Hawkmistress! (31 page)

“I know that,” she said, not looking at him.

“What’s ailing you, youngster? Anything I can do to help?”

She shook her head. She did not think anyone could help. Unless she could somehow talk to her father, who must somehow have fought this battle himself in his youth, or how could he have come to terms with his own Gift? He might hate the very word laran and forbid anyone to use it in his hearing, but he possessed the thing, whatever he chose to call it or not to call it. With a sudden, homesick force, she remembered Falconsward, the face of her father, loving and kindly, and then his contorted, wrathful face as he beat her… . She put her face in her hands, trying desperately to stifle a fit of sobs which must surely reveal her as a girl. But she was so tired, so tired, she could hardly keep back her tears….

Orain’s hand was gentle on her shoulder. “There, there, son, never mind - I’m not one to think tears all that unmanly. You’re ill and tired, that’s all. Bawl if you want to, I’ll not be telling on you.” He gave her a final reassuring pat, and moved back to the fire. “Here; drink this, it’ll settle your stomach,” he said, sifting a few of his cherished herbs into a cup of hot water, and shoving the mug into her hand. The drink was aromatic, with a pleasant faint bitterness, and indeed made her feel better. “If you can’t eat meat just now, I’ll bring you some bread and fruit, but you can’t go hungry in this cold.” He gave her a chunk of hard bread, liberally spread with the fat of the chervine; Romilly was so hungry that she gulped it down, chewed on the handful of fruits he gave her as they were settling the horses for the night. He spread their blanket rolls side by side; Caryl had none, so he had been sleeping in Romilly’s cloak, tucked in her arms. As she was pulling off her boots to sleep, she felt an ominous dull pain in the pit of her belly, and began secretly to count on her fingers; yes, it had been forty days since she had escaped from Rory’s cabin, she must once again conceal this periodic nuisance! Damn this business of being a woman! Lying awake between Caryl and Orain, still shivering, she wondered grimly how she could manage to conceal it in this climate. Fortunately it was cold enough that nobody undressed at all in the camp, and even to sleep piled on all the clothes and blankets they had. Romilly had been sleeping, not only in the fur-lined cloak Orain had given her, but in the rough old one she had taken from Rory’s cabin, rolling herself up in them both, with Caryl in her arms.

She must think. She had no spare rags, or garments which could be made into them. There was a kind of thick moss, which grew liberally all through the higher elevations, here as well as at Falconsward; she had seen it, but paid no attention - though she knew the poorer women, who had no rags to spare, used this moss for babies’ diapers, packing them in it, as well as for their monthly sanitary needs. Romilly’s fastidious soul felt a certain disgust, but it would be easier to bury moss in the snow than to wash out rags in this climate. Tomorrow she would find some of it; here in snow country it would, at least, not be covered with mud or dirt and need not be washed. What a nuisance it was, to be a woman!

It was so bitterly cold that they all rolled close together, like dogs sleeping in heaps; when the camp was awakening in the morning, Alaric jeered, as Orain unrolled himself from Caryl and Romilly, “Hey, man, are you running a nursery for the children?” But Orain’s presence was comforting to her, and, she felt, to Caryl as well; he was gentle and fatherly, and she was not afraid of him. In fact, if it came to necessity, she did not doubt she could confide in Orain without real danger; he might be shocked at finding she was a girl in this rough country and climate, but he would not make that kind of trouble for her, any more than her own father or brothers. Somehow she knew, beyond all doubt, that he was not the kind of man ever to ravish or offer any offense to any woman.

She went away to attend to her personal needs in private - she had been jeered at, a bit, for this, they said she was as squeamish as a woman, but she knew they only thought it was because she was a cristoforo; they were known to be prudish and modest about such things. She was sure none of them suspected, and Caryl, who know - and Dom Carlo, who, she felt, knew perfectly well - chose to say nothing.

But she could keep her secret as long as she could. When she came to Caer Donn, it might not be so easy as in Nevarsin to find work as hawk-keeper or horse-trainer, but certainly it could be done, and certainly Orain, or Dom Carlo himself, could give her a good reference as a willing and skilled worker.

She still felt a certain revulsion against eating meat, though she knew it was foolish - it was in the way of nature that some animals were prey to others, but though she knew the

intense immediacy of her revulsion was beginning to fade a little, she still preferred porridge and bread to the meat, and Carlo, (she wondered if Orain had spoken to him about it?) no longer urged her to eat it, but simply gave her a somewhat larger ration of porridge and fruit. Alaric jeered at her once, and Dom Carlo curtly bade him be silent.

“The less there is of meat for him, the more for the rest of us, man. Let him have such food as he likes best, and you do the same! If all men were alike, you would long since have been meat for the banshee; we owe it to him to let him have his way.”

They had been, she thought, nine days on the road from Nevarsin when, circling high above them, they saw a bird winging from the range of hills. Romilly was feeding the sentry-birds, and they strained at their jesses as the small bird flew down into their camp; then she saw Dom Carlo standing motionless, his arms extended, his face the blank, silent stare of laran-focused thoughts. The bird darted down; alighted and stood quivering on his hand.

“A message from our folk in Caer Donn,” Carlo said, sought for the capsule under the wing and tore it open, scanning the finely-written lines. Romilly stared - she knew of message-birds who could fly back to their own loft across trackless wilds, but never of one which could seek out a particular man whose whereabouts were unknown to the sender!

Carlo raised his head, smiling broadly.

“We must make haste to Caer Donn, men,” he cried out, “A tenday hence we will gather beneath Aldaran, and Carolin will be at the head of the great army which is massing there, to march on the lowlands. Now let Rakhal look to himself, my faithful fellows!”

They cheered, and Romilly cheered too. Only Caryl was silent, lowering his head and biting his lip. Romilly started to ask what was wrong, then held her tongue. He could hardly rejoice at an army massed against his father, who was Rakhal’s chief advisor. It would be unfair to expect it Yet she had seen that he loved Dom Carlo as a kinsman - in fact, she was sure they were kinsmen, though perhaps distant; she had heard that all of the lowland Hasturs were kin, and she was sure now, recalling Carlo’s red hair, the look he had which reminded her of Alderic, that he was one of the Hastur-kin-folk, and higher in rank than any of his men knew. If Orain, who was the king’s foster-brother, treated him with such deference, he must be noble indeed.

They rode into Caer Donn late in the evening, and Dom Carlo turned, just inside the gates of the city, to Orain.

“Take the men and the birds to a good inn,” he said, “and command all my faithful people the best dinner money can buy; they have had a hard journey and paid dearly for their following of the exiles. You know where I must be going.”

“Aye, I know,” said Orain, and Carlo smiled faintly and gripped his hand. He said, “A day will come-“

“All the Gods grant it,” said Orain, and Carlo rode away through the streets of the city.

If she had never seen Nevarsin, Romilly might have thought Caer Donn a big city. High on the side of the mountain above the town, a castle rose, and Orain said as they rode, “The home of Aldaran of Aldaran. The Aldarans are Hastur-kin from old days, but they have no part in lowland strife. Yet blood-ties are strong.”

“Is the king there?” asked Romilly, and Orain smiled and drew a deep breath of relief. “Aye, we are back in country where that beast Rakhal is not admired, and Carolin is still true king of these lands,” he said. “And the birds we’ve brought will be in the hands of the lung’s leroni in a few days. Pity you’ve not the training of a laranzu, lad, you have the touch. You’ve done Carolin’s men a service, believe me, and the king will not be ungrateful when he comes to his throne.”

He looked down the streets. “Now, if memory fails me not, I recall an inn near the city wall, where our birds may be housed and our beasts fed, and that good meal Carlo commanded may be found,” he said, “Let’s go and find it.”

As they rode through the narrow street, Caryl pushed close to his side.

“Lord Orain, you - the vai dom pledged me I should be sent back to my father under a truce-flag. Will he honor that pledge? My father-” his voice broke, “My father must be wild with fear for me.”

“Good enough!” Alaric said harshly, “Let him feel some o’what I feel, with my son and his mother dead - at your father’s hands-“

Caryl stared at him with his eyes wide. Finally he said, “I did not recognize you, Master Alaric; now I recall you. You wrong my father, sir; he did not kill your son, he died of the bald fever; my own brother died that same summer, and the lung’s healer-women tended them both as carefully. It was sad that your son died away from his father and mother, but on my honor, Alaric, my father had no hand in your son’s death.”

“And what of my poor wife, who flung herself from the window to death when she heard her son had died far away from her-“

“I did not know that,” Caryl said, and there were tears in his eyes, “My own mother was beside herself with grief; when my brother died. I was afraid to be out of my mother’s sight for fear she would do herself some harm in her grief. I am sorry - oh, I am sorry, Master Alaric,” he said, and flung his arms around the man, “If my father had known this, I am sure he would not pursue you, nor blame you for your quarrel with him!”

Alaric swallowed; he stood without moving in the boy’s embrace and said, “God grant my own son would have defended me like to that. I canna’ fault you for your loyalty to your father, my boy. I’ll help Lord Orain see ye get back safe to him.”

Orain heaved a great sigh of relief. He said, “Well not send you into danger in the lowlands without an army behind you, Alaric; ye’ll stay here with the army. But here in this city is a hostel of the Sisterhood of the Sword; my cousin is one of the swordswomen, and we can hire two or three of these women to go south to Thendara and take the lad safe there. I’ll speak to Dom Carlo about it, Caryl, and perhaps you can leave day after tomorrow. And perhaps a message-bird could be sent to your father at Hali, to tell him you are well and safe, and to be escorted safe back to him.”

“You are kind to me, Lord Orain,” said Caryl simply. “I have enjoyed this trip, but I do not like to think of my father’s grief, or my mother’s if she knows I am not safe in Nevarsin where she thought me.”

“I’ll see to it, soon as we reach the inn,” said Orain, and led the way toward a long, low building, with stables at the back, and a sign with a crudely-painted hawk. “Here at the Sign of the Hawk we can dine well and rest after that miserable trip through the snows. And how many of you would like to order a bath, as well? There are hot springs in the city and a bath-house not ten doors away.”

That roused another cheer, but Romilly thought, a little glumly, that it did her no good; she certainly could not risk a man’s bath-house, though she felt grubby and longed to be clear! Well, there was no help for it. She saw the horses and chervines properly stabled, cared for the sentry-birds, and after washing her face and hands as well as she could, went in for the good meal Orain had commanded in the inn. He had ordered rooms for them all to sleep, saying that he had taken the best room the inn offered for young Caryl, as his rank demanded.

“And you are yourself welcome to share my own quarters, Rumal, lad.”

“It is kind of you,” Romilly said warily, “but I will stay in the stable with my charges, lest the sentry-birds be restless in a strange place.”

Orain shrugged. “As you will,” he said. “But another thing I would ask you over dinner.”

“What you wish, sir.”

They went in to the dining-room; there was fresh-baked bread and baked roots, plump and golden, as well as some roasted birds and a stew of vegetables; everyone ate hugely after the long spartan fare of the travelling, and Orain had commanded plenty of wine and beer as well. But he refused Caryl wine, in a kind and fatherly way, and frowned at Romilly when she would have taken her second mug of it

“You know very well you’ve no head for it,” he scolded, “Waiter! Bring the boys some cider with spiceroot in it.”

“Aw,” Alaric teased good-naturedly, for once, “Old Mammy Orain, will ye put them to bed and sing ‘em a lullabye, while the rest of us are all off to soak out our long travel in the bath-house?”

“Nay,” said Orain, “I’m for the baths with the rest of you.”

“And for a house of women soon after that,” called out one of the man, taking a great spoonful of the stewed fruits that had finished the meal, “I haven’t looked at a woman for Zandru knows how long!”

“Aye, and I mean to do more than look,” called another one, and Orain said, “Do what you like, but this is ill talk before the children.”

“I hope for a bath too,” said Caryl, but Orain shook his head.

“The bath-house here in the city is not like the one in the monastery, my boy, but a place of resort for whores and such like as well; I can take care of myself, but it’s no place for a respectable lad of your years. I’ll order you a tub of water in your own room, where you may wash and soak and then to bed and rest well. You too,” he said, scowling faintly at Romilly, “You’re young for the rough folk at the bath-house; see you that the lad here washes his feet well, and then call for a bath for yourself; you’d be too easy prey for the lowlife folk who hang about such places, as much so as if you were a young and respectable maiden.”