shadows of ripples moving over, like cloud shadows moved over the summer hills. Fish? He had not expected so many fish, little ones…

“Maiden, maiden…”

“Shut up, Lin!”

“…maiden, oh.”

Now he could imagine that watery blue roadway making its turn. He pulled on the reins and the wagon curved slowly round and apparently he had guessed right, because they continued their slow progress.

Lin had started to pray to some God Rap had never heard of. A new one, maybe.

One of the fishing boats was heading in their direction.

The wagon had almost stopped bumping. The tide was stronger here, in the middle, leaving a wake as it flowed by the horses, and they were getting very nervous now, no matter how hard he sang.

“Maiden, maiden”

“SNOWBALL!”

“… maiden…”

Too far to the right!

He eased the lead pair to the left and they carried on. But if the wagon began to float, then it would surely drag the horses off the road.

The second bend, a big, wide curve… the wagon seemed to lift, skew left, then settle, then lift. He blinked sweat from his eyes, squinting against the sun’s glare, visualizing that underwater causeway, easing the horses around the bend.

Staying away from the edges.

Then Tallow Rocks were straight ahead and the current was behind them and the road was starting to rise. He flicked the reins for more speed and licked salty lips. He’d done it!

His hands were shaking slightly and his neck felt sore. He arched his back to ease it and then sat down.

“Sorry, Lin,” he remarked, “what were you saying?”

Lin’s eyes were big as oysters. “How did you do that?”

Come to think of it, how had he done that? Rap began to feel very shaky. It was almost as if he’d been able to see the road under the water. He’d known where it was, what it looked like, almost. He had not seen it, but he’d felt as if he knew what it would look like if he could… or as if he could remember having seen it like that. Which he never had; no man ever had.

Just as, earlier, he’d known there was another wagon around the seventh bend?

He did not say anything, just shrugged.

“Another thing we youngsters have to learn, I suppose?”

Rap grinned at him. “Practice by yourself, though.”

Lin used some very special obscenities. Where had he learned those?

“Lin?” Rap said. “Lin, please don’t go and make a big story out of this?”

Lin just stared at him.

“Lin! You’ll get me in trouble.”

“I suppose you weren’t getting me in trouble?” Lin yelled. He must have been more scared than Rap had realized.

“It was nothing much, Lin. I was standing up. I could see where the water was flowing over the edges.”

“Oh… sure!”

But Lin reluctantly promised not to make a big story out of it.

They left the water and followed the lumpy track across Tallow Rocks, wheels spraying silver drops in the air. The last dip was deep, but very short. The wagon might float there, but it would not matter for there was no current and the road was not raised above the shingle. He had done it!

The king had ordered him off Krasnegar before the tide.

Gods save the king.

“You shave now?” Lin asked suddenly.

“Of course.” Rap had shaved the previous night for the fourth time and included his chin for the first time. He would have to get a razor of his own soon. Lin had a faint dark haze on his upper lip. And he still had a very odd look in his eye. “Why?”

Lin shrugged and turned away, but after a moment, he said, “Funny thing, growing up. Isn’t it?”

Yes it was, Rap agreed, and concentrated on the next water barrier. But once they were safely through that, he relaxed and began to enjoy himself, enjoy the feeling that now he was one of the drivers—if the old man would ever trust him again after that mad stunt he had just pulled .

“Yes,” he said. “One moment you’re feeling all manly and the next you find you’re behaving like a kid again. It’s like being two people.” A fellow’s body started making all these odd change without as much as asking permission… What right did his face have to start growing hair without asking him?

Like being two people… And you knew only one of those people. Growing up was becoming a stranger to yourself again, just when you thought you’d got to know yourself. And part of growing up was wondering what sort of person you were going to be. How tall? How broad? Trustworthy? A strong man or a weakling? And what were you going to do with that man? Master-of-horse? Man-at-arms?

“Girls!” Lin muttered to himself.

Girls.

Inos.

Now they were rolling along the edge of the shingle, passing the lonely cluster of shore cottages with their racks of fish and nets and a ramshackle corral and a couple of haystacks starting to sprout. There were stacks of driftwood that the old women gathered and heaps of peat moss. Bonfires of kelp were sending up blue smoke. There were girls there and they waved. The men waved back. The long bent grass waved, also.

“We could eat here,” Lin said thoughtfully.

“Later.”

Beyond the shiny blue harbor lay Krasnegar, a towering triangle with a castle as a topknot. Yes, it did look like a piece of cheese. Perhaps Rap was hungry after all, but he’d said later, so later it would have to be. A yellow triangle. Where had the sorcerer found black stone for his castle?

Inos was in that castle.

He thought of horse rides and clam digging and surf fishing; of Inos running over the dunes, long legs, gold hair streaming in the wind, and her shrieks and giggles when he caught her; of Inos scrambling up the cliffs in the sunshine, daring him to come after her; of hawking and archery. He thought of her face, not bony like a jotunn’s or round like an imp’s. Just right. He thought of singsongs and winter firesides with singing and joking and his arm around her as they sought pictures in the embers.

It hurt, but it was for the best. There could never be anything between a princess and a stableboy, nor even a wagon driver. He supposed that it had crept up on them. He really had not noticed it until the previous day. They had been a bunch of kids together, a dozen or more of them. It had only been near the end of the last winter that he and Inos had started to drift together, and together start drifting to the edge of the bunch. And then he had gone off to the mainland when spring came.

She had kissed him good-bye, but even then he had not thought very much about it—not until they were apart. Then he had realized how he missed her smile and the comfortableness of having her near—and realized that she didn’t kiss other men good-bye.

And lately he had started to dream about her. But she would go off to Kinvale and find some handsome noble to come back and be king after Holindarn died.

And he would have to find some other girl to kiss.

Trouble was, there weren’t other girls like Inos.

“Can you remember much of your mother, Rap?”

Rap looked in surprise at Lin, who was still a little paler than usual. “Why?”

“Some of the women say she was a seer.”

Rap frowned, trying to remember if his mother had ever admitted anything like that or done anything like that.

“So?” he said.

“Growing up,” Lin said. “I just wondered… You’ve been doing some strange things today, Rap. You’ve never been able to do things like that before, have you?”

“Like what? I didn’t do anything!”

Lin was unconvinced. “Could it be something that comes with growing up, like shaving?”

Rap would not talk about such things with chatterbox Lin. “Does that cast bother you?”

Lin looked down at his arm. “Yes, some. Why?”

“Because,” Rap said, “if you start hinting that my mother needed to shave, then you’re going to have two of them.”

2

Summer, said the hardworking folk of Krasnegar, was the two weeks they were given to prepare for the other fifty. There was no small truth in that.

True, summer usually lasted longer than two weeks, but it came late and left soon, and it was marred by endless toil. Without the profit of their summer labors, the people would not survive the merciless winter that was sure to follow. A few hardy crops were sown and most years those could be harvested before the first snows, to augment the grain that must be imported by ship. The other years were destined to bring famine and sickness before summer came again. Peat must be cut and dried and carried to the town in load after load, to blunt the deadly teeth of frost during the long nights. Hay, also, standing high upon the wagons, crossed the causeway at every tide so that the king’s horses could eat until spring came again and the cattle might give milk for the children the next year. Fish must be caught and smoked, livestock slaughtered and their beef salted; seal meat or whale meat laid by, also, if the boats were blessed with fortune. Vegetables and berries, rushes and driftwood and furs… the scanty fruits of the hard land were carefully gathered and jealously hoarded away.

Here and there in the bare hills stood forlorn hamlets and clumps of cottages, where life was even harder than it was in the town. But for most of the year there was nothing for men to do on the land except survive, and survival was easier in the city—or death less lonely—and so the cottagers also huddled in with the townsfolk during the long winters, like badgers in their earth. When the snows streamed off the hills in spring, they emerged once more to their toil, and voices were heard again under the sky.

Without careful management their efforts would never have sufficed, and the leadership came from the king, or more directly from his factor, a tall and rawboned jotunn named Foronod, who was everywhere at all times and reputedly wore out three horses a day. His water-blue eyes saw everything, and he commanded everyone in sharp, laconic phrases like small knives, never wasting a word or a moment, never sparing a soul, least of all himself. In high summer he seemed to sleep even less than the sun. His gangling figure could appear at any time anywhere in the kingdom, long legs hanging limp at the sides of his pony, silver hair flashing a warning before him as he came into view. His memory was as capacious as the palace storerooms. He knew to the inch how much hay had been gathered, how much peat; he knew the state of the herds and the times of the tides and he could call down the wrath of the Gods or the Powers on anyone caught slacking or sleeping except for reasons of total exhaustion. He knew the strengths and abilities and weaknesses of every man and woman, girl and boy in his whole great workforce.

Foronod noted that a wagon had been repaired and returned. He doubtless noted as well that a certain stableboy had been promoted to driver, and that fact, also, would have been stored away until it might be needed. But the factor had many drivers and that boy had talents that others did not.

By nightfall, Rap was back with the herds.

3

“Turn around, my dear,” Aunt Kade said. “Charming! Yes, very nice! Definitely charming.”

Inos did not feel charming, she felt wretched. There was a nasty hard feeling at the back of her throat and a dull coldness all over her. Her arms and legs were made of stone. Last night she had slept in her own bed for the last time. An hour ago she had eaten her last meal in the palace—not that she had been able to eat anything. Every time she did anything at all now it was for the last time.

And her slimy mood was not helped by the charmingness of her dress, either. She was wearing her precious golden dragon silk and she hated it. Somehow she blamed it for starting all this. Now it had been made up into a gown, and she thought it looked ludicrous, not charming. She could not believe that ladies in the Impire wore anything so outlandish. The minstrel must have been fantasizing when he sketched such absurdities as lace dangling over her hands and shoulders like small pillows. Trumpets indeed!

And if the dress was bad, the hat was unthinkable—a smaller trumpet, a high golden cone all frilly with more lace. She felt like a freak in it, a clown. Every small boy in Krasnegar was going to laugh himself hysterical at the sight of her as she rode down to the dock. The sailors would fall off the ship laughing. Probably the ladies in the Impire would kill themselves. Inos was sure they would all be wearing bonnets like any sane woman wore.

The only consolation was that Aunt Kade looked worse. Her conical hat stuck up like a chimney pot and her dumpy form could never be made to resemble a trumpet. A drum, maybe, or even a lute, but no trumpet. She had appropriated the apple-blossom silk, which was all wrong for her shape, although Inos had to admit that the colors matched her white hair and pink cheeks. Aunt Kade, moreover, was excited, bubbling with happiness, chattering like a flock of birds in joyful anticipation.

“Charming!” Aunt Kade repeated. “Of course we shall have to acquire many more gowns when we are established at Kinvale, but at least we shall not seem too rustic when we arrive. And the good citizens of Krasnegar shall see how ladies should dress these days. I do hope the coachman remembers to go slowly. Hold your head up, dear. You look like a unicorn when you bend forward. Oh, Inos, you will love Kinvale!” She clasped her pudgy hands. “I so look forward to showing it all to you—the dancing and the balls, the banquets and the elegant conversation! I was not much older than you when I first arrived, and I danced every night for months. The music! Fine cooking! Gentle countryside… you have no idea how green and prosperous the landscape is, compared to these harsh hills. And the handsome young men!” She simpered and then sighed.

Inos had heard all that about a million times in the last week.

Now was the time of spring tides, she thought bitterly. There would have been good clam digging this morning.

“And Duke Angilki!” Aunt Kade was in full gush now. “He was a very striking young man in his… well, I mean, he is a most civilized person. His artistic taste is quite impeccable.”

He is also thirty-six years old and has two daughters. He has buried two wives already. Although Inos had never met her distant cousin, she was quite certain that he was utterly detestable. She was determined to hate him.

“He will be so happy to see us!” Kade peered into the mirror and patted her blue-tinted hair where it emerged under the silver trumpet on her head.

“I always thought that one should not go visiting without an invitation,” Inos said bleakly; but she had tried that argument before and it had not worked. It would hardly work now, not with a ship waiting.

“Don’t be absurd!” Kade said, but without heat. “We shall be very welcome. We have a standing invitation, and there simply has not been time to write and wait for a reply. Winter is coming. You will love the sea voyage in summer, my dear, but it would not be possible later. Ah! The sea! I do so enjoy sailing!”

“Is Master Jalon ready?” Jalon was an infuriatingly vague person, but he would at least make the voyage bearable.

Kade turned to her niece in surprise. “Oh, did he not tell you? He has decided to go overland.”

“Jalon has?”

“Yes, dear.”

“He’s crazy!” Inos tried to imagine Jalon wandering through all those weeks of dangerous forest, and her mind went limp. There were goblins in the forest. Jalon?

“Oh, quite possibly.” Kade shrugged. “But your father seems to think he can manage; he gave him a horse. He left this morning. I know he went looking for you to say good-bye.”

“I expect he was distracted by a seagull, or something.”

“Yes, dear…” Kade peered around at the trunks and baggage. “Which ones shall we be using on the voyage?” she inquired of Ula, her maid. Inos had not been allowed a maid. One would suffice for both of them, Aunt Kade said, because there would not be room for more on the ship; and they could hire girls with better training when they arrived at Kinvale.

Ula was short and dark, dull and almost sulky. She was showing no excitement at all, but then she probably did not understand where she was headed, or what a month or longer on a boat must be like. Nor, probably, did Inos herself, she realized. On the charts it seemed simple—west to the Claw Capes, south into Westerwater, and then east again to Pamdo Gulf—but that also seemed an unnecessarily prolonged and roundabout torture when the land route was so much shorter, and so much more interesting! Aunt Kade had sailed back and forth between Krasnegar and Kinvale several times before, during, and after, her marriage. Her enthusiasm about the prospect of doing it again was ominous. Anything Aunt Kade enjoyed would have to be a ghastly bore.

Why could they not have gone by land? If a nitwit like Jalon could manage it, then anyone could. That argument did not work, either. Aunt Kade did not like horses, nor coaches.

Boxes and bales and trunks… How could they possibly have amassed so much luggage? It smelled of soap and lavender.

Ula indicated two large trunks and Aunt Kade began to cross-examine her closely on their contents. Inos did not bother to listen. She gave herself a last angry inspection in the mirror and stuck out her tongue at her ludicrous reflection, then stalked to the door. She would take a final walk through the castle and say a private good-bye to some of her friends.

The past frantic week had been so dominated by dressmakers and seamstresses that she had hardly spoken to anyone else. Since that shattering day when the God had appeared, she had been lost in a blizzard of silks and satins, of lace and lingerie. She had not ridden Lightning once, not once! Rap had vanished the next morning. The sinister Doctor Sagorn had growled a brief farewell a few days after that and disappeared as mysteriously as he had come. And now Jalon had gone riding off into the hills. By Winterfest he would probably still be going round in circles somewhere, she thought—if he had not been tortured to death by a band of ferocious goblins.

Before Inos reached the door, however, it opened to admit Mother Unonini, stark in her black chaplain’s robe, smiling with responsibilities and clutching a roll of papers. She stopped and regarded Inos with surprise, and then made a curtsy. On her absurdly short legs it was a clumsy move, but she had never done that before. Suddenly Inos did not feel quite so hostile to Mother Unonini. She was another familiar face not to be seen again for a whole interminable year.

Inos returned the curtsy.

“You look very charming, my dear,” the chaplain said. “Turn around!”

Inos decided she must look like a weathervane, the way everyone kept wanting her to turn around. She turned around.

“It does look nice,” Mother Unonini said warmly.

Inos felt temptation and succumbed. “It’s only an old tablecloth.”

Unonini frowned, then suddenly laughed and put her arms around Inos and hugged her… garlic today, not fish. “We shall miss you, my dear!” She turned hurriedly toward Aunt Kade and curtsied again.

“I brought the text of the prayer you will be reading, your Highness. I thought perhaps you would like to look it over beforehand; practice a little.”

“Oh, dear!” At once Kade was flustered. “I do hate having to read prayers! I hope you wrote it big? The light is so poor in the chapel.”

“I think so.” The chaplain fussed with her papers. “Here’s yours. You will be invoking the God of Travelers. Corporal Oopari will address the God of Storms. The ship’s captain will be doing the God of Sailors, of course, and he will have his own text. His Majesty will invoke the God of Peace… his own choice,” she added disapprovingly. “It does seem curious.”

“Diplomacy, Mother,” Aunt Kade said. “He is concerned with relationships between Krasnegar and the Impire and so on.” She held her script at arm’s length and blinked at it.

“Can the corporal read?” Inos asked. Oopari was a pleasant young man. He and his men would doubtless do a good job of protecting her on the voyage, but she could not imagine him reading.

“No,” said Mother Unonini. “But he has been rehearsed. You, Inosolan, will speak to the God of Virginity, and—”

“No!”

Inos had surprised herself as much as the others. There was a shocked silence and the two ladies both colored.

“Inos!” Aunt Kade breathed. “Surely—”

“Oh, of course not!” said Inos, aghast. “That’s not what I meant!” She was certain she had gone pinker than both of them now. She looked to the chaplain. “I want to speak to the God who appeared to us that day. They are obviously looking after me. Well, are interested…”

Mother Unonini compressed her lips. “Yes, I agree that it would be appropriate, but we don’t know who they were. I should have asked, of course…”

There was an awkward pause.

“Well,” Inos said brashly, “then we shall have to think of a name. They told me to try harder, so the God of Good Intentions, perhaps?”

Mother Unonini looked doubtful. “I’m not sure that there is one. I should have to look at the list. I mean, they all believe in good intentions—the good Gods, of course.”

“Religion is so difficult!” Aunt Kade remarked, studying her paper again. “Why can’t Inos just ask for the God I saw here in the chapel? They would know, wouldn’t they? Is this word devote or devout?”

“'Denote,’ “Mother Unonini said. “Yes, that is a good idea. And she can ask for help in trying harder.”

“Trying what harder?” a voice asked, and there was the king in the doorway, looking very grand in a long scarlet robe trimmed with ermine. It brought with it a scent of the cedar chest in which it snoozed away the centuries. Inos smiled at him and turned around before he could ask her to.

“Very nice! Charming!” He was carrying his crown under his arm. He did not look very well. He had been suffering from indigestion a lot lately, and the whites of his eyes had a nasty yellow tinge to them. “Trying what harder?” he repeated.

Mother Unonini explained and he nodded gravely.

Aunt Kade was studying her brother with care. “Kondoral will be saying the prayer for the palace and those who live in it?”

“Of course!” The king chuckled quietly. “We couldn’t teach him a new prayer at his age, and we can’t stop him saying it.”

“And I,” Mother Unonini proclaimed proudly, “will invoke the God of Wedlock to find a good husband for the princess.”

She flinched under a royal frown.

“I think perhaps that would not be in the best of taste, Mother. It sounds rather predatory. After all, the purpose of her visit to our ducal cousin is merely to experience courtly life and complete her education. Husbands can wait.”

Unonini looked flustered and Inos felt a sudden wash of relief. Both her father and Aunt Kade has insisted she was not being sent off to find a husband, merely to learn deportment, but she still secretly dreaded that matchmaking was behind it all. This sounded like a very firm denial, though, being made to the chaplain, and hence indirectly to the Gods. Perhaps her father was reassuring her. She must find time for another private talk before they sailed.

“Oh!” Mother Unonini was at a loss now. “Then which God should I speak to?”

“You could take the God of Virginity,” Aunt Kade suggested.

King Holindarn of Krasnegar caught his daughter’s eye momentarily, blinked a couple of times, then turned hastily away. Inos stared back blankly. Certainly that remark of Kade’s could be taken in a very catty way… but surely he had not thought that Kade had meant it like that? Anyone else…

But not Kade.

The service in the dank, dark chapel was horrible. Silk was not warm enough. Inos shivered the whole time. No Gods appeared.

The drive down to the harbor was worse. She tried to smile and wave to the politely cheering crowds while rain splashed into the open carriage. Her stupid, stupid hat wanted to blow off all the time.

All this pomp had been Aunt Kade’s idea. She had talked the king into it.

The farewell on the dock was the worst of all, saying formal good-byes to the notables of the town, being polite, smiling when she wanted to weep. None of her own friends was there. They were working in the castle, or out on the hills: Lin and Ido and Kel…

And a young man with gray eyes and a big jaw. A young man stupid enough to drive a wagon through the sea itself when he thought it was his duty.

She blinked. The rain must be getting in her eyes, even although Ula was standing behind her holding a leather umbrella.

Aunt Kade was being impossible, chatting with everyone, taking ages.

The captain badly needed a bath, but she was glad when he interrupted all those interminable polite farewells to announce that they were going to miss the tide if they did not go soon.

His ship was even dirtier than he was. And it was so tiny! Inos tried to hold her gown off the grubby deck and tried to hold her breath in that revolting—

“What is that stink?” she demanded in horror. A month of this?

“Bilge!” Aunt Kade positively chuckled. “Try not to get your gown dirty, dear.”

“Dirty?” Inos protested. “We’ll all be pig litter in five minutes.”

“That’s why we brought old clothes for the voyage, dear.”

Then she was being helped—none too gently—down a ladder and into a black and vile hold. The cabin… These were her quarters? A closet! She pulled off the hat and she still could barely stand upright. “This is my cabin?” she wailed at her aunt. “I have to live for weeks in this?”

“Our cabin, dear. And we have two trunks coming, remember. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”

Then her father was there, also, and those could not be raindrops in her eyes now and she must not upset him by weeping.

“Safe voyage, my darling.” His voice was gruff.

She tried to smile. “This is exciting.”

He nodded. “It will seem strange, but Kade will take good care of you. I hope old Krasnegar does not seem too horribly small and bleak when you return.”

She swallowed a lump in her throat and it was still there. She had things she wanted to ask him, things she should have asked long since and had not wanted to, and now there was no time.

“Father?” Then she blurted it out. “You truly don’t want me to marry Angilki, do you?”

They were so cramped in that odious little cabin that he hardly had to move in order to put his arms around her and hug her tight. “No, of course not! I’ve told you—it might cause all kinds of trouble with Nordland if you did.”

Relief! The Gods were not as cruel as she had feared.

“But keep your eyes open,” he said.

“For what?” she asked, and the ermine collar was tickling her nose.

He laughed softly. “For some handsome young man of good family. Preferably a younger son, and certainly one with some brains and tact. One who pleases you. One who would be willing to live in this wild, far-off country at your side and help you keep Krasnegar out of the clutches of Nordland and Impire both.”

She looked up and the laugh was not in his eyes. Even in the bad light she could see the yellow. He looked ill!

“Your Majesty!” the captain said urgently from outside the door.

“Tides do not wait for kings, my darling.” Then he was gone.

She was horribly aware of Aunt Kade standing there and she wanted to be alone.

“We can go back up on deck and wave, if you want,” Aunt Kade said quietly.

“There was so much I wanted to say!” Inos was very much afraid she was about to weep. “And I couldn’t say it because there was no time. All those formalities!”

“That’s why we have them, dear.” Kade patted Inos’s arm. “They keep us behaving like royalty.”

4

Southward lay the hills. On the hills were the herds, and therefore the herders.

Herding was lonely work and usually dull. The cattle and the horses were the first to return to the land in the spring, as soon as the winter hills began to molt into brown. Rack-boned and staggering, they were driven across the causeway and then by gentle stages up to the higher slopes to join as many of the sheep as had survived. There they prospered mightily. They grew fat and sleek and produced young—and also began to develop independence of mind. In particular, they took to hankering after the hayfields and crops. Much of the herdsmen’s time was spent in keeping the livestock away from the farming. Cattle especially were stubborn creatures that could not see why they must graze the scanty grass of the uplands when the valley bottoms were more lush. Undiscouraged, ever hopeful and bovinely stupid, they would spend all day circling around, looking for a new approach. A few stout fences would have made life simpler for the herders, but in Krasnegar the cost of lumber made fences unthinkable. So there were no fences and the dreary contest continued, day after day, year in and year out.

Not long after his return, Rap was ambling the high hills upon a gray gelding named Bluebottle while three large, tangle-haired dogs bounded along at his side. He was wearing beige leather trousers that he had purchased in the spring. Their many patched patches bespoke a long history of previous owners, but they were very comfortable, and he regretted that his ankles were already growing out of them. He carried a shirt tucked in his belt on one side and a lunch poke on the other. Earlier there had been rain to give the world a clean, fresh smell, but now the sun smiled from a cloudless sky, the wind played lazily in the grasses, and a curlew wailed its mournful cry.

Dull! Almost he could have hoped for a wolf or two coming after a lamb or a calf or a long-legged foal, but wolves normally found easier pickings in the summer among the coneys and mice. And even wolves were not very exciting—the dogs took care of them, upon request.

That day Rap was minding the horses. They were not quite so idiotic as the cattle, but their leader was a stallion named Firedragon who had a driving ambition to keep his herd as large as possible. He objected mightily to having its members conscripted and driven off to take their turns at wagon duty. He was willing to forget about the hay crops in the name of freedom, dreaming of some promised land to the south, beyond the reach of men, to which he was determined to lead his people. These tendencies, also, it was Rap’s job to discourage, with the enthusiastic but muddled assistance of his dogs.

The morning had been spent, therefore, in maneuvers, with Firedragon seeking a breakout to the south and Rap persistently cutting him off. At noon the game was postponed for some serious grazing and rolling, and Rap was then able to start thinking about lunch. His viewpoint looked down upon the highway, and it was then he observed a solitary traveler in obvious trouble. Having confirmed that Firedragon had temporarily suspended his planned migration—being presently more interested in one of the mares—Rap pointed Bluebottle down the hill and went off to assist. On the way he donned his shirt to be respectable for human company.

The highway was a barely visible track through the hills, here following a winding valley marked at long intervals by the graves of some who had tried to follow the trail in winter, but otherwise barren of any other sign of mankind. Plodding upon it was the traveler. Some way ahead of him, a saddled horse methodically cropped the grass. Every few minutes it would wander a few steps and return to eating, but those few steps were deceptively effective. The gap between quarry and pursuer was growing no narrower. It certainly never would, unless the horse was unlucky enough to catch its reins in a bush. There were very few bushes.

The wayfarer noted Rap’s approach and stopped to wait for him, undoubtedly with relief. He flinched as the dogs bounded up, but once they had sniffed him thoroughly and decided that he was not a wolf in minstrel’s clothing, they wandered off to inspect the scents upon the road.

Jalon was garbed in the same brown cloak and oversize doublet he had worn when Rap challenged him at the palace gate, and the same baggy hose.

“You are a welcome sight, young man!”

Rap returned the smile, slid from Bluebottle’s back, and eased his aching legs. “It is a long walk to Pondague, sir.”

“You think perhaps I should ride the horse?”

“It would be quicker.” Obviously Rap had not been recognized, which was not surprising, for men-at-arms did not wander the hills. He unhooked his grub bag from his belt. “I was about to eat, sir, if you would care to join me? Company with lunch would be a rare luxury.”

Jalon glanced at his mount, which was pretending not to be watching but had noticed Bluebottle. “I was going to do the same about an hour ago,” he confessed, “but I forgot that a horse is not a harp, which stays where you put it.” Then his smile turned to alarm as he saw Bluebottle also wandering off in search of lusher nourishment. “Have you not just made the same mistake?”

Rap shook his head. “He’ll come if I call.”

Now Jalon had noticed more and was staring in disbelief. “No saddle? No bridle? No reins?”

His surprise was understandable. Rap squirmed slightly. “It was a wager, sir. Some of the other men bet me that I could not ride herd all day like that. Usually I use saddle and bit, sir. Except for very short journeys.”

The minstrel studied him for a few moments in astonished silence. “You can control a horse without?”

“Most of them.” Rap felt more embarrassed than flattered. It was no great trick, for the horses had known him all their lives.

Jalon frowned. “Then can you call mine over? I have some royal provisions that I shall be happy to share.”

Rap nodded. “That one I can. Sunbeam! Come here!”

Sunbeam raised her head and sent him a look of studied insolence.

“Sunbeam!”

She twisted her ears a few times, bent for a few more mouthfuls to show that she was pleasing herself, and then began to drift toward the men, nibbling as she came.

“They don’t like to be rushed,” Rap explained, but he did not have to call again. In a few moments Sunbeam arrived and nuzzled his hand. He loosened the saddle girths and tied the reins back out of harm’s way. Then he detached the saddlebag and laid it down. He patted Sunbeam’s rump and she wandered off to join Bluebottle.

“Incredible!” Jalon said.

“Sir, the way you sing is incredible. You must allow me a knack for horses.”

Rap thought he had made rather a cute little speech there—for a stableboy—but it had an astonishing effect on Jalon. He started. His mouth opened and closed a few times. He almost seemed to lose color.

“Impossible!” he muttered to himself. “But… you are the one the princess went to!”

Rap did not answer that, but his face must have reacted, for the minstrel at once said, “I beg pardon, lad. I mean no harm.” He knelt to fumble with the saddlebag.

His supplies were certainly more appetizing than Rap’s. One spot being as good as another, the two of them sat down where they were. Jalon laid out a fine lunch of cold pheasant and fresh rolls, wine and cheese and big green pickles, but obviously he had encountered some problem and his eyes kept coming back to Rap’s face.

“Your name is Rap, right?” he asked suddenly. “And you were the guard, also!”

“Yes, sir. I usually work in the stables, not on the gate. You were correct when you said that I must be new to it. You were the first stranger I ever challenged.” He had also been the last. Thosolin had bounced Rap straight back to his post and then bawled him out thoroughly, telling him to stand there and look pretty and challenge nothing short of a gang of armed pirates in future.

“I’m not surprised you work in the stables,” Jalon remarked, licking fingers, “with that kind of ability. Tell me about yourself.”

Rap shrugged. “There is nothing to tell, sir. My parents are dead. I work for the king. I hope to stay in his service and be a man-at-arms one day.”

Jalon shook his head. “I can tell from your face that there is more to it than that. I do not mean to be personal, but your nose does not come from Krasnegar.”

However it was meant, that remark seemed personal to Rap.

“You have brown hair,” the minstrel added thoughtfully. “The Kransegarians are either lighter or darker than you. Even if they are of mixed parentage, they are one or the other. Gray eyes? So your parents came from far away. From Sysanasso, I would guess. You’re a faun.”

“My mother, sir. My father was a jotunn.”

“Tell me!” Jalon chewed a pheasant leg and fixed his strangely dreamy blue eyes on Rap, although there was certainly interest in those eyes at the moment.

Rap did not see that it concerned the man, but Jalon was a friend of the king and was therefore due respect from a servant of the king.

“My father was a raider, sir, one of a crew that roamed far to the south. Slavers. They found good trade selling their captives. My mother was one, but my father took a fancy to her and kept her. Later he settled in Krasnegar and became a net maker.”

Jalon nodded thoughtfully. “Was he captain of the ship?”

Rap shook his head. “Just a crewman, sir.”

“And what happened to him?”

This was none of any minstrel’s business! “He broke his neck.” Rap did not hide his bitterness. Maybe it would shame the man out of his curiosity.

It did not. “How?”

“He fell off the dock one night. Perhaps he was trying to swim, but the harbor was frozen solid—he was drunk. I am not of noble birth, sir!”

Jalon ignored the sarcasm. “It wasn’t him, then.”

He sat in silence for a moment, pondering. Rap wondered what that last remark had meant.

“And your mother, this slave who was not sold with the others… was she the common property of the whole crew, or just of your father?”

“Sir!”

Jalon smiled apologetically and then stretched out to lean on one elbow while he ate. “Put up with me for a moment, friend Rap. I am not good at this sort of thing. I know others who would do it better. But I sense something here… I have traveled widely and I have heard tales and seen sights that you have not. I have been to Sysanasso. It is hot and jungly and unhealthy. Fauns have wide, rather flat noses, and brown skins—browner than yours, mostly—and they have very curly brown hair. So your hair is a compromise.” He grinned. “Or an argument?”

Rap smiled as politely as he could manage and said nothing.

Far away, Firedragon whinnied. Sunbeam replied, and Rap swung around and shouted at her. She seemed to sigh regretfully and went back to grazing.

Jalon was amused. “Fauns have the reputation of being very good with animals.”

“That explains me, then.”

The minstrel nodded. “All the keepers in the imperor’s zoological gardens are fauns. So are many hostlers.”

Rap had talked about fauns with sailors, but he had never heard that before. “What else can you tell me about them, sir?”

Jalon wiped the neck of the bottle and passed it. “They are supposedly peaceful, but dangerous when roused. Wouldn’t be human otherwise, would they?” He smiled. “People like to label people. Jotnar are always said to be big and warlike, but look at me!”

“Yes, sir.” No one could have looked less warlike than this slight, flaxen-haired minstrel.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “That’s understandable, too. I don’t usually mention it in this part of the world, but there’s elf blood in my family. When I’m near Ilrane, of course, I apologize for my jotunn part. I can’t pass as an elf, though.”

Rap had never met an elf. He’d heard they had unusual eyes.

“So there’s nothing wrong with a little outcross!” Jalon said in an unusually firm tone.

“No, sir.” Rap sipped sparingly at the wine. He didn’t care for wine. If there was nothing wrong with being a halfbreed, then why was the minstrel going on and on about it? Perhaps he thought he was putting Rap at ease by mentioning his own elvish descent. “Fauns?” Jalon muttered. “Oh, yes… they have very hairy legs.” He glanced at Rap’s protruding ankles and then grinned at his angry flush. He began musing again, almost to himself. “Krasnegar is a hard place to live, but no worse than Sysanosso, I suspect. How old were you when your father died?”

“About five, sir.”

“You don’t need to sir me all the time, Rap. I’m only a minstrel. Punch me on the jaw if you want to. What happened to your mother then?”

Rap scowled at the question. He twisted around to look at the horses. Firedragon was grazing, and apparently play had not resumed yet. “The king took her into his household, and she was found to be a fine lace maker. I suppose she had been making the nets my father sold. She died of fever about five years later.”

Jalon rolled back on his side and stared at the sky. “No brothers or sisters?”

Rap shook his head, then said, “No.”

The minstrel pondered for a few minutes. “What sort of a person was your mother?”

“Loving!”

“I’m sure she was, Rap. You won’t tell me any more?”

“Sir, there is nothing to tell!” Rap was very close to losing his temper, and that awareness would only make him lose it faster. Jotnar had notorious tempers, and he was half jotunn, so he tried never to let himself get really mad about anything.

Jalon sighed. “You did not ask how I knew your name.”

No, he hadn’t. “How did you?”

“Why, yesterday it was being shouted all over the palace. There was a terrible row in the royal family. A week or so ago some idiot wagon driver apparently crossed the causeway at high tide—which is impossible, of course. It seems that the king had ordered him to leave the island and he had taken the orders a little too strictly for his own safety.”

Rap’s heart sank. He had hoped that his foolhardy escapade might have escaped notice, but of course Lin was a blabbermouth, and the crew of the fishing boat must have seen.

“It wasn’t high tide!”

Jalon ignored the interruption. “The king blamed the hostler, who delayed the man by requiring him to take a wagon, instead of just putting him on a horse as the king had expected. The hostler probably meant no harm, but the result was that the man did expose himself to… certain dangers. The word miracle was being tossed back and forth.”

Rap groaned.

“It was only yesterday that Princess Inosolan got wind of the affair. She scolded her father royally. In fact, I have seldom heard such a tantrum.”

“Oh, Gods!” Rap muttered. Why in the world would Inos have done such a thing? Then he said, “Gods!” much louder, and jumped to his feet.

Firedragon was moving his herd toward the top of the hill, heading west. It would be a long chase to cut him off now… unless he was still within earshot? The wind was behind Rap, so it was worth a try. He cupped his hands and bellowed. For a moment nothing seemed to happen, but he kept calling, choosing the horses that responded best. He was just about to give up, leap on Bluebottle, and give chase—knowing that the pursuit might last for days—when the herd faltered. Two mares split away and headed for Rap. Outraged, Firedragon rushed after them to restore discipline.

Now Rap switched his attention to the other side of the herd. Already they were almost too far off to recognize, but he thought he could identify some and he began calling them. By the time Firedragon had recovered the first pair, three more and a foal had departed.

For a little while the battle continued, the stallion roaring with fury as he pounded back and forth across the hillside, trying to bully his charges back on the right track, Rap calling them away again as soon as his tail was turned. Then the stallion swung to stare at this puny and audacious rival and even at that distance he could be seen to be dancing with rage, head down, teeth bared, tail arched. He bellowed a challenge and began a long, long charge.

Rap began to worry. He would rather face an angry bull than a mad stallion. At first he let the horse come, for the confused herd had ended its milling and begun to follow, but when Firedragon had covered about half the distance and was showing no signs of second thoughts, Rap decided that he had better try to do something. If he couldn’t, then herdman and minstrel would have to beat a very fast retreat.

“Firedragon!” he roared. “Cut that out! Go back! Back!”

Would it work? The stallion was very responsive to Rap, usually. He held his breath. Then the attack faltered. Firedragon veered away, bouncing and cavorting in frustrated fury. In a few minutes he seemed to calm down, then went cantering back to his herd. And apparently he had given up his attempt to sneak away over the hill. The horses seethed around briefly, then slowly settled down to eating once more. Bluebottle and Sunbeam had been watching with interest. Deciding that the show was over, they, too, went back to cropping the summer grass.

Rap rubbed his neck, for his throat felt raw. He sat down again to find Jalon staring glassily, his lunch forgotten.

“Thirsty work,” Rap said, uneasy at that wide blue gaze. “May I have another sip of that wine, sir?”

“Have the whole bottle!” Jalon continued to gape for a while, then added, “Why do you bother shouting? You didn’t believe they could hear you at that distance, surely?”

Rap considered that question while he drank. Not understanding it, he decided to ignore it. “Thank you.” He put down the bottle and resumed his lunch.

After a long silence the minstrel spoke, but in a whisper, although the hills were empty of people as far as eye could see. “Master Rap, would you consider sharing?”

“Sharing what, sir?”

Jalon looked surprised. “Your secret. What lets you do that… and cross the causeway when apparently no one else would even have tried. My singing is of the same essence.”

Rap wondered if soft brains were a necessary qualification for minstreling. He could see no connection between singing and causeway crossing, and very little resemblance to horse calling. This Jalon was a fine bard, but any man who let his horse wander away from him unintentionally in this country had clearly lost a few nails somewhere. Perhaps it went even farther than that. He might be a total lunatic.

“I call the horses' names, sir. They all know me and they trust me. I admit I wasn’t sure about calming the stallion… he does sort of like me, I think. The causeway story must have been exaggerated. The tide was coming in, but there was no danger.”

“So you can call mares away from a stallion?” Jalon nodded ironically. “Of course. You can journey where others can not. Kings are reprimanded for their treatment of you? Princesses want you to hold their hands…” He suddenly seemed depressed. “Is there anything I could ever possibly offer that would persuade you to share with me? I have wider resources than are presently apparent.”

“Sir?” Rap could make no sense of the conversation at all.

The minstrel shrugged. “Of course not! And why would you trust me? Would you be so kind as to call Sunbeam? I have far to go before dark.”

Rap hoped the man would not try to ride his horse until then. He would lame her for certain. But that was not Rap’s affair. He called Sunbeam over and adjusted her girths again and replaced the saddlebag. “I thank you for a fine lunch, minstrel,” he said. “May the Gods go with you.”

Jalon was still looking at him oddly. “Darad!” he said.

“Sir?”

“Darad,” repeated the minstrel. “There is a man called Darad. Remember the name. He is very dangerous and he will learn of you.”

“Thank you for the warning, sir,” Rap said politely.

Not just nails—the man was missing a few shoes, as well.

5

All things include

Both the Evil and the Good.

Inos repeated that sacred text a hundred times, but she still could not find the good in seasickness. It had to be totally evil. She desperately wanted to die.

The cabin was cramped and loathsome. It was smelly and dirty and dark. It went up. It went down. It rolled and it pitched.

For two days she lay and suffered abominably. Aunt Kade was infuriatingly immune to seasickness, and that fact helped Inos no more than her aunt’s twittering attempts to cheer her up.

In the beginning was nothing. She sought help in religion, there being no earthly help in sight except hopefully a shipwreck and fast drowning. The Good parted from the Evil and the Evil parted from the Good. Just as she had so promptly parted from the mouthful of soup she had been persuaded to try. The world is created in their eternal conflict. Certainly there was an eternal conflict going on inside Inos.

On the third day she began to feel a little better.

At times.

But not for long.

The slightest change in the motion of the ship and she was back in total evil again.

But there must be some trace of the Good in seasickness, for the sacred words said so. Perhaps it was humility. Fat, twittery Aunt Kade was a far better sailor than she was. Meditate on that.

The God had said there were hard times in store, but she had never dreamed that times could be so hard as these. Only we have free will, only humankind can choose the Good and shun the Evil. What choice had she ever made that had landed her in this?

Only we, by finding the greater good, can increase the total good and decrease the total evil in the world.

Start by abolishing seasickness.

Slowly life began to seem a possible option again. Slowly Inos started contemplating her future in Kinvale. Her father had gone there once, as a young man. He had promised that she would enjoy herself—year-round riding there, he had said, and good parties. Even Jalon had spoken well of life in the Impire, although he did not know Kinvale itself. Perhaps, she thought in her better moments, perhaps it might be bearable. It was only for a year, after all.

On the fourth morning, she awoke feeling ravenous. Aunt Kade was not in her bunk. Throwing on thick wool sweater and slacks, Inos prepared to meet the world again. Now she could accept that there was indeed a small good in seasickness—it felt so marvelous when it stopped. Greatly comforted that her religion had not been discredited, she headed for the deck.

She was horrified. The world was a heaving grayness. There was no sky, no land, only hilly green-gray water dying away into haze in all directions. The ship had shrunk. It seemed so pathetically tiny and cramped, a little wooden box under a cage of ropes and dirty canvas, riding up and down over those gray hills. The wind was icy and cruel and tasted of salt… not even a seagull.

Two sailors stood talking at the back of the ship, and there was no one else in sight. She felt a stupid wave of panic rising and suppressed it. The rest of them must be around somewhere, and Aunt Kade, also. She started toward the two sailors, discovering that walking on a rocking ship was not as easy as she had expected. The wind whipped her hair and made her eyes water, and she finally reeled up to them, grabbed the rail they were leaning on, and blinked tears away.

The tall one was holding the wheel and regarding her with interest displayed on those parts of a craggy, weatherbeaten face not totally concealed by silver-streaked whiskers. The other was extremely short, squat, and unbelievable in pants and a huge fur jacket… bareheaded, filmy white hair mussed beyond recognition by the wind, cheeks burning like bright red apples and blue eyes shiny with happiness.

“Inos, my dear! I am so glad to see you on your feet again.”

Inos, looking around in horror at the featureless desert of water, was beyond speech.

“You will need a jacket, dear,” her aunt said. “The wind is quite chilly.”

Chilly? It was an ax.

Kade beamed encouragingly. “We are making excellent time—North Claw in four days, the master predicts. The air will be warmer when we reach Westerwater.”

Inos' teeth began to chatter. “I think I need some breakfast.” She hugged her arms around herself. “Perhaps they would have something down in the kitchen?”

“Galley, dear. Yes. Of course you must be starved. Let us go and see, then.”

“No need for you to come,” Inos said, “if you are enjoying yourself.”

“Of course I must come.”

“Of course?”

Aunt Kade assumed her most prim expression. “This is not Krasnegar any more, Inosolan. I am your chaperone and I must look after you.”

A terrible suspicion washed over Inos’s mind. “You mean that you don’t let me out of your sight from now on?”

“That is correct, dear. Now let us see if we can find you some breakfast.”

The ship sailed on, but Inos' heart sank… all the way to the bottom of the Winter Ocean.

There were worse things in store than seasickness.