Orb and arrow, p.4
Orb and Arrow, page 4
“It should be done, although the stew will take more time.”
Satisfied, he began to pick the meat from the skewer and eat. “By the Light, you are a fine cook,” he exclaimed, closing his eyes in bliss as she laughed.
“Hunger is a good sauce, my father would say,” she replied.
“No truly, the sauce perfect.”
She handed him a cup of herbal tea. “You need liquids as well; drink that and then some water.” She handed him more linic and took some for herself.
“The mare went well for you?” he asked between mouthfuls.
“A lovely animal. Is she yours as well?”
He shook his head. “I have no idea where she came from. For all I know, Pilik,” he nearly spat the name, “owned her, or he could have stolen the animal. He must have ridden hard to take me at Riversgate.” West and East Riversgate were trading towns where a large river emptied into Clee Lake, the largest of the northern lakes.
“Ridden from?” She knew there must be more of this story.
“It doesn’t matter. I tried to mix my trail. He could have picked it up anywhere.”
Not ready to speak, then, she thought. A dimlock would make anyone cautious and there is still the bounty. Aloud, “Now then, I need to tend to those wounds.” Working quickly, she made more salve. This time, he was able to sit up straight to let her apply it but still shuddered at it touched the lesions.
“My spells don’t seem to prevent the pain here.” She spoke quietly as she worked, moving his hair off his neck.
“The curse of the dimlock,” his voice was grim, “is more than just its hold.”
“I don’t know very much about them. There is a key, I’m told, although I was able to pick the lock. I would have thought it should be harder to open without the key.”
He gave a short laugh with no humor in it. “Seeing a mage in a dimlock, who would want to get close enough to pick the lock? Opening the lock could release a monster.” His hand was suddenly on her wrist and he twisted to look at her. “Thank you for your courage!” Startled briefly at his intensity, she stopped, flustered, then dipped the cloth in salve. He let go of her wrist to let her go on with her work.
“There’s a bit of salve left. I’ll put some on the other injuries.” There was a large gash in his side that took some attention and small scores on his feet.
“It looks as though you were dragged at some point?”
He shook his head. “I have no idea. I don’t suppose they cared much about my condition. I remember being in pain…”
She could feel his agitation, even fear. “No worries about that now,” she said, trying to soothe him but his hand was on her arm now and there was desperation in his eyes and voice.
“Don’t let them take me again?” His tone was tense and pleading. She sent out wave after wave of soothing, calming and felt his hand relax.
“You need to sleep. Food and sleep.” She had no spell for sleep, but her waves of soothing were enough. He was still very ill.
“Sleep. Jez is here, my bow is here. You are protected.” He leaned back, shivering, and she covered him then gave him a cup of broth. He drank and closed his eyes. When she looked up, the stallion had joined them. She added some wood to the fire and sat back, shaking her head.
Did I just offer to kill to defend a man I don’t know? she thought. I certainly don’t think I would let him be taken again, he walks in the Light, that I’m sure of, so any who try to take him… he’ll be able to defend himself soon enough. She looked at Garnelden, asleep, evidently trusting her. What, by all that is Good, am I doing? She went off to gather more branches to stockpile for the fire.
That afternoon, they were greeted by a lone horseman, and Brillar waved him toward the spring. “My uncle is ill,” she told the man, “but please water your animal.”
“Good that he has someone to tend him,” the man replied courteously. Garnelden had wrapped himself in the blanket and turned his back to the fire.
“Thank you. He does get grumpy with the tending, though.” She laughed lightly and turned back to the fire.
“Good day to you then,” the man said as he left them.
Garnelden rolled to face her. “Grumpy?”
“Just conversation,” she replied mildly, but he scowled at her, then looked around.
“You’ve been busy while I slept.” He was looking at the pile of branches.
“We’ll need to stay here for several more days. So says the healer.” She looked at him with mock ferocity.
“Then I will rest, eat and sleep, and try not to be grumpy,” he replied with a half-smile.
Just before sundown, a small group of farmers passed them on foot, but they were in a hurry and exchanged only brief greetings. The next day, Brillar took the mare out again to hunt and returned with more birds and tubers.
“You must have a good hand with that bow,” Garnelden said admiringly.
“Ah, you should see me at the spring games. I can’t outshoot for distance with the longbow, but my short bow skill hasn’t been matched in years.” She smiled at the memory.
“And your teacher?”
“My father. I outshoot him as well. And my brothers. They used to tease me about it, but not any longer. I wonder if they have improved much. I was home about three months ago and could still beat them.” She chuckled.
“Ho, travelers,” was heard from the road as a carter came into view and stopped. She glanced at Garnelden, who nodded, then pulled the blanket around him and turned a bit from the fire.
“The traveler is welcome,” she shouted and the man came forward. She stood as he approached, bow in her hand.
“What then? A fine fire you’ve here, and by the look of things, ye’ll be here a bit?” He grinned at her and a quick spell found nothing in him but goodwill.
“My uncle has been ill and needs the rest,” she told him as she looked him over. An older man, clean-shaven and with the muscles built by years of farming. His clothes spoke of some success in his labors, he wore no homespun and his boots looked almost new.
“Aye? Then I’ll not stay but to water the horse and fill a jug.” He gestured toward his cart which was well-loaded but covered. “Have ye vegetables and fruits then? I could sell you something; fruit is good for the sick.”
“Water your animal and then show me what you have. I’d be happy to buy something.” Brillar nodded.
“Lendros is me name, wait while I fill this bucket.” He went off to the spring.
“Fine animals ye have there, most fine,” he remarked when he returned. “Now then, me wares.” He pulled back the ragged cover, revealing vegetables and fresh berries. “Eight for a copper and ye can mix ‘em, and a copper for the three nets of berries.”
Brillar picked out some vegetables and handed the man the coppers from her purse. “And I thank ye,” Lendros waved as he remounted the cart and clicked his reins at his horse.
Garnelden rolled back to face the fire and sat up. A net of berries went into his outstretched hand.
“These seem fresh picked,” he remarked, taking one of the berries as she cleaned vegetables for the stew.
“Hmm,” was all she could say. Her mouth was full of berries.
They spent the next few days companionably as Garnelden renewed his strength. He was weak both from the dimlock and starvation. Every day, Brillar took the grey mare to the open fields to hunt and gather. It was a rich field and she had no trouble keeping the stew pot filled.
There were no more carters, but there was suddenly plenty of traffic on the road. Twice, a group of horsemen, then three groups of farmers on foot, off to help harvest spring vegetables. They all called a greeting and were welcomed. Horses and men watered at the spring. Asked why they were camped with the town so near, Brillar answered that her “uncle” had taken ill quite suddenly and they could go no farther. They were discreet with their own questions, but there was no news of a missing man or men, no news of an outcry of any kind. At least not yet, she thought. Her patient, however, seemed almost alarmed. Had he expected an outcry?
Garnelden still spent a great deal of time sleeping, eating, then sleeping again. During his waking spells, Garnelden turned their talk away from his troubles with the bounty hunters, unwilling to discuss it any further. They talked quietly of the Brotherhood and her training at the Sisterhood. The Houses were akin, although skills in War magic were never taught in the Houses of the Sisters. Her home of Laurenfell was near the Great House of the Sisterhood.
“I’ve traveled through that area. Lovely farms there.” He was now wearing an old scarf from her foldbox around his neck, to prevent questions about the scars there. He laughed when she told him about Sister Rodenis’ insistence that she continue her training, saying he deemed her skills good enough for anywhere in the settled lands.
“I have wandered the settled lands for nearly two years,” she said in response. He smiled at that. Younger mages often ‘walked-about’ testing and increasing their skills, usually doing some good in the process.
“Now,” she continued with determination, “I want more. I’ve heard many a tale of the Wild and mean to make my way there.” That brought him upright and staring, but he said nothing. He had spent time in the Wild.
The nights usually brought some spring rains but they were light and easily dealt with. Finally, on a morning that was clear and bright, Brillar judged Garnelden strong enough to ride in the cart, which he resented.
“I have a fine horse! Why should I ride like a carter?”
“Because, Uncle, until you are stronger, you can rest a bit in the cart. After all, tongues will wag and we’ve told travelers you were ill,” she said firmly. “And we need to keep up the appearance of being two average travelers when we arrive at an inn.”
“An inn! My purse!” He started suddenly. He’d given no thought to his belongings as they camped.
“I wondered about that. I found a heavy purse on Pilik. The gold is yours?” she asked.
“Gold and some silver.” She removed the purse from her belt and tossed it to him.
“Some of the silver, I gave to Trog to keep him quiet. As for the rest, the gold is there and the balance of the silver.”
He looked at her quizzically and tied the pouch on a piece of rope he was using as a belt.
“You trust me then?” she asked lightly.
He was silent a moment, then answered softly, “You could have taken everything, including the horses and my life. I owe you my life. Yes, I trust you; and I will pay at the inn.”
Brillar blushed and turned to douse the fire to hide her embarrassment. Such compliments were rare and valued. Whatever came, she would hold that to her.
”I found a pool downhill of the spring. If you will keep watch, I think I need a good bath before we go,” was all she said.
There was still the sacking from the cart, and a cleansing spell would suffice for her clothes. She could have cleaned her body with an easy Creature spell, one of the few she knew, but Brillar preferred a plunge in the cool water. She let out her braid and her hair floated free around her. A quick bath, a cleansing spell for her clothes, the sacking to dry her and she was redressed. Re-braiding her wet hair, she returned to the clearing where she found that he had harnessed the roan to the wagon.
“Too much exertion and you will weaken. And after all my care.” She clucked her tongue at him and he grinned, his first true smile since they had met.
“Are you a mother hen or my niece?” he asked cheerfully. “I promise to ride in the cart bed if you can handle the reins.” He handed them to her with a bow.
His good humor buoyed her and she laughed in response. “Well then, Uncle, we should be off.”
He had looped a rope around the neck of the grey and tied it to the cart. The stallion, he assured her, would follow where he went. “Jez was bred and born at the Great House. I was there when he was foaled eight years ago. I helped him to his feet and held him to his mother. He used to follow me like a puppy when I was teaching the younger students.” He shook his head. “He was as much a rascal as some of them were but trained better than they did.” He laughed, stroked the stallion’s long face and was nuzzled in return.
Brillar watched with a bit of jealousy. Still, it was her younger brother Terol who had a true way with animals. She climbed aboard the cart as he settled in the back and clucked at the roan which moved obediently to the track. It was full morning and the air was sweet under the trees as they set off. Spring leaves were everywhere and birds were calling for mates. A fine day for travel and the road was easy.
“Now, Uncle, a story for the road,” she insisted. “And it had best be a good story for a woman and her ‘uncle’ to be on the road together, or I will be taken as more than a niece. Who are we?”
Together, they concocted a story to ward off any inquisitive innkeeper or, if they were not questioned too closely, a sheriff’s man, although they knew that the charade would not be enough if they stayed in any village for long. Too many people could recognize “Uncle Elden”— they had settled on the short form of his name for his niece— as a mage and someone from the Sisterhood might know Brillar. Some time for restocking supplies, new boots and clothes for Elden, for he carried no foldbox, and the two would separate. When she asked him about the foldbox, he shook his head and left the question unanswered.
“I know who set the bounty on me,” Uncle Elden said at one point, “but before we meet, I need to recover what is mine in West Riversgate. There may be more people here and there, seeking the bounty.”
“You are a well-wanted man then,” was her comment. “Perhaps I should stay with you just to watch your back. And your drinking.”
“Hrmph,” was his short reply.
Together, they decided that when they left the first town, they would drive the horse and cart to the next and sell them. The mare, she would keep. She had refused Garnelden’s offer of gold.
“I won’t take money for doing what was right,” she insisted. “It caused me neither harm nor delay and there may come a day when I need the help of a Mage of the Four Powers.” There had been laughter behind her words but they made him thoughtful.
“What do you plan to do then?” he asked. They were crossing a small stream and had stopped to let the horses drink. Brillar hopped down from the cart, knelt at the stream, and began splashing water on her face.
“When I left the Sisters, I had no plan, just a desire to be out in the world, to be away from study. Now, I’ve worn out two pairs of boots, walking. With no plan, I’ve killed a man and rescued a mage.” She shook water from her hands and stood. “Still, I haven’t seen an orc, a fire sprite, or even a harpy, and the Wild holds all those. Who knows? Tomorrow might be more interesting.”
He laughed at that, thinking her both serious and naïve. He had seen everything she mentioned and more, but not usually near settled lands. Somehow the idea of her wandering into the true Wilds unsettled him. Finding himself unsettled left him more unsettled. Surely, he, Garnelden, Mage of the Four Powers, didn’t care what happened to this youngling? He tried to shake off the thought. He had more pressing problems. There had been no word of a call-to-arms from any of the travelers who had stopped at the spring. Had Polsen failed to deliver his message? If so, he would have to face the matter alone. He pushed the thought aside.
“The town can’t be far ahead,” he said, to dismiss the feeling of unease. “I can feel open land.”
She climbed back into the cart and stretched out with far-sight. “True enough. Let’s hope there’s an inn soon. Riding in this cart has worried my bones.”
Less than a mile brought them to open farmland. The fields here were well-plowed and rich, and the scent of warm earth filled the air. Some of the crops were already tall, others just beginning to grow. The sun was welcome after the cool of the forest. A few men and women in the fields who stood to stretch their backs saw them and gave friendly waves which they returned. Carters were always welcome as they brought both goods and news. Some people closer to the road looked at their horses with appreciation.
“A fine pair a horses you have in tow there,” said a man who had just come into the road from a field. “If ye be looking to sell one, the blacksmith in town does a trade in horses.”
From the bed of the cart, Elden laughed. “He wouldn’t be a brother or cousin of yours, now would he?” Brillar stopped the cart. The farmer seemed inclined to talk and news would be welcome.
Looking down, the farmer kicked at a clod of dirt in the road with a well-worn boot. “Well now, family is important here abouts.” He looked up and grinned. “And a man who don’t support family, ‘tisn’t much of a man.” He was ruddy from the sun, with light eyes and sandy hair.
His rough good humor had Elden and Brillar smiling.
“If we asked about an inn in the village, would you send us to the best or to the one owned by your cousin,” Elden offered good-naturedly.
Smiling back at them, the farmer replied, “There is only one and ‘tis my brother-in-law runs it. My sister does the cooking and the food is from my farm. I was headed there now…” he paused.
“Well met then, friend,” said Elden. “Climb aboard and I’ll buy you a pint at the finest of the town’s inns.”
Nes (“Me name is Nester, but folks’ calls me Nes”) teased their brief story from them. “Illness on the trail, a bad thing,” he said. “Good you had your niece with you.” He was a country farmer in rough clothes and dirty from the fields but good company. Seeing him riding in the cart brought more waves and hellos from the people they passed.
“And there’s the inn. Berl keeps a good barrel of ale of his own making, there’s a barn for the horses and a room?” He looked at Brillar speculatively.
“Rooms,” she turned and answered him. “My uncle snores.”
That remark kept Nes in laughter until they stopped at the inn door. A sign proclaimed it—not very originally—the Red Rooster Inn in faded red paint on dirty white. Looking at it, they hoped that it was cleaner inside. Still, the building was of local stone, the windows had clean glass in them, and the shutters on the upper floor were well hung.
