Nor Iron Bars A Cage (3 page)

I’d been thirteen then. We’d met in the orchard afterward, half delighted, half appalled at our own daring, watching through the trees as six men with ropes were needed to catch the wayward horse and put him in a stronger pen. Tobin’s dark eyes had danced with amusement, but his voice had been wistful as he said, “I still think I could have ridden him.”

And I’d replied, “If you really want to kill yourself, do it without me next time.”

He’d turned to me, looking startled. “Really?”

And I’d said, “No. Of course not.” I’d punched his arm and he’d wrestled me to the ground, laughing…

“Go away.”

“Lyon, please. It’s me. I thought we were friends. Don’t you remember anything?”

I’d never been able to say no when he begged me. And although I’d thought I was stronger now, or perhaps more self-centered, I dragged myself to my feet and went to the door. I pulled it ajar, and stood in the gap, taking a better look at him.

The years had been kind to Tobin. Like me, he’d passed thirty and entered his middle age, but he was as solidly-built and dark of hair as ever. There was a light crease between his strong brows, and a hint of laugh-lines around his eyes to counterweight it. The shadow of stubble on his chin was darker than I recalled, but perhaps he’d missed shaving. His lips curved up when he saw me, but slowly sobered as I just stared coldly at him.

“Lyon?”

“Hello, Tobin.”

“So you
do
remember me.”

This time I did laugh. It came out hoarse. “What do you want?”

“Can I come in and talk to you?”

“You seem to be talking just fine right here.”

“Yes, but… Lyon, it’s been seventeen years. Don’t you want to at least spend a moment catching up?” His voice caught. “I’ve missed you. I thought you might have missed me too. I thought we were friends, close friends.”

“Bian’s Grace, Tobin!” Two minutes and he was returning me to my childhood ways. I straightened more, holding my right hand behind me. “All right, yes, we were. But I can’t… Just tell me how you found me. Why you bothered, after so long.”

“So
long
?” He stared at me. “I thought you were dead! That fire in Meldov’s house took all day and night to burn itself out, and there was nothing but ashes left. We thought you both were dead. When I was sent to track down the scholar who translated
Dar Vanskiet Nichsenst
for Lord Pardo, I had no idea it would turn out to be you. Even riding here, I told myself with each mile not to keep my hopes up. Because if you had lived,
surely you would have contacted me long ago!
” His eyes blazed.

I wasn’t going to apologize, but I couldn’t help saying, “I was ill for a long time afterward.” It was even the truth.

“And for the seventeen years since then?” He gritted his teeth. “Is Meldov alive too? Are you still with him?”

“No!”

That was clearly too forceful, because his expression went from angry to thoughtful. “With someone else, then?”

“No.” I made the effort to say it casually, but from the narrowing of his eyes I might have failed. I added quickly, “What about you? Still in the king’s service? Wife? Children?”

He snorted. “If you couldn’t tell I was fay by the time I was sixteen, then you were the only one. But no. I have had a lover or three. None the last few years though.”

Just like that.
“I was fay.”
Like it made no difference. Like it didn’t unlock the door I’d closed against a hundred memories of him. I hardened my heart. The man that I was now had no right to touch those innocent childhood moments.

“So you were sent to find me then? You have work for me?” The languages that I knew were mainly long out of use. Most of what I did was esoteric translation of dry old books, for scholars and sorcerers, but I’d done some antique contracts, and an old erotic story or two. I was becoming better known, which was good for my purse, but clearly had suddenly become bad for my peace of mind.

Tobin hesitated, and then reached into the neck of his shirt. The medallion he pulled out was one I’d never seen, but I knew what it was. The gold lips pursed around a clear crystal were the sigil of a King’s Voice. He said clearly and loudly, “His Majesty commands you to come with me to Riverrun, where he has need of your services. You will, of course, be well paid for your time.”

I said, “No.” And shut the door on him again.

There was a moment’s pause before he knocked. I think for once I’d caught Tobin completely by surprise. After the second knock, he muttered something, then raised his voice. “Lyon. You can’t say no to the king.”

“Watch me,” I called back through the wood. I was almost laughing, because this day that had started so simply was decaying into confusion and darkness. The
king
wanted
me
to come back to
Riverrun.
I’d had nightmares that went like this, although they’d never included Tobin at my door. Perhaps what separated nightmare from life was that extra edge of pain that your own mind could not conceive of.

“Lyon, really. Let me in and we’ll talk about it. We don’t have to set off right away.”

“We’re not setting off at all.”

“Be
reasonable.
I speak for the king.”

I glared at the door. “I speak for myself. And I said no.” I had that power now, to say no and stand by it. And I wasn’t leaving my stone walls and my peaceful garden and my workable life for anyone, not even His High and Mightiness King Faro the Second. “If he needs something translated, he can send it here.”

“I don’t think it’s that simple. Come on, Lyon, open the door. I don’t want to shout at you through an inch of wood.”

“Then
go away!
” I was done. Just flat out done. I went to bed, burrowed deep under the covers, and pulled the pillow over my head. It was a good tightly-stuffed down one, and muffled Tobin’s comments enough to make his words undecipherable. I counted metaphorical sheep, and pretended that the sound of his voice didn’t go right through me.

I actually fell asleep. Crazy, but it had been a horrible night, and I often slept better in the daylight. And instinctively I must not have considered Tobin a threat, because I dropped off peacefully to the droning backdrop of his words. Tobin’s
“just be reasonable”
tone. So familiar, and something I had practice ignoring.

When I woke, the angle of the sun told me it was late afternoon. I struggled out of the warm, smothering embrace of covers and pillow and listened. All I heard outside was the familiar chirp and whistle of birdsong. I wondered if perhaps I’d dreamed the whole morning, but the market basket was a new one, and there was a fresh loaf on the counter.

I somehow felt better rested than I had in many weeks. I slid out of bed and stood as quietly as I could. Despite the silence, I had no illusion that the episode was over. Tobin wasn’t sneaky— that had always been my role. But he was tenacious, relentless even. Set Tobin at a goal and he’d reach it or die trying. He’d ridden that gods-bedamned whitefoot stallion a week later.

His knock came as the sun was getting low. I looked up from the book I’d been too distracted to really read, and didn’t answer.

“Lyon, you can’t hide in here forever.”

I muttered, “It worked for fifteen years.” I didn’t say it quite loud enough for him to catch, and I heard him growl in frustration.

“Let me in!”

Fifteen years and no one had crossed that threshold. But I was under no illusions that they couldn’t. Even Meldov hadn’t been powerful enough to set a ward that would keep physical beings out, and the wards I had on my windows and doors were a pale shadow of his. At best they might give a wraith a bad case of itch on its way through. Tobin had the authority of the king and his own curiosity behind him. There was no real sense in dragging this out like a petulant child. But I still moved slowly, as I stood and went to the door.

He ducked his head low, coming inside. He’d always been taller than me, and my lintel barely cleared my own hair. I’d liked that.

Tobin stopped inside the room and looked around. “This is more snug than I imagined from outside.”

“I like it.”

“Have you lived here long?”

“Fifteen years.”

He glanced at me from under lowered brows. “Since the fire?”

“More or less.” As soon as I could travel. It had taken a month. I still kept my hand behind me.

“Alone?”

“Yes.” I just let that stand.

Tobin nodded as if he’d heard more than I said. “So. Are you ready to listen to the King’s Voice?”

“No. I might listen to an old friend though.”

“So you do remember being friends.” Tobin tried to make his voice acid, but really, I’d heard it done far better.

“Of course I remember. But there’s no way to go back there. Tell me what the king wants with a humble translator. In your own words.”

He glanced around the room. “Can we at least sit down? I’ve been on my feet for hours and my knee isn’t up to that anymore.”

“Your knee?” I’d started to sit in my favorite chair, but stood again hastily, and only just remembered not to reach for him. With either hand. “Are you hurt?”

“Three years ago. Which was when I left the cavalry and was offered this job. I’m fine, as long as I don’t overdo things.”

“Oh.” I made a point of lowering myself to the soft leather, tucking my hand under my left arm. I nodded to the straight kitchen chair. “You can have that one.”

He gave me a grin as he sat. “Compared to pointy rocks and rotting logs, this is perfect. Thank you.”

“I wouldn’t think one of the King’s Voices would sit on rocks.”

“The job involves a lot of travel. And really, we’re more like exalted messenger boys than anything. Even in Riverrun, we often sit below the salt, when we get to sit down at all.”

I paused and just looked at him.
Tobin, in my own home.
He looked relaxed and confident, stretching his booted feet out in front of him with a sigh. Behind him, my simple kitchen looked smaller. He cocked his head, but didn’t speak. Once, I’d have been the first to come out with questions or to spill my story on the floor at his boots. But now I could hold my tongue for hours if necessary. I said nothing.

It was Tobin who broke first. “So, did Meldov actually die in the fire? Or did he escape too?”

“Burned to a crisp.” I didn’t mention that he’d been dead well before that happened.

“I thought you liked him.”

“Things change.”

Tobin frowned, but didn’t pursue that. “And now you make a living doing translations.”

“I do. Which brings me to what the king wants from me. And why me? Surely there must be other translators closer and better.” I’d gotten as far from Riverrun as I could without leaving the kingdom.

“Actually, not as many as you’d think. And not one he trusts to translate ancient
tridescant
or
kanshishel
and not make a hash of it. We checked and there used to be a couple, but, well, Meldov was one, and another died of old age, and that leaves you. You
do
know the languages?”

His doubt stung me. “I do. Although ancient
tridescant
was never a written tongue, so it won’t help you much.
Kanshishel
is as close to the written form as it gets. I see it now and then, and I know it as well as anyone.”
Probably better than anyone else now alive.

“The king mentioned both, and some urgency.”

“If it’s so critical, why didn’t he just send the document with you? I could be translating it right now and he could have had his answer as fast as you could ride back. Why send for me instead?”

“I’m just His Majesty’s voice. I’m not privy to his plans. If I was to speculate, which I did plenty of on the ride out here, I’d say either the item is too valuable to risk on the road, even with a guard, or too difficult or too fragile to transport.”

 It made sense of sorts. Which wasn’t reassuring to my prospects. “I can’t go. Not won’t. I can’t.”

“Why?” he asked bluntly.

Because I’m crazy. Because I’m scared and damaged and if I leave these stone walls I think I may lose my mind altogether.
I’d thought I was far more healed than that. I’d even wondered lately if the cure to my ill-humor might be to get away for a while, and set foot in the world again, but all it had taken was his arrival on my doorstep to disabuse me of that notion. He said
“Riverrun”
and my mind was full of smoke and screaming.

“I can’t explain it.”

“Is it to do with the sorcery? A spell?”

“Yes.” I leaped on that. In a way, it was true. It began with a spell. “So you see, if he’ll just send the item here, or perhaps a tracing of the inscription or the text, then he can have his answer.”

“He has his own sorcerers. If I asked him, he would send one here to see if they could free you.”

“No! I mean, it’s slowly wearing off. Messing with it might make it worse.”

“I’ve never heard of a spell that could trap a live human. Not since the days of the mages.” He leaned forward to look more closely. “You look okay. Other than the hand you’re hiding.” But his own hand dropped to hover near his belt knife. “Show me.”

“Go to Na’s own hell.”

He shook off my best glare like he didn’t even see it. “Show me what you have, or I’ll force you. Is it a weapon? Or some mark of damnation?”

I laughed, and the sound hurt my own ears. He winced, but didn’t take his fingers from the hilt.

“Oh, I’ve done damnation,” I said gaily. “And believe me, this isn’t it.” But I could tell he’d follow through with his threat, so I pulled my hand out from under my elbow and waved it at him. “Lovely, right?”

It actually wasn’t that bad. The fingers were untouched, although a little thin from disuse. It was the way they curled in to my palm, and the hand in turn curled toward my wrist, that looked horrible. Like a claw, frozen in a coil of unnatural tension. Living hands were not made to look like that. But since the moment I’d set a flame to the tendons of my wrist, to wrest myself free of the wraith, I hadn’t had a living hand.

He grunted like he’d taken a blow, and dropped his fingers away from his knife. “The fire.”