Song in the Silence

I DREAMS IN THE DARK

My name is Lanen Kaelar, and I am older than I care to remember.

I have heard the bards call me Queen Lanen in their tales, and that I fear is the least of their excesses. I cannot stop the songs they sing or the stories they tell, but at least I can write with my own hand a record of those times, in the slim hope that anyone might be interested in the truth.

Now I put my hand to it, I would I knew how the trick is turned. Where should I begin? Wherever they start the tale seems the only possible place, no matter how much has gone before. I suppose the only sensible beginning would be at Hadron' s farm.

I was born at Hadronsstead, a horse farm in the northwest of the Kingdom of Ilsa, which was the farthest west of the Four Kingdoms of Kolmar. The stead and the village nearby were a few hours' ride from the Méar Hills to the north, and two weeks to the south and east lay Illara, the King's Seat. Farther south yet the fertile plains of Ilsa began, a land full of farmers and crops and little else, and west over field and mountain lay the Great Sea.

Ilsa does not encourage women to go beyond the narrow boundaries of home, but from my earliest memories that was all I ever wanted to do. As a child I lived for those times when I managed to escape for a few hours, taking my little mare north to the Méar Hills, walking among the great trees that marked the southern edge of the Trollingwood, the vast forest that covers all the north of Kolmar. But always I was fetched back to the farm, and a closer watch kept on me.

Hadron was a good man, I do not say otherwise—he simply did not care for me. My mother had left him soon after I was born, and for some reason I decided that his close hold on me was because he feared I would do the same. When I came of age the summer I turned twelve, I asked to go with him to Illara, to the Great Fair in the autumn. By then I was grown nearly to my full height, and since I was clearly no longer a child—I stood nearly as tall as Hadron even then—I thought I was due some of the privileges of being of age. Instead, Hadron brought my older cousin Walther, his sister's son, to live with us. When autumn came; Hadron calmly announced that he and Jamie would go to the Great Fair, and that Walther would look after me until they returned. Hadron never understood why I yelled and fought with him over that decision; to him it was obvious that I needed a keeper, and Walther was enough older than I to make sure Hadron's words were obeyed. Needless to say, I hated Walther from that moment.

I wasn't overfond of Hadron, either, but then I never had been. He always kept his distance while I was a small child, and when I grew so tall so young he seemed appalled. From the moment I came of age he despised me, though I never knew why. I could do nothing right in his eyes. Sometimes I gave in to despair, knowing I was an evil creature who had no heart, since my mother had left me and my father did not love me. The worst of it to me, the true darkness in my heart that frightened me most and that I whispered to no one, was that I did not love him either.

But there was one bright light in my world, one beacon of hope and love and caring in all the desert of indifference I saw around me.

Jamie.

For me, any words of Hadronsstead must begin and end with him. He was there from my earliest memory, Hadron's steward and his right hand on the farm. Jamie managed the crops and the other livestock while Hadron ignored his child and made a name for himself as a breeder of horses. But to me, Jamie was ever love and kindness.

When as a child I needed comfort, it was always his small, dark, wiry figure I looked for, not the cold tree-height of Hadron. It was Jamie who made sure I was always looked after when Hadron forgot, Jamie who was a quiet friend when I so desperately needed one, Jamie who later taught me to see my strength and man-height as an advantage instead of a curse. When at fourteen I began to walk stooped over, trying to lessen my (I thought unnatural) height, which I feared made Hadron hate me, Jamie it was who took me aside and told me kindly that I reminded Hadron of my mother, it was nothing I had done, and he persuaded me to stand tall. Against Hadron's wishes Jamie taught me to read and write, and when I begged him he also taught me in secret how to fight without weapons; and how to use a sword and a bow. He was always there, never complained through all my needing him that I can remember, had a soft word for me even when my temper lashed him instead of its true target. He loved me as a daughter, as Hadron could not, and in return was given all the love I could not lavish on a heedless father.

I can hear the young girls wondering why I did not think of marriage. The true answer is that I did, sometimes, late at night as I lay in my too short bed and dreamed. But there is a good reason I did not escape by marriage. I have seen some of the paintings the young ones have done of me in my youth, and they do make me laugh! I am now and always have been no more than plain. Hadron told me so all my young life, and I learned to believe him. Men were the same then as now; the young ones want a beauty, the old ones want a young one, and after being trapped so long on the farm I had the heart of an old woman and no beauty ta speak of. The best that can be said is that I was tall as a man, strong as a woman well can be, brown as a nut from years of farm work in the sun and rain, and had a temper I only occasionally managed to keep in check.

Most nights, to be truthful, I thought more of love than of marriage, and more of going away than of love.

That is the real deep truth of me, now and as a girl. I longed to see the world, to go to those places that rang on the edge of stories like sweet distant bells. Even the sight of the Mear Hills to the north pierced my heart every time I saw them. Autumn was the worst, when they put on their patchwork winter coats and beckoned like so many red-and-gold giants. Lying on my bed in the dark I wandered through those trees a thousand times, laughing—sometimes aloud—as I watched the sun through the stained-glass leaves, breathing in their spicy scent and soaking in their colour until I could hold no more.

But my real desires lay beyond the Mear Hills. All of Kolmar was mine the dark, covered with a quilt, weary from the day’s needs but with mine still unfulfilled. In thought I roamed east and north, through the dark and threatening Trollingwood to the fastness of Eynhallow at the edge of the mountains, or into the mountains themselves, into the mines where jewels sparkled from the walls in the light of a lantern held high. Sometimes, though not often, I would venture south to the green kingdom of the silkweavers of Elimar—the north always called to my heart with the stronger voice.

But those times I most resented what I was forced to do, when despite the duty I owed him I would have cursed my father for making me stay, when even Jamie could not console me and the bleakness of my future came near to breaking me—then I would let loose the deep dream of my heart.

ln it I stood at the bow of one of the great Merchant ships, sailing for the Dragon Isle at the turn of the year. The sea was rough, for the Storms that lay between Kolmar and the fabled land of the Dragons might abate but they never ceased. The ship swayed and groaned beneath my feet, spray blew keen and salt in my face but I laughed and welcomed it. For all I knew I would find naught on the island but lansip trees, and the long and dangerous trip there and back all for no more than my pay for harvesting the leaves more precious than silver. But perhaps—

Perhaps the Merchants' tales spoke true. It might be that I should be chosen to approach the Guardian of the trees, and perhaps as we spoke I would see him, and he would not be some giant of a warrior as everyone but the Merchants said.

I would feel no fear. I would step towards him and bow, greeting him in the name of my people, and he would come to me on four feet, his great wings folded, his fire held in check. In my dreams I spoke with the Dragon who guarded the trees.

Now, everyone knows that there are dragons, poor solitary creatures no bigger than a horse who live quietly in the Trollingwood away to the north. They pass their lives in deep forests or in rocky caverns, and almost always alone, and generally dragons and men do not trouble one another. Sometimes, though, a dragon will acquire a taste for forbidden food—a village's cattle, or sheep, or human flesh. Then great hunts are gathered from all the villages round and the creature is slain as quickly as possible, or at the least chased away. These little dragons have only faint similarities to the True Dragons of the ballads. They have fiery breath, though it is soon exhausted; they have armoured scales, but their size tells against them, and they seem no brighter than cattle. Unless they fly away—and they do not fly well—they may be killed without too great difficulty.

The Merchants, however, have the word of those who have been there, and they say that the Dragon Isle is the home of the True Dragons 'of legend. They are as big as a cottage with wings to match, teeth and claws as long as a man's forearm and a huge jewel shining from each forehead. Of course the Harvesters who returned were asked about them; but the last ship to return from the journey to the Dragon Isle came home to Corli more than a century ago, and there are none living who can swear that the True Dragons exist. It is said that within certain boundaries it is safe to visit that land, but some old tales whispered of those who dared to cross over seeking dragon gold and paid the price. If you believe the tales, not one of those venturous souls ever returned.

The bards, of course, have made songs of the True Dragons for hundreds of years. Usually the tale is of some brave fighter attacking one of them against terrible odds, defeating it but dying in the process. All very noble but more than a little absurd, if the Merchants recall truly their size and power. Still, there are some lovely lays about such things.

Every now and then, however, you come across a story with a different tum. The Song of the Winged Ones is a song of celebration, written as though the singer were standing on the Dragon Isle watching the dragons flying in the sun. The words are full of wonder at the beauty of the creatures; and there is a curious pause in the middle of one of the stanzas near the end, where the singer waits a full four measures in silence for those who listen to hear the music of distant dragon wings. It seldom fails to bring echoes of something beyond the silence, and is almost never performed because many bards fear it.

I love it.

I heard it first when I was seven. The snows were bad that year, and a bard travelling south from Aris (some four days’ journey north of us) on his way to Kaibar for midwinter got stuck at Hadronsstead for the festival. He was well treated, given new clothes in honour of the season, and in return he performed for the household for the three nights of the celebration. The last piece he sang on the last night was the Song of the Winged Ones, and I fell in love. I was just warm and sleepy enough to listen with my eyes closed, and when the pause came I heard music still, wilder and deeper than the bard's but far softer. I never forgot the sound. It spoke to something deep within me and I resolved to hear it again if ever I could. When I mentioned it to the singer later he paled slightly, told me that people often imagined that they heard things in the pause, and swore to himself (when he thought I had gone) never to sing the wretched thing again.

I spent the next seventeen years waiting to hear that sound, and dreamed of meeting a True Dragon, a Dragon out of the ballads, huge, wild and fierce, yet possessed of the powers of speech and reason. And he would not kill me for daring to speak to him. He would respond in courtesy, we would learn of each other and exchange tales of our lives, and together the two of us would change all of Kolmar. Humans would have someone new to talk to, a new way of seeing life and truth, and it would happen because I had dared to do what few had even dreamed about.

And they would grant me the name I had chosen in the old speech, those who came after and knew what I had done. They would call me Kaelar, Lanen Kaelar, the Far-Traveller, the Long Wanderer.

And there the sweet dream would end, and I would cry myself to sleep.

My world changed in my twenty-fourth year. Hadron, rest his soul, finally had enough of raising horses and a daughter with no prospects. He died at midsummer, and Jamie and I laid him in the ground high on the hill overlooking the north fields.

After Hadron' s death his lands and goods came to me, which shocked me to the bone. I had always thought Jamie or Walther would be his heir, but in death Hadron was more gracious than ever he had been in life. I was amazed by the extent of his lands, many of which I had never seen, and by the wealth he had gained. l knew well enough how to run the place—I had been Jamie's right hand for years—but the sheer size of it all took me by surprise. I still thought of Jamie as my master, and he still taught and helped me in those first months, but to my chagrin I found that I was blessed as well with a valuable steward in my cousin Walther.

Walther had for many years now made his peace with me, though I could never forgive him for siding with Hadron in keeping me caged. It did not help that even as a child I found him dull and a little slow. All his thoughts were of the farm; his one fond wish had ever been to become as good a breeder and trainer of horses as his uncle. He had not known what his place would be when Hadron died, but since working for me did not seem to concern him I never mentioned it.

Hadron's death came just as he was starting to prepare for the Great Fair, and with him gone there was more to do than hands to do it. There were a good dozen of the horses old enough, broken in and ready to be sold this year. Hadron and Jamie had always gone to Illara, but Hadron's part now fell to me as the heir. If I had been a little less tired I would have been delighted at the prospect of finally seeing the King's Seat of Ilsa. As it was, grief and weariness outweighed all else. I did not pretend to mourn Hadron greatly, but I felt his loss, and grieved quietly to myself that I had cared so little for my own father. In great part, though, I must admit that I felt a weary weight lifted from my shoulders.

I could see no further than that until the night before we left, when my eyes began to open. .

The horses had just been brought into the barn for the night. We would have to rise early to begin the journey—the fair was in a fortnight's time and we would travel most of that, Jamie and I and the three farmhands who were coming to help with the horses. Still, the night before leaving had always been exciting even when I was not going on the journey; a time of ending and beginning, full of promise and change. Jamie had already gone to his bed and the other hands to their lodging. Walther and I had just finished the last chores; and I was trudging across the paving stones of the court yard when he laid a hand on my arm and stopped me in the torchlight, saying he had something to ask me. .

"What is it?" I asked, wondering why we had to stop walking. I was filthy and exhausted and wanted a bath and my bed in the worst way...

"Lanen, I—it's been six weeks since Hadron died. There's been no man around here but me to look after you, and ..."

He had to wait while I laughed. "You've a curious sense of things, Walther. None but Jamie has looked after me for twenty years. Why should someone start because Hadron died? Besides, I’ve yet to meet a man who wanted the honour, and none I wished to give it to." I moved on towards the house.

"What about me?" said Walther loudly.

That stopped me.

"What about you?" I asked as kindly as I could, turning back to face him. All women have a sense that warms them of such things. I was shocked—he was all but betrothed to Alisonde from the village—but I could smell it coming and was desperately trying to think of how to get out of it without being too mean. I didn't like him, but some things demand mercy.

"Marry me, Lanen," he said quietly, moving close to me. He smelt of the stables even stronger than I did. "I’ll not pretend there’s more between us than there is, and I—I'll not demand a husband's rights, but you need a man to look after—to run the place for you. You know everything I do, but you haven't the touch."

That was true enough. I never was interested in horses the way he was, certainly, save perhaps when a mare was in labour. Still, even in my anger I nearly smiled to myself. Poor Walther always thought he was so subtle.

"Walther, this is so sudden," I said, unable to keep an edge from my voice. "What would Alisonde say? She deserves better of you than this."

He looked down. "She will understand."

If it had been morning, broad daylight, I might have held my peace and simply refused him; in the flickering torchlight at the end of a long day I let my armour slip. "Aye," I sneered. "She loves you well enough to take a mistress' place, as long as you never behave as true husband to your wife. What a charming life you offer me, Walther! Marriage without love or the comfort of your body, where you bring no more than my father's knowledge of horses as a bride-price." I knew the progress of my own anger by now, and tried to stop before my temper got the best of me.

He sounded only vaguely guilty at being found out. "Lanen, you don't understand—"

"Save your breath to fan the fire," I snapped. "You meant nothing else: You spent too much time with Hadron, you're beginning to sound like him." I stopped my words there; but I couldn't stop my memories. Years, too many years of Hadron's neglect; too many times being told I was too plain, or too tall, or too manlike, or simply not good enough to be my father's daughter, piled on top of me like so much stone, and just when I was beginning to learn my worth and value my solitude, Walther, Walther of all people, insults me like this. I stood and fumed, I could feel my eyes dancing with fury in the torchlight. "Why can't you just marry her and slay here?" I snarled my last valiant attempt to speak reasonably.

He was long silent; when he finally spoke his words had to fight their way past a knot of anger in his throat as great as the one in mine. "And live my life as your paid servant? No thank you, cousin," he growled. "I haven't the money to go elsewhere and start fresh. I thought I could be your man, since you don't seem to need one like a real woman, and I could have the place and Alisonde, too."

That did it. I gave no warning, just drew back and hit him.

I am only a little under six feet tall and strong with it, and Jamie's lessons were not wasted. Walther measured his length on the paving stones and I stood over him, battling my need to hit him again. "How dare you tell me what I need or do not?" I spat, barely resisting the urge to kick him. Repeatedly. "I am more a real woman than ever you could know, you cowardly lout. If you covet this stead then say so, but I do not take insults well. Shall I tell Alisonde what your marriage proposals are worth?" He still did not speak, but now at least had the grace to look ashamed. In a breath, my anger turned to disgust.

"Ah, get to the Hells, Walther, all seven of them, and take Alisonde with you," I said, and was about to add a comment on his manhood when I froze where I stood. Like the sun bursting into a dark cellar, where all had been darkness there was blinding light. If I could have spared the effort I would have laughed with delight, but too many other things were crowding in on me.

Dear Walther. Time wears down the sharp edges of youth and memory. I have spoken to him since and thanked him. He it was who made me see that things had truly changed, that my life could be my own. I had kept my soul alive through dreams in the dark, even after Hadron' s death, until Wanher with his absurd proposal shattered the darkness.

"Come, cousin," I said, my anger gone in the instant. I gave him my hand and helped him up. "Let us think of this another way."

"What way?" he asked, suspiciously, rubbing his jaw and watching my hands.

"Why, you were partly right. I shall need someone to look after the stock, to choose the right bloodlines for Hadron's horses, to care for them, to train them to harness and saddle. Surely you and Jamie are best suited."

"But what of you?"

I laughed. "I shall be gone, Walther. If you see me once in the year it will be more than I expect. But I do not renounce my inheritance; I am still Hadron's heir, still the possessor of his house and lands and all his goods. But I shall need funds." I stared hard at him. "This is what I propose, Walther. When the hands are paid and the year's accounts settled, any profits will be divided three ways, one share each to you, me and Jamie. I shall simply ask Jamie to keep my shares for me until I return to claim them. That way we are all three equals, you need not work for me and you will soon have enough to marry Alisonde. Now, does that suit? Or do I send you back to your father as you stand?"

He could not speak, so he nodded. "Very well," I continued." I shall want a portion of the available moneys to see me on my way, and I shall take with me a third of the profits from the fair. Is it a bargain?"

He didn't move, so in the country fashion I spat in my palm and held out my open hand to him. He did the same and took mine in a daze. Well he might—in payment for an empty proposal meant to manipulate a weakling, he had received a decking and a secure future. I’d have been dazed, too.

I was awake all night preparing a contract for us three to sign, though I had to read it to Walther in the morning and help him make his mark. I had carefully put my few belongings into an old pack with my clothing and wrapped a good portion of silver in a pair of saddlebags. Jamie and I left before dawn with the hands and the horses.

I was happier than I could remember being.

II LESSONS

The way was long from my father's farm.

Illara, where the great fair was held, lay a long way east and a little south of Hadronsstead; we would be travelling the best part of a fortnight. Thankfully, old King Tershet of Ilsa was not yet in his dotage—there were not as many Patrols around as there might have been, but there Were a few still out on the highways to keep order.

At the end of the first day's travel I had been awake for two full days. We found a clear dry place by the edge of a wood on a little hill; with the last of my strength I helped tend the horses, inhaled Jamie's stew and slept like a dead thing.

The next morning was a mixed blessing. I woke gently, lying on my back, to the lightening sky above me and the sweet sounds of waking birds all around. There was a smell on the dawn wind that spoke of winter's coming, and an elusive scent of late wild roses caught at my heart. The sun was nearly up, a bright clear glow in the east behind the trees. I rolled over and stood up, surprised at how stiff I was. I had ridden all day since I was a child, and worked long hard hours, but I had never slept on the hard ground in the chill of early autumn afterwards. It made me swiftly and deeply aware of the distance I had travelled already, which was nothing that could be measured in leagues.

Jamie was already up and making the fire. He grinned at me. "Groan away, lass, you've the right, but don't expect any sympathy from me. You're the one always said you wanted to see the world! There's a stream down there," he added, pointing down the hill. "It's' good and fresh. The lads have taken the horses down for a drink, but I could use more water myself. Just you take those buckets upstream a ways and fetch me some, and I’ll have breakfast ready when you've done."

I might have protested at being ordered about if I had been awake, but Jamie knew me far too well. By the time I was aware enough to object, I was at the stream.

I had a black moment there. Stiff as I was, it had somehow not occurred to me before. Only as I knelt at the side of the water did I understand in my chilly bones that I would not see a hot bath for weeks. I suspect it was just as well I had something else to do before I saw Jamie again. My mind was delighted beyond words at being gone from Hadronsstead, but so far my body was not entirely convinced.

When I returned to the tire, though, I had a little surprise for Jamie. I had planned it for ages; indeed, when I was a child I dressed in that fashion most of the time. I had made the clothes in secret soon after Hadron died, and now I was looking forward to a little gentle revenge. When I returned to the fire Jamie looked up and stared. I was dressed as he was, in woolen leggings and good stout boots and a long-sleeved wool tunic that, belted, came some inches below my knee. No skirts, no shoes that smacked of delicacy, no fine linen showing (though I kept my good shirt on beneath the wool), and my hair bundied up under a shapeless hat.

He said nothing at first, but he had the strangest look in his eyes, as though he saw a memory rather than me. Finally he said, "Good idea. Better to ride in, at any rate, and other travellers will have to look twice to know you're a woman."

That was the idea, of course; but somehow it hurt to hear that from Jamie. Still, I was comfortable and sensibly dressed for riding, and I had seldom asked more of clothing.

We had the luck of the weather when we started out; it held fine for the first few days. I delighted in waking every morning to find myself farther and farther from the places I knew. I gazed about me every moment, cherishing the changes of the land as it grew more and more unfamiliar, the smells and sounds of unknown places. The hills around and about Hadronsstead began to give way to great plains. Much of the land was farmed—we stayed with the horses in one or two barns on the way—but some was yet untamed. The wild grasses grew high, now brown with autumn and heavy with seed. Usually we all slept under the stars, Jamie, the lads and me, and as the night wind blew through the grass I heard the voice of Kolmar whispering a welcome. The ground was hard and I still woke sometimes with a stiff back, but I was so glad to find myself on my way at last that I tried not to complain.

To my surprise, it was hard not to. No matter that I had tried to imagine the hardships of a journey as well as the pleasures—I had simply never been for longer than a day without the comforts of a well-appointed farmhouse, and I missed them. I had never realised what it truly meant to have four walls about me and a roof over my head. There was safety and warmth and comfort there, cleanliness and good order. Here on the road there was much to wonder at and enjoy, and so I did—but in those first days I was perilously close to complaining.

I found, too, that by the end of the first week I was looking about with a different eye. I began to grow nervous, checking constantly over my shoulder for I could not tell what. Jamie noticed but he never said anything.

After two more days of this I was ready to scream. Were all my dreams to come to this, a useless woman afraid of her own shadow, longing for her safe farm and searching always for something unknown? I could bear it no longer. I pulled up alongside Jamie. We had not spoken much lately, and I knew it was because he was waiting for me. Blast him.

"Well, then?" I asked. "Well what, lass?"

"You know what I mean. What in the Hells is this, Jamie? I keep looking for something and it's never there."

"Aye, so I've seen." He smiled gently. "Do you know what you're looking for?"

"No! And if I don't find it out soon I shall go quite insane and start biting the horses. If you know what it is I wish you'd tell me!"

He rode on in silence for a minute or so, then said quietly, "I’m afraid it's the walls of Hadronsstead you're missing, my lass."

I swore. Jamie just grinned.

"But I've waited years to get away!"

"True enough, but you've never been above a day's ride from there your life long. What more natural than you should look for your home?" He stared off into the distance, frowning. "That's the other side of the wandering life, Lanen, that you'd never learn by dreaming about it. This bout will pass quickly enough, you're just fresh away from the place. But if you take to it the way you say you wish to, I'll tell you now there's more to come."

"What more?" I asked, curious. Jamie had always been resolutely silent about his life before he came to us, and I had always wondered. This sounded promising.

"Ah, Lanen!" He sighed deeply with old memories. "I wandered the world from the time I was seventeen, fifteen years ere I came to Hadronsstead. It might be well enough to wander if you've a place and people to come back to, but I tell you now there's no desolation like wanting to go home and truly not knowing where it is."

I had never heard Jamie so bitter. His voice had grown rougher; if I hadn't known better I’d have thought him near tears.

"Is it really so terrible?" I asked quietly.

He looked over at me and smiled. "Not for you, lass. No, we all long to change to the other way if we get the chance or think we do. I wouldn't leave Hadronsstead for the world now, but you've known nothing else. You go on a wandering, my girl. There's a wondrous lot to see out there," he said, nodding east ahead of us. "Including that storm, which won't wait for us to find it."

I saw nothing but a thin dark line out on the plain.

"We'd best get moving, we'll need shelter."

"Jamie, it's a good hour away at least."

"Not out here it isn't. Now move!"

W e found nothing better than a small wood to take coyer in before it hit. I had never seen a storm move so fast. It was a typical autumn storm otherwise, a windy blast of drenching rain followed by a cold drizzle that was better and worse by turns, but never stopped completely .

After the downpour was over we moved on through the cold rain. Jamie knew of an Inn we might stop at, but it meant a far longer days ride than we had planned. It was miserable on the road, but anything was better than trying to camp in that muck. We rode for hours in the dark and were soaked through completely when we arrived, just before midnight. By then Jamie and I had ridden some way ahead of the hands and the horses, to make arrangements for men and beasts.

I had only ever been to the village inn near Hadronsstead, and that had been much earlier in the evening. I had expected that all inns would thus be well lit and cheery. This was the first time we had so much as travelled after sunset, and I thought it easily the most dismal place I had ever seen. All was dark save for a tired red gleam of firelight under the front door. Such of the cobbled yard as I could see by cloud-covered moonlight was thickly tufted with grass, the sign of a slovenly keeper. I told Jamie as muèh.

"Would you rather ride all night in this damn drizzle and catch your death, then?" he grumped at me. He hated rain. "Besides, we should rest the horses. It may look a bit threadbare but ifs not such a bad place. Just quiet." He slid stiffly off his horse and tried the door. It was locked, only sense in these parts after midnight to my mind. But Jamie was in no mood to wait. He pounded on the door, raising loud, startling echoes in the courtyard. "Ho, innkeeper!" he yelled. "There's travellers and horse.s here, enough to make your fortune in stabling fees."

There was no response. Jamie tried again, knocking and shouting. "Ho, within there! Open the door, ifs raining like all Seven Hells out here!"

The door was jerked open suddenly by a man who made me feel tiny. He was well taller than I and made three of me sideways. "Come in then and stop your damned shouting," he rumbled. .

Jamie seemed as startled as I, though he recovered quickly.

"Your pardon, Master, but we've been riding all day in this muck. We've seventeen horses to stable, the others are corning behind. Have you room for us all?"

"How many of you?" the giant asked, warily.

"Us two and three more with the horses, maybe a quarter hour behind."

"The stable's that way," grunted the giant, pointing to the run-down building across the courtyard. He disappeared back within doors, leaving us to make our own way.

We left our two horses standing in the yard and groped our way inside the stable. The door was not latched.

Jamie dug out a candle stub from his pack and managed to light it with flint and tinder. Carrying it before him, he found an oil lamp hanging from the wall and lit it.

The stable was in a terrible state; the reek of ancient manure rose from the stalls, old straw lay rotting everywhere, rusted bits and broken tack lay abandoned in odd corners.

I was furious. I may not have the touch, but I grew up with horses. This was appalling.

"A bit threadbare? Jamie, have you lost your—?"

"Quiet!" he hissed. "Keep your voice down or we're lost. I’ve never seen that man before, the old owner' s died or worse. Get out your dagger."

I drew steel for the first time in self-defense. I was frightened, excited and sick to my stomach.

"We_must get away from here, Lanen. You stand behind the door and—"

"I wouldn't do that, Lanen," said a deep rumble from the door. "Unless you're tired of the old man here." The candlelight caught the dull gleam of rusting steel as the giant innkeeper entered, preceded bya long wicked-looking knife. I hoped that all the dark red on the blade was rust. .

"Just you put that little pigsticker on the ground, lad," he said to me, keeping bis eyes and his knife on Jamie. I hesitated, looking to Jamie.

"Do as he says, lad," Jamie said, putting a slight stress on the "lad." I obeyed but in a kind of shock. Not at the ruffian.. At Jamie. His voice was the voice of a stranger, cold and hard and merciless.

"Good," rumbled the giant. He had not noticed the change in Jamie's voice, or had 'dismissed it as fear. "Now, throw down your purses. Business has been slow," he laughed. "Time this place made me a profit. Seventeen horses should keep me through till spring."

Jamie started moving slowly away from the door—directly away from me—and the giant followed mm. "No, I don't think so," said Jamie in that wintry voice.

The instant the giant’s back was turned to me I retrieved my dagger, slipping a little as I fetched it. I might as well have shouted.

"Drop it, I said!" cried the giant, whirling towards me. I drew back my hand and threw.

The dagger bounced off his hardened leather jerkin.

"Damn it!" I yelled without thinking, my voice high-pitched with anger.

"You're no bad!" he grunted, an evil grin breaking on his face. "I’ve all the luck tonight, you'll make a tasty change aftaaaahh..."

He slumped to the ground, blood streaming from his mouth Jamie stabbed him once more through the back, twisting the blade, making certain.

I ran out of the stable and was violently sick.

I tried not to hear when Jamie dragged the body behind the barn. Suddenly he was beside me. "Come on, we're leaving. Bring the horses round to the road. Now."

He handed me my dagger and went up to the door of the inn, sword in hand. I walked my mare Shadow and Jamie's Blaze out to the road, slowly, calming them as best I could in my state. At least the rain had stopped.

Jamie soon emerged, carrying a largish sack.

I wondered if there was still blood on his hands.

"Lanen," he said quietly. His voice was as it always used to be, low and kind, the voice I loved more than any other in all the world. "All’s well, he was alone. I found some decent food and a little silver. It’ll be handy when we come to the next town."

I couldn't speak, though I did try. Words seemed meaningless.

"Lanen, I had to," he said, pleading against my unspoken words. "I never wished his death, but he'd have killed us both when he was done with you."

I forced myself to speak, unclenching my teeth only by an effort of will. "Jamie, I've seen death before. Hells, I tried to kill him myself."

"And forgot everything I ever taught you," Jamie said, trying to make light of it. "Never throw away your weapon, Lanen, not in close quarters like that, it's ..."

"That's what made me sick, Jamie," I said through my teeth. "Not his death. You." I looked at him, I could see his face now a little in cloud-spattered moonlight, confused, hurt. "Where did you learn to kill like that? I never asked when you taught me the sword behind Hadron's back. Where did you learn it? Where were—what—damn it, Jamie, who are you?"

"I haven't changed, Lanen. I am who I have always been," he said quietly.

"No. I heard your voice, it was cold and hard and—"

"Lanen!" he said, and his voice was tired in the darkness. "Not now. We must get moving." In the quiet night we could hear the hands and the horses coming along the road. "There's another town not three miles away with a clean Inn and a groom who knows his business. The horses are all tired, we have to get them inside and settled. We'll stay there and take a rest day. We've enough time before the fair."

I didn't answer. He reached out to me. Without thinking I moved away, my head full of the vision of his hands covered in blood.

"As you will," he said, his voice a blend of disgust, hurt and weariness. "Mount up, we've three miles yet to go before we rest." . .

He told the lads only that there was no room for us here and we'd have to keep going. We did not speak on the road, though my mind never stilled. I kept trying to understand how the quick, merciless killer in the stable could be the loving friend of my childhood.

We reached the town and woke the innkeeper. Jamie's only words to me were that I might sleep late if I liked, we' d not set out until the day after the morrow. I fell exhausted into bed and dreamt horrors.

Come morning the girl came knocking to call me for breakfast. I sent her down with orders for a hot bath and breakfast brought up. She had to wake me again when the bath was ready.

I emerged about ten. Despite my weariness of heart it was wonderful to be clean, my new-washed hair in a loose braid down my back, my filthy tunic and leggings scrubbed. I carried them down to dry before the great tire in the public room. I'd have used the windowsill in my room had there been any chance of sun, but it was a cold, grey day, with the certain promise of dreary rain morning to night. Somehow that fit.

Jamie was waiting for me at a table near the fire. There were no others in the room save for an older couple in a corner, and they paid us no heed.

My terrible night visions were largely dispelled by the sight of him. He had found the wherewithal to bathe as well. He sat waiting, at first glance looking much as he always had, neat and clean and utterly himself.

Though he didn't usually start drinking this early.

When I had draped my wet clothes over a bench I joined him. Without speaking he pushed an empty tankard over to me and filled it from the jug on the table. I drained it in moments, refilled it and ordered another jug.

"How did you sleep?" he asked. His voice was rough.

"Terribly. You?"

"About that well," he said. Now I was closer I saw that he looked years older this morning, dark circles under his eyes, his face scored with lines I had never noticed, the silver in his hair more pronounced than before. He lowered his voice. "I haven't killed anything but chickens for longer than you've been alive, Lanen. I assure you I take no pleasure in it, if that's what you thought. But our lives were over if he had lived."

"I know. Truly, I do know that I owe you my life. But—"

"But?"

I was still having trouble speaking, and I stared at my drink. "Jamie—you terrified me. Your voice—I never imagined you could—damn, I don't know how to say this." I glanced over at him. There he sat, his eyes as kind as they had ever been, his face full of sadness but still the face of my dearest friend. I started to look down again when I realised I had to say this to his face. I owed him that.

I spoke barely above a whisper but I looked straight in his eyes. "Jamie, you knew exactly how to kill him. Swift and sure. He dropped in the midst of a word, he was dead before he knew he was in trouble. I was—sickened at seeing that in you. I always thought you the kindest man alive. I've seen you walk away from any number of fights, but you killed him like one born to the deed."

He sighed, only the slightest sound of regret. "Very well, Lanen. If you wish to know, I will tell you. Be warned, this concerns you as much as it does me." The shadow of a smile crossed his lips. "I’ve meant to tell you for a while now, though I had hoped for a time of my own choosing." He emptied his tankard and refilled it, drinking deep. "There is much to tell, but now you've asked you shall know all of it. At the very least it will help you to see past last night."

Then he began to talk.

"I was born in the North Kingdom in the village of Arinoc, near Eynhallow at the foot of the mountains, hard by the border with the East Mountain Kingdom. I spent most of my youth there, getting into fights like most young men and doing badly at learning my father's trade. My parents died when I was fifteen, old enough to do without them but young enough to miss them. I found myself working in my father's stead for a while, but I was the worst cobbler the world has ever seen." A corner of his mouth lifted. "A lot like you and horses. I could do it if I forced myself, but I never liked it."

"A few years later came a series of battles along the eastern border. Seems one of the richer and bolder nobles from the mountains wanted a bit more fertile land to farm, so he sent raiders. When that didn't work he sent soldiers; and our King started recruiting his own. I joined up. I was out of money, and l'd have done anything that took me away from the cobbler's trade."

"I learned fast, what little they took the time to teach us. We managed to keep the raiders off, and it was all over in a year and a half. But by then I was changed. When our captain asked us to follow him to fight another rebel in the western half of the Kingdom; I was the first in line. I was nineteen and immortal and I hadn't the brains of a cabbage."

Jamie paused to wet his throat. I sat consciously holding my mouth shut for fear I'd let flies in, I had pestered Jamie about his past for most of my youth and finally given up; it was as if you had spent years battering your head against a wall, finally turned away, and heard behind you the soft sound of it crumbling into dust.

"Well, that battle led to another, and another, and in a few years I found that I was a mercenary. A good one, mind. By then we had fought together for a long time. l'd been trained by the best and I enjoyed it. We went wherever the battle was—and there are always battles, these little lordlings are always after more land and none of the Four Kings are strong enough to stop them without help." He sighed. "They were the closest I had to friends, those men. We fought together eight years, sometimes on land for petty barons, twice on the sea—once with the corsairs and once against them. But I grew weary of seeing my comrades killed, one here, two there and finally I was badly wounded myself." His eyes were a thousand miles away. "It was the first time I had faced my own death, and I didn't like the sight of it. The Captain realised it and decided to send me on a very particular mission to shake me out of it. We'd been paid to stop the Baron of Benin, in the southern half of the East Kingdom. He was a particularly vicious bugger, the kind that kills women for the fun of it. "

And there it was again. Jamie's voice had gone hard and cold, unforgiving, strong as a mountain's root and distant as forever. I shivered in the warm tavern.

"If ever a man deserved death, he was the one. He had a bunch of louts fighting for him, the Captain said it was cruel to kill the poor bastards. He decided to send in a small force to kill the Baron as a way to end it. He chose me. We went in at midnight, me and two of my comrades to watch my back."

Jamie closed his eyes and fell silent. I knew sure as I breathed that he was reliving that night, step by step, thought by thought. He opened his eyes slowly and looked straight at me, and his eyes were the eyes of one who has lost forever some part of his soul. "I killed him, Lanen. It was so simple. I slit his throat as he slept. No noise, you see, with a cut throat." His voice was full of loathing, and I knew it wasn't for the Baron. "We slipped out the window and past the guards, and the battle was over. No sense working for a dead man. We'd won."

He drained his tankard, filled it and drank it half down again before he went on. "When word got out—a careful word here or there, you understand, nothing in the open—we began to be hired to do it again. And again. There's quite a call for paid killers, if they're good at what they do."

He looked at me again, almost as if seeing me for the first time. "If you are wondering, Lanen, then yes, I hated it. And myself," he said, and dark bitterness dragged at his voice. "But even in such a profession there can be pride. I never caused pain once I learned how to avoid it; I never killed women or children; and I did not take just any work once I could pick and choose. Some I refused if I knew the victim, or if I felt in that small core of soul I had left that the death was undeserved. I was not always right, and I could not al ways choose—but when I could, I tried to keep some part of myself intact." He closed his eyes briefly and went on. "I lost the friends I had made in the company. Eight years of living and working together, and overnight they saw me as a creature they could not bear to speak to—one who killed in secret."

"I lived at the whim of those who paid me for many years, now on my own, now with others of like profession, and as time went on I grew harder of heart and smaller of soul, until I could barely stand to face a glass long enough to shave. I gave up the work—just for a while, I thought—and lived on my earnings for as long as I could, travelling where I would, working my way slowly back to the only place I thought of as home."

"When I finally got to my village, the first person I saw was Will Tanner, who used to sell hides to my father. He was old and half-blind, and I walked towards him about to speak. Then I realised what it was I had to say, and I knew I could not bear to corrupt this place with my presence. I left before sunset and never went back."

"I found I had nowhere particular to go, and even if my village was closed to me the countryside was mine to explore. So I wandered as the whim took me, learning more about the Kingdom of the North than I had ever known when I lived there. It took longer than I thought to go through my money, but when I was just turned thirty, not long past Midsummer's Day, I found myself without a copper to my name in a small town called Beskin, in the Trollingwood west of Eynhallow. Jamie's face relaxed, and the ghost of a smile crossed his face. "There was a man there, a blacksmith named Heithrek, with a good wife and many children. The eldest was a daughter he loved more than life. She had the height of the women of the north like her mother, though her hair was more golden than most. She was very like you, indeed, save for her arms." Even as he spoke his voice grew softer and his smile more his own. "She was truly her father's daughter! He had taught her the art of the forge and it showed. She was easily the match of any man in that village for strength and skill, so she would have none of them. She was leaving her home to seethe wide world. Ever she longed to see what lay beyond the horizon."

He glanced at me as if to ask had I heard the like before. "Her father hired me for a year, as a guard, to look after his daughter Maran Vena. It was a welcome change."

Maran Vena. That was my mother's name. My mother, who left me to shift for myself as best I could at Hadron's cold hearth. Jamie had been bodyguard to my mother.

"Old Heithrek was lucky to find me. I'm from those mountains myself, as I said. A man from anywhere else would have been horrified. In the North Kingdom the women are equal with men, sometimes rulers in their own right, but in the other three Kingdoms most men think of women as things to be protected, not people with their own ways. The idea of a woman setting out thus on her own would be scandalous."

"The mother was resigned, and it seemed to me almost glad to get this wild girl off her hands. But the blacksmith knew his daughter, and she knew her own mind. He never even thought to fear for her safety from me. I was no fool, I knew well enough those arms could fend me off even without the steel she bore. But she must sleep sometime, and there are rogues enough in the world."

"So, as I was down to my last few coppers, I swore fealty for as long as I had been paid, and we were ready to leave."

"I tell you, Lanen, I hope never to see another such farewell in this world. Both she and her fire-blackened father wept bitter tears as they embraced. As it happens it was a meet parting, but at the time I thought them the world's own babes. He was dead within the year, it was their last sight of each other. Somehow they both knew."

"We left at sunrise, headed east. She wanted to go explore the mountains, fool girl," he said, with a quiet smile, "so we set off while the good weather lasted. We tramped from foothill to high peak until autumn caught up with us." Jamie grinned. It was amazing to watch him, to see the pain that had so filled him leave as it had come. "I never did find out why she wanted to go up there. I suspect she thought if she got high enough she could see all of Kolmar spread out below her."

I kept silence, for I had had the same thought. More than once.

"We must have wandered over most of Kolmar in those three years. We joined a party going south to Elimar and travelled over the plains for a month, just so she could see the silkweavers at their task. We went north and walked the Trollingwood end to end—now there is a tale and a half for a winter's eve—then down to Sorun for Midwinter Fest, then over to Corli and up along the coast, then back across the width of the Four Kingdoms to the East Mountains."

"And through all our adventures, and they were a good many, she softened my hardened assassin's heart and broadened my shriveled soul. I came to love her, Lanen, as I have loved none but you since." He glanced shrewdly at me. "And you are well old enough now to know she loved me as well. She would not marry me, though I asked her many times, but we shared a bed for more than two years, and I have never known such joy before or since."

A wild hope rose in my heart, piercing and unexpected. Perhaps Hadron never loved me because I was not his daughter. Perhaps Jamie, all this time it was Jamie—

It was as if he read my thoughts. "And it's sorry I am, lass, but she was wise and never quickened from all our loving in those days. Ii was best for her, I suppose, but I have regretted it all my life."

My newfound longing died a swift death.

"Yet after three years, I knew her not half so well as I thought. We left the mountains to travel west again for the Great Fair at Illara in the autumn, and I swear we had no sooner arrived than she fell into Marik's arms."

I stared at him. "Marik? Who's Marik?"

"Marik of Gundar," said Jamie, his voice deepening with anger. "Son to Lord Gundar, a very minor noble in the East Mountain Kingdom. Marik's own father had thrown him out of the family, and Marik was just beginning to make his way as a merchant. I know only a little of what has become of him since, but I can't tell you for nothing that he was as nasty a son of the Hells as ever escaped the sword."

"What happened?" I asked. I was like a child at the foot of a bard, spellbound, listening to the tale of my mother's life unfold like a ballad. I had forgot Jamie's killing of the ruffian for the moment, forgotten all but the weaving of my mother's past.

Jamie sighed. "It's not a tale I relish telling." He poured himself the last of the ale—a small matter indeed—and glanced mournfully into the depths of the jug.

Despite myself I laughed. "You old liar! This is your way of getting another round out of me."

He smiled. "True enough, it wouldn't go amiss. But I'll have to get a few rounds out of me to make room first." I couldn't help myself, I grinned as I called for the ale. I stood and stretched, checked my still-damp clothes before the fire and turned them over, and visited the necessary myself. When I returned Jamie was seated at the table again, and as I sat down he leaned forward on his elbows, gazing into my eyes, searching for I know not what. He must have found it, though, for without further words he poured a fresh tankard for us bothand took up his tale.

III JAMIE’S TALE

"Marik. Well, he was a handsome youth, I suppose—when we first ran into him, he was in the center of a bevy of young beauties. Give him credit, the beggar, he saw your mother and the others dissolved like the dew."

"Was she beautiful, then?" I asked in a whisper. I had heard all my life, from Jamie and Hadron both, how much I looked like my mother, but that was always where it stopped. And to be so tall, man-height they called it, and strong with it—"look twice to see you're a woman," indeed! It cost me the world to ask, but I had to know why this handsome young man had been so drawn to the mother I was so like.

Jamie was silent for a moment, considering. "I honestly couldn't tell you, my girl," he said at last. "I don't remember her being a great beauty when first I saw her, but that never seemed to matter. She was—she looked—ah, there's no words for it. She was so alive, that was what you saw, and beside her the others were candles to the sun."

So, I thought. Not beautiful, but attractive. There are worse fates.

"Tall as Marik was, he stood yet taller, though he never stood straight—but he was a scrawny thing, compared to her. Altogether he reminded me of a red hawk, stooped in the shoulder, nose like a hooked beak and green eyes flecked with yellow. To this day I don't know what your mother saw in him. When I asked her she hadn't the words, though she seemed to think his voice the best of him. It just sounded high to me, soft and mannered like a man who never deals with men. But then I wouldn't know." Jamie stared into his tankard. "I never did understand it."

"The long and the short of it is, she left me for him that very day, with barely a word after three years." Jamie's voice grew softer, just for a moment. "I would have laid down my life to keep her from harm, and she ran to it fast as she could go." He looked up at me and a rueful smile touched his lips. "You'd think I'd have been furious, wouldn't you?"

"I would have been," I answered, a little sadly. "And I was just starting to like her."

He snorted. "I’d been at it longer. I had told myself all the while we travelled that there'd come a time when she'd leave, but I never believed it. And even as her name was linked with his by the market place gossips, I waited. I found odd jobs, nothing much, enough to keep me near her, for my heart misgave me, and I would not leave her to him so swiftly."

"It was two months before I saw her again to talk to, and it was the last thing I'd have imagined that made her turn to me again. I began to weary of waiting, and I had gone to the marketplace with some idea of buying provisions and leaving—though in truth I had no thought of doing such a thingwhen someone grabbed me by the arm from behind."

"Well, you don't live long in my profession if you let that kind of thing happen. Without thinking I whirled and braced in a fighter's crouch, my dagger in my hand though I didn't remember drawing it, distance between us that I pulled from thin air."

"She laughed, part from surprise, part from something else, something I had not seen in her before."

" 'I never thought to see you here,' I told her, putting my blade away, the anger of two months washing through me. 'Lover boy leave you, or you him?'

" 'Neither,' she said, her eyes troubled. 'Take me somewhere private. We have to talk.'

"For a bent copper coin I'd have cursed her and left, I was that angry, but even as I turned to go I finally recognised what was new in her. It was fear." Jamie shook his head gently. "I had travelled the breadth of Kolmar with her for three years, Lanen. We'd fought off winter storms and treacherous cliffs and the occasional band of roughs and worse, and in all that time I had never seen fear in her. I swore to myself then that I would banish it if I could, and if that bastard Marik had somehow frightened my fearless Maran, I’d put the cap on my career and kill him. Cheerfully."

He took a drink. "Of course, it didn't work out that way. Usually doesn't."

He fell silent for a moment. The couple in the corner clattered about, having a meal served them. I waited, but Jamie seemed to have lost himself in his memories. "Jamie?"

"Eh? Oh." He picked up my tankard, felt the weight and set it down again. "You're not drinking," he said, looking at me with a slight frown. "Something wrong?"

"No," I said, lying. "Go on. Please."

"It's not pretty, my Lanen," he said sadly. "Make you a deal. You drink, I’ll talk. You stop drinking, I stop talking. Done?"

"Done," I replied. I lifted my tankard and half-drained it, filled it back to the brim and made a point of sipping at regular intervals: The brew was starting to affect me, but I kept my mouthfuls small and listened with all my might.

"We found our privacy in a hidden nook in a crowded pub much as you and I have. Seems she had found a secret passage in Marik's house—and being who she was, instantly went in. She heard voices, Marik and a stranger, a voice she didn't know. 'He was bargaining, Jamie,' she tells me. 'The stranger is a demon master called Berys. He said he was a Magister of the Fifth Circle; whatever that means. He was angry at Marik and said he needed more gold. When Marik asked how he should gain it, Berys told him to send a ship to the Dragon Isle!'" .

Jamie paused: glancing at me. "You've stopped drinking again, lass," he said, a wry smile ghosting past his lips. "And remember to breathe while you're about it." I nodded and took a deep breath. He went on. .

"Maran told me that Marik tried to beg off that particular venture, because of the storms and. because every last one for a century had disappeared without trace. Seems Berys didn't much care. 'He told Marik to call on him again in thirty or forty years,' she said. 'Berys started to go but Marik called him back. He said he needed power now, not in thirty years. So Berys said he would make a Farseer for Marik. Thank the Goddess Marik's gasp was louder than mine. I thought such things were only legend, and so did Marik, but Berys was serious, and the price is to be—oh, Jamie, it turns my stomach!' she said, covering her mouth. When she could speak again, she said, 'The price is his firstborn child. I thought for a second he was jesting, but he meant it.' She caught my eye and shook her head. 'And no, I've not quickened, he doesn't have a child, Not yet,' she said, shuddering.

" 'Then Marik asked if Berys intended next to go to his rivals and make Farseers for them, but Berys said there could only be one of the things in the world at any time, and that if he never had children there would be no price extracted. Marik asked what would happen if it were stolen from him. Berys would only say that if he were unlucky he might live.'

"Well, the long and short of it was that Marik agreed to the bargain and signed away the life of his firstborn child in blood. The ritual was set for that very night at moonrise." Jamie wrapped both his hands around his tankard and stared into its depths, and his voice dropped to a rough murmur. "We talked for a while about what to do. She had the start of a plan, and together we worked out the details. When all was set, I—I offered her my services." He swallowed hard. "As assassin. I asked her if she wanted me to kill them. I had not killed in more than three years, and the very thought made my gorge rise up to choke me, but if she needed me to..."

I sat frozen, my throat thick with dread. For me, no matter what came after, this was the center of all Jamie's telling. I could not breathe. I had to know. And below dread, below thought, deep in the center of my soul, I prayed faster and harder than ever I had before. Blessed Lady, Mother Shia, please, please let it be that my mother did not ask Jamie to kill for her…

A tiny corner of his mouth lifted, he glanced at me, and I breathed again. .

"She took me by the shoulders and turned me to face her. 'Jameth of Arinoc,' she says, solemn as judgement, 'rather would I cut off my own arm. If you have forgotten, I haven't. I may be fool enough to take a dark soul like Marik as a lover, but while I live you are the man I care most about in the world.' "

I saw the tears slip down his cheeks, this man who was farmer and assassin and all but father to me, and I knew that he remembered those words as if she stood before him and spoke them fresh at the very moment, and that they were all he had of her to remember.

"I believed her, though I could see her own words shocked her. And me. 'I swear to you, Jamie,' she says; 'if either of us has to kill anyone it will be only to save our own skins.'

"We waited until just after moonrise; then she led me through the house to the secret passage. I was dressed in my old uniform, a kind of mottled black tunic of silk with no clean edges. I left her halfway down the passage, as we'd agreed, and crept on to the room at the end. There was a little light only a few candles—but it was enough. I waited at the corner some few minutes, listening, until I guessed they were too interested in what they were doing to notice me. I peered round the wall just as the voice I assumed was Berys rose high and loud in a kind of incantation. Just as I looked round the light changed, from dim candlelight to a bright red glow, and I heard a hissing voice like nothing I'd ever imagined.

"There, above the small altar between Berys and—Marik, a figure of nightmare hovered in the air above glowing red coals, and it was much the same colour. It didn't take much to guess that it must be one of the Rakshasa, a demon from the Seven Hells. I'd only ever come across the Rikti, the minor demons, on one of my jobs—it was a pleasure taking out that demon caller—but this was its older cousin, and a foul, fierce thing it was. The voice made my skin crawl.

"That was a bad moment, because even if the men couldn't see me the demon sure as all Hells could." He smiled grimly. "I had forgotten the nature of the things. They don't give away spit. It probably hoped I was there to kill them, which would leave it free to go. In any case, it never even hinted to them that I was there.

"I don't remember what they said—there was a lot of bickering, threats, and empty posturing on both sides. I remember Marik's voice swearing his firstborn child to Berys, though, and Berys saying it was time for the blood sacrifice. I didn't think much of it until I heard a small sound, startling in that place. Even in those days I knew the sound of a waking infant when I heard it.

"It took me a few seconds to understand that they were going to kill some poor, nameless child then and there and give its blood to the demon for the making of this Farseer.

"You must understand, Lanen, that all the while I was watching and listening, I was planning when and where to strike. All those years of killing left me with a good sound sense of survival and strategy." He frowned. "I wish I could say my first impulse was to rush in and try to save the child. I thought about it, but I knew that the best that could happen was that I would be killed myself and do Maran and the child no good. Maran and I had decided it would be best to take the Farseer once it was made, and I knew I had to keep to the plan:" He lifted the tankard before him, which he had ignored for some while, and drank deep.

"I watched it all, Lanen," said Jamie, his voice deep with old sorrow. "Berys chanting, the child crying louder and louder, screaming in fear and pain, then suddenly, horribly silent. I moved no muscle, invisible in the shadows that hid me at the back of the room, but I swore revenge for that babe as it died.

"Then Berys told Marik that he would have to give of his own blood to seal the spell. The craven bastard yelled near as loud as the child had, and cursed Berys through his teeth when his arm was opened to let the blood. I began to slip my dagger from my boot. A poignard would have killed, but somehow, in the face of that evil, the thought of giving more death to that creature made me sick. My hands were stained enough as it was.'

"There was a loud hiss as Berys poured the mingled blood of Marik and the babe over the hot coals, and the voice of the demon slithered through the air. 'It iss done, Masster. Behold that which you dessire.' There was a globe on the altar now, of what looked like smoky glass, about the size of a small melon.

" 'It is done, slave,' says Berys, calm as could be. 'Begone to the Fourth Circle of Hell that spawned you, but know that if this is not the true Farseer I will have claim to your miserable hide for a year and a day.' .

" 'Ssso bee itt,' the thing hissed; and with a loud pop it disappeared. Then Marik grabs up the globe and says, 'Show me the head of the Merchant Bouse of Hovir.' I couldn't see exactly what was happening, but from his expression the thing worked well enough. With that kind of power Marik would quickly rise to lead the Merchant Houses. At least.

"I felt my jaw draw tight as my body set itself for an attack. All of Kolmar's trade ruled by demons? Not if I had word to say about it.

" 'Do you accept this Farseer and seal our pact?' asked Berys, calm as if he was asking about the weather. Marik should have seen it coming. Idiot.

" 'Yes. I will take this in exchange for the life of my first child, whensoever it might be born,' replied Marik, staring into the depths of the thing like a man in a daze.

"Then Berys laughed, and it was a terrible sound. 'It is done! Fool! Could you imagine the road to power so swift and simple? Ere ever you sought me, ere ever you were born or named, a prophet of our brotherhood knew this would come to pass. For his pact with the Lords of the Hells he was given visions of endings and beginnings, and for the four Kingdoms he prophesied:

" 'When the breach is healed at last—

when the two are joined in one—

when the lost ones from the past

live and move in light of sun,

Marik of Gundar's blood and bone

shall rule all four in one alone.'

" 'What is this gibberish?' snarled Marik. 'My blood and bone are within my body. You are the fool, Berys, it is simple enough to ensure that I never have issue. Then I shall rule Kolmar, I, Marik of Gundar!'

"Berys never moved, and his voice went cold and calm. No, Your destiny is merely to bring into being the child who will rule all of Kolmar—and now the child is mine!'

"I had heard enough. I spoke low but loud, to shock them and alert Maran. 'Now.'

"I threw myself at Berys, but I might have saved myself the trouble. Somehow I’d have thought a master of the Fifth Circle—there are only seven—would have safeguards against just this sort of thing, but the luck was with me. I can only guess he couldn't have summoned the Raksha with his guard about him. A few cuts that wouldn't kill him to get him into position, one deep wound to keep him down, and that was it.

"I turned just in time to see Maran deal with Marik. He had disarmed her, but she never was much for weapons." Jamie grinned then, all the way up to his eyes. "He'd grabbed her right arm to keep her off balance. Idiot. Spent all that time with her and never noticed she was left-handed. She hit him in the stomach like the hammer hitting the anvil. I heard ribs crack from where I stood. He'd doubled over, of course. Then' she straightened him out. He dropped like a stone.

"She wrapped the Farseer in her cloak and we ran for the horses I’d left nearby. May I never again face such a wild ride in darkness. Our noses were pointed north and west and we followed them, caring only about putting as much distance as we could between us and them.

"We had been going for some half an hour when something made me turn in my saddle. There behind us I watched as two red smears of light streaked towards us in the darkness. They were at about the same level above the ground as we were, and they were gaining on us far too quickly.

"The horses saved us, I think. They caught wind of the things and bolted. I thought they were running before, but sheer terror is a wonderful spur. We fairly flew.

"And just as well, for despite our speed the things caught us up. I knew of nothing to do against such creatures, and I had no idea what would happen, but I learned soon enough. A red mist covered my sight, and every inch of my skin crawled as though a thousand ants swarmed over me. The itch swelled from a burning to a knife-prick to a deep stabbing pain. I never meant to, but I cried out, about the same time Maran screamed."

He stared deep into the fire. "I don't know how we managed to stay on our horses, but we did, and that's why I'm alive to tell of it. Who could know that so simple a thing as sheer distance would be our saving?

"It was sudden as blowing out a candle. The pain just stopped as we clung to our poor terrified mounts and sped away from Illara. We slowed and stared at each other in amazement, and together we reined in and looked behind.

"There behind us in the road were two red patches of light, dissolving like sugar in rain even as we watched. The horses, poor things, fell into an exhausted walk once the smell of the demons was gone. We got down to give them a rest, and because I at least wanted the feel of solid ground under my feet.

" 'Jamie, what happened?' says Maran. 'I thought we were done.'

" 'My first time, too,' I told her. 'Why don't you try the Farseer?'

"She pulled it out of its swaddling in her saddlebag and said, 'Show me Berys.' As I leaned over her shoulder I saw, despite the darkness, a dear vision of Berys looking near death, and of Marikbehind him looking little better. They were being tended by a healer. From the way Berys was lying, I guessed he'd fainted.

" 'Is he breathing?' Maran said, almost to herself.

" 'For all of me he is,' I told her. 'Did you think I'd kill him? I admit I was tempted, but I'd had my fill of death in that place already.' And suddenly I was crying like an idiot. It had washed over me, that poor babe, dying alone and terrified that we might live, I still owe someone for that, you know," said Jamie thoughtfully. "I swore it to the child."

'He stopped to down his ale, I sat unmoving, unwilling to break into his thoughts, wondering when he was going to get to the part that affected me. He kept silent, though, and I couldn't stand it. "What happened then?"

"What, am I a bard now?" he asked lightly. "If I am your hospitality is lacking. I'm starving," he said. "It must be two hours past noon."

I shook myself and looked out the window of the inn. He was right, noon was long gone. It was still raining, but the sky was beginning to lighten in the east with at least some hope of an end to the soaking. The couple in the corner table had finished eating and seemed to be in the midst of an animated discussion.

Jamie stood and stretched. "I should get out to the stables and check up on the lads," he said. "I'll get the innkeeper to bring them some of that stew that smells so good, if you'll arrange the same for us. I’ll be back soon."

I ordered the stew and a large loaf of fresh bread. By the time it had come Jamie was back, bringing with him a whiff of the stables. It almost smelled homey.

We sat together, as we had always done, and broke bread together. I found myself blushing for the way I had treated him. Blast him, he always could see my thoughts clear as daylight.

"So you're over your horrors, are you?" he said with a wry smile. "About time, too, ye daft thing." He leaned across the little table and took my hand. "I never meant to shock you so, my girl, but ifs time you learned there's more to most people than meets the eye."

"I know, Jamie. I just thought I knew you." I stared at him, trying to see in him all the Jamies I had met: oldest friend and truest companion, lover of the mother I had never known, killer for hire, to whom now I owed my life for dispatching but twelve hours past—the ruffian who would have killed me.

He squeezed my hand. "You do know me, Lanen. Better than any save your mother." He let go my hand and grinned. "Better than you might wish to, I dare say. But at least such friendship means that after we eat I can finish the tale for you."

Jamie said it was good stew, but I hardly tasted it. The instant he was finished with his bowl I whisked it away, filled his tankard again and sat it squarely in front of him.

"Right. Talk," I demanded.

He laughed—louder than usual, I suspect the ale was finally affecting him, though his capacity was legendary—and settled back in his chair, gazing at me. It was a measuring glance, though I could not think what he was seeing.

"You know, you've been right all these years. You never did suit Hadronsstead, not from your first breath. We've not talked so much for years, my girl; save just after Hadron died, and I've missed it sore." His smile broadened. "And you have never ordered me to do anything your life long. It suits you." This for some reason struck him as amusing. "Just like your mother," he added, laughing rather too loudly.

I drummed my fingers on the table. This sent him off into another gale of laughter; and I couldn't help it—I never could hear Jamie laugh and not join in. When he finally stopped, wiping his eyes, he sat and grinned like a cat who's found the dairy. "As I live and breathe, Lanen, Maran did that very thing when she was annoyed. Where did you pick that up?"

"Nowhere. I mean, I've always done it," I said, surprised. All my life I had gone without any word of my mother, and of a sudden it seemed that she had some part in me after all. "Jamie, why in the name of sense have you never told me any of this before?"

He sobered a bit, at that. "I gave my word, lasso I swore to Hadron that I would not speak to you of your mother as long as I lived under his roof."

"But why?"

"Ah, well, that’s the rest of the story." His grin broke out again. "And so you've brought me round to it. You're too damn clever by half, you know. Still, I suppose needs must. I've avoided it long enough." He sipped at his ale.

"You see, Maran and I were lovers again on the road away from Illara." He shot a keen glance at me, keener than rd have thought him capable of at the time. I kept my face carefully composed. Whatever it was, I needed to hear it.

"We arrived at Hadronsstead not a fortnight before Midwinter Fest. We had not—been there a week before Maran realised she was pregnant. With you. Only," he said, all his gaiety gonr in the instant, "she wasn't at all sure who the father was. Me or Marik."

Without looking at me, without speaking, he drew out a small metal flask from his tunic and passed it to me. I took a swig and let the strong spirits singe my throat. I was glad of the sensation. I think it kept me from doing something stupid like fainting.

I couldn't think straight. Jamie's daughter. Marik's daughter. Mariik's firstborn, promised to demons and to Berys. Maran, who abandoned me, so careless with her body she didn’t know who my father was. Maybe Jarnie's daughter…

All of these were loud and most of them were frightening, but louder yet and triumphant, a song of release that soared above the rest, was the glorious thought, Whatever , may be, I am not Hadron’s daughter! He never was my father. His anger at me was not at me. He despised me not because I was worthless but because I was another man's child. Even though I did not, could not love him, it is not because my heart is barren. Despite all Hadron ever said and I ever thought, I am not a cold, heartless child. Dear Goddess, what a relief!

But there had to be more to the tale.

"Jamie, why did Hadron take her in? Did he not know?"

Jamie sighed. "Ah, Lanen. Well I know you never saw the softer side of Hadron's loving, but you must believe me. From the moment he met her he was smitten. No matter that she was no beauty, no matter that she had no fortune, no matter even to his strict Ilsan soul that she had travelled with me for over three years. Her manner was free and her heart was light, she was a strange grey-eyed Northern woman who stood in truth head and shoulders above her sisters hereabouts. In a week she had swept him off his sensible feet, he who had never loved another his life long, with her laughter and her brave soul. Before the month was out he asked her to marry him. They were wed a month past midwinter; hardly three weeks after they met."

He paused, and I had to ask about what he had not said. "You tell me he loved her, very well, I believe you—but Jamie, what of what she said to you? What was it—while I live I shall love you best, something like that." His face, clouded before, darkened yet more. "Jamie, I can't believe it. How could she love him?" When he said nothing, I asked, "Did she love him?"

He closed his eyes, old pain sharp-etched for an instant in his face. "I don't know. She never told me."

When he looked up I had to look away. The silence between us danced with shadows, new to me and terrible, but to Jamie they were old ghosts. He knew them well enough; and though they made him sad, they held no longer raw grief, only old sorrow. He spoke again sooner than I would have dreamed he could.

"She wed him, at any rate, and you were born at the autumn solstice." His voice grew softer. "I'd never seen Maran so happy. She had a smile for you that no one else in the world ever saw." I glanced at him and saw that sorrow had left him, and now in his eyes and his voice lived softer memories of her. "I asked her once if she could see in you anything of me or of Marik, but she laughed and told me that she saw only herself in little." He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. "Or maybe not so little." .

"Thanks."

He snorted. "Wretched women, tall as houses the pair of you, and mean with it."

"You think I'm mean now, just you stop talking and see what it gets you."

"You're a glutton for punishment, aren't you? I'd have thought this lot was enough for one day," he said, finishing his ale. "Speaking of which, how about some more to drink?"

"Of course," I replied, and called the girl over. "A pot of chélan, with honey, and two mugs."

"Chélan? What for?" he asked.

"What do you think? You always told me that after a long drinking session it helped clear the head. We've been at this since midmorning and it's near dusk already." My point was reinforced by our host, who came round with candles for the tables to banish the gathering shadows. More folk were coming into the tavern, their day's work done, to quench their thirst. .

One corner of Jamie’s mouth twisted up and he looked at me from under his brows. "And are you feeling the effects of all this ale, you who never drink more than two pints?"

It hadn't occurred to me. I was astounded to find that I was perfectly sober. Jamie laughed at my expression and clapped me on the shoulder. "You have just learned one of the great rules of drinking, my girl. When you are deeply concerned, when your heart is troubled by deep grief or sorrow, drink makes no difference no matter how much you take. But I will say , chélan sounds good."

"Fine, it's coming, now would you get on with it?" I said.

He sighed. "Lanen, must we finish this now?"

"Jamie, I've waited twenty-three years to hear all of this. I think now is as good a time as any."

"Very well." He sighed. "You see, Lanen, the men of Illsa have odd ideas about women. They are very possessive, and Lady rest his soul, as dense as Hadron was even he could count. The old wives in the village simply leered at him, assuming that he and Maran had been lovers from the day they met, but he well knew they had not. She had denied him until they were wed, as would any good, quiet Illsan maid. He thought his life long that you were my daughter, but when Maran left, he made me swear never to speak of her, and for the sake of his good name I must always refer to you as his child."

"Jamie, why did you stay? You knew the truth, such as it was. Why did you cleave to Maran when she had denied you not once but twice?"

He turned his quiet countenance to me and smiled gently. "I stayed because I loved her, Lanen. And because as long as there was every a slim chance that you were mine, I would stay at your side to protect you."

"And Maran?" I asked, my voice tinged with the bitterness I could not hide. "I have asked you all my life why she left, and you never answered. Tell me now."

"She left because she had to," answered Jamie, sitting back in his chair with his mug of chélan hugged to his chest. "Not for herself, though she was miserable with Hadron. she unbound him when she left, did you know that? Their joining was dissolved in the eyes of the Lady. I have since come to believe that she wed him because she needed somewhere safe for you to grow up, and knew she could not provide it." He was staring into the depths of his mug; for all the world like a village wiccan preparing to read the future in chélan stains. "When you were six months old, she looked in the Farseer. Berys and Marik had recovered, more's the pity, and were preparing to hunt for her. Seems we were lucky in one thing from what she could gather, the Farseer itself protected her from their sight. But she was convinced in her bones that they would find her, and she didn't want them to find you." He looked up at me," Just in case."

I had finally heard all that my heart could bear. I felt dizzy and had to brace myself on the table.

"She left right then, dissolving her ties with Hadron but leaving you in the only place she could think of where you would be safe. I begged her to let me come with her, bringing you, but she refused to take either of us into danger. She seemed to believe that somehow Hadronsstead would keep you safe. I was angry with her for years, hurt and miserable,' but for whatever reason you are still alive. I have not heard from her since that day. And that is the end of it.

"And so, my lass," he said to me quietly, "that is why I have never spoken. I had to keep my word to Hadron, and since his death I have been waiting for the right time. That is who you are, to the limit of my knowledge, and that is the Jamie you saw last night. I feared I could not call on him, he has been so long silent; but when I saw you threatened I welcomed him and his skills." He coughed, then drank his mug dry. I was not surprised. I had not heard as much speech from Jamie in all the years I had known him.

Then he said quietly, one corner of his mouth lifted, "'you know, that big bastard is still wondering how he happened to die last night. He never felt a thing."

And all was right between us. I found myself answering , Jamie's grin, proud now of the skill that had saved our lives. How could I be angry at him who had been father to me when there was no other—who might be my father in very truth? And if death had been his trade he had changed it for another and better, and for my mother's sake. There had always been great love between Jamie and me; now it was closer and stronger than ever, and included my lost mother as well. I felt years older and shamed at my harsh child's judgement of him.

"Jamie, I—"

"Now, then, my little Lanen. All's well." He smiled, the smile he kept for me alone. "I’m the better for having told you. I should have done it ages ago."

'I haven't been anyone's little Lanen for ten years," I said, returning his smile. I had been well taller than Jamie since I was twelve.

"Ah, my girl, now there you’re wrong. My little Lanen you'll always be." He took my hand for a moment across the table. "And now, my little one, it is your turn."

"For what?" I asked, genuinely confused. "You've known me forever, what could I possibly tell you?"

"I can't imagine," he said lightly. "You woke me the day we left to sign a contract it wasn't light enough to read, you're carrying silver enough for two months, and all this journey long you've said not a word about it. What could I possibly be wondering about?"

I grinned at him. "I can't imagine. Now I'm concerned about that little bay mare, she seems to be limping on the near fore—"

He leaned over and swiped at the top of my head. "Terrible child" he said affectionately. "Your turn. I'm dry as the Southern Desert. Enough of chélan, I want ale. Ale!" he yelled, and the girl scurried over with a jug. "Now," he said, "talk to me while I drink, my girl: Since you turned five I've known you would give your right arm to leave Hadronsstead—why now, so long after Hadron's death? Why did you not leave at once? What has brought you to it at last?"

I told him of Walther' s absurd proposal in as few words as I could, but even so we were laughing heartily by the time I was done. "Ah, young Walther, he's not so bad a fellow, just a bit slow in everything bar horses." .

"I wish the horses joy of him. I swear, Jamie, if you had seen his face—well, I hope he and Alisonde are happy and have the decency to keep out of your way."

"I won't mind them. I shall see her and think of you well away with a calm heart. But I must know for my own peace where it is you are going."

"I'm not sure myself. Away, mostly. There is a lot of Kolmar to see."

He narrowed his eyes. "Don't try that with me, Lanen Maransdatter, I know you too well. Come tell me, where are you going and what do you seek? You and I are all the family we have left now, unless it be Maran's mother or her brothers and sisters. I will follow behind you the rest of your days rather than let you go with no idea of where you are bound, or why."

Maran's mother, or her brothers and sisters. My grandmother, my aunts and uncles. I swore rapidly to myself in the silence of my soul that I would go one day to the village of Beskin and find that family I had never seen.

I liked the sound of "Maransdatter."

But for now—I took a deep breath and told Jamie the deep desire of my heart, speaking it aloud for the first time.

"I seek the Dragons, Jamie. True Dragons, on the Dragon Isle itself. I have dreamt of them since I was a child, since I heard that bard sing the Song of the Winged Ones, and I have longed for them beyond all reason. I heard them in the silence that night, you know, heard their wings and a melody beyond hearing; and I have heard them in my dreams all these years since."

"And what makes you think there will be a ship sailing, when so many have been lost? And what makes you think that you will survive where so many have died?" he asked solemnly. He shook his head, sadness in his eyes, but smiling at me as he always did when he knew I would have my will no matter what. "And what will you do when you find them, Lanen Kaelar?" he asked in a low voice.

"What? What did you call me?" I asked, shocked. How should he know that name I had chosen for myself?

He smiled, speaking very softly. "That was the true name your mother gave you. Lanen Kaelar, Lanen the Wanderer. I often wonder if she had the Clear-sight to go with the Farseer. It would explain a lot. I would swear she knew you would go adventuring as she did. Certainly she knew you would be a dauntless soul, you had no fear even as a tiny child. But come, answer me. What will you do when you find these Dragons that call to you so?"

"Talk with them, Jamie. Talk with them, learn the thoughts of those great minds that live, a thousand years and more. Surely that is not impossible." I let him see my excitement, strong now with knowledge of my past, creating my future as I spoke. I had never dared say these things aloud, and the very sound of the words fired my heart. "I cannot believe that we two races should never meet. Why then can we both speak and reason? If there were but two people in all the world, would they not seek each other out? For companionship if naught else. I will find them, Jamie. Somehow, I will find them, and I will speak with them if I must risk my life to do so."

He was silent. I found I feared his disapproval as I had never feared anything else.

"I am not mad, Jamie, unless I have been mad my life long."

"I do not fear for your mind, my girl." He gazed into my eyes, the love of long years clear and strong. "But I wish with all my soul you did not have to risk your life on anything. Still, you are your mother's daughter. If you have this dream before your eyes, I know well that no power in the world may stop it." He smiled. "Just remember that Walther is not all that remains in Hadronsstead. I will be there still, waiting to hear the tales of your adventures."

He yawned, stretched and stood. "But for now I'm off to bed. We'll have a long day of it, tomorrow. We're still three days away from Illara."

It was still early evening, but I too was exhausted. I wanted to say something to Jamie, but I had no words. What could I have said? I embraced him, bussed him on the cheek and bade him sleep well. I glanced at the couple in the corner, who had long ago stopped talking and now lay with their heads on their table, snoring gently. I smiled and went to my bed. I slept like a rock.

We set off early the next morning. The rain was still dropping showers on us as, it passed, but at last we managed to dry out a little in between. By late afternoon the sky had cleared for good, and by the time we stopped—we rode only until sundown—the ground was mercifully dry. We camped at the border between a wheat field and a small wood.

The next morning I woke to a clear, crisp autumn dawn. Around me the kingdom of Ilsa gleamed, cold, rainwashed and wondrous with the dance of red and yellow leaves left on the tree boughs and the soft murmur of the late, deep golden wheat swaying in the wind. I stood still and let the land fill my senses, birdsong and leaf-whisper, sharp scent of tire and spicy smell of dying leaves, touch of wind on my face and taste of autumn on my tongue.

I shall never forget that morning. I woke for the first time with knowledge of my mother, with a sense of my own past and my own self; and with the knowledge that Jamie, friend and more than father, who had always been for me the love of family, bore within him the life and soul of a paid killer. I also knew what it had cost him and that both sides together made the truth of him. It was frightening, this new clarity of vision: but I felt free at last to know darkness as the other side of light, and that both were needed for sight.

And with that thought—it was almost as though I felt it in truth—the shackles of my old imprisoned self fell away at last. No more did I long for a warm bed behind safe walls. My heart drank in the beauty and wonder and danger of the world, and I saw for the first time that life was not something to survive, but something—the only thing—to be savoured in all its diversity. Light and dark together, mingled in all things, giving depth and substance where either alone was a pale shadow. I felt from that moment I might begin to find all things new.

I never lived in Ilsa again, but I never forgot that journey, the first of my long life of wandering. Forever after, the kingdom of Ilsa was to me the colours of autumn bright as sun after rain, and the sound of wind in the grass.

IV THE GREAT FAIR AT ILLARA

"That's the one, the White Horse Inn," said Jamie. "Hadron always liked it. And keep to your plan! Believe me, during the fair the hostellers in Illara see single women as a losing proposition. He'll give you the worst hole in the place if he thinks you're alone. I’ll get the lads and the horses settled at the fairground and arrange a cot for myself out there."

"Are you sure you won't stay here with me?"

He grinned. "And miss out on all the inside dealing at the grounds? Not even for you."

"Good luck to you then, because it's been forever since I've bathed and I'd kill for hot water. I'll meet you here for supper."

I watched Jamie and the lads ride off with the horses, who despite constant attention looked as much the worse for wear as I suspected I did. It was evil of me to leave the men with all that work, but we all knew the horses would be the better for my being gone. I was thrilled at being in Illara at last, and the last thing the poor creatures needed in this strange place was the smell of my excitement.

I turned towards the inn. Losing proposition, eh? Just in case, I had changed my filthy leggings for the only skirt I had brought. After l found Shadow a place in the stables I went around front. Now for it.

I took a deep breath for courage and went in. Coming in from brilliant sunshine in the late afternoon was like walking into a cave.

I don't like caves.

"Yes, milady? Come in, come in, what might I be doin' for your ladyship?"

Well, he sounded a little greasy, but not so bad as I had feared. I had never been "milady'd" before.

By now my eyes were becoming used to the gloom. The innkeeper was some way shorter than I, but made up for it sideways. (Surely there is somewhere a place where innkeepers are made; they seem all cut from the same cloth.)

"I need a room for the night and an evening meal for two," I said quietly.

"Certainly, milady." His smile made me long for clean water. "Though I fear I'm near full up for the fair. I've only the one room left and it's the finest I have. I couldn't take less than a silver piece for it."

A silver was worth twelve coppers, or the hire of a man for six days. It was robbery.

I fought the impulse to accept it simply because I could afford it this once. "A silver for the week? That's fair," I said innocently.

The man laughed. Ugh. "Oh, no, milady. A silver for the night."

"A silver for two nights, with breakfast and supper for two thrown in," I said. "Or if that doesn't suit, I am certain there are other inns in the town."

It was twice what he could expect to get for any room he might have and he knew it. "Very well, milady. As you say." He oiled in front of me, leading the way. "It's lovely, truly it is, well lit and airy and plenty of room for you both. And it has a balcony as overlooks the river, you couldn't ask for better."

I could not suppress my smile entirely. "I'm sure it’ll be fine. Send up a bath as well, please, with enough hot water for two."

"Yes, milady. And supper will be ready when you come down for it. My cook's a good hand with a stew, and the bread's fresh this morning, you'll be well pleased. Now if you'll follow me, it's just up this way."

He led me up a narrow stair and round a corner. "There you are, big and light like I told you," he said, opening the door for me. "You'll have come for the fair, I don't doubt. Have you travelled far?"

"Yes," I said, looking round. The room was indeed light and airy, the ceiling allowed me to stand upright, and the bed, thank the Lady, looked long enough so that for once my feet wouldn't hang over the edge if I stretched out.

"I suppose your man will be getting the horses stabled?" said the innkeeper. It was mere pleasantry.

Right.

"I took my horse to your stables before I came in. Your groom seems able enough."

The innkeeper frowned. "Then where—your pardon, milady, but where is your husband?"

"I don't have one," I replied. When he started to protest I cut him off. "I never said I did. You saddled me with him when I came in." I was far too pleased with myself as I watched the innkeeper's jaw drop. "I have been travelling for two solid weeks, to answer your question, and I will need enough hot water for two baths, one for me and one for my clothing. I have arranged to meet a friend here for supper, and now he can join me for breakfast as well. You are very kind."

He opened his mouth to object, so I kept talking." And no, I won't move out of this room for some closet under the eaves. I like it here and my silver is as good as anyone else's. Now send up my bathwater and a bottle of your best wine. I'll be down later."

Before he could speak (or think) I had shoved him out the door and latched it.

I waited until I heard him go cursing down the stair before I laughed. Two days before, when we stayed in a village inn, I had been polite and found myself in a room I couldn't stand up in because the landlord discovered I travelled alone. This was a vast improvement. It was clean and well warmed by the sun, and there was indeed a tiny balcony with enough room for the little chair that sat by the bed. If I could make my peace with the innkeeper I thought I might stay here while I decided what to do with my new freedom.

Just then my bath arrived, a big caulked wooden tub with six large buckets of steaming water. I filled the tub with three of them and followed them in, lowering my aching body into the hot water with a deep sigh of relief. I lay back, legs hooked over the edge of the tub, letting the heat soak through to my poor mistreated bones and breathing in the steam like rarest perfume. That was the worst of travelling, I thought as I lay back—you so rarely got a chance to bathe. Smelling like a horse is fine for a while, but I hadn't bathed in hot water for nearly a week. I was sick of horse.

By the time I was clean and dry and the worst of the muck washed out of my clothing, the sun had set. I dressed in the spare linen shirt and clean leggings that I had been hoarding and realised with some surprise that much of my feeling of pleasure and well-being came from the simple fact of being clean again at last.

I took up the bottle of wine and the rough cup that had arrived with my bath and settled into the tiny chair I had moved onto the balcony. Spread there before me lay Illara at the edge of night. The light of the new-risen moon covered the city like a potter's blue-white glaze, broken only by the shimmer of silver where moonlight caught the river Arlen as it flowed on its way to join the Kai. And in nearly every window there was a light, like a skyful of stars come to rest. I smiled, filled with a quiet delight. I had dreamed of this for so long, dreamed of what it would be like to be in a city. I had never imagined there would be so many lights.

The first stars gleamed at me as I stretched out in my chair; long legs, long body, broad back and strong arms. Jamie had always told me that I looked well enough, but the glass told me clearly I was not beautiful. Still, if I truly was like Maran—so alive, that was what you saw, the others were as candles to the sun—yes, I could live with that. I was proud of my hair at least. Loosed now from its braid it lay draped about me to dry. It was the colour of late autumn wheat, thick and full, and when it was clean it fell to my waist like a waterfall of dark gold. And I had my mother's northern eyes, grey like the northern skies. .

It was growing cold, I knew I should go inside, but the colours of the clear night were so lovely. I had not known such peace for a long time. I sat back and let myself be filled with moonrise over Illara. It was my first night in a city, and I was making a memory. By noon tomorrow I would have my third-share of the profits and be free to stay here or go where I chose.

The thought still seemed a little unreal. The heavy purse at my side, the carefully packed saddlebags with their hidden silver, made me into another person. No longer the sharp, neglected mistress of Hadronsstead, old before my time, a poor tired farmwife with no husband. I would miss Jamie—now more than ever—but from the moment he left, I would be my own woman, and I had all of Kolmar to discover in truth rather than in dreams.

I sipped my wine. Such a pleasure to be clean and dry, with the prospect of a real bed to sleep in again! I could stay here another few days, enjoy the fair, then off to—where? I wasn't sure I had decided yet. With all of Kolmar before me, the choices seemed endless.

I grinned then as I realised what I was doing. "I wouldn't have thought it of you, my girl," I said aloud. "Waiting still? Seeing all the rest of Kolmar while you wait for your dream yet a little longer? Idiot." I stood, leaning over the railing of the balcony, my heart beating faster, still speaking aloud to myself. "No more. I will wait no longer. If I am truly to be Lanen Kaelar then I must go where my heart leads. It is but the turn of the season. If by some miracle there is a sailing this year for the Dragon Isle the ships won't be setting out for some weeks yet. I can get to Corli soon enough. Surely by the time they sail."

My gut tightened at the idea. There really was no reason to wait any longer. I could leave the moment the fair was over indeed, as soon as the horses were sold—and get to Corli in time to find out if any Merchant was daring or desperate enough to send a ship to brave the passage of the Storms. Corli, whence the bold or the foolish were wont to board ships bound for the Dragon Isle, once in every ten years when the Storms abated enough to allow passage.

I knew perfectly well that this was the one year in ten, but we had heard no rumours of such a venture being mounted. Still, better chance of finding out here in Illara than wandering through the Ilsan countryside!

I started to laugh, for sheer gladness and for the delicious fear that stirred my blood. I could not be still, I had to do something—so I started to dance. Nothing graceful, believe me. I broke into a kind of leaping dance, of the sort done by the people of the Méar Hills before they went to war; a traveller at Hadronsstead had taught it to me to pay for his supper. It involved sharp movements and leaping into the air and loud beating of the feet on the floor, and it was just what I needed. I started to sing the song that went with it when I heard (barely) a loud knocking at the door.

"What is it?" I yelled, striding towards the door.

A high, frightened voice answered, "The Master says will I please tell the lady to shut up, and that supper is ready in the common"—here I threw open the door — "room downstairs," finished the little maid with a gulp. She was a tiny thing, and from the look on her face the Master hadn't told her quite how large I was. Poor child.

I smiled at her. "Thank you, lass," I said kindly. "I’ll be down soon. And dear, the next time your master sends you to tell a guest to shut up, try to soften the blow a bit. Telling someone that another guest needs sleep is good, or that there are rules about only singing in the common room. It makes it seem less rude."

"Y—y—yes, milady," said the girl. She curtseyed hurriedly, turned and rushed down the stair as if her life depended on it.

I laughed as I closed the door and began to put myself back together. Poor thing, she looked terrified. I caught sight of myself in the glass and laughed harder. My drying hair was flung in all directions, my eyes gleamed still with my excitement—I looked positively wild. I forced a comb through my hair again, braided it, and belted my shirt about my waist. The wine had been lovely but the thought of food made my mouth water. Jamie and I hadn't taken a noon meal in our hurry to get to Illara, and breakfast was a dim memory of old hard bread and older cheese.

I was halfway Clown the stair before I remembered. I returned to my room and slipped the slim, sheathed blade into the top of my boot. I knew Jamie would look for it.

I hurried downstairs towards the smell of stew and ale.

When I reached the common room, Jamie was waiting for me at a table on the far side of the fire. "Is this place to your liking, my girl?" he asked as he signalled to the innkeeper.

"It's lovely, Jamie. Are you sure you won't change your mind? I hate to think of you sharing a barn with the horses when I’m lying in such luxury."

Jamie grinned, the creases in his face deepening. I smiled with him, when of a sudden I had a sense of ending upon me; It was unexpected and unwanted, as I felt for the first time a new aspect of what I was doing. I stared at Jamie with the eyes of memory, treasuring this moment. Hadronsstead I had left with joy, Illara held no regrets—but it would be hard, hard to leave Jamie behind. He was the last of my old life, and the best; even before our journey he had been the dearest soul alive to me. Now... I shook myself to hear what he was saying.

"—and if I'm not there, I'll have no measure of what the other stock are going for."

"Ah, well. I'm sure you know best," I said quietly.

He drew breath and I knew he was going to ask what was troubling me; I could not bear that, not just then. I forced myself to smile and mean it. "Oh, and it worked beautifully. The innkeeper never knew what hit him, he was out the door almost before he had time to abject. I've the best room in the house, it's—oh, hello," I said pleasantly, as the man himself arrived with two tankards of ale and a jug.

"The girl will bring yer supper, let her know if you need aught else," he grumped, and left.

I leaned towards Jamie. "Do you know, I don't think he likes me."

Jamie grinned.

Our supper arrived moments later, and the same girl brought it as had fetched me. I smiled at her. "I'm not half so frightening sitting down, am I, lass?"

She smiled back, and with the confidence of her age replied, "No, missus, that you're not. And I hope ye won't mind, but I much prefer ye down and quiet to up and singing."

I had to hit Jamie to get him to stop laughing.

As we ate we spoke of selling the horses. Jamie told me some of the tricks of the fair, where best to take the horses to be seen by the wealthiest buyers, what time to catch the people there, how to drive a hard bargain. "Best leave that to me, for the first few anyway."

"Jamie, I may not have travelled much, but I've been bargaining in the village since I was eight!"

"Illara is no village. There are traders here could sell infant's clothes to a crane. For the first two, at least, watch me. Then we'll split up and do the best we can. Deal?" he asked, holding out his hand.

I lifted my palm to my face, country fashion, to spit in it, but he caught my wrist. "The first rule of barter in Illara is not to spit in your hand. The townsfolk think it a terrible insult."

"Do they still shake hands?" I asked. "Aye, but just as they are. Deal?"

"Deal," I replied, extending my hand. I noticed that Jamie shook it twice instead of once. Another wrinkle. Another difference to learn, another culture to be part of. Excitement shivered through me again. How wondrous, to be in lllara at last, with Corli before me and all my life beyond.

As if he read my mind, Jamie asked, "Will you be leaving soon after the fair?"

"I think so," I replied, confused by the wildly differing emotions coursing through me. My dreams lay bright before me in the glow of a fireplace I had never known, but the firelight gleamed as well on the face of the one person I loved. This was our last night together, who had never been sundered longer than the month of the fair. And he of all men would know just how I felt. "I'm going to do it, Jamie. I'm going to the Dragon Isle, if it can be done. I’ll seek word of a ship down by the river tomorrow, see if the rivermen know of anyone daring the journey this year. In any case I will be setting off for Corli as soon as I can. Do you know how long the journey is? I never thought to ask."

He looked at me, measuring again, and said quietly, "It's the best part of two months to Corli if you set out overland. The roads weren't good the last time I took them, and I don't expect in these days the old King has done aught about them. I've heard no rumour of strife between the lesser nobles on our travels, which bodes well; they aren't generally inclined to start anything loud and unpleasant with winter coming on. Still, the best and safest roads run by the rivers. If you go that way and ride easy, it's three weeks to Kaibar where the rivers meet and a little more again to Corli after."

Nearly two months! "Is there no faster way, Jamie? The year’s getting old. If they're going at all I might have four or five weeks at best before they leave. Surely it’s not so far—"

"Trust me. And if it rains it will seem twice that, and it will rain." He shook his head, a wry smile on his face. "It must be inherited, your mother had no more sense than to set out just before winter either. But there is another way." He was silent for a moment. "You could go by riverboat in half the time. You'd have to leave your mare, though."

"Leave Shadow?" I asked, but knew the answer as soon as I said it.

"Or sell her," replied Jamie. "If you're going to take the ship you'd have to sell her in Corli anyway, or find a boarding stable for her until you get back."

I hadn't thought that far ahead. That worried me.

But I couldn't sell Shadow. She was a last link with my past; and somehow I couldn't bear to part with her.

"Jamie—will you take her back with you? She can carry your pack, and" —Jamie was smiling— "oh, very well. I can't bear to think of her here in Illara when she belongs at home. I’ll come and get her when I get back and I’ll tell you all about my adventures. Deal?" I put out my hand.

Jamie took it; I shook twice and let go.

He laughed. "You'll do fine, my girl. Keep your wits this sharp and none can stand against you." He drained his tankard and stood up, yawning. "I'm off. We've an early start tomorrow. Mind you come well before dawn to help us groom the horses for the sale." I nodded. He leaned over and kissed my brow. "Good night to you then, Lanen Kaelar."

I grinned up at him. "Good night, you old bandit."

"Less of the old," he said, miming a blow to my head. I ducked obediently under it as he went out the door.

I sat quietly and finished my drink, staring into the tire. I never heard a thing until a voice behind me said, "Good even, lady. I see your companion has left, as has mine. I hate to drink alone. Might I join you?"

That voice.

It was the most thrilling sound in the world. That voice belonged to the man of my dreams—of any woman's dreams—light and in the middle range, so musical it might have been singing the words, but with a slight drawl that spoke promise of slow nights of pleasure. I could not have ignored it to save my soul.

I turned in a daze. Before me stood a tall thin man with fair golden-red hair, eyes the green of spring grass and a nose like a fine hawk. He was fair enough to look at, but nothing could possibly match that voice.

"Of course," I answered, trying to keep my own voice steady. "Please—" I gestured the chair across from mine.

He sat down beside me, his movements graceful as a cat.

"I thank you, lady. Let me refresh your drink." He gestured to the innkeeper. "Are you here for the fair?" he asked, and smiled.

"Y—yes, yes, I've brought horses. To sell. Tomorrow." I stammered. I had been wrong. There was something that could match that voice, and it was his smile. It changed his nice enough face to one of startling beauty and appeal. I was smitten like the greenest girl. I closed my eyes and tried to get my thoughts together. "My friend and I sell Hadron's horses tomorrow," I said, managing not to sound like a village idiot. But I couldn't keep my eyes closed, not with that face so close.

"Hadron's horses? Ah, my luck is still with me. I am seeking a mare for... light riding. Have yon any suggestions?"

I gathered my thoughts this time before I spoke.

"There's a little chestnut with a lovely smooth pace. She's really a lady's mare, though, not strong enough for you."

He smiled again. "Ah, but she would be for a lady. Now," he said, leaning on his elbow, his face so close to mine we were almost touching. "What sort of a bargain might I strike with you?"

I nearly fainted. It was all I could do not to lean over—such a little way!—and kiss him then and there. His voice transformed all his words into purest seduction, no matter their real import. My heart was pounding. I forced myself to look away from those laughing grass-green eyes.

It was hard to deny him anything, even my own glance, but somehow that made it easier to think.

"I'm sorry, sir, but you will have to come to the fair like all the others. Though I will let you know which is the mare I'm thinking of." I turned back to him. He was sitting upright again in his chair, removed to a safe distance (thank the Lady!). Though if the opportunity arose again I didn't think I would have the strength to resist.

It struck me suddenly, despite the thrill of the encounter, that I was feeling and thinking things that had never occurred to me before—at least, not so swiftly. It frightened me. I stood, heart pounding.

"Your pardon, sir, but I have been awake since well before dawn and must rise earlier still in the morning. I hope to see you tomorrow at the fair."

"Then I shall bid you good night, lady, for I will certainly see you tomorrow," he said, his voice a gentle purr. He took my hand in his and kissed it.

I felt that kiss shoot along my nerves like raw lightning. I gasped with the power of it. He smiled that glorious smile at me, his eyes alight with good humour and laughter. It took all my strength to pull away and hurry up the stair; I felt his eyes follow me all the way.

For the first time since I left Hadronsstead, I did not dream of Dragons.

The horse grounds were busy when I arrived, an hour before dawn. I found Jamie and the lads already at work and, muttering a subdued "Good morning," took up a curry comb and got to it. By the time we finished the sun was well up and there were a good few folk about. Ours were not the only beasts for sale, of course, but once people heard these were Hadron's horses they crowded round, asking us all questions, admiring the horses, watching as the hands took each one for a walk and a little warm-up, showing them off to best advantage. The horses gleamed in the morning light, and the grounds were crowded with buyers and sellers. Jamie left me inside the ring and clambered up on a tall stump near a grassy spot that he had picked as a good place to gather buyers. He winked at me and began crying aloud, "Hadron's horses! Hadron's horses! Now or never, my lords and ladies! Come and buy! Come and buy! Hadron's horses!"

I had to laugh. I had no idea anyone could shout that loud, let alone Jamie. And it worked wonderfully. I decided I had missed more than my childhood longing for travel by not being allowed on one of these trips before; Hadron's was a name to conjure with here. There was a large crowd around us in no time.

"The first to go will be this bay mare, my lords and ladies," said Jamie, only a touch softer than before, to the crowd that had gathered. He gestured, and one of our lads started walking the mare around the ring while Jamie described her and made the most of her good points. He finished with "She's four years old, the best of Hadron's breeding stock, with a sweet mouth and a cheery way about her, and she'll run with a light load well into tomorrow. Now, what am I bid for Hadron's bay mare?"

There was a chorus of voices, and in the end the mare went for twice what I knew she was worth. The next was much the same, and the crowd had grown even larger. "Change of plan, my girl," Jamie said to me quietly. "We'll make our fortune today. I've never seen folk more eager for Hadron's stock." His eyes twinkled. "Perhaps they heard that Hadron had died, and there is no son to carry on his work." I was appalled, and Jamie laughed. "I never said there was no daughter or sister's son. Ifs all part of the game, my girl. Now I'll do the next few, until my voice gives out, then you take over. Mind you let them bid till they're tired and goad them on when they flag. We'll do well today." In his chapman's voice he cried loudly, "Have a good look and choose your favorite. Shame to take second best, my lords and ladies! Hadron's stock, the finest in all of Ilsa, in all the Four Kingdoms of Kolmar! Choose your favorite, my lords and ladies!"

I watched in awe as the next two went for the same kind of sum the first two had. Amazed at Hadron's riches? Amazed now that he was not more wealthy, the prices were incredible. When the fourth went, Jamie called me to him. "I'm getting hoarse," he said, getting a laugh from those closest. "Your go. Do me proud." He sat down and left me to it.

If the crowd had thinned, I couldn't tell the difference. I slood gathering my thoughts, looking out over the people who watched the handsome grey gelding in the ring, and after a short while I found myself scanning the intent faces for a particular one, hawk-nosed, fair-haired… and that's enough of that, Lanen my girl, I thought. I cleared my throat and stepped up onto the stump." Very well, my lords and ladies," I cried, as loudly as I could. It was harder than I thought to make that much noise. "Next is this lovely grey gelding. Four years old, broken to harness and saddle, what am I bid?"

In deference to the change of auctioneer, someone shouted a ridiculously low figure and the others laughed.

Right.

"That'll get you his left foreleg, sir, what'll you bid for the rest of him?" The laugh was louder this time—the one who had spoken joined in—and the real bidding started.

After half an hour my voice was starting to go. Jamie and I took it in turns, until by the time we were down to the last it was my go, and Jamie's purse was full near to bursting. Most astonishing of all, it now held not only a river of silver, but several gold coins as well. Gold, the rarest and most precious of metals, and I had held one. It seemed unreal.

Jamie grinned at me. "I’m off to put this somewhere safe. You sell this last little lass and collect the fee, and I'll be back before you can count it."

The last to go was the little chestnut mare I had told the fair-haired man about. I had saved her for him. I scanned the remaining faces. Many had left, but when I glanced over them he was nowhere in sight. I gestured to the lad who was walking her sedately around the ring, and he brought her to a stand , still. "This is the last, my lords and ladies," I said. I tried to speak loudly, but my voice was almost gone. I described her qualities as best I could, finishing with "She's three and a, half years old, strong and willing, the prettiest lady's mare you'd wish to find. The lightest touch will send her where you want to go, and kindness is her best spur. Now, what am I bid?"

The bidding started high, as those who were left knew this was the last of Hadron's stock to be sold. It reached its limit soon enough, and I was about to announce the bargain struck when a light, melodious man's voice rang out, sending shivers down my back and naming a price full five silvers above the last call. It met with a stunned silence, and after repeating the sum three times, I called out, "Deal! Come forward, sir, if you please."

The crowd dissolved like morning mist, and there he stood.

He was smiling that heart-pounding smile and holding out a purse. By the time I had counted out his silver—a ludicrous sum for the mare, good as she was—all the other buyers were gone. The lad brought her over and tied her to a post on the buyer's side of the ring, then left to enjoy himself.

I had been trying to think of something to say to this man after I was certain he'd paid the bidding price, counting slowly to let my fool heart slow down and my tongue unknot.

"You've quite a bargain even at this, my lord," I managed, giving the little mare a farewell pat and carefully not looking at him. "She's a good lass with a sweet temper—"

"You can stop now," he said cheerfully, "I've already paid for her." He reached out a long-fingered hand and took the reins from me. "I'm sure she'll be fine."

I couldn't avoid looking at him, so close. By daylight he seemed older—the sun found wrinkles the firelight had hidden—but the glamour about him was in no way changed or lessened. Indeed, it seemed that a touch of age sat well on his shoulders, adding an air of wisdom. His eyes perched above that sharp nose seemed only a moment away from laughter. I had to ask.

"Are you a bard, my lord?"

He did laugh then. It was like birdsong. "What a lovely thing to say! No, mistress, I'm no bard, just a Merchant with delusions of grandeur. I was told to find a good lady's riding steed, and I believe this mare of yours will suit perfectly."

I barely heard what he said, lost in the perilous, music of his voice. "I'm glad you found what you sought. I—I never thanked you for the drink last night," I said. "And I fear I left rudely. I hope you will excuse me, I was so weary..."

"Rather I should ask your pardon, mistress—I know not what to call you. Might I ask your name?"

"I am Lanen Hadronsdatter," I said. It was my old name, but in my confusion I forgot the newer one I had taken. "And you?"

"Bors of Trissen," he said. "I am a lowly trader for a great marchant house in the East Mountain Kingdom. Surely, Lanen Hadronsdatter, the youth that abandoned us just now is not your only escort. Who accompanies you?"

"My father's steward, Jameth of Arinoc. He should be back at any moment."

"I would like to meet him," said Bors, sounding as if he truly meant it. He smiled at me again, "Have you ever been yo Illara before, Lanen?"

"No," I said, and something made me add, "I've never been away from home before."

"Ah, so that is why you take everything in with those wide grey eyes of yours. It would be my pleasure to show you the fair," said Bors. I longed to say yes, but hunger and weariness had caught up with me; I would have accepted even then, but I caught sight of Jamie coming towards me and waved to him. Bors, watching, quickly collected up his little mare. "I’ll be wandering round the fair this afternoon; perhaps we will meet then," he said softly. He made a simple walk round the fair sound wondrous desirable.

Jamie came up just then and asked if I was ready to eat. By the time I had turned round again Bors was gone.

Jamie and I walked in silence for a few minutes, heading back to the White Horse. Then I shot a sideways glance at Jamie and found him looking at me from the corner of his eye. We laughed and that thrilling fear I had felt around Bors was gone.

"So, my girl. I hardly saw him. Why did he run off, and why did you blush when I looked at you?" asked Jamie with a grin.

"His name is Bors of Trissen. He's staying at the White Horse, and I seem to spend all my time around him blushing."

Jamie smiled still, but he looked puzzled. "That's not like you, Lanen. You, turning red around a man? I thought you were over that years ago."

"So did I," I said. "But did you hear his voice?"

"Barely. A bit high for a man, I thought."

"Oh, Jamie, how can you say that! It's the most beautiful voice in the world, I've never heard such music, even from the bard who stayed at Hadronsstead all those years ago."

Jamie said nothing to that, but changed the subject to the price we had gotten for the horses. It wasn't until we had eaten and polished off a mug of ale that he brought up the subject again.

"And so, Lanen, where did you meet this Bors of Trissen?"

"He joined me at the table last night after you left." I shivered with the memory. "I've never even imagined a man like that. Every time I see him my heart races and my face turns red. I've never blushed and stuttered around anyone! I swear, Jamie, I feel a complete idiot when he's about. Mind you, he is the most attractive man I've ever met, and that voice, that smile—"

"What?" Jamie seemed startled—or troubled. "Don't you think he's handsome?"

He didn't reply to my question. "Lanen, would you say he had a glamour about him?"

"Absolutely."

Jamie's voice grew hard. "Now would you think about what you just said."

I did and got no further. "What do you mean?"

He muttered a few mild curses and looked up at me with a dark frown. "I wonder if I shouldn't tie you up and drag you back to Hadronsstead for a year while I teach you a few things." I returned his glance steadily. He sighed. "No one has ever told you about amulets, have they? No, I haven't and it’s damn sure no one else would." He shifted in his seat to race me directly. "Lanen, you know of the minor demonlords, don't you? Sorcerers, demon callers?"

I nodded.

"Well, aside from meddling with more dangerous things, I had often sell magical abjects made with the aid of minor demons, to keep them in the materials they need for their damnable work. The most popular are amulets of Glamour. Their single object is to make the wearer irresistible to the opposite sex, and they work beautifully for that—but to those of the same sex the wearer is not changed at all." Jamie took my hand. "My girl, you know there, is none would be more pleased than I to see you happy with a man. But this Bors, if that’s his name—I only caught a glimpse of him, but from what I could tell he's no more handsome than I am, and he looks nearer my age than yours. Now tell me, if you can: did he seem to have a glow about him?"

"Yes, he did," I said: As I spoke I could see it, a faint outline of light around him: I didn't remember noticing it, but the memory was there.

And suddenly I was furious. Acting like an idiot child from the nearness of an attractive man was silly but no harm to any. Being made to do so was base deception and it made my blood boil.

Especially because I was deeply smitten with him. Damnit. Jamie finished his drink and stood. "Right, then, my girl. Let's go."

He surprised me out of some of my anger. Usually when I was in this state he just let me stew. "Where?"

"Down to the river." I stared at him. "Or do you not want to learn when the boats set out for Corli?" he asked.

My laugh surprised him. "I thought you were going to help me find Bors and pitch him in!"

Jamie smiled, a gleam in his eye, "That's an idea whose time has come, sure enough, but I don't think he's worth the effort."

I laughed again. "True enough. To the river it is!" We strode out of the inn and down the street, laughing as we went.

It didn't take us long to find the riverboats. We still heard no word of a sailing from Corli, but several of the captains said ward would never come so far north in any case, and we'd just have to go to Corli herself to find out. When I asked about transport, I found that most of them moved goods rather than people, but Jamie and I did find one that was taking passengers all the way to the harbour at Corli. The owner and captain of the riverboat Maid of Ilsa was a young man named Joss. He agreed to take me, but where most were waiting until the fair was over some three days hence, he was leaving the next day at sunrise. He said it would take the best part of three weeks, which delighted me—it was less than half the time of overland travel. I paid him and promised to be at the pier well before dawn. .

Before we left, Jamie took him aside and spoke with him. I strongly suspected that Joss was getting an earful of advice regarding my safety and well—being on this journey—at any rate, both he and Jamie seemed content when they parted.

As Jamie and I walked back to the fair, I was surprised that I was not filled with pleasure at the idea of setting out on my journey. Instead, sadness had claimed me; I left on the morrow, and from now the rest of my journey must happen without Jamie. I had thought all this time that being a wanderer on my own meant being alone, and the idea had seemed sweet. Now I saw with eyes grown older by two weeks of travelling with one I loved. It felt like years. I would miss him terribly.

As we drew nigh to the inn, Jamie said quietly, "Well, my girl, you're off at last." A smile touched his face. "At least you've the sense not to head into the mountains at this time of year: I’ve done that much good at least."

The sadness in his voice was hard to bear.

"Now mind yourself in Corli, my girl. The docks are rough, and they're not above cutting a purse in the streets in broad daylight anywhere in the city, though they usually stop short of a throat before dark. Corli is far larger than Illara, and that much more dangerous." He stopped, took my shoulders in his hands and stared into my eyes. "Are you still determined to do this alone, Lanen? Could I not come with you, as far as Corli? I could tell the lads to take the silver back, they're trustworthy, I'm sure that riverman has another berth for the trip—"

I had dreaded this moment, but only truth would do between us. "Jamie, I've had this argument with myself ever since we left Hadronsstead." I blinked fast to keep the tears from my eyes. "You know I love you more than anyone alive. You're my only family. But I can't rely on you forever, any more than I could stay at Hadronsstead. If ever I am to live my own life, I must do this alone. I’m sorry."

He closed his eyes and let his arms fall away from my shoulders. "Aye, well. I thought I’d try." He looked up again, his expression echoing my own determination. "Lanen my girl, I hate long goodbyes. If I’m not to go with you I've no more business here, and to be honest I couldn't bear sitting around tonight waiting for you to leave. I'm off back to Hadronsstead tonight. I'll only need long enough to pack."

I stared at him. "But Jamie—"

"Now, don't you do it. You're right, it's best this way. You've the rest of the day to have a look at the fair, be sure you do, it’s an amazing thing." The White Horse' Inn was before us. "I’ll not be five minutes packing, just you off and find the lads and tell them to get themselves ready. You get Shadow ready to go and I'll meet you in the tavern of the White Horse in a few minutes. Now be off with you!"

I left him in a daze. The lads I found all together at a stall selling ale in the horse fair grounds and told them they were leaving. I had expected to find them not best pleased, but they seemed not to feel too hard done by. I brought one of them with me to the White Horse to fetch Shadow, and left him to wait for the others while I talked with Jamie.

He was already in the tavern. We didn't take long to make our few arrangements. I decided that I had too much silver with me already, and sent my share of the profits back with Jamie. I stood by miserably while he had a farewell drink. He managed to chat lightly of the trip back, how it was always so much faster and easier than the trip out; of what he would have to tell Walther, of the new way things would be done now that he was Walther's partner rather than his foreman and more than partner, his overlord, as I have your voice as well as my own, he said with a wicked smile.

"Now, Jamie, don't rub his nose in it," I managed, trying to keep my voice light. "The poor soul is helpless enough as it is."

He grinned at me. "If I didn't know better I’d think you had a soft spot in your heart for him."

"Soft enough to flatten him," I replied. "But I didn't kick him when he was down. Perhaps you're right, I must like him better than I thought."

Jamie finished his drink. "There now, that'll keep me on the road until nightfall. Time I was off." I followed him out into the yard. All three of the lads were there, idly chatting, and holding Shadow and Jamie's Blaze along with their own mounts. Jamie turned to me. "Now, then, my girl, I'll bid you farewell," he said. "Mind what I've taught you. Keep your wits about you, and try not to kill that Bors if he cormes pestering you again."

I laughed, as he knew I would. "I promise I'll only wound him." I reached out to him and he gathered me in his arms and held me close. I was taken with a trembling. "Oh, Jamie," I whispered. He did not speak for a moment, only pulled me to his heart and embraced me with all his strength. "Lanen, daughter, go you safe and keep you safe, and come safe home to me," he whispered, his voice rising at the end as his throat tightened. . .

The smell of him, the feel of his arms around me, love and strength from my earliest childhood—I could not speak.

He loosed me from his embrace and 'mounted his horse. Holding out his hand to me, he drew me to his side and kissed me on my forehead like any father seeing a child off into the world. He held my eyes with his one long moment, then turned Blaze to the west gate out of Illara. He did not look back. The lads followed him, waving cheery goodbyes to me, and I soon lost sight of them among all the others on the road.

I dried my tears on my shirtsleeve. It was a strange feeling, being alone at last. My heart was full of his words and his look, but there seemed to be an empty space all around me where Jamie should be, had always been.

He called me daughter.

No matter that Maran never knew, no matter that we could never be sure—he was my father in every sense that mattered.

I wrapped my arms around myself. Despite the early afternoon sun, there was a chill wind blowing in from the northeast. I took it as a sign from the Lady. I would let the winds blow me south and west, to Corli; if chance and the Lady willed it, to the Dragon Isle, following the wind and my dreams—and when I wearied of wandering, at least now. I would always know where home was.

And Jamie would be there.

He called me daughter.

I let the words sink deep in my heart. I could feel them like a cool drink on a summer's day, spreading through my body, quenching the hot dryness where I held images of a heedless Hadron. Sweet pain, that brought such a feeling.

I smiled. It had been a good parting after all, and the only one that mattered.

I turned back towards the inn, my heart and mind full of time past and time to come, and walked straight into Bors of Trissen.

We had to catch hold of each other to keep from falling. I was glad to find that my heart did not pound as it had before in his presence. Once I had my balance again I shook off his hands.

He was smiling, looking genuinely pleased. "Why, Lady Lanen, here you are! I’ve been looking for you. Won't you come fairing with me?"

I was on the point of swearing at him when I realised I could look at him without being dazzled. I wondered if that was the result of knowing about his amulet.

He laughed. "Dear lady, why so great a frown? I have no dark designs, I only want to show you the fair."

"Why so great a deception?" I growled. "I have no time for liars."

"What do you mean? How did I deceive you?" He looked all innocence.

"You know full well. My friend warned me, for the spell did not affect him."

"Oh, you mean the amulet," he said calmly. "Why, my lady, surely you knew—oh, your pardon! I never thought!" He went down on one knee to me, right there in the street, like a prince (or a player). He looked genuinely penitent. "Lady Lanen, I pray you will pardon this fool. I wore what I had purchased to find if it was what I had paid for. I should have realised you would not know of such things, I know they are rare outside of Corli and Elimar. I beg your pardon most sincerely."

A crowd was beginning to gather. He looked such a fool kneeling there in the road, it was all I could do not to smile at him. An old woman called out, "Take him, lass, or leave him be, but don't leave him there in the dust!" It raised a general laugh. I reached down and drew him to his feet.

There was more laughter and the people dispersed. "You great idiot," I said, losing the battle and grinning at him. "A simple apology would have done." .

"I am truly sorry, Lanen," he said humbly. "I am not wearing it now, you know." He grinned at me. "Though that night in the inn, I must admit I thought it was not working. I had hoped for a kiss at least."

"Be glad you didn't get one," I said. "If I had kissed you because of a spell and found out about it later, I might have—well, I should warn you, I have a vile temper."

Still he smiled. "I may not even hope?" he asked, teasing. I batted at his arm to cover my confusion, not knowing whether to be flattered or insulted. He was still a handsome enough man when he smiled, and his voice at least was no deception. It still had all its power and music, undiminished by the absence of the amulet. With such a natural gift, I thought to myself, he could own the world if he so wished.

"Come then, you deceiver," I said, smiling. "Show this ignorant country girl the fair, and don't forget that you're the one who paid me three times what my mare was worth."

He laughed and took my arm. "And I shall buy you supper on the strength of it as atonement for my fault," he declared. And so we entered the fair.

We spent what was left of the afternoon going round the booths and tents. I had never seen so many things before in one place. It was like a swift glimpse of all the places I dreamt of seeing someday. There were silks in all colours and patterns from Elimar—and many things that claimed to be Elimar silk but weren't (Bors showed me the difference). There was jewelry from the East Mountains, heavy furs from the trappers of the Trollingwood, beautiful boxes and bowls made from· the perfumed woods that grew in the North Kingdom, warm woolens from northern Ilsa. For supper Bors took me to a booth where they sold a spicy soup of fish and roots, a specialty of Corli. It was delicious and I was ravenous. Bors laughed and bought me another bowl. Then in the gathering dusk our eyes were caught by a troop of jugglers passing by, tossing lighted torches in the air and catching them, crying the start of a performance. We followed them to a platform draped with cloth, where the jugglers disappeared and reemerged in costume. We found space on the ground and I watched their play, fascinated. Players never came as far as our village, and everything the bard had said about them was true. I tossed a silver coin in the hat they sent round just before the end and clapped delightedly for them when it was over. Then I looked around and realised that-most of the Merchants were closing their booths.

Bors saw the look on my face. "Was there something you wanted to buy?" he asked. "They are none of them gone home yet, if we pound hard enough on the shutters they'll open-or we can come back in the morning."

"No, it isn't that I wanted anything—but it was such fun to look!" We both laughed. "I can't believe it," I said as we walked slowly back to the White Horse Inn. "So many beautiful things all in one place."

"That's, why I became a Merchant," said Bors. He was trying to keep his voice light, but beneath it I heard a genuine passion. "I have always wanted to have beauty around me to keep such things and make them mine so I could see them whenever I wished. Thought I wonder at you, Lady Lanen. I tell you true, I have never met such a woman. To look all day and buy nothing at all I know perfectly well that you can afford anything you have looked at—I handed you enough of my silver this morning. Could it be that in all the fair you found nothing to please you?"

"I have no need of things, Bors," I replied softly. "I have spent my life surrounded by things and I leave them behind with a good will. I am going to see the world. Having more things means only a larger pack for my back. Since I sent my Shadow home," I added with a smile, "I must bear my own burdens."

He looked up at me, his expression unreadable, that glorious voice uncertain for the first time. "Are you a wizard, then?" he asked, his voice catching ever so slightly .

I burst out laughing. "Shadow is the name of my horse," I sputtered when I could speak. He had been truly frightened! Suddenly I cared nothing for the little deceptions he had practiced on me. Perhaps it was simply the custom of Merchants. I had spent the day talking with a man I had never known, who meant nothing to me and to whom I was only a country lass to be enjoyed as a novelty. I had never done anything of the sort before and I had had a wonderful time. The very distance between us was a comfort.

Do him justice, he laughed as heartily as I. The moon was not yet high, and I could not see his face when he said cheerily, "May you be the only woman in Kolmar who feels no need of my wares, lest my fortune wither! For I seek my fortune as a Merchant, Lanen, though I am but a young one as yet."

"Not so young anymore," I said lightly.

"Ah, sunlight is my enemy," he said, and I could tell he still smiled. "True, I am not so young as a man, though my wealth is such that as a Merchant I am barely out of my infancy. Though I think I have found a way to remedy that."

"To remedy age? Surely only lansip may do that," I said.

"I meant only to remedy my status as a Merchant—but you are right." He was silent for a moment, then said, "I am surprised you know of lansip."

"Even in the north we hear stories. It was lansip that used to send ships to the Dragon Isle, the leaves that preserve life, that restore lost years. But I have often wondered if the tales of their power are no more than legend."

"No, lady, the tales are true," he said, his glorious voice earnest and compelling. "So convinced am I of their truth that I have spent much of my fortune outfitting a ship: If you know so much, you must know that this is the year the Storms lose most of their force. My strongest ship leaves Corli in little more than a month to voyage to that island, to bear home to me wealth beyond imagining and the means of life twice the span of mortal men."

I gasped and grabbed his arms. "Speak you truly, Bors? Your ship leaves for the Dragon Isle this year?"

"I have said so," he said, command almost smug in his voice.

I laughed. I laughed with delight so vast I was almost singing there in the dark street. I covered my mouth with my hands in disbelief, joy brilliant and sparkling all round mr. I could barely see Bors, but I could feel his confused stare even in the dark. It made me laugh more.

"If you find me so ridiculous, I shall bid you goodnight," said Bors in a huff. Instantly I reached out to him.

"No, no, please, don't go, I'm not laughing at you, it's only that I can't believe it. Bors, I have dreamed of going to the Dragon Isle since I was a tiny child. Surely it is more than good fortune that brings us together here."

He took me by the arm and drew me into the light from the windows of the inn. There he studied my face intently, shook his head and said, "I don't see it. Why should you desire wealth or longer life, you who are your own mistress and with al so very young?"

"Not so very young," I said, faintly stung in my turn. "I turn twenty-four at the Autumn Balance day not a fortnight hence. But I do not seek more life or wealth."

"What then could draw you to dare such a voyage? You must know that of the last ten ships gone out not one has returned," said Bors, wondering. "It is almost certain death to ride one of the Harvest ships. I risk my all for the hope of great gain. What do you seek that is worth your life?"

I let the one word speak the volumes I felt.

"Dragons."

It was his turn to burst out laughing, though his merriment was barn not of delight but of ridicule. "Dragons? Why, away north the Trollingwood is full of them. They are small and harmless and stupid, cattle with wings. What could possibly make you risk death for—oh!" He stared at me. "And you laughed at me for seeking lansip. You are mad, you know that. True Dragons are an invention of the bards. And what could you possibly want with one if you found it?"

Thank the Lady I managed to remember that this man was my way onto the ship. I swallowed my pride and replied quietly, "That is my secret. But I must go, and I am delighted beyond words to know that you send a ship this year. Know you how I might join your Harvesters?" I wanted to fall to my knees and beg, offer to cook or clean the privy (if there was one) or wash the floors, anything to get on board. I managed to keep the pleading tone in my voice to a minimum.

"Of course, of course," he answered smoothly, the silk of his voice returned with all its force. "Perhaps we might travel to Corli together? I have business to tend to, but I take to the river in three days' time. There would be time enough to find out more about Illara, and each other. Shall I come fetch you after you break fast? I would be pleased—"

Even his voice couldn't make the offer anything but ridiculous. I laughed aloud, breaking the mood he strove to create, and soon he could do naught but laugh with me. "Ah, Bors, you are tempting, but I cannot. I leave at dawn on the morrow, and I will be glad to deal with you as master of the ship you send once I get to Corli, but you are too much the deceiver for my taste. "

He sounded hurt. "Again you call me deceiver. How have I now deceived you? I told you I have left off my amulet. In what have I—"

"Don't worry, Bots. I don't know why you decided to be a player today, but it doesn't matter." I moved to the front of the inn and stood in the street before the open doorway. I smiled at him in the light that spilled out upon him, leaving me in shadow. "A lowly trader, indeed. How lowly a trader is it who can pay what you did for that mare? And you have sent your strongest ship to Corli, have you? Your strongest of how many? You are master of your own Merchant House, that is clear, and your lady awaits you and my little mare at home. But I have enjoyed this day with you. You have been a true challenge. I have no idea what you might mean when you say anything, so I spend my time trying to hear what you do not say. With practice I might be good at it."

His voice smiled. "Ah, you have caught me, lady. After only a day you know more of me than do many. I may not tell you my true name here—I have many dealings with those in this city, some of whom have never seen me, and I have come expressly to discover if they are treating me honestly. I find I must again throw myself on your mercy—" He stopped, and I could almost hear the thought come to him. "And if it pleases you, let me proffer as recompense that which you have requested, as reward for your discretion. Meet me at the harbour in Corli and I will see to it that you have a berth on my Harvest ship."

So simple. So easy. It couldn't be real.

But I wasn't going to argue. In fact, I could scarcely catch my breath. "It would please me greatly," I managed to whisper.

"Then I am well content," he said. "I shall see you in Corli. Unless you will break fast with me in the morning ere you go?"

"I thank you again, but my boat leaves at dawn and I must be there well before," I replied. "Bors, I bless you from the bottom of my heart, but I am dropping with weariness. It has been a lovely day, but a long one, and I need some sleep at least. I wish you a good night, may your dealings prosper, and I will see you in Corli."

He stared at me for a long moment, as if to fix my face in his mind. "I thank you, lady, for your good wishes and your good company," he said at last. "Goodnight, and farewell." He pulled me to him and kissed me softly. I met him with a good will. His lips were satin, smooth and soft but with more than a hint of the passion beneath. When, I moved to put him off he stepped back and bowed and, smiling, his laughing eyes sharing their private joke with me, he turned and disappeared into the night.

I paid the innkeeper and told him I would need breakfast early, then went slowly up the little stair and into my room. The day had been long as years and I was exhausted. I felt I had done not badly for my first day loose in the world. I undressed in the dark and collapsed onto the bed, but I could not sleep immediately. It had been a pleasant kiss, perhaps more would have been even better…

I turned over determinedly and crushed the pillow to me. "Go to sleep, Lanen you idiot," I thought. "You've to be at the dock before dawn. Then it's off to Corli and ho for the Dragon Isle!" I smiled into my pillow and closed my eyes.

Not a bad day at all.

"By the price that was paid, by the power of blood, in the name of Malior, Lord of the Sixth Hell, I conjure a Messenger here to me. By this sigil ye are bound, by these wards restrained. I am your master. Come now and speak."

I poured the blood I had drawn from my arm over the hot coals on the altar, and in the rank steam there appeared a wizened figure no longer than my forearm. For a moment I was concerned. I hadn't asked Berys how I would know it was a Messenger—but then it opened its mouth. The mouth was half as large as the entire creature, filled with teeth like wicked thorns. When it spoke I started, for it was the voice of Berys himself.

"I trust you have good reason for waking me in the middle night," it—he—rumbled.

"Reason most excellent, Magister Berys. I have found her, the child of Maran Vena, here in Illara. She is the right age to be the child of my body, though I can see no trace of myself in her. For looks she might be the mother come again."

Berys's voice sounded much more awake this time. "What have you learned? Does the mother live, or does she herself have the Farseer?"

I laughed. "I had not long converse with her, Berys. There was no need. The young idiot seeks the True Dragons with all her heart, she is headed for Corli on her own. She even thanked me for agreeing to take her on as a Harvester! Now I need not lose sight of her while I am gone, and when we return we will learn what we need to know, and this eternal pain of mine will end."

"Is she your child, Marik?"

"I have no idea, Berys, but I will find out once we are on the island."

"And if she is not?"

"It is well known, is it not, that Dragons are vicious killers?

Simple enough, once we are there. In the meantime I begin to learn some of the joy of the cat with a mouse between its paws. There is no question that the mouse will die, but there is a certain contentment to be gained from playing with it."

"Indeed," replied Berys, his voice now calm, "but this could have waited for morning. Again I ask you, Marik, why am I wakened thus?"

"Reason enough. From the records I have found here, along with old seamen's tales and those I heard in Elimar, I cannot but begin to believe in the True Dragons. I am hoping that the legends of their gold are equally true. The difficulty will be to take what I need and get out alive, if the tales of this Boundary are correct, and if it is true that they can smell Raksha trace on any who have dealt directly with the Rakshasa."

"Ah. This makes things more difficult." Berys was silent a moment. "It is well you woke me. I will need every hour to prepare all for you, if they must have the added virtue of removing all trace of Raksha-scent." Another moment's silence, then, "You must know that this will cost you dear."

"Let all be your best work, Magister," I answered him, laughing, "for when I return I shall pay you in lansip, a king's bounty that no king has seen in over a century."

"Very well. As we agreed, I will provide boots, cloak, amulet and the Ring of Seven Circles. Thus shall you be provided with silence and concealment enow for your task, and a chance of surviving battle should things go ill. As for dragonfire—there are ways. I could prepare an artifact, but there is a simpler method." The demon held silence for a moment, then Berys's voice said, "I shall send Caderan with you. He is well able to provide such protection, and he may serve you in other things as well."

"I thank you. Let him be sent to Corli with the items you have spoken of. You must know, Magister," I said quietly, "that I show you great trust in this. I have no wish to end my days in a watery grave, in company with all the other fools who have attempted this journey. I have only the word of your 'prophet' that I will return alive from the Dragon Isle, with lansip for all my needs and to spare. Should that not come to pass, you should know that I have ensured that proper recompense will be made to you and yours. You understand me I trust."

"Indeed," replied Berys, sounding almost pleased. "But you need not doubt me. I will find many uses for a quarter of your journey's profits. Just remember, Marik. The child of Maran must not be harmed, lest she be your daughter. The bargain was for her whole. I know you would not let so minor a pleasure as she might prove rob you of the cessation of your pain."

"She will be whole; Magister," I replied smoothly. "You look to your side of the bargain, and I shall look to mine. I will speak with you again once we reach the Dragon Isle. Commend me to your masters."

Berys must have released the Rikti from his side, for with a noisome pop the creature that had spoken with his voice suddenly disappeared. I walked away from the darkened summoning chamber, going over and over my plans and preparations for this mad journey. My only crumb of comfort was that Maran's daughter would be on the ship with me, and was every bit as likely to die as I was.

It was small comfort, but better than none.

"I am to go with him, Magister? But he is a lout, a bungler!"

"Then you are more foolish than I thought, Caderan. Do you not know who it is who has arranged for so many of our number to find useful work to do? No, Marik is no fool, though he is not nearly so wise as he believes." The Magister smiled. "For example, he does not know that by completing this first summoning, he has begun a record." The Magister showed me a thick volume bound in a strange, pale leather. The pages were blank except for the very first, which was half-filled with small, neat script. At the top of the page were written the words "By the price that was paid, by the power of blood, in the name of Malior, Lord of the Sixth Hell ..." The very words he had spoken, the tenor of his thoughts between the words.

I turned the page and nearly dropped the book. An invisible hand wrote still. "I must remember to have that damned mare taken to Gundar. She'll make good breeding stock, at least. Now, where did I put that report from ..."

The Magister snatched the book from me. "So you see, my apprentice. I will know all that he seeks to keep hidden from me, and I will know all that happens on this voyage as soon as he thinks it. The book will continue until he steps foot again on this shore. Go, attend him, and remember—I will never be far from you, either."

I bowed humbly, as befitting his status as a great demon master. "I will not forget, Magister. Remember me to our masters."

His laughter as I left was not reassuring.

V RIVERS

I was soon sick of Water.

The first few days on the riverboat had been a novelty, living on the river Arlen, which is the border between Ilsa and the North Kingdom. I was disappointed to discover that the western marches of the North Kingdom looked so very like Ilsa, but as we moved south the land changed at last. It was greener, for one thing, and the air a little warmer, though each morning brought fresh promise of winter's approach. I had enjoyed seeing the land slip by, and the speed of the journey had been all that I could wish.

At first.

I soon learned, however, that the rivers in eastern Ilsa run through the flattest country imaginable, and after more than a week of it I was thoroughly bored. It began to rain on my birthday, only a week out from Illara. Joss, the owner and captain of the Maid of Ilsa, set up a shelter of waxed cloth on the deck so we passengers need not spend all our time below in the dark—but whether we huddled under its slight shelter or sat cramped in the tiny space below, it made little difference. We were all wet and we were all miserable.

The next day there was some excitement, when we left the placid Arlen and joined the turbulent Kai; certainly Joss, silent before for the most part, seemed truly awake for the first time during the journey. He spoke with me and pointed out the many districts of Kaibar, the great trading town that had grown up on the north shore of the Kai and west of the Arlen. When we put in for a few hours to restock, I wandered about Kaibar, exploring, drinking in the new sights and smells like finest southern wine. Since I had brought only light clothing, knowing I would have to find winter garb somewhere along the way, I decided to look in Kaibar for a good heavy cloak.

After much contented rambling I found a tailor's near the water front. He heard my request, took one look at me and disappeared into the back room, emerging in moments with the loveliest cloak I had ever seen. It was dark green, double woven of beaten wool to keep off rain, and it had autumn leaves embroidered around the hood that spilled onto the shoulders. I was delighted. I do not usually care much about clothing, but this caught my fancy; it reminded me of the Méar Hills in autumn. It was even long enough. I am ashamed to admit l barely haggled at all, and walked out wearing it.

I returned to Joss's boat, warm at last and ridiculously pleased with myself. It was a pleasure I would need, for the next fortnight stretched endless before me. Now we were on the Kai's broad back we went faster, but after the first four days I felt we had been on it forever. The river could not flow quickly enough for me. I was growing restless—I had dreadful visions of missing Bors's ship and being left in Corli with only my dreams. I finally approached Joss and asked if he knew when we should arrive, but his calm answer was "We'll get there when we get there and none the sooner for wanting it. Ten days, mistress, no less, no more."

Infuriating man.

But he did seem to prefer the Kai to the Arlen, or perhaps eastern Ilsa did not suit him. He started to talk to us a little more, not much and not long, but he let loose few words here, a few sentences there. I found him kind and shy, willing to help but not to talk about it. He spoke with me more often than with the others—perhaps because I was the only woman, perhaps because I was alone and willing to be silent as often as I spoke. The others were a pair of youths, Perrin and Darin (I never wanted to remember their names, but I couldn't help it; I wondered what their parents had been thinking of), and three older comrades down from the northern hills with last year's furs—seems they had been trapping late the last spring and missed the season. They hoped to make a good enough sum from this early cold to return to the hills before the snows, and daily prayed to the Lady it would last until they came to Corli.

I found I had to put off one of the old lads who fancied himself a ladies' man; but I made things clear and he backed off without much protest. A boot knife and a strong arm are good arguments, but man's height and a plain face are stronger yet.

The rain finally stopped a week out from Corli and the weather set fair and cool. I spent most of my time now with Joss, helping here and there where I could, listening, talking when he welcomed it. I was at a loss with nothing to do, and I learned there was always enough to keep two busy on a boat. I enjoyed his quiet company, and be seemed to like mine better than solitude at any rate. We spoke of our lives, I told him of Hadronsstead and my journey so far, and I asked him where he was from and where he had been. I was delighted to discover that he had never been as far north as Hadronsstead. At last, someone who didn't know the lands I did! The days passed more quickly, and I was nearly surprised to wake one morning and realise we would reach Corli on the morrow.

I found Joss at the tiller as always and brought him a mug of warm chélan. As had become our custom, I sat with him and drank my own. It wasn't very good and I muttered something about being tired of "poor man's lansip." Joss put down his cup and gazed at me.

"What is it that draws you so, Lanen?" he asked as the banks slid by. "I've had passengers before who were anxious to get to Corli, but seldom one like you." He smiled at me, a slow smile I had come to honour for its rarity. "He's a lucky man, whoever he is. There's not many can hold a woman's heart so."

I gazed on the passing fields, some golden yet, some stiff with stubble from the reaping, some already brown and ready to wait for spring. Joss's calm manner had entered my soul, and he had been a good companion. No reason not to answer.

"There's no man in my heart, goodman Joss. My dreams alone take me to Corli. I seek passage on one of the great ships."

"And where will it bear you?" he asked, no whit disturbed. Indeed, be seemed almost cheerful. "The great ships travel all the seas in the world. Are you bound for the Desert Lands? The frozen north? No, you have not the look of a trapper. Surely not just a trip to the silkweavers of Elimar, you could get there as fast on one of your precious horses." I shook my head and returned his gaze steadily, smiling, wondering how to tell him of my destination.

To my surprise he turned away suddenly and cursed. "Another damned idiot!"

"What?" I was shocked.

"You're hiring on with the Harvest ship, aren't you?" he said harshly. I was amazed by the bitterness in his voice. "I heard rumour of one leaving this year. Bound for adventure, looking to make your fortune from gathering lansip leaves, maybe steal a little dragon gold on the side, if the creatures even exist? And you a grown woman! That makes three of you on this boat, and not one with the sense the Lady gave lettuce. You'll never get past the Storms." He growled his words, gripping the tiller. "And so pass a parcel of idiots, and the world well rid of the lot of you. If you don't mind, milady, I've work to do. There is room for you to wait at the bow rail."

I waited for him to thaw, sitting no more than a foot from him, but he steadfastly ignored me. Eventually I gave up. I pondered his words, his vehemence all that day. It was not until the sun began to go down that I dared approach him again. At twilight we had become used to taking a drop of ale together. The other passengers had gone to their bunks with the sun. I went to him as he stood at the rail that encompassed the forward part of the deck and held out a tankard.

"Come, goodman Joss—shame to part so," I said as gently as I could.

He looked at me, the twilight glow lighting his dark eyes.

"Aye. So it would be," he said gruffly. He took the tankard and made room for me at the Tailing.

We were silent as the light faded from the sky, watching the twilight follow the sun. He was hanging the running lamps from their hooks when I asked quietly, "Who did you lose on a Harvest ship, Joss?"

"Never you mind," he growled. Silence fell again. There were no clouds—it would be a clear night, mercifully. The first stars twinkled as they rejoiced once more at overcoming the day.

"We'll come into Corli at the second hour after dawn," he said as he stood in the gathering darkness. "You'll have plenty of time to get to your precious ship."

"Thank you, Joss," I said, looking not at him but at the water. "And I thank you as well for your company these last weeks. You have lightened my heart with your friendship, and I will not forget you."

I was not even certain he was still there when I heard him say softly, "Nor I you. Go with care, Lanen Maransdatter. The Storms are deadly and the Dragons are real, whatever anyone may say, and none who go to that cursed place come back unchanged if they come back at all. My grandfather told of his grandsire's wealth gained from harvesting lansip, and I lost my father and my brother both to those damned ships. Whether Storms or Dragons took them I know not nor care, but I hate that isle and curse every ship that sets out for it."

I heard the door of his tiny cabin in the stern shut quietly. Joss's bitterness stung my heart. I knew that note of helpless anger, I had sung it often enough myself—but there was nothing I could do save commit his anger to the Lady. Surely, as the laughing Girl of the Waters, she would know and move to ease the sorrow of the brother she bore on her back .

As for my own heart, it was full of his other words. The Dragons are real, whatever anyone may say. Those words had my soul singing so I could hardly breathe. They are real! I repeated to myself, over and over as the boat slid rapidly towards Corli. I am going to the Dragon Isle at last, and they are real!

I fell asleep with Dragons dancing in my heart.

It started sprinkling just after dawn—and kept raining on and off all morning. We came into Corli in the middle of a shower. There was just enough wind and rain to make the little riverboat horribly uncomfortable for the last half hour. All the other passengers were huddled under the oiled cloth. The young ones were sick, the elders well on the way.

I am almost ashamed to admit that I recall feeling wonderful. I was out on the deck, at the bow railing, wrapped in my cloak and an oiled cloth, breathing in Corli with the rain, riding the surge of the water like a galloping horse. For the last few days we had passed more and more villages along the riverbank, and for the last half hour there had been a solid rank of houses beside the water on either side. Now we were passing a crowd of small boats, and came shooting down on the current of the Kai into the true harbor of Corli.

I took one look and gasped, turned away, overwhelmed.

Before me stretched a vast great plain of water.

I taunted myself into some semblance of courage and turned my face again to the sea to learn what lay before me.

Water. As far as the eye could see, water. There were what looked like tiny spurs of land to the left and to the right, but before me the water seemed to stretch into infinity. I fell back from the rail, shrinking into myself. I was terrified, I wanted to hide below the deck in the face of this immensity. It seemed alive, as if some great being dwelt beyond sight under those dark waters and breathed out its essence in words no one could understand.

I firmly believe that forcing myself to look again at the sea, just that small arm of the sea in Corli Harbour, was the hardest thing I had done in my life up to that time. All the tales true and false—that have attached to my name since never mention the fact that my first glimpse of the sea reduced me to a terrified, shivering wretch, huddled against the rail of Joss's little riverboat for protection, turning my head away from the deep, the vast, infinite unknown.

We came to rest with a bump at a small pier, like twenty' other small piers around it. It was still raining.

Joss leaned down and shouted to the others below that we had arrived. My five fellow travellers climbed out of the dark and into the rain, and were not pleased about it. They grumbled as they assembled their bags, they grumbled as they left the little boat that had been our home for three weeks. Joss managed a civil farewell to them all.

I waited until the others had gone, tiling my time to collect my few belongings and pack them carefully. I dragged my pack up the few rungs of the ladder, shouldered it with a grunt and went over to Joss, who stood with his back to me.

I took a deep breath for courage, then went to him and put my hand on his arm. I spoke quietly, the light rain making a small silence around us as I spoke.

"Joss, I have wanted to leave my home and travel all my life and never had the chance before now. I thank you for bringing me here, even if you are right and I go to my doom. You cannot bear the burden for every soul that joins the Harvest.

He shook my hand off his arm but did not turn round.

"I am not your father or your brother, Joss. I do not seek wealth from the lansip trees. I am going to talk with the Dragons, if I can, and find out why they do not live with us, and see if I can change their minds."

"You go on a fool's errand, Lanen," said Joss to the sea.

"Then my errand and I are well suited," I said with a laugh. "At least wish me good fortune."

"You will make your own fortune, good or ill, whatever I may say."

I sighed. "Farewell then, Joss Riverman," I said sadly. "The Lady bless thee.'"

"And may she lead thee to safe harbor in the end, Lanen Maransdatter," replied Joss. His face was still to the sea, his rain-soaked back to me. "I will not curse the sailing of this ship, for it will bear thee and thy dreams. Fare well, Lanen, and may the wind and waves be kind to thee."

I stepped onto the pier, surprised at the weight of my pack, surprised to find that the land seemed to rock as the water had. I laughed at myself, threw the long wet braid of my hair over my shoulder and set out for the center of the harbor.

I learned later that it is the custom of seafaring men never to watch a friend out of sight, as that would mean a long separation. Years after he told me that he had been on the verge of begging me to stay, for I was the first soul he had trusted in many years—but he knew I followed a dream and would not stay for a chance—met friend.

Lighthearted in my ignorance, I all but danced my way down the quayside as I sought out the Harvest ship.

VI CORLI AND AWAY

Corli Harbour sits near the mouth of the great river Kai, where waters collect from every corner of Kalmar to mingle in a glorious rush and flow in a torrent into the bay. The warm swift southern current, brushing up the coast, then sweeps away the silt, leaving a natural harbour and meeting place for trade and shipping. The old saying "If you want to know anything, go to Corli" comes from the Merchants and traders who fill the wharves year—round with the sights and smells of Far away. (The rest of the saying is "If you want to know everything, go to Sorun." It refers to the Silent Service, based in Sorun but found everywhere in Kolmar—when they fail. It is said that enough silver will buy any information you might want, but that is another story.)

In Corli you will find goods from all the kingdoms in their wondrous variety, like the fair at Illara in large; but that is not the only reason Corli is renowned. It is from Corli that the great Merchant ships set out west and north over the sea to the Dragon Isle. Lansip grows there wild, it is said there are endless forests of the stuff, but it will grow nowhere else. The seedlings and young trees brought back in the past always withered and died, the seeds failed to sprout.

If lansip were not so powerful; none would even consider the deadly journey. But even weak lansip tea is a sovereign remedy for many ailments, from headache to heart's sorrow, and when it is concentrated into a liquor it has the power to give back lost years. They tell the tale of a fabulously wealthy Merchant in his seventh decade who bought a full Harvest, every leaf, and drank all the liquor that was distilled from it. He passed through middle age and into youth, until the day he drank the last of his lansip. He was found dead of shock, with the look and the body of a youth in his early twenties.

When, rarely, the Harvesters find late fruit on the trees, it is brought back with care, most valuable of all—for that fruit, eaten without its bitter skin, can heal all wounds save death alone. The Harvest journeys are said to have been the founding of several of the Merchant Houses, and certainly kept the older ones wealthy.

However, despite the enticements of the Merchants—Harvesters are paid the weight of the leaves they bring back in silver—Harvest ships had always set out shorthanded. Few in those days feared the True Dragons, for most considered them no more than legend, but the Storms were real and known deadly, and in a hundred and thirty years before we set out none had returned of all the ships that had essayed the passage.

If I'd had any sense, I’d have been terrified. I couldn't wait to go.

I know it sounds strange, but I hardly remember the first time I saw Corli itself. It is in my memory little more than a jumble of impressions. I know it was wet, and that I was lost after I left loss's boat. I think I considered asking directions, but decided instead that I wouldn't mind being lost for a while.

A few moments stand out from the mist. I remember leaving the quay and wondering towards the harbour, getting wetter with each step. There was an inn with a tire where I had soup, and the landlady gave me a cloth to dry myself. I waited there until the rain stopped. The next thing I remember is being at the dock, seeing the great ships for the first time and being amazed at the size of them. To my eyes, used only to loss's little riverboat, they looked huge, their sails like furled wings gathered onto the yards.

Unfortunately, I remember very well what happened when I got to the harbour. I went to the first dock I came to and asked where I might find the Harvest ship. I drew any number of blank looks and a few lewd remarks, so I walked on along the pier. I needn't have bothered to ask. Fifteen minutes' gawping walk from that first ship, I heard a crier. After selling the horses in Illara I knew enough to admire his lung power. Then I managed to understand what he was saying.

"Come aaall ye, come aaall ye! Sail for the Harvest! Sail in three days' time for the Dragon Isle! Silver for leaves! Silver for leaves! Silver for all the leaves you can carry! Come aaall ye, come aaall ye!"

I hesitated a moment before approaching him. I had meant to go up and mention Bors's name, but decided in the end I would rather not be indebted to him if I could help it. And I noted that for all the crier's enticements he was being given a wide berth by the passing sailors. Apparently lansip was not as real to them as death by drowning in the Storms.

The moment I came close enough for speech he dropped the foghorn of his voice to a more bearable level. "Come to sign on as Harvester?"

"That I am. What are the terms?"

"Same for everyone, unless ye've been to sea before."

"No, I haven't."

He grinned, and the sight wasn't for the fainthearted. He had more gaps than teeth. "I never asked," he said. "Ye've not the look." Then in a practiced singsong he recited, "Terms is silver, weight for weight, for all the lansip leaves ye gather. We provide passage, bags for the leaves and half your rations—and ye'll work for that half, let me tell you. You supply your own bedding, clothes—and get a waterproof or ye'll regret it—and the other half of your provisions. If ye disobey orders we'll not answer for your safety." For the first time his voice softened the merest touch as he added, "And ye must know that no Harvest ship has returned in a hundred and thirty years. There's rumour the Storms are weakening near to nothing this year; but all in all we've no better than one chance in two of coming back alive. Consider it well ere ye decide."

Ass that I was, I barely paused for breath. "I've decided. I'm coming."

He signed me on with no further argument. He gave me a list of the items I would need for the voyage and pointed me to a scribe nearby. With the infinite smugness of the slightly educated I thanked him and said I could read for myself. He nodded and said, "Then you’ll have read that you signed on as assistant crew from this minute. Take the day to find your gear and be here at sunset, you'll sleep on the ship and take up your duties from eight bells at the change."

He might just as well have been a dog barking for all I understood him. "What change? Did you say eight bells? When is—"

"Midnight, ye useless thing. Now hop to it, get your gear into a sea chest and get on board before the sun's down. Move!" he yelled, his voice rising to its former level. He turned from me and began to cry again his enticements for Harvest workers.

I left a bit dazed—part from shock at what I'd done, part from the sheer volume—and turned towards the town. Thankfully most of what I needed I found in a series of shops near the harbour.

I'm afraid I spent a small fortune in Corli. I know I was badly cheated in some places, but I really didn't care. I found a small, strong sea chest, some heavy tunics and stout leggings (they were not at all surprised by my clothing in Corli, even in those days), and as recommended I purchased that curious and smelly garment sailors call a tarpaulin. It stank of tar and I wrapped it in my old blanket (though on the journey I wore it seven days out of seven and would not have traded it for its weight in solid silver). I got myself a new pair of good boots, some extra bedding, rations and a small luxury—dried dates and figs from the southern reaches of the South Kingdom, since even I had heard of the poor rations at sea. I packed away my old clothes, leaving my skirts and my fine new cloak at the bottom of the chest and everything else on top where l could reach it. I spent what little time remained to me wandering about Corli Harbour, becoming accustomed to the smell of fish and salty air, watching the sea in fascination.

I reported as ordered at sun set. I carried my belongings on board in the fading light, jostled from behind by my fellow Harvesters, directed by the regular crew, who barely tolerated us. I stared all around me as I was led to my "berth" belowdecks—a tiny space in which to sling a too—short hammock and a smaller space in which to stow my gear—and told to sleep while I could. It was only just after sunset. I managed perhaps two hours' sleep before we were all roused by a loud voice calling something I couldn't understand, but which by the movements of my fellows obviously meant "Get out of bed and get to work."

It was eight bells at the change. Midnight. We all worked in the steamy hold, hard as ever I had worked on the farm, scrubbing the floors—they called it swabbing the decks—preparing the ship for I knew not what. Come dawn—about six bells in the dawn watch, or seven in the morning on land—I found out. We were all hurried back up to the main deck and put to work loading cattle and what I judged to be not near enough hay to feed them. What they were there for I could not even guess. For a brief while I worried that I had been fooled and that this was a trading ship, but soon there were more canvas sacks to be loaded into the hold than I had ever imagined existed. They were new and surprisingly good quality, and I eventually realised that they were waiting to be filled with lansip leaves. .

My heart beat absurdly fast as I worked. The very touch of the rough canvas thrilled me. I was living my dream at last, and even the terror of the journey had no power over me.

For the next two days, with sleep snatched between watches, all I remember thinking was that if this was a dream I wouldn't mind waking. I’d had no idea. When we weren't scrubbing or sleeping, we were learning about the ship and its workings. I had never imagined such strange terms in my life, still less thought I would need to know them. The ship's Master had us practicing every waking moment until the movements began to feel familiar. Surprising how quickly such things come to seem normal.

My next clear memory is of the dark before dawn—five bells in the dawn watch, so late in the year—the day we were to sail. The sky was just beginning to lighten with the promise of morning. The smell of the sea, ever present in the town, was stronger yet at the dockside. The gulls cried their eternal longing, other birds fought with them for the foul bits of fish the incoming fishermen spilled on the dock. A light breeze blew from the water, blowing away the smell of the land altogether. It was clean and sharp with salt.

We had gained steadily in numbers since I came on board, but there were still a number of empty hammocks, so we all had plenty to do. There was a lot of cursing by the Master as we raw beginners fumbled with a rope (which I was beginning to think of as a line, but could never call a sheet without giggling) and despite all our practice nearly tripped each other up trying to follow orders. He was a hard taskmaster, but even I could guess that our lives would soon depend on knowing what he wanted done and doing it as swiftly as possible. Still, I managed to glimpse the gangplank being hauled on board and the last line cast off from shore. It all went very quickly. We were madly busy as we left our anchorage and I felt the ship begin to move. We were on our way.

I will never forget the feeling of hauling on a line to help set the sail, glancing towards the quay and watching the land draw away from me. With a moment's thought I stand even now on that deck. I can feel the gentle glow of the sunrise on my face as we set out. The air is salt and chill, with a hint of much colder to come.

I remember thinking, This ship is as unlike Joss's riverboat as a full-blood stallion from a gelding pony; a different creature altogether. The river has its own kind of life, and all moving water a certain rhythm of its own, but a river flows only in one direction. For the first time I feel the sea rock the deck beneath my feet. It is a stronger feeling than I expected, and the sea wind is wilder, with more on it than salt. I remember my terror two days past at first seeing so much water, and shiver again with it even as I laugh at myself. I think even the bards cannot describe this feeling, this world so close to our world and yet so far. It is strange and wondrous to feel living water not dead rock beneath my feet, and the air cold and clean and other.

Thanking the Lady for my farm-hardened hands, I finished helping to set the sails, unfurling the wings of the ship to catch the breeze. It was a wondrous feeling.

Just as well. It had to last a long time.

The space we had to live in was horribly cramped. I was easily the tallest person among the Harvesters, and I realised why after my first night on board. No tall person with sense would ever go near such a craft. I could hardly stand up in the morning—which was just as well because there wasn't room for me to straighten there belowdecks. Once I could finally stand upright I found a free instant to ask the Master if there were a few feet of deck unused at night where I might sleep. That was where I first learned that, despite the empty berths (which by the time we left were packed with various odd items that would fit nowhere else, and securely stowed using the harnmocks for netting), every inch of space was taken up by at least two things and I was lucky to have the space I had. There were so many people on the ship at that time that I never saw the half of them, especially if they were not among those of us who were working our passage.

I spent such free time as I could find with an older woman from the East Mountains. Rella was a small woman, she came not as high as my shoulder, but her strength was near the equal of mine. She was sturdily built and managed most things well enough, but she could not hide the crooked back that made many of the others shun her. I barely saw it, for to me she was a window on a world I had not yet discovered. Her accent was strange and she used words I had never heard, and she was the first person I bad met from the East Mountain Kingdom. I got her to talk about her home and every ward was gold to me, and she was grateful for the attention. She took to looking after me in her own gruff way. It felt good to have someone to talk to, even someone as curious as Rella.

The first week of the voyage is mostly a blur, for which I am thankful. The few clear memories I have are of badly cooked food, horrible smells and some of the hardest work I have ever done in my life. There was always too much to do, cleaning the ship constantly, tending the cattle we carried, drilling in the ways of the ship until we could all but do them blindfolded. There was more to keeping a ship in order than I had imagined, but I was glad enough for the exercise. The days were cold and growing colder and anything that kept us moving I was grateful for.

The weather grew worse the farther west and north we sailed.

At the end of the first week even the greenest of us had gained some semblance of sea legs, and the worse of the seasick had recovered. Others had taken to life at sea as if born to it. I leaned a little more to the second than the first, and thank the Lady I was not seasick, but it took me ages to find my balance on this moving creature. At first I fought the movement and lost every time. Once I started to think of it as a willful horse I seemed to manage a little better, but as the weather worsened I had to spend more and more time just staying upright. I caught a glimpse of the Captain as he passed by one afternoon to take a reckoning on the mysterious instruments he used, and as if he had shouted I heard his thoughts turning on the Storms.

That was when I began to be truly frightened.

That night things got worse. If before the ship had groaned in the wind now it cried out like a wounded man, shuddering from topsails to keel when a contrary wind fought with what I had first imagined to be masts stout as trees, but now saw as tiny wooden sticks that stood between us and a damp, mournful ending. A thin strip of sail on each mast bore us flying westward over the rough seas. I learned later that the usual practice in rough weather was to strike all sails and wait out the storm—but here the Storm never ceased, and movement was our only safety. The waves battered at the hull of our fragile home, lifting and dropping us in a wild dance, rolling and pitching until the strongest of us felt queasy. There had been no cookfires for days, and the cold food within and cold water without were as depressing as the thick blanket of grey skies all around us.

The morning of the ninth day out, I at least was convinced that I would never see land again. I cursed myself roundly for being such a fool as ever to leave solid ground, and I swore that if I came out of this alive, I would never set foot on a ship over the deep sea again.

Well, I swore a lot of things back then. I meant it at the time.

That morning, though, I committed my soul to the Lady and prayed for a painless death. It felt as though every roll would be the one that sent us belly-up. The winds whipped through the rigging, plucking at the taut lines like harp strings playing an endless dirge. I was thankful for the regular duties that gave me something to think about rather than simply worrying about staying alive. Still, if I stayed working belowdecks too long, I felt I was in a cave. Better outside than in if we went over, I reasoned. Probably wrong, but I have always hated caves. Besides, the noise was louder down there, and I was terrified. My fellow passengers were no better off than I, and some were worse. The seamen were too busy to be frightened, but they none of them looked much better than we did.

Suddenly there came a shout from the bow. This was nothing new, it had been happening about once an hour for the last day and night. I never did find out exactly what it was they shouted, but the meaning was always the same—take hold of something solid and hope you can hold on. I reached for the rail and looked up.

And up.

A solid wall of water was poised to break on top of us and send, us to the bottom. .

I was too terrified even to scream. I closed my eyes, whispered, "Lady, protect us," wrapped both arms about the rail and hung on like grim death.

And the wave crashed down. There was a terrible splintering sound like a branch breaking from a vast tree. I was swept off my feet by the force of the water, flipped over the side still clinging to the rail, fluttering in the rushing water like a banner in the wind and fighting not to breathe in. I held on with all my might and blessed the pure strength of my arms and hands. As the water receded I struggled to pull myself back on deck, shaking in every limb, coughing out seawater.

The Captain said later that if our sliver of sail hadn't caught a wild gust just before the wall fell on us, we'd never have seen the sun again. We managed to shoot out from under the worst of the terrible weight of water; but still it stove in parts of the deck. The splintering I heard was the foremast, the one carrying that sail that saved us, breaking off halfway down its length.

And with that, the sea and the Storms had done their worst. The winds dropped almost immediately. The waves grew less and less, until in a quarter of an hour we found ourselves rocking in a swell no more than five or six feet high. If I hadn't seen it myself I would not have believed it.

I happened to look up and catch Rella's eye. She smiled, then she grinned, then she let loose with a laugh straight from her toes. I joined her, and in moments so did every one of the crew, laughing away our terror, laughing in disbelief that we had survived, laughing until we wept for wonder that we were still alive.

We learned soon enough that we had lost almost a third of the crew in the passage—all Harvesters save for one unlucky soul of a seaman—and though we mourned them, we found ourselves marvelling that so many had survived. I wondered how with a lesser crew we would ever live through the return passage, but when I spoke with the true seamen, they were certain sure of the lore, and swore that the trip east and home would be far easier than the trip out. I hoped in my soul they were right.

That night and the next day were spent furiously repairing where we could, making shift where we could not repair. A kind of spar was jury-rigged onto the stump of the foremast to bear what canvas it would, for now we were making best speed to the northwest. The surviving mast looked to me for all the world like a washing line, spreading vast bedclothes to the sun.

The rest of the journey, for all the work, was in the nature of a sigh of relief. When I had time to think about it, I was terribly proud that mere six-foot swells seemed tame to me now. The Captain passed the word one morning, about four days after we'd survived the Storms, that by his reckoning we would make landfall by evening. That brought a cheer—and I for one wondered what if anything could ever convince me to set foot on deck for the trip home. But the cheer was loud and heartfelt. I knew well that each of us had given up our souls as lost in the Storms, and to be not only alive but arrived at a place known to no living man—it set our blood racing.

That afternoon, just before sunset, the word was passed for all hands on deck. (We truly noted then for the first time how many of us had been lost; there was far more room for us all on deck now than there had been.) The Master congratulated us on still being alive—which brought another cheer, and not a little backslapping among us—said that land was nigh and it was time we heard from our new master what our duties would be on the Island of Dragons. He stepped away from the rail of the bridge and the Merchant took his place.

It was Bors. At least, it was Bors until he opened his mouth.

"I give you greeting all, brave Harvesters. We have done with the worst, thanks to our good Master and his gallant crew," he said, bowing slightly to the Master behind him. "Now in the name of the House of Gundar I welcome you to the place where all our fortunes will be made." He caught my eyes then—and a terrible smile crossed his face as he said proudly, "I am Marik of Gundar, and if you work till you drop for the seven days we shall remain here, you will return to Kolmar wealthy beyond your dreams." .

Marik. My mother's mortal enemy. And Jamie had spent years telling me how much I looked just like her, damn, damn, damn. He must have known from the moment he saw me at the White Horse that I was Maran's daughter. Now there was no escape. I could not even hide in the crowd of Harvesters—I was a good head taller than the tallest of them. I tried out a curse that I had heard one of the seamen use during the Storms. It helped, but not much.

And whether he planned it or no, Marik had no more than announced his name and begun to speak of our duties when the lookout up aloft cried, "Land ho! Land off the port bow!"

We were there.

We did not come in full sight of the island for some while yet, and did not get near enough to it to land until twilight. It was decided that we would anchor off the coast for the night. No one mentioned a reason, but it occurred to me (and to others) that perhaps Marik was delaying his meeting with the Dragons. I remembered that he did not believe they existed, and that he meant to prove the stories of the other Merchants false. Still, even if it was a matter of fighting other humans rather than negotiating with Dragons, better to wait until daylight. It would also be easier to deny the existence of such things in broad daylight than in darkness surrounded by an unknown land.

For the last time, as I slept fitfully that night, I dreamt in part of the Dragons that had haunted my sleep for so many years, gleaming in the sun, full of delight at our meeting, courtly and kind.

In the face of truth, dreams disappear like smoke on a windy day.

For alternating with that sunlit vision was one of darkness and blood, and Jamie's voice saying, "As nasty a son of the Hells as ever escaped the sword." Marik, who (Lady forbid it) might be my father—and if he was, who must want me to finish his bargain for him. My dreams tossed like our storm—racked ship between those images, and I woke sick with worry and wonder.

A small boat took Marik and his two guards to land at first light. They encountered neither Dragons nor warriors, either on the beach or as they explored farther into the trees that came almost down to the water's edge.

Once they decided it was safe enough, most of us were set to unloading the sacks and the cattle from the hold, along with tents, bedding and cookpots that could hold enough food for a village. The Master asked for volunteers to go ashore to unload the boats at that end—I tried to reason with myself that there was safety in numbers, I should stay on the ship, it was tempting fate to go ashore where there would only be me, a few Harvesters and Marik with his men.

I never did listen to reason.