The Limbreth Gate
Book Three of the Windsingers Series
Robin Hobb

Contents

Cover

Title Page

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

About the Author

Also by the Author

Copyright

About the Publisher

ONE

A slender red fissure appeared in the wall, dividing the stone like a snake cutting through water. The Windsinger had no breath to give the cry of relief she felt. Instead she gathered her strength again, and let it flow from her. The stony goddesses and bearded warriors in bas relief on the wall stared past her unseeing. The uncertain light of her fluttering lamp touched their high cheekbones and rounded arms, but left their eyes in darkness. Yoleth paid no heed to them. They had stalked the walls of Jojorum long before she was born, and would still be slowly weathering away long after she was gone. The creeping fissure split the smiling lips and smooth brow of a minor deity.

The city was still; Yoleth had lulled the wind to silence, and the crowing of cocks and the stirrings of market stall farmers were still hours away. The soft dust of the city streets lay as fine as talc over the ancient paving stones. In all the predawn city, only Yoleth was awake and striving.

A fine haze of sweat misted her lightly scaled skin. It damped the tall blue cowl that framed her narrow face, sticking it to her brow and the back of her neck. Her eyes, grey streaked with white, narrowed with the intensity of her effort. Her arms were folded before her, slender hands clasping one another’s wrists within the voluminous sleeves of the blue gown that proclaimed her a Windsinger of rank. Her body was still but her mind groaned with effort.

She must not waver now. Carefully she blanked her mind again, losing her identity, letting her strength be tapped by the Limbreth on the other side. The seam became a jagged crack. The dark red light that glowed through it was like a fire seen through treetrunks at night. The edges of the opening became regular, forming a tall thin rectangle. Her body steamed beneath her robes; the fine cloth grew heavy with damp. The rectangle stretched wider.

Yoleth struggled to remain apart from it. Curiosity broke and bubbled in her; she longed to peer through the opening Gate. But if the Limbreth were to be successful, she must not divert any of her mind’s power. The Limbreth must control her vision and use her will to see the Gate from this side. She did not know how much longer she could support that need and remain standing. She banished the thought, trying for these moments not to think, not even to be.

The Gate was as wide as a Human now, and taller. But that would not be enough. She heard the hiss of her own breath between her teeth. With an effort that made the edges of the Gate waver, she returned her breathing to its deep regularity. The edges of the Gate firmed. The Limbreth stretched it wider. She felt herself drawn thinner with the effort. There. Surely that was wide enough now. But the Limbreth continued, drawing the sides of the Gate farther and farther apart. Her legs began to tremble, and she could not still them. Her strength was stretched thin as wire.

Slowly she sank to her knees, her robes wilting about her like the petals of a dying flower. Her proud head sagged forward. The Keeper stepped into the Gate, holding it, and Yoleth fell. The lamp beside her guttered, smoked, and went out.

The Keeper filled the Gate and held it. Yoleth’s task was done; strength flowed back into her. She dragged herself to her feet, resuming a Windsinger’s dignity. A trill from her throat brought a tiny breeze that cooled her skin. Withdrawing a small blue handkerchief from her sleeve, she dried her face daintily. She gave a short sigh; a flick of her hand stilled the breeze. ‘It’s done.’

‘Yes,’ the Keeper agreed, his voice like stones falling into a still pool.

Yoleth regarded him with some curiosity. He was a squat and sexless thing, clad in layers of garments so ragged that they effectively concealed the shape of his torso and legs. His arms were lissome and shapely for all their grey color. His hands had three thick fingers that ended in squared-off nails. A shapeless hood hung low over his brow, but concealed no eyes. Two slitlike nostrils flared as he breathed, and his mouth was a puckered seam. But he it was that filled the Gate and held it, his presence and training keeping open the rift between the worlds.

‘I am Yoleth, of the Windsingers,’ she announced formally.

‘I am the Keeper of the Gate, servant of the Limbreth.’ Whatever name he had ever borne had been swallowed by his duty. ‘Where is the one who would go through the Gate?’

‘She has not yet reached Jojorum,’ Yoleth said hastily, surprised by his directness. ‘Her route is not a straight one; bad roads may delay her. But I thought it best to have the Gate ready before she arrived.’

‘Your snare is set, then, but the prey has not yet arrived.’ The Keeper chuckled sonorously. ‘By trickery and by treachery do they come, those who go through my Gate. Is she a fool or a victim of her trust in you?’

‘That is none of your affair,’ Yoleth rebuked him haughtily. ‘My agreement is with your master, and your duty is to honor it.’

‘As I shall. I shall sit within my Gate and wait. When you are ready to use the Gate, you have only to bring your victim here. I will be ready. I have already selected the one from our side that will enter your world to keep the balance.’

Yoleth frowned quickly, the Human lines of it wrinkling strangely the alienized contours of her face. ‘But I understood that you would call her in for me; that I had only to tell you that she was within the city, and you could call her through the Gate.’

The Keeper snorted. ‘Your tales of us must be old indeed. As well ask me to call a particular bird out of a flock in the sky. I can call one through the Gate, yes. But the choosing is not mine when I call one from your side. I can but call, and those unwary ones within the range of my call must answer.’

‘Unwary?’ Yoleth echoed. Her web, so beautifully simple, was tangling to uselessness with his every word.

‘Surely you know what I mean. The ones who have let go the reins of their minds; the drunken, the grieving, the mad, or the extremely weary. Those I can call at random, and do, sometimes, for the sake of balancing the Gate, or to find a new mind to amuse my Master. But I cannot call one of your choosing. You must set your own trap; I can but spring it.’

‘Once sprung, will it hold?’ Yoleth doubted bitterly. ‘This is not the bargain I made. It is not what I thought your master offered. What else will you tell me is different? The Limbreth said that once she was through the Gate, I need trouble about her no longer. Is that true, or is there a string on this as well? What assurances do I have that this Gate of yours will hold her in, or others out?’

‘You have our word on these things,’ the Keeper replied stiffly. ‘I can call the unwary through the Gate. And the Gate is impassable, unless I will otherwise, for I am the Keeper of the Balance and the Matcher of Worlds! The Limbreth, with your aid, can open the Gate. But only a Keeper can reconcile the meeting of two worlds. Their differences alone are enough to seal the Gate against most passage; I am enough to seal it against anything else.’

‘Prove it!’ Yoleth snapped out the words.

The Keeper drew himself up straight. ‘I know not why my master would have doings with those who doubt my words,’ the Keeper grumbled. ‘But if the Limbreth has agreed, who am I to refuse? Wait, then, and watch. Speak no word, I will wastefully spend the one already chosen from our side; I will reach and call for one from yours.’

The Keeper went silent. He stood unmoving within the rectangle of the Gate, his dark bulk limned by the deep reds behind him. Yoleth gazed past him in suspicion. She saw nothing but the red background that framed him, but it was an ever-shifting curtain of reds and umber shadows. Through the Gate, she knew, was the Limbreth world, a place that just touched but did not border the world of the Windsingers. Rumors of it were many, and old tales spoke of it; but what could be truly known of a land that no one returned from? Yoleth leaned forward, peering, but could see only into the Gate, not through it.

The dull thudding behind her of hastening hoofbeats pressed her back against the wall. She flattened herself against the stone hem of a goddess’s robe, looking back, away from the Gate, and was still. The hoofbeats faltered, hesitating, and then a black warhorse cantered round the corner into view. A young Brurjan was high in the saddle, swaying gently with her mount’s movements. She was dressed all in black leather, and the small round shield at her saddle bow carried the device of a yellow wheel in flames. A Rouster by profession. And all Brurjans were fighters by temperament, notoriously disrespectful of all authority. Yoleth eased even closer to the wall.

But the Brurjan made straight for the glowing Gate. The red of it filled her eyes and was reflected in them. It stroked her short dark fur to a crimson sheen. She slid from her saddle to stand before it, swaying slightly as she caught up her mount’s reins. Yoleth smelled the sourness of cheap wine. But when the Brurjan spoke, her voice was clear and steady, though oddly accented.

‘I dreamed me a Gate,’ she intoned. ‘A Gate red as spilled blood, and beyond it a treasure in flickering gems, calling for any bold enough to take them. I dreamed I rode toward it, and woke to find myself standing by my saddled horse. He knew the way, Black did. And I am the one who is bold enough to take.’

‘The Gate is for you, then.’ The Keeper was not at all surprised. ‘Enter slowly. Take your beast if you care to.’

Yoleth watched, silent as a stilled breeze. The Brurjan, with the short swift steps peculiar to her folk, led her horse into the Gate. She slowed suddenly as she entered it, encountering an invisible current. She plowed determinedly on. The red Gate framed them all: the Keeper, the Brurjan and her battlesteed, and, from the other side, a small boy. His pale hair was tousled, his eyes dreaming still. A short pale green garment left his arms and legs bare. His skin was a golden brown. His dream made him smile.

For two breaths all were framed there, limned against the redness. Then the Brurjan and her black horse went on, fading through the Gate, while the boy emerged, stepping suddenly from the redness into the dusky streets of Jojorum. He stumbled as he emerged, as if he had leaned against something, only to find it suddenly gone. As his hands met the dusty paving stones, the dream left his face.

He crouched bewilderedly, staring about the streets in confusion. ‘Mother?’ he called softly, ‘Mother?’ A note of panic entered his voice. ‘I was following you as fast as I could. Don’t go to the dancing without me! Mother?’ The boy glanced back at the Gate, and then at the unfamiliar grey city walls that framed it. He stumbled to his feet. The City must have been foreign to him indeed, for he immediately went to the Gate.

‘Did my mother come this way?’ he asked of the Keeper. But the Keeper turned his squat back on the boy, crouching down in the red of the Gate. ‘Mother!’ the boy called again, and began to venture back through the Gate. It stopped him. Pressed against the wall, Yoleth could see no barrier to his passing, but his fists drummed against something like rain pattering on a stretched hide. It did not yield, even when he scrabbled at it with bent fingers. The Keeper did not stir. Perplexed, the boy looked around.

His eyes snagged on the Windsinger. Yoleth did not move nor speak. His eyes beseeched, but hers were stony. A moment longer he gazed into her granite eyes. Fear disfigured his face. ‘Mother?’ he called again, and began to trot off down the street. His small eyes was lined with worry. His fine hair floated on the dawn air as his head swiveled from side to side, seeking a familiar form.

He trotted round a corner and was gone, except for his small cry floating on the morning like the call of a lost calf. The Windsinger stepped again from her place against the wall.

‘It works,’ she conceded calmly. ‘Our agreement can be fulfilled. But dawn comes soon to this city. Folk will be stirring. Where are doors that will cover this entrance from unfriendly eyes?’

The Keeper swung his head slowly from side to side, marveling at her ignorance. ‘The Gate is here only for those who know where to seek it, and come to seek it. It will be here when you need it. And when your need is over, the Gate will close of its own accord.’

‘I see.’ Yoleth digested this information. ‘And what of that child?’

‘He was necessary. If one comes in, one must be cast out to keep the balance. Only thus can I hold the door. He is not a threat to you. He will tell no one. Your white sun is deadly to him. He will not last the day, and any who hear his raving will put it down to the disease that ravages him. The Limbreth is wary. He would not make an agreement with you if he could not keep it.’

Yoleth drew closer, eyes hungry. She lowered her voice. ‘And he agreed that if I sent him Ki, there would be a gift for me.’

The Keeper was bored. ‘If the Limbreth said, then he will do. If you can keep your side of the bargain. You have still to bring her to the Gate.’

‘I see,’ Yoleth repeated slowly.

‘Mother!’ The small cry floated distantly on the still morning air. A speculative look sprang into Yoleth’s eyes. She was suddenly in a hurry. ‘It is agreed, then. You know who you are to watch for. Admit no other. Give your master my courtesies.’

Yoleth stepped away from the Gate and began to hasten, in a dignified manner, up the dusty street. She glanced back once at the Gate. It was not there. The stony-faced goddesses and heroes gazed at her blankly, denying any knowledge. She stepped back again, scanning the wall, until suddenly the Gate winked back into view. She blinked at it as it teased her eyes. Its width appeared to be perpendicular to the wall. But when she stepped nearer, it opened right before her. The Keeper stared at her in bored competence. Yoleth nodded once and turned away again. Her lips pulled into a tight line. When she had been a Human, it had been a smile. It still expressed her satisfaction with her night’s work, which perhaps she could make tidier still. She detested loose ends.

She hesitated at the first cross street, but the child’s miserable call wailed out again. She hastened toward it. The light of dawn was tingeing the sky; too soon folk would be up and about. She wanted her task completed and herself far away before that time. Let no one even wonder about a Windsinger hurrying down a dawn street in Jojorum.

At the next turning she caught sight of him. His pace had slowed to a walk. At every step the boy glanced about fearfully, but most often he turned his eyes up to the sky that was fading into blue. A rosy blush was rising on his golden skin. He rubbed at his bare arms as if they stung. ‘Mother!’ he cried again.

‘Boy!’

He turned to the Windsinger’s call, his eyes going wider in fear.

‘No, boy, don’t be afraid. I’ve come to find you. You’re to come with me.’

‘No. I want to go to my mother. I was following her, and then suddenly she was gone. I must catch up with her. I don’t like to be in this place alone.’

‘What’s your name?’ The Windsinger’s tone demanded an answer.

‘Chess.’

‘Exactly. Chess. I knew it was you. Your mother has sent me to find you, and take you to a safe place. She wants you to wait there for her, and do as I say, and she will come for you as soon as she can. Come along now.’

‘Why doesn’t she come now?’

Yoleth shrugged eloquently and took a chance. ‘I don’t know. She did not tell me. Does she not sometimes tell you to do things without saying why?’

Chess nodded slowly. He rubbed again at his arms, and then hugged them to his sides. He glanced worriedly from Yoleth’s face to the blue sky above her.

‘Then come with me. I have no doubt that when she comes for you, she will explain everything. But for now, she wants you to do as I tell you.’

Giving him no time to consider her words, she rushed him down the street, striding so swiftly that he trotted at her heels. The innmaster would want a few more coins for this. Well, no matter. He was already too well bribed to say no. It made all her arrangements more certain. They came swiftly to where a signboard depicted a white duck in a blue pond. The boy’s skin glowed rosily, and he cried aloud when Yoleth gripped his shoulder. She ignored it.

‘Take this,’ she instructed, pressing a tiny blue stone into the boy’s hand. ‘Give it to the man they call innmaster. Tell him you are come to help at the inn. You are to work nights at tables, and to sleep in the cellar by day. You are part of the bridegroom’s jest. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, but …’

‘Repeat it, then.’

‘I give this thing to the innmaster and say I am come to help him, and work on tables at night, and sleep in a cellar all day. I am part of the bridegroom’s jest. But why are you leaving me? When will my mother come?’

Yoleth stifled her impatience. ‘She will come when she can. And I must leave because there is a place I have to be soon, if I am not already late. The innmaster will take care of you. Do all he tells you, and your mother will be very pleased with you when she comes. You want her to be pleased, don’t you?’

Chess nodded, but his small mouth was ajar with uncertainty.

‘Good.’ Yoleth pushed him, not ungently, through the doorslats of the inn. With a glance up and down the street, she hurried on her way. Her lips were once more stretched tight on her face.

‘I am growing impatient.’ Rebeke spoke coldly. ‘Did not Yoleth and the others know the hour set for this meeting?’ Rebeke stood motionless upon the black stone floor of the High Council chamber. She refused to pace, or even to shift her feet. If the High Council wished to be so discourteous as to deny her a chair, she would not let them enjoy her discomfort.

Five of the nine High Council Windmistresses returned her look. Their eyes were emotionless. They could have been statues gowned in deep blue and placed upon white chairs. The dull white High Council table was shaped in a half circle. Rebeke stood at the focus of all eyes, surrounded by stony gazes. She turned her head slowly, meeting each set of eyes in turn.

‘When will the others arrive?’ she demanded again.

Shiela shrugged. Her seat was to the right of the center chair, which was empty. ‘How can we say? You gave us little enough notice that you wished to speak to us. Your action is unusual enough, to say nothing of the hour you have chosen. Dawn hasn’t even warmed the fields. Besides, the High Council is accustomed to summoning the Windsingers they wish to address. Not the other way round. Lately, any summons we have sent to you has been ignored. Will you pretend surprise that others return your rudeness?’ Shiela sniffed delicately through her narrow nose.

Rebeke did not flinch. She met Shiela’s words silently, staring her down. The faces of the Windmistresses were impassive, but Rebeke could feel their uneasiness like a small cold wind. They did not like to look at her. She was more Windsinger than any of them. She had left her Human form behind like cast-off clothes. The shape of the ancient race was nearly fulfilled in her, and their legendary powers as well. She possessed already what they still strove after. But it gave her no beauty in their eyes.

Her blue cowl was tall above her brow. The blue and white of her eyes had gone flat. A swelling in the center of her face was a memorial to a once patrician nose. Her mouth was lipless, the corners nearly reaching the hinges of her jaws. The lissome movements of her arms within her loose sleeves suggested that the structure of her elbows and wrists had changed. The High Council could have forgiven the changes in her physiognomy. But they could not forgive the power that thrummed through her voice when she uttered the slightest word. Rebeke made certain they did not forget it.

She let the silence vibrate. ‘Yoleth,’ she said at last, ‘would certainly take pleasure in refusing to meet with me. But Cerie and Kadra and Dorin; were they even informed of my request?’

Shiela stiffened. ‘It is not the place of a Windmistress to question the High Council. Nor do we have to account to you for our whereabouts. You wished to speak to us. We have a quorum. Speak.’

‘I shall, but not because you command it. I will speak because I have no time for your petty intrigues. I have other things to attend to. Yet well I know that if I do not speak now, you will later plead ignorance, and make me out to be the unreasonable one. So I will speak swiftly now, and you will listen. Listen and remember.’

Rebeke stared slowly around at the semicircle of hostile faces. ‘At least I need not wonder if I have your attention,’ she said mirthlessly. She lifted her right hand abruptly and took a perverse pleasure in the flinching of the two Council members nearest her. ‘The wind has brought me rumors. Do not think I jest or exaggerate when I say the breezes bring me news …’

‘Superior abilities are never an excuse for the misuse of power!’ Shiela cut in angrily.

‘Silence!’ Rebeke’s voice was gentle, but its power rocked the room. Shiela went white as if she lacked air. ‘Ignorance is never an excuse for rudeness. As I was saying, the wind has brought me rumors. There is the Romni teamster, called Ki. You are all aware that she lives and travels under my shadow. Not my protection, nor my indulgence. My shadow. She is mine to rebuke, or mine to ignore. You have been warned to leave her alone. But the wind rumors say that you plan to do her evil. Will any of you deny this?’

Shiela took in air, but could not speak. A slender Windmistress, one of the young ones at the far edge of the table, shifted uneasily. Rebeke put her gaze upon her. Lilae was the newest of the Council members, with the face of a young Human maiden, lightly scaled. Her lips were still full and rosy with the blush of Humanity. ‘I will speak for us,’ she ventured timidly. ‘Unless there is another who feels she can speak better.’ She glanced about the table, but no other Windmistress moved or spoke. Shiela stared at the white table surface.

‘Please speak then,’ Rebeke invited her courteously. Her tone was markedly more tolerant as she looked upon the young Windsinger. Lilae drew in a deep breath; her eyes darted to Shiela, and then back to Rebeke.

‘The matter of Ki the Romni has been brought before us. Shiela spoke of it at the last calling of the Council. We are aware that Ki was your’ – Lilae fumbled, seeking a word for what she wished to express – ‘servant, in the recovery of the sole Windsinger Relic. We suppose you feel some debt of gratitude to her for aiding you to recover so important a treasure.’ Lilae was becoming more certain of herself with every word. ‘But perhaps you have not considered the other side of the coin. With the wizard Dresh she was able to force her way into our halls. She was a party to the slaying of Grielea, a Windsinger much honored among us, if not beloved to you.’ Rebeke’s smooth brows knit, and Lilae’s voice shook slightly as she hastily continued. ‘And it is said that she helped you to regain the relic, not to please us, but to spite the villagers that would not pay what they owed her. Or would not pay her friend. The reports aren’t clear.’

‘They work as one,’ Rebeke said portentously. ‘A lesson this High Council could learn from them.’

‘Perhaps!’ Lilae agreed recklessly. ‘And perhaps you can tolerate their disrespectful ways. But have you remembered she is Romni? For that is what disturbs Shiela. Though she and this Vanjin –’

‘Vandien,’ Rebeke corrected.

‘She and this Vandien may most often travel by themselves, but they do frequent the Romni campsites, sometimes to share a day or two of that life. The man is a skilled storyteller. All the Romni know what happened in your halls, and at the sunken temple. The story is spreading, for the Romni have made a song of it. Typical of them, the song is little related to the facts, but boasts only of a Romni and her man who tweaked the noses of the Windsingers, put them in their debt, and walked off without a scratch. Need I remind you that the Romni do not stay in one place? They move about, they meet other Romni, they move on again. The song is spreading. It is known in most of the major towns now, and is becoming a favorite. We cannot tolerate this kind of thing. A properly respectful attitude toward us is the necessary foundation for …’

‘Ridiculous!’ Rebeke did not laugh, but her voice was full of scorn. ‘You would kill her for a song. Perhaps you need the other races groveling at your feet, but I do not. And I have told you before: Ki travels under my shadow. If there is such a song – and I have not heard it – it bothers me not at all. Ki will continue to go her own way, unmolested. If we stoop to slaying her, it will not kill the song. It will only increase our reputation as humorless tyrants. Folk cannot be stopped from singing.’

‘I have heard the song,’ Shiela croaked. Her face was still white but her eyes blazed. ‘And it is more than disrespectful. It smacks of outright rebellion. Perhaps you fancy being the butt of a joke, Rebeke. We do not. Stick to pet wizards and leave the Romni to us.’

No one could breathe in the thick silence. ‘You shall not speak to me of the wizard Dresh,’ Rebeke whispered softly. ‘If you try again, you will find yourself incapable of speaking to anyone about anything.’ Her voice grew stronger, defiant. ‘Need I remind you, any of you, that I am the possessor of the Relic? The last perfectly preserved body of a Windsinger born? Without it, you can start the transformation from lower species to Windsinger, but you cannot complete it. You have not seen it, you cannot know how pathetically inadequate it makes all your carven images. Look at yourselves and look at me. Your bodies need the guidance of your mind and the Relic. But while you take this tone with me, you will not get even a glimpse of it. Until you can be made to see reason, I shall leave you to fumble your way along the path to being true Windsingers. I am nearly there. And I have acolytes in my hall who are closer to true form and purer of voice than most here who call themselves Windmistresses. I am not going to force any of you. You can come around to my persuasion and join me. Or you can stay as you are, and be surpassed, outsung and outgrown, until you are unnecessary to anyone.

‘Perhaps Ki and Vandien were not my willing tools in the recovery of the Relic. That matters little to me. I have it. And it was by Ki’s voluntary aid that I was able to contain the wizard Dresh, and so control him that you now dare to refer to him as my “pet.” So. I shall give you a few instructions. Let her disobey who dares. Listen well. Neither Ki nor Vandien shall be killed. Nor shall I agree to their lives being indefinitely postponed, as you so politely refer to it when you place one in the void. Send your singing Romni a storm or two. Blow in the roofs of a few taverns where this song is sung, if you feel that will prove anything. I have no time to watch your every move. For while you are wreaking your trivial vengeances, I am training the Windsingers who tomorrow will rise up, to show this world what Windsingers used to be. The time will come when we shall rule, not with harshness, but from the fullness of our generosity, and the gratitude of a wind-blessed folk. I fear no singing Romni.’

Shiela looked down once again at the table. Pale lids hooded her eyes, teeth met her lower lip. ‘I regret the rift that has grown between us,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Of what use is the High Council, when the ranks of the Windsingers are sundered? Only under one authority can the winds of the sky blow in harmony. Yoleth is not here, but I think I can offer you this. I give you our word that Ki shall not be killed, nor put in a void. Nor Vandien. Does that satisfy you?’

Rebeke spoke slowly. ‘It would.’ Some thought she was reluctant to be reconciled, and some thought she was mistrustful of the sudden proposal.

‘And, again, though Yoleth is not here, I will be so bold as to ask this. Under what circumstances, what agreements would you allow us access to the Relic? Let your words be tempered by this thought; when you deny us, it is not only the High Council that lacks guidance, but also many young and promising Windsingers in our halls. Will you let the calf die of thirst because the cow has displeased you?’

‘Do not think that has not troubled me,’ Rebeke said, and her voice, for once, was empty of her power. ‘Your words are fair, your request equitable. But I cannot answer it without thought. When I return to my hall, I shall give my mind to it. The High Council will receive a list of what agreements I think essential for the Windsingers to be once more united. Your keeping of your word regarding Ki I will see as an omen of your good will.’

‘You will.’ Shiela was gracious but reserved.

‘I will leave you now. I am trusting that my words will be passed on to Yoleth, and to Cerie, Kadra, and Dorin. Please let them know that I missed them.’

‘We will.’

Rebeke left them without another word. She stepped through the portal of the audience chamber and they listened to her footsteps fading down the hall. The silence that drenched the room was ominous. Shiela was the first to speak. She lifted her eyes from their contemplation of the bare table and aimed them at Lilae. Small fires burned in them.

‘Mark how graciously she leaves us, without even a formal farewell. Do not think, Lilae, that I have overlooked your part today. You speak loudly for one so young, and not well. Shiela tells us this, and Shiela says that. I shall remember.’

Lilae was visibly flustered. ‘But I waited for another to take that part and speak for us. I did not want Rebeke to think we had no reasons for our plan other than to spite her.’

‘Spiting that one would be reason enough for any number of plans. But I shall accept your word that it was only stupidity and not malice that drove you to blather on.’

‘Have I missed Rebeke then?’ All eyes turned to the portal. Yoleth posed there, looking well pleased with herself. Secrets simmered in her eyes.

‘You have. Such a shame. She was so entertaining.’

Yoleth’s eyes roved across the chairs. ‘Dorin, Cerie and Kadra; have they left already, also?’

‘They never arrived.’ Shiela’s eyes met Yoleth’s and traded secrets. ‘Perhaps their summonses went awry.’

‘Perhaps. It is just as well. They are too easily influenced by Rebeke’s boldness. My errands, at least, went well.’

‘But we must not!’ Lilae sat up, going whiter. ‘Rebeke knows all! She says if we harm her Romni, she will never let us look upon the Relic. She says –’

‘What a child!’ Shiela’s voice held no tolerance. ‘Rebeke knows all! It’s a bluff. She knows nothing, not for certain. “The breeze brings me news!” Sheer frippery! Only a fool would be taken in by it. No doubt she has heard something, for some tongues in this room wag overmuch, and out of place. But our plans need not change.’

‘You gave your word.’ Lilae was shaken but determined.

‘We aren’t going to kill the teamster, nor put her in a void. And that’s all I gave my word for.’ Shiela looked away from Lilae. Her eyes locked with Yoleth’s and they reached some agreement.

‘The High Council is dismissed,’ Yoleth announced perfunctorily. ‘You all have acolytes to see to; a better occupation than sitting here and fretting over shadows. And Lilae?’ The young Windmistress turned to look at Yoleth reproachfully. ‘Do not be upset. You are young, and full of ideals. I am old, and full of necessities. But one of my necessities is that I keep Windsingers like you by me, to temper my cynicism with your trusting ways. Put the Romni matter from your mind. Let it be upon my head, not yours. Sing with a clear conscience today. May the wind rise ever obedient to your call.’

‘As to yours,’ Lilae replied formally and left.

After a few moments, Yoleth checked the hall to be sure it was empty. She drew close to Shiela and spoke softly.

‘Exactly what does Rebeke know?’

‘She knows you don’t like Romni singing. She seemed to accept that as your reason. But I would still like to hear the real one.’

Yoleth measured the other Windsinger speculatively. ‘Not yet. But soon I shall tell you all. Be flattered that you know as much as you do.’

Shiela appeared to be on the point of speaking. But she swallowed her first words and only observed, ‘It is hard to put trust where one is not trusted.’

Yoleth only smiled at her.

TWO

Vandien pinched the heavy weave of the fabric between thumb and forefinger. He gave the vest a shake, and the bright colors almost flashed in the afternoon sun. He raised one eyebrow at the woman in the stall.

‘You know my price!’ she reminded him firmly. ‘And you can see it’s worth it. Try it on, and feel the weight of it.’

Vandien obeyed, slipping it on over his loose linen shirt. He rolled his shoulders in it, and tugged the front even. ‘It fits well,’ he grudgingly admitted. ‘But …’

‘But he can’t possibly be serious.’ He turned his head sharply at the amused voice behind him. Ki stood there, her mouth puckered in mock dismay, her arms laden with supplies.

‘I am. And why not?’

‘Blue is your color. And green, yellow, red, and black as well. But not all at once.’

‘Not usually. But last time we stopped with the Romni, Oscar told me that a man who dresses as simply as I do is like a cockerel without feathers. What do you think of this?’ Vandien pulled the front of the vest down straight so that the embroidery of birds, flowers and vines could be admired.

‘I think Big Oscar is right. If you wear that vest, no chicken could resist you.’

He met her laughing eyes with no amusement. ‘I think I like it.’

‘Walk about a bit and think it over before you buy. If you still like it, I am sure it will still be here.’ Ki made her suggestion in a practical voice.

‘I suppose.’ Vandien took off the vest slowly and replaced it on the piles of merchandise. The woman in the stall shrugged at him and rolled her eyes. Vandien gave her a grin she had to answer, and then turned away to Ki.

‘Take some of this stuff, will you?’ she demanded, and began to unload into his arms. ‘Help me carry it back to the wagon. Can you think of anything else we need?’

‘What do you have there?’

She inventoried as she loaded it into his arms. ‘Smoked salted fish; red pomes; tea; honey in that brown pot; that’s a string of onions over your shoulder; lard in the wooden box; cheese, and a square of leather for new gloves.’

Vandien stared down at his load. ‘It all sounds very practical and essential.’ Disappointment dulled his voice.

‘What did you want? Pickled chestnuts and peacock feathers?’ Ki was nettled. She spoke over her shoulder as they edged through the busy market. When Vandien did not reply, she glanced back at him. He had paused at a stall aflutter with gay scarves. Belatedly he remembered her and fell in behind her.

‘No. Nothing like that. I’d just like to see you be a little more impulsive. Enjoy life.’

‘You’re impulsive enough for both of us,’ Ki pointed out.

Vandien shifted his load. They were out of the main press of the market, but Ki had left the wagon and horses behind the inn. Curly dark hair sagged forward onto his brow and fell into his eyes. He blew up at it, but it only tickled the more. ‘You’re just jealous of me,’ he accused her gravely.

‘Indeed.’ Ki juggled her own parcels and slowed to walk beside him. They were nearly of a height, and their eyes met with sparks. ‘I suppose next you will be saying that I secretly desire to wear a vest with trees and birds sprouting all over it.’

‘No, not my taste. You’re jealous of my ability to enjoy life. You tiptoe through your days, worrying about warm underwear and axle grease, while I stride through mine singing. You’re lost all your edges, Ki. You nibble at the dry corners of your life.’

‘Instead of cramming it all into my mouth at once, like some folk we know.’

‘Exactly.’ Vandien bowed his head to acknowledge the compliment. ‘This afternoon – I am quite safe in predicting – you will drink exactly and precisely the three bowls of Cinmeth you permit yourself to consume in a public inn, while I take down as much Alys as they have and I can afford. Isn’t that true? What can you say to that?’

‘Only that I’m glad the wagon is right in the innyard. I detest dragging you through city streets in broad daylight.’

‘Oh, that’s funny,’ Vandien snarled.

‘Truth stings.’ Ki grinned at him smugly. As they reached the wagon, she turned and added her burden to the items he already carried. She climbed up the tall yellow wheel onto the plank seat, and reached back down to receive the supplies from him. ‘Come up here and help me put this stuff away,’ she invited.

‘Do it yourself,’ he growled as he climbed up beside her. She slid open the cuddy door and climbed down into the living quarters of the wagon. The front half of the freight wagon had been closed in to resemble half a Romni wagon. Ki stood in the center of the tidy little cabin and put things away as he passed them to her. A platform covered with hides and blankets was the bed at one end of the room. The cuddy walls were a patchwork of shelves, cupboard, nooks and hooks. A small table folded down under the single tiny window with its greased skin pane. It took only moments for Ki to place every item on its shelf or in its bin. She looked up at Vandien sulking on the seat. She tried to straighten her face to match his.

‘You’re disgusted with me.’

‘I am.’

‘Because I am such a practical, mundane, boring person. Because I go through life immune to impulse and idiocy. Because there is never anything about me the least bit unpredictable.’

‘Well.’ Vandien quailed before the harshness of Ki’s self-indictment. ‘No. Because it’s all there, bubbling beneath the surface, and you refuse to let it out. I’ll tell you what I’d like to do.’ He stepped down into the cuddy and seated himself on the sleeping platform. ‘I’d like to make a day for you such as I’d make for myself.’ Ki raised her eyebrows questioningly, but he plowed on determinedly. ‘We’ll do this.’ He suddenly became almost shy, and covered his hesitation by brushing the curls from his eyes.

‘Yes?’ Ki said encouragingly.

‘Stop interrupting me. How can I think and talk at the same time if you keep interrupting me? We’ll do this. We’ll find a public bath; an old city like Jojorum must have some baths worthy of the name. And we will loll and soak until your little toes are as pink as your nipples.’ He grinned at her, suddenly wicked as his own fantasy carried him away. ‘We will hire a body servant to put up your hair in long soft curls, and weave it all through with fine gold wire and pearls. We will drape you in one long length of cloth of gold, and put slippers on your feet of finest gleaming leather. Green stone earrings to match your flashing eyes, and three plain silver rings on each of your hands.’

‘And then what?’ Ki asked gently when the pause grew long.

‘And then we shall walk through Jojorum together, with your arm about my waist, and folk will gaze on us and remember when this city was young and lusty.’

‘They’d only be admiring your vest,’ Ki teased gently, but she moved to stand close before him, and put her hands on her hips. ‘You know we don’t have the coin to do any of that, other than the bath.’

‘I know. But when I want to do it, I know I want to do it, while you go about pretending you don’t want to do it, because you know you can’t afford it. And that’s the big difference between us.’

‘That makes us good for each other,’ Ki amended. She slipped one hand into her skirt pocket. With the other she caught a handful of the thick dark curls at the nape of his neck. Her gentle pull bowed his head to her. She drew her free hand out of her pocket and shook out a circle of chain and looped it over his head.

‘What’s this?’ Vandien pulled her down to sit on the bed beside him as he fingered the fine silver chain curiously.

‘It’s an impulse. From a friend who doesn’t have many. I knew it was yours when I saw it in the jeweler’s stall.’

Vandien slipped the necklace off to look at it. The chain was silver worked in tiny loops. Suspended from one larger loop swung a tiny hawk. Spread wings, talons and open beak had been chipped in fine detail from some black stone that glistened even in the cuddy’s dim light. A chip of red was its sparkling eye. Ki knew she had chosen well at the sigh that escaped him. He looped it again about his neck. The length of the chain let it rest well below the hollow of his throat.

‘It’s almost lost in the hair,’ she observed.

‘I shall shave that spot on my chest to properly display it,’ Vandien promised.

‘You will not.’ She kissed him so suddenly that her rare token of affection landed only on the corner of his mouth and his moustache. But when he would have been more thorough, she gently freed herself from his embrace.

‘You just remembered you forgot to buy harness oil,’ Vandien guessed sagely.

Ki laughed ruefully at his accuracy. ‘And I need to refill the team’s grainbox. I’ll have to take the wagon to fetch that.’

‘I’ve errands of my own, nearly as dreary.’

‘Such as?’

‘Warm underwear and axle grease,’ he told her solemnly. He rose, keeping his head bent under the low cuddy ceiling. ‘I found a nice little tavern, and left my horse tied in front. It’s called the Contented Duck. As nearly as I could find by asking about, it’s the only place in Jojorum that serves both Alys and Cinmeth.’

Ki nodded. ‘I’ll meet you there, then. But, Vandien.’ He turned back to the sudden worry in her voice. ‘We cannot tarry long. I’ve heard an ugly thing in the streets today: A juggler on a street corner warned me of Rousters. “I can put a long coat over my motley,” he told me. “But a painted Romni wagon is a harder thing to hide.” We’d best be clear of this place before nightfall.’

‘Rousters?’ Vandien looked at her blankly.

‘We’ve been together too long. Sometimes I forget you are not Romni born. The merchants of some towns are not pleased to see a Romni caravan arrive. They call us thieves and worse. But it’s not just the Romni. It’s any traveler with wares to sell that may be cheaper than their own, be he tinker or trader. So the merchants hire Rousters. They’ll come on a wagon in the dead of night, beat the adults, terrify the children, disable the team if they can, set fire to the wagon if they can’t; all in the name of moving on the thieving vagabonds and keeping their fair towns pure.’

Vandien’s dark eyes went black as Ki spoke. Her face held an expression he seldom saw on her. Her green eyes were unseeing as she remembered more than she spoke about. He touched her gently on the sleeve and she was suddenly back with him.

‘Surely they won’t bother us,’ he reasoned. ‘We’re only one wagon, delivering freight.’

‘They don’t care.’ Ki’s voice slashed in, low and savage. ‘They don’t care if you’re selling lace or juggling at a crossroads or doctoring horses. You can just be begging. They roust you along, and not gently. I don’t usually do business with towns that keep them. I’ll be glad to watch the dust of Jojorum settle behind us, and get back to our regular hauls.’

‘All right.’ Vandien agreed so meekly that Ki turned to him in wonder. He gave a snort of laughter at the look on her face. ‘Just as you had your impulse for the year, I am indulging a spree of practicality. We’ll meet at the Duck, have but one drink each, and be on our way. We’ll be clear of Jojorum before nightfall.’

They clambered out of the cuddy and Vandien watched Ki stride off to the innyard’s corral to fetch her team. He shook his head silently. Rousters. He had never thought he would see Ki leave a town with no cargo to haul, and an inn room paid for and not slept in. He turned his own steps back down the dusty streets to the market again.

Just this morning they had arrived, and they would leave before nightfall. A pity. Jojorum had seen better days, but as downtrodden as it was, an old glory peered from its corners and teased Vandien’s curiosity. Ki’s wagon had rolled into the city through a towering arch whose lines were slightly obscured by the many mud swallow nests that clung to it. The tall yellow wheels of her Romni wagon had rolled smoothly over the pavingstones some ancient ruler had thoughtfully laid down for her. A blanket of dust shrouded the street and muffled the hoofbeats of her team. Weeds and grasses sprouted from the cracks between road surface and building fronts. Tall stone buildings frescoed with the faces of forgotten heroes were diminished by the mud brick houses that huddled between and against them, reminding Vandien of the swallow nests. Three of the five fountains they had passed were cracked and dry, but at the fourth one, folk were drawing water and at the fifth, laundry was being sloshed under the watchful eyes of seven marble water spirits that helpfully spewed down the clean rinse water. The last fountain had been set in an ancient courtyard. Dead harp trees were mute before the fallen mansion. Jojorum was a melancholy city that had outlived its days of joys and dabbled now in licentiousness.

Vandien wandered back to the clothing stalls.

‘You’ve come back for the vest, then?’ the proprietor asked.

A gleam of mischief came into his eyes. ‘Have you one that is similar, but smaller? One that would fit the friend that was with me earlier?’

But he was cheated of his jest, for she had nothing gaudy enough to satisfy him. For the second time that day, he gave the merchant a regretful shake of his head and stepped from her booth. He strolled through the market, enjoying the noise and bustle. The long peaceful days of the last haul had chafed his quick spirit. Now here were people and new things to see and buy, and a handful of silver in his purse. He bought a bright yellow scarf to knot about his throat, and a paper of dried spiced fruit to nibble as he wandered from one stall to the next. ‘Pleasure for coin?’ a young woman in pink asked him. He gave her a politely appreciative smile and a slow shake of his head. He meandered on.

At a T’cherian stall he bought and devoured tiny greenish cakes of vegetable bread. A length of yellow ribbon for Ki caught his eyes, and a little pot of soft soap scented with clover. A new leather pouch bound with thongs of red and blue next seduced him. But this last purchase left him with only a few copper bits to put into the new pouch, and thus he knew his shopping was finished. He turned his slow steps back toward the tavern.

‘Pleasure for coin?’ The same girl, or her sister in an identical pink robe. Again Vandien shook his head politely and tried to step past her. But she blocked him, coming so close that he smelled the spicy fragrance of her breath. ‘Pleasure for pleasure?’ she offered him in a softer voice.

Vandien raised his brows at her. He was not an ugly man, though most looked twice at the long scar that made a fine seam down the center of his face. He knew the power of his dark eyes and charming smile, and wasn’t above using them to his advantage. But an abrupt offer like this of such flattering nature was outside his experience. The adolescent portion of him crowed.

‘I’m a fool,’ he admitted to her. ‘Or a crazy man. Perhaps I’m just happy with my present luck, and won’t risk changing it. But I’ll thank you for thinking of me.’ With a regretful shake of his head, as if he himself could not actually believe he was refusing her, he stepped past her. A needle of pain ripped into his thigh. Even as it raked up his spine, he lost the power to cry out. He staggered two steps and fell.

‘My brother!’ the woman exclaimed hysterically. ‘He’s having one of his attacks! Please, someone, help us!’

Vandien lay in the dust stupidly, watching the feet mill around him. Dust was in his eyes, and he was breathing in dusty air, but he couldn’t blink or sneeze. He could hear, and the woman was ranting on about her poor brother and begging for aid. Her sweet voice was sharp enough now to scale fish. Vandien was not surprised when someone decided finally to help her. It was easier than listening to her.

His mind should have raced as he was hauled to his feet, and his arms draped across the woman’s shoulders and her benefactor’s. But he found himself oddly complacent, an observer rather than a participant in this peculiar play. The woman lived several streets over and up a flight of stairs. He rather resented the way he was dragged up them with no thought of his shins and ankles as they whacked across each step. It was distasteful to be plopped onto a stained couch and covered with a dirty blanket, and offensive to have to listen to the benefactor noisily taking his reward. He did not watch, for they had laid him with his face to the wall, and he could not move. His eyes ran tears to wash out the dust he could not blink away. Even more annoying was that he could not close his eyes and sleep as he so longed to do. He stared at the cracked masonry wall before him, and finally drifted into an open-eyed sleep, or an unconsciousness very like it.

Ki stared down into her bowl. At most there was a swallow or two of the rosy Cinmeth left. After that she would have to reach a decision. She could take her wagon out of the city and trust that Vandien would figure out she had gone north, back to her regular trade routes. Or she could leave a definite message with the tavernmaster for him. Or she could take her wagon back to the innyard and spend the night at the inn, trusting to luck that her wagon wouldn’t be burned in the night. Or she could walk through the evening streets, calling Vandien’s name at every corner.

She quaffed down the Cinmeth, and held her bowl aloft for more. She would wait just a little longer for him. She would have just one more drink, and if he was not here by then, she would decide what to do. She watched the tavern boy pour the spicy liquor into her bowl. It was her fifth. So let Vandien come and find that she could be as impulsively reckless as he. She could trust her luck just as he always did his. But that was the trouble with his damn luck. It was always good, cushioning his falls, so that he never learned a lesson or two of cautiousness. Nor punctuality.

A rattling sound turned her head in surprise. The serving boys were letting down the windowslats. One boy was making the rounds of the tables with a tray full of little candles on clay plates. He kindled one for Ki and set it carefully before her. Ki stared at him curiously, for he was not the usual tavern boy. They tended to be stout little lads picked for their sturdy bodies and tough little legs that could jog up and down from the cellar all evening. But this lad was slender and delicate, appearing nervous and fearful even of the candles he was kindling. His grey eyes were faintly luminous in the semi-dark of the tavern. His hair was pale as moonlight, as were his brows and lashes, which stood out against his mellow brown skin. Despite his coloring, the bruises of hard fingers were plain on his small wrists and thin arms. The boy caught her staring at him, and his fearful eyes were almost accusing. Ki raised her bowl and drained off half the potent Cinmeth to wash away that look. Where had the child learned so immense a wariness?

But when Ki set down her bowl, the boy was standing right before her, the tiny candle flame dancing reflected in his eyes. He glanced fearfully all about before he spoke. The words came as carefully phrased as an actor’s.

‘Do you wait for a man with a line like this?’ He drew a thin finger down his face, starting between his eyes and running beside his nose to his jawline.

‘Perhaps,’ Ki parried warily. Her hand went to her coin purse, but his eyes did not follow it. Her answer had left him uncertain. He glanced around again, as if to take encouragement from someone, but found no one there. His eyes were panicky when they came back to hers.

‘I’ve a friend marked like that,’ Ki admitted hastily.

The boy sighed out loudly in relief. He licked his lips and picked up his lines. ‘Then I’ve a message for you. He’s had a bit of trouble. He sent a man to the tavern to find you, but the man couldn’t stay. I do not know why, but the Rousters have put him out the Gate. He waits for you there.’

Ki shook her head in disbelief. But it had to be true. That would explain why his horse was no longer tied in front of the tavern. Damn his impulsiveness! She wondered what he had said and to whom. She hoped they hadn’t hurt him.

She gulped down the last of her Cinmeth, and made a small coin ring on the table for the boy. He looked at it, but did not move. With a sigh, she added another. Even the tips in this town were more than she could afford. ‘Take it!’ she told him a bit testily, and he slowly picked up the little coins. She rose quickly, but her head spun. Damn and damn and damn. See what happened when both of them got impulsive on the same day, she chided herself. She dreaded what she would find. Vandien would fight back. She knew he would. But his rapier, which made him the equal of many a taller, huskier man, was on its hook inside her wagon. Ki had seen the Brurjans the city kept as Rousters. They were hulking, quarrelsome beings, their faces dark with fur. They painted the hooves of their horses red. Ki had reached the door before she remembered.

‘Which Gate?’ she called across to the serving boy.

With a stricken look he hurried to her side. He pointed out into the street and gave her the count and directions of the turns. ‘It’s called the Limbreth Gate,’ he ended in a small voice. Then, as if he were speaking a family motto, he added, ‘If you are looking for it where I tell you, you will find it. But you must be looking for it.’

‘I will.’ Ki reached to tousle his hair, but he flinched away so wildly that her heart squeezed within her. He scuttled away from her. She was almost tempted to go after him. But he was likely bound into service, and buying him out of it would be a lengthy affair, requiring the presence of his parents and much haggling with the tavernmaster. She would keep him in mind, she promised herself, and perhaps do something about it after she had found Vandien. She wondered if the Rousters had broken him up much, and hastened her footsteps.

The cool night air soothed her skin and eyes and made her feel steadier, but it could not calm her worries. She forced herself to move slowly and confidently. She had no desire to call the attention of any Rousters to herself. It was full dark in the strange streets. At least the Cinmeth had not made her head pound as wine did. It floated airily above her shoulders.

Ki walked into the side of her own wagon before she saw it. She grumbled at the blackness and made her way by feel up onto the seat. Inside the cuddy she groped through the familiar space until she found her lantern. Senseless to drive the team in this blackness. She would have to walk before them with a light, at least until she reached the Gate.

Friendly Sigmund nuzzled against her in greeting. She gave the huge grey horse an affectionate slap on the shoulder. But surly Sigurd turned his head aside and shifted his feathered feet in the dust. He considered it no treat to be left standing in harness while his owner refreshed herself. When she chirruped to them, they both leaned into their harness readily enough, following at her heels like huge dogs. The wagon came ponderously after them, the sounds of its passage muffled by the dust.

The night city eluded her eyes. Every familiar landmark was just beyond the reach of her lantern circle. She moved down nameless streets in what could have been any town, hearing only the creak and jangle of her wagon. She counted intersections, praying that she would not mix streets with alleys. If she made one wrong turning, all the boy’s directions would be useless. At least the streets were paved well. Squat mud brick houses crouched at either side of them. Most of them were dark. Here and there a dim candle glow seeped from one of the small windows or through worn doorslats, but it was not enough to illuminate the streets. Ki paced on in her own small circle of light.

She took the last turn in her instructions. Now, if the boy had given them correctly, and if she had followed them accurately, the Gate should be straight ahead. Ki walked on slowly, resisting the urge to keep step with her thudding heart. He would be all right. If he had been alive enough to send a messenger with directions, then he could not be badly injured, perhaps not at all. She gave a small shudder as she thought of the Brurjan Rouster she had glimpsed earlier. He had worn a black leather harness, with the hated emblem of a burning wheel upon it. She could have made two Vandiens from his bulk, and still have material left over. She hoped he hadn’t met that one.

The city walls loomed suddenly before her. Ki cursed. There was no Gate. All was blackness below the parapet, and black with stars above it. She had missed the Gate. She’d have to go back. She could follow the wall and hope to find the Gate that way – but follow it in which direction? If she chose the wrong one, it could be hours before she knew it, and then she would have to retrace her steps. Damn the man! He wished she were more impulsive, did he? Well, if she followed her impulses when she found him, his ears would ring for a week.

Ki calmed her temper and steadied her breathing. Just as she was halting the team to decide which way to go, her eyes caught a glimmer of ruddy light. She turned toward it and saw nothing. But this time a light caught her eye from the opposite corner. Puzzled, she turned back more slowly. There was the Gate.

Her heart settled into her belly. Some trick of the wall’s projection, or the Cinmeth, had shielded it from her eyes. Now the rectangle of torchlight grew larger as she led her team toward it. But as she drew closer, she saw that the Limbreth Gate was lit by no torches she could see. Ki’s lantern did not even illuminate it; rather, the light of it bounced back to her as if it could not penetrate the stone that outlined the Gate. There was no portcullis, indeed, no barrier to entry or exit that she could see at all. It was larger than the North Gate she and Vandien had come in by. She wondered how she could have missed it. A vague uneasiness about this Gate roiled in her belly; she closed her eyes tightly for a long moment and then opened them slowly. Damn Cinmeth. No guards leaned against the wall, but a single watcher crouched in the center of the Gate, blocking her path.

Man or woman, Ki could not tell; it wasn’t even a race she was familiar with. The ragged clothing that swathed it could have been white or grey or pale blue. The red glow of the Gate baffled her eyes, making shapes of shadows, and shadows of shapes. The Keeper stared at her, unspeaking. Hidden eyes bored into her despite its veiled features.

‘Is this the Limbreth Gate?’ Ki’s tongue felt thick and even to her the question sounded inane.

‘If you come seeking it, then you know that it is.’ The voice was as deep as a rumbling from the earth itself. The phrasing was as peculiar as the tavern boy’s words. For some reason Ki felt nettled by them.

‘Well, I came seeking it because I intend to go through it. Are you going to move or look at the bottom of my wagon?’

‘Are you Ki, the Romni teamster?’

She stiffened. She did not like the idea of giving names at midnight gates, especially when he classed her as a Romni. Were there Rousters waiting beyond the Gate? But he had called her Ki, so perhaps it was Vandien who had been so free with her name. ‘I am,’ she snapped, feeling suddenly reckless.

‘We have been expecting you. All is ready for you to pass through the Gate. Enter slowly.’

Ki frowned. Every muscle in her body tensed as she saw his tri-fingered hand wave a signal to someone. Rousters or Vandien? Too late to flee if it were Rousters. Heightened awareness battled with drink as she led her team under the reddened lintel. The red light was like peering through a fog. For an instant she caught sight of another figure within the Gate. A tall woman, robed in pale green, her eyes swollen with weeping. Ki thought she shook in fear as she stumbled forward, but it could have been a trick of wavering red light. She saw her for only that instant, but her resemblance to the boy in the tavern was great. The same pale hair flowed upon her shoulders, and she had the same fragile bones and skin. So perhaps someone did care for the boy. Ki hoped so.

A spasm of vertigo passed through Ki, so that she felt she swam forward through thick warm water. Cinmeth, she thought, half closing her eyes and striding doggedly on. Never again. It passed in an instant and she opened her eyes to the night outside the Gate. The air had changed. Even the horses tossed their heads in a flurry of manes and blew out approvingly. The air washed over them all in a warm wave, with the barest tinge of a cool edge to soothe weary eyes. Ki smelled the perfume of night flowers and the warm mossy scents that woods breathe out at midday. How different this from the dusty, stony city!

‘Vandien?’ she called questioningly. She lifted her lantern high. Its light touched slender grey treetrunks. Trees? The North Gate had entered the city from a barren plain of yellow grass. But she had forgotten how old Jojorum was. Had not she heard that it had once been fabled for its gardens? Perhaps these were they, long untended and come back to dominance. At least the road remained good. Moss crept in soft tongues across it, but it was flat and straight, not buckled nor heaved with age. Her wagon rolled silently behind her, the hoofbeats of her team cushioned now by moss. There was moisture in the air, and peace. The very night seemed less dark around her.

So where in hell was Vandien? Even if he were lying senseless by the road, his horse should have whinnied to her team. If they had left him his horse. ‘Whoa!’ The team stood. ‘Vandien!’ Her worried voice sounded shrill in the friendly night, muffled by the peace. She walked around her wagon, back toward the Gate. Perhaps the Keeper could tell her something of Vandien.

The Gate was a fiery rectangle against the darkness, its brightness obscuring all else. Ki felt her eyes water as she stared at it, and she was finally forced to turn her eyes aside. ‘Gatekeeper!’ she cried. ‘The man who told you to watch for me; where is he? She risked a glance at the glowing Gate. The Keeper was a darker huddle in the center.

‘Go down the road.’ His voice was fainter than the distance explained. ‘Just follow the road toward the lights on the horizon.’

Ki swung her eyes away from the Keeper and Gate again. It had not seemed so bright from the city side. She focused her eyes on the black ground, letting them readjust to the darkness. Her own small lantern seemed dim after the Gate. It was as she was looking down to let her eyes clear that she saw the tracks of a single horse, its hoofprints cut in the moss and all but obscured by the heavy marks of her team. Ki moved back to the front of her team and walked slowly down the road. No sign was on the road itself, but here and there were marks that cut right through the moss to the road’s black surface. The horse was heavy with a rider, and the rider had been in a hurry. Well, at least he had shown that much sense. She was glad he had gotten clear of the city before waiting for her. The farther they were from the Gates, the less likely that Rousters would bother them. She felt relief that he was healthy enough to ride, and annoyance that she had been so worried.

She clucked to her team and they came on again behind her. If she had not had Vandien to fret over, it would have been a pleasant stroll down a silent road by night. The soft moss that cushioned the road was kind to her feet. The cool breeze stroked her face. She swung her lantern beside her, flinging light ahead to stretch over the hoofmarks she followed.

Ki paused. After a moment of hesitation, she snuffed her lantern. She had been right. Away from the suffocating walls of the city and its dark old buildings, the night had become a friendlier place. There was enough light to see by, though the sky had become overcast. Enough to drive by? She shrugged and halted the team to clamber up onto the box. She took up the reins and slapped them on the wide grey backs.

The road ran straight and true before them, slicing through the forest as cleanly as a knife. The moss that coated the road seemed tipped with silver, making it a long ribbon that ran away from Ki, dwindling to a thread in the distance. Gone were the familiar jerks and jounces of potholes and gullied roadbeds. The wagon moved on in near silence, smooth as a ship cutting through water.

The forest cupped her in its hands. Friendly night trees leaned over her road in a near arch. Luminous white blossoms decked them, filling the dark with a sweetly elusive scent. At intervals the forest drew back from the road, to give Ki a view of a pasture, with a small cottage at the back of it, or just a patch of wild meadow. Some pastures seemed to be tilled and bearing crops. No lights showed in the cottages.

Twice Ki halted and checked the road, to find the hoofprints still leading her on. Each time some small discomfort nibbled at the back of her mind, but the glow of the Cinmeth warmed it away. If she took a deep breath of the night air, she could taste its spiciness still. For a moment she idly wished she’d had the foresight to bring some along. But then she contented herself with the cool night air. Reassurance grew in her slowly. If Vandien had ridden this far, he was most likely not injured at all. Perhaps they had only shaken him up; or perhaps his glib tongue had slid him past trouble. If that was his case, as seemed more and more likely to her, then he had gone ahead to find a good stopping place for the wagon. She’d come upon him at any moment.

Or, and she frowned in amused tolerance, he had trusted to his message to bring her after him, and had ridden ahead. He did that often enough when the ponderous movement of her slow-rolling wagon became more than his short patience could bear. It was not unusual for him to be gone a day or a week when the need for solitary exploring hit him. Ki did not resent it. She would welcome a rest from his sharp tongue and restless ways.

She let herself slip into a waking dream. The wagon rolled on through the night. Ki floated through a dream on a sweet wind tinged with flower breath and Cinmeth. The wide pastures that spread in sudden clearings in the forest shone dark green. The sky behind a cover of clouds shone like opal through smoke along the horizon.

Ki lost all track of time. Could the glow ahead be dawn? No, it didn’t feel like dawn. There was no hushed expectancy, no last calls of night birds. There was only the peace of the settled night. But there was a definite glow along the far horizon. The glow was gentle and even, speckled here and there with points of blue and green and red. Ki rubbed at her eyes, wondering if the specks were only fatigue. They remained above the hilltops, steady and unmoving. She was distracted from them by the diminishing thunder of some small hooved beasts.

She pulled herself up straight on the wagon seat and shook the reins slightly. But in a moment she was slumping again. The harmony of the night drew her in and comforted her. It was like slipping into a sleep when freshly bathed and between soft warm blankets. She could not resist it. ‘I drank too much,’ she chided herself, but found no regrets now. Her worries over Vandien settled like chickens gone to roost. The peace of the clean open country settled over her aching body and soul. The night soaked into her. Ancient anguished memories within her lay down, and the sweetness of those times came to her instead of the bitterness. Pieces of herself she had thought long dead turned over in their sleep and murmured promises to reawaken someday. Her thoughts touched Vandien gently, and she suddenly felt pain that she spoke to him so seldom of what she so often felt. In a haze of sentimentality, she promised to change all that. ‘From now on,’ she promised him solemnly, ‘I shall match you drink for drink. I see now why you do it.’

Far ahead she made out the twisting silver of a rivulet that crossed the road. There was the dark shape of a bridge, wrought with a skill that surpassed any Ki had ever seen, and the wonder of it did not diminish as she drew near, but increased. It arched extravagantly to cross the small water, far beyond need of its span, and ornate parapets graced it. Ki could imagine that some being had spent its entire life to achieve that bridge, to express in solidity the joy it had felt in the land and the water.

She had already decided to stop by the bridge for the rest of the night, but she crossed it for the sheer pleasure of feeling how well the wagon took it. On the far side of the bridge, she guided her team off the silvery road and onto the dark soft turf. Even in the dark, her fingers seemed to fly over the buckles of the harness, accomplishing with ease what was usually the last trial of the day. Sigmund walked about with dignity, whiffling at the new grass. Sigurd dropped ponderously to his knees and rolled with all the abandon of a colt.

Ki smiled at his foolishness and resisted the temptation to join him. Instead she seated herself next to the wagon on the cushiony turf and leaned back against the wheel. Within her she felt no need for a fire, or the warmth of her sleeping skins. She ran her hands gently over the ground at her side. Short soft-leaved plants were thick on it, and replete with round plump berries. She plucked one and held it up against the undark sky. It was black, but might have been purple or blue in the light of day. She garnered a handful of them from the grass beside her and filled her mouth with the fruit. They were sweet and juicy, and as warm as if the afternoon sun had just left them.

She could not recall a time when she had been so immensely comfortable with so little effort. She rose and crossed to the edge of the stream. Crouching on the mossy bank, she leaned her face down to the water, to draw up long sweet draughts of it. It did not lose its silvery appearance, even when viewed from only inches away. It was cold and heavy; she felt it slide down her throat and spread through her as if it were alive. She lifted her face and watched a few drops fall from her chin to the moving surface of the water.

She sat back on her haunches, and then stretched out on her back, a pleasant little chill running over her. She felt her heart thump more slowly. The waters of the stream rippled through her, spreading through her limbs a delicious chilliness. The liquid flowed through her, heavy, silvery, dense as mercury. Ki had never been so aware of her own body, so alert to the flow of her blood in her veins. She gazed about at the beauty of the night. It filled her with a longing to stay here, by the bridge and the silvery water.

‘Vandien?’ she asked him softly. ‘Why would you pass up such a stopping place? I don’t want to get up and chase you down the road tonight. I want to rest here. And I think I will, my friend. You say I never have impulses. Well, here is my third one today. As you so often bid me, I will act on it.’ Ki settled back on the grassy sward.

‘She went through.’ The Keeper’s voice was dark as midnight.

Yoleth nodded from the shadows. ‘It was the one bait she would never refuse. You have done well. Your master will be as pleased with you as I am. Now the Gate may be closed, for we are done with it. After, that is, you have given me the small token agreed upon.’

The Keeper slowly swung his oddly shaped head. ‘Not yet. She may be through the Gate, but she is not the Limbreth’s yet. You will have your reward when they receive her. Besides, the Gate is not yours nor mine to close. The Limbreth can open it, and I can hold it so. But the Gate must close itself, slowly as a healing wound.’

Yoleth shook her cowled head angrily. ‘You made no mention of this when our bargain was made! Does the Limbreth know that she is through the Gate? Go to him and tell him!’

Again the Keeper shook his sightless head. ‘I may not leave my post, not until the Gate begins to close. Until then I guard it. But you would send me on a fool’s errand. None can pass the Gate without the Limbreth knowing. To the Limbreth she will be drawn. When she arrives, the Limbreth will keep any bargain you have made.’

‘I don’t like this!’ Yoleth drew herself up. ‘Your master should know that as well. The Limbreth spoke of no such delays.’

‘Would you have the teamster back? I can call her.’ The Keeper made his offer blandly.

‘No. No. The Windsingers keep their end of a bargain, however the Limbreth may quibble over his. They can have her, and we will wait for our token. For the sake of the ancient friendship between our races, to be renewed with this offering.’ Yoleth drew herself up. Her dark blue robes swirled around her ankles, whipped up by a breeze that eddied the dust at her feet. She nodded to the Keeper, the awesome contents of her cowl bobbing slightly above her forehead. The Keeper was unimpressed. Yoleth turned from the Gate and was gone into the night, the dust, and the wind.

THREE

‘Come, lover. It’s full dark and the moon’s over the Herald’s Tower. That’s all I promised your friend.’

Vandien felt hands upon him. He was rolled onto his back. He blinked up stupidly at the woman that leaned over him, trying to pull him into a sitting position. He didn’t remember her. He didn’t remember any of this. He scrubbed at his strangely tingling face with sleepy hands. And did remember. He swung his feet to the floor and sat up so suddenly that the woman overbalanced and sat down hard. He glared at her wide-eyed look.

‘What’s going on?’ His tongue felt as fuzzy and dirty as the blankets he sat on. The woman licked her full lips and tried a smile on him. Vandien stood, caught himself as he tottered, and then found balance. One leg was still numb. He gripped that thigh and massaged it; it roused back to life with tingling pain. His whole hip on that side was tender, except for a dead spot right in the center. He touched it gingerly; dried blood cracked under his fingerprints.

‘It’s just a tiny jab!’ The woman dropped her smile and raised her hands as she fell back before him, not attempting to defend herself but only to ward off as much of the beating as possible. ‘Your friend said you could appreciate a good joke. It’s a common enough one. Don’t waste your time on me! The wedding will still be waiting for you, it’s not all that late. If you hurry, that is.’

‘You don’t make one damn bit of sense,’ Vandien growled.

She began to whimper. ‘Well, you know. The other apprentice, Jori, he paid me to do it. Said you’d done the same thing to a friend not three moons ago. Just a little jab with a dose of numbweed, and the bridegroom’s a little late for a wedding. It was just a joke!’ she cried out before his murderous look.

‘On the wrong man. Do I look like an apprentice, or a bridegroom?’

She quailed and accused together. ‘Well, you’re wearing the hawk, and you’ve got the scar. Oh, this is always my luck, it is! Look, don’t be angry! If you haven’t got a wedding night to go to, stay here, and I’ll make you think you’ve had one. Only don’t hit me and break up my things! Please!’ Tears welled, exposing the child, and Vandien was disarmed.

‘That’s all right,’ he assured her, backing away. ‘It was just a mistake. Don’t do anything so damn foolish again. Didn’t you wonder what kind of a man would set you up to bear the brunt of another’s anger?’

‘He gave me three times what I asked,’ she said defensively, and Vandien saw it was useless.

‘I’m going,’ he replied, quite unnecessarily. He limped from the room, his leg still bending strangely whenever he put weight on it.

The darkened stairs were a challenge he nearly didn’t meet. At the bottom he stopped to catch his breath and get his bearings. His head was as hazy as a drunkard’s. He would find his way back to the market, and then to the tavern. Ki was going to be annoyed at waiting so long for him; until he told his story. Then she would be amused. Neither appealed.

A horse snorted in the darkness. Vandien froze, letting his eyes adjust. His horse. Still saddled, and tied to a bush outside this seedy building.

He tried to make sense of it. Someone had made a very thorough mistake in identifying him. Not likely. Ki had set it up as a prank, complete with hawk necklace. It was more likely that Ki would hire an assassin. So. Your head is fuzzy and you won’t find any answers here in the dark. Get you to a tavern.

He mounted with difficulty. He had to grab the knee of his bad leg to get it properly placed. Once he was up, it was better than walking. Ki had chosen this animal for him. It was taller than one he would have picked, and uglier. But she had assured him that once she was finished with it, he would be able to trade it for whatever he wished. He had been skeptical. But now that she had wormed it, and her oil and herb mixture was improving its coat, it was a decent-looking mount. He was just lucky it hadn’t been stolen while it was tied there. That was another thing Ki would never have done: she would never have left a valuable animal and saddle standing in the dark. No, it wasn’t Ki.

Her wagon wasn’t under the sign of the Contented Duck, and she wasn’t inside. Cursing the strange turn of his luck, Vandien limped to a table and sat down to think. He ordered Alys to clear the thick taste from his mouth, and sat rubbing at his tingling leg. The dead spot in the center of his hip still bothered him. He could not resist tapping a finger against it. Nothing. His finger could feel the outline of the small wound, but his hip didn’t know it. He wondered how long before that would pass.

A dark and sullen boy brought Vandien his Alys. Vandien held up the coin to pay him, but did not release his grip on it. The boy glowered at him.

‘I need to ask you a question. I’m looking for a woman, a little shorter than I am, green eyes …’

‘I know a man named Sidrathio; he can get you any kind of woman you fancy, short ones, tall ones, ones that …’

‘No.’ Vandien broke the boy’s litany. ‘I am looking for a particular woman; I think she was here earlier. Green eyes, brown hair worn loose, a yellow blouse …’

‘The tavern has been very busy. I could have seen her and not noticed.’

Vandien’s hand went to his coin purse and the boy’s eyes darted after it. Vandien set the money for the Alys on the table, and a second small coin atop it. ‘Yellow blouse and a blue skirt and boots.’

The coins vanished. ‘Sidrathio’s women will dress any way to please you, and know skills that …’

‘Go!’ Vandien waved him off in disgust. ‘I wonder,’ he mused softly to himself, ‘if the age of a city has anything to do with how much rot runs through it. Or do I look so salacious and deprived …?’ Even as he spoke, Vandien realized he was still rubbing his leg under the table. He broke off with a woeful laugh.

Despite the serving boy’s claim, the tavern was not busy. It was past the hour for casual drinking. Only determined drinkers and local sots filled the chairs. Vandien raised his glass for more Alys and wondered which group he belonged with. He forced his muzzy brain to think. If Ki had not been here, or if she had gone, it all came to the same thing. Either she had left without him in a fit of pique at his tardiness, or she had been rousted out of town. Where would she go? If rousted, probably to whatever Gate was closest; if she were allowed to choose. His mind balked away from the thought of her in trouble. If she had chosen her own direction, which way would she go? Perhaps to the southwest, with its rumors of spices and rare woods to haul? For a moment Vandien’s fancy galloped down strange roads in pursuit of her, through foreign landscapes and cities of strange folk and customs. Then he reined it in, and with a sigh he knew she would go back north, to her regular routes, where she knew the quirks of the roads and merchants were eager to hire her. So he had best ride out the North Gate tonight. Unless she had been rousted and forced out on another road; unless she were in danger even now.

Vandien growled softly in frustration. His serving boy stared at him speculatively. Vandien traded him a glare. If Ki had been rousted from here, then surely someone had seen or heard of it. Again his eyes roved the tables. None of the patrons looked likely to volunteer information. The innmaster himself was a leering brute of aggressive hairiness. The other serving boy … perhaps. He had been polishing the same spot of table for a full five minutes, with his eyes more on the door than on his work. He was a slight and pale youth, his thin shoulders bowed forward in a permanent cower. Vandien flipped up a small coin and let it fall ringing on his tabletop. The boy didn’t turn to the sound of it. So strange a behavior was this for a serving boy that Vandien wondered if he were deaf. Hastily he tossed down the rest of his Alys and held up the glass.

‘Lad?’ he called.

The boy flinched and turned at the same instant. He came to Vandien’s table as reluctantly as a kicked dog. Vandien liked Jojorum less and less with each passing moment.

‘I’m looking for a friend,’ Vandien began gently. The boy’s eyes went wide, his pupils filling them with blackness. ‘If you haven’t seen her, tell me so. I won’t be angry. She is slender, a bit shorter than myself, green eyes and brown hair, wearing a yellow blouse.’

Already the boy was shaking his head in a terrified manner, so that his fine pale hair stood out around his face like a halo. His eyes whipped back to the door, but his danger came from another direction.

‘Wretch! Don’t shake your head, fill his glass! He didn’t come here to look at it empty, and I don’t feed you to deny the customers. About your work, or do I take a fist to you?’

The boy’s whole body jerked in apprehension, his face crumpling into tears even as the promised blow fell. There was a solid smack of flesh against flesh, and a loud grunt of surprise from the innmaster. Vandien’s capable fingers tightened on his soft white wrist until the flesh stood out between them in red bulges.

‘Child beatings always detract from the pleasures of drinking. Do not you agree?’ His tone was conversational, but Vandien’s fingers continued to tighten until the innmaster made a sound, half grunt, half gasp, of agreement. The boy was white, sagging against the table, his shock at being defended almost as stunning as a blow.

Vandien rose without releasing the innmaster’s wrist. The man still stood half a head taller than Vandien, but Vandien was road hard and whiplash limber. For the space of three breaths the innmaster’s eyes met his. Then they dropped before his black stare, to dart about the table legs.

‘The little snake has always been trouble to me. Don’t let his sweet looks deceive you. I give him a bed, clothes to his back; he repays me with lies and trouble.’

Vandien picked up his empty glass. He held it before the innmaster’s nose. ‘Innmaster, my glass is empty. See to its refilling. And bring a glass of red wine for my friend.’

The innmaster wanted to snarl at the boy, but he was stopped by the coins in Vandien’s free hand. Vandien kicked out a free chair and nodded the boy into it. Seating himself again, he dropped his landlord’s wrist as if it were a piece of fresh offal. For a merest blink the man stood still, rubbing at his smarting flesh and eyeing Vandien. But Vandien smiled back at him affably. It was late at night; none of his regular patrons were willing or sober enough to aid him. To summon the city guard at this hour would require a bigger bribe than the innmaster was willing to pay. He turned and strode back to his kitchen, trying not to hurry. Moments later, the other serving boy appeared at the table, filling Vandien’s glass and bringing a goblet of red wine as well. He picked up Vandien’s coins and then stepped well away from the table.

‘Begging your pardon,’ he said softly. His lips trembled, but he glanced at the kitchen door and went on. ‘My master bids me to tell you this. If you want the boy, he has to be paid for, same as anything else in this tavern.’

Vandien gave him a level stare, and a wolf’s smile. ‘Actually, it’s your master I lust for. Tell him I bid him to come to my table, so I can pay him what he’s worth.’

The boy nodded stiffly, and scurried away. Vandien turned his eyes to his white-faced companion. The lad was on the edge of his chair, nearly slipping away.

‘Sit down,’ Vandien told him. ‘And drink that down. It may give you some color. Now. Before we were interrupted, we were talking. I was telling you I was looking for a friend.’

Again the boy’s eyes went wide, and Vandien saw his error. ‘No. Nothing like that. There is a woman I travel with, a Romni woman I was to meet here. But she seems to have left without me. She has green eyes and brown hair …’

The child put his head down on his arms and began to sob softly. Vandien looked at him, sighed, and swallowed half his Alys. ‘Well, we can talk about my friend later, perhaps. Don’t be upset, now. Listen. Have you ever heard the story of the woman who walked to the moon by following its shining path across a lake?’ The boy did not stir. His sobs were only slightly less. Vandien drew his story-string out of his pouch. ‘I’ll show it to you. See, here is the moon …’ The string looped and settled on his fingers, forming his people’s sign for moon. Vandien began telling his story softly to himself.

Four stories passed. The boy’s head was still pillowed on his arms, but he looked about, and Vandien had talked half the wine into him. He seemed calmer. Vandien began another story, but his voice dragged. He kept losing his place in it. His story-string tangled on his fingers. He picked at the knot, trying to remember what story he had been telling. He could no longer taste the Alys he quaffed. That numbweed was potent stuff indeed. It mattered little now if his hip were numb or not. He wouldn’t have felt a dozen small jabs. He continued to work at the knot.

His forehead bumped the table. He jerked himself upright and forced his sandy eyes open. The boy regarded him gravely from across the table. ‘Why do you keep doing that?’ he ventured to ask.

‘It’s either too much to drink or not enough sleep,’ Vandien told him fuzzily. He couldn’t tell if the boy heard his reply or not. His grey eyes had strayed back to the door. ‘Now it’s my turn to ask,’ Vandien ventured. ‘Who is supposed to come in that door soon?’

‘My mother.’ The boy’s voice went flat and dull. His eyes were beyond pain as he turned them to Vandien. ‘That’s what she promised me. The blue woman said that if I told her to go through the Gate, my mother would be able to come in and find me. So I did. She was looking for you, and I sent her through the Gate. I’m sorry.’

‘What?’

The story came slowly, in bits and tatters. Vandien felt his jaws tighten. He forced himself to nod and tried to keep his fears from the boy. The boy’s description made the blue woman a Windsinger. Ki had been sent through a Gate on a ruse. Into what? Rousters? Windsinger’s magic? Or simple death in the dark?

‘Tell me again about the Gate,’ Vandien urged. ‘Why didn’t you just run home to your mother?’

‘The Keeper wouldn’t let me. And my mother couldn’t get through the Gate either. I tried once. I crept away from here once and ran down to the Limbreth Gate. My mother saw me and ran to meet me. But we couldn’t get through. We couldn’t even get into the Gate. Then the terrible light came, and my mother told me to run away, back to shelter.’

Vandien straightened himself, alarm horns blaring in his mind. This was no nightly ritual of waiting for his mother, nor a question of Rousters keeping his mother out of the city. His sleepiness drained away; a touch of sobriety rebuked him.

‘My mother even offered to trade herself for me. She told the Keeper that she would come in the Gate, if he would let me go out. To keep the balance. But the Keeper wouldn’t let her. He was afraid folk on this side would believe my mother’s words. They pay no heed to one such as I.’

‘What could she tell us that would so upset the Keeper?’

The child leaned forward to whisper the great secret. ‘The Jewels of the Limbreth are not for this world. Only for ours. One of your kind cannot seize the Jewels and bring them back here as a treasure. For your kind, the Jewels seize.’

‘My kind seize the Jewels?’ Vandien was wishing desperately that his head was not so fumed with Alys and the drug dart. Into what had Ki been sent?

‘No! No, the Jewels seize them,’ the boy said, as if reciting a well-known story. ‘They have no moderation. They do not bask in the peace and revelation of the Jewels. The Limbreth smiles upon them, and the Jewels seize them. But it is not an unpleasant thing for them. They are then inspired to do some great work. It may be wrought in metal or worked in stone. It may be the making of songs of far places the Limbreth has never seen. Their work is a joy to the Limbreth. But those who touch the Jewels of the Limbreth never return to this side of the Gate.’

Vandien shook his head as if clearing his ears of water. He picked up the empty Alys goblet, and then slammed it back to the table. His mind was fuzzed enough. He had listened, and now he had best act.

A sudden gust of cool night air flowed into the tavern. Vandien turned stinging eyes gratefully, seeking the source of the welcome draft. The door was open, and a woman was framed in it as she held the slats to one side. Her eyes glowed pale grey, and her green garment clung to her like fog on a morning hillside.

‘Mother!’ The boy collapsed under the table and scuttled past Vandien’s tall boots. He immersed himself in his mother’s long skirts.

Vandien pushed free of the table, tossing down a few coins for payment. If she were here, then Ki had gone through. His heart began to hammer, and his head to spin when he stood too rapidly. When he regained himself, the woman and boy were gone. He limped to the doorway and stood there, steadying himself on its splintery framework. The streets were dark and empty. His quick ears caught the sound of a light and hurried tread.

‘Wait, woman!’ he called into the night. ‘I must speak to you!’ The patter of feet paused, then resumed more rapidly. Vandien cursed to himself. He stumbled slightly over the doorstep and then went after them.

The darkness closed over him like a cupped hand. The thick dust of the street cloaked the sound of their fleeing footfalls. Vandien hurried after them, swinging one leg stiffly. Once he slipped in fresh slops, windmilling his arms for balance. He trotted on, his own thudding boots obscuring the sounds he tried to follow. A crossroads opened before him and he halted. A fool’s errand. He would get lost in the city and never find this peculiar Limbreth Gate. The thing to do was return to the tavern, get his horse, and make a swift round of the walls. But then he heard the boy’s voice, lifted querulously. Someone sternly shushed him. Vandien turned softly toward the sounds.

This was a poorer section of Jojorum, the mud brick houses built on the crumbled foundations of older, nobler buildings. The smaller dwellings were ready to tumble down; the narrow alleys between them were clogged with debris. Vandien’s fogged brain cleared as his wariness reasserted itself. This would be a fine place for an ambush. There was a whisper of fabric and Vandien spun to it.

‘He’s only the man from the tavern, Mother.’ Mother and son emerged from the shadow they crouched in.

Vandien’s shoulders sank and he let out a short breath as his arms unclenched. ‘That’s right,’ he said softly. ‘It’s only the man from the tavern.’

The woman had a low voice like wind over a meadow. ‘My son tells me you were kind to him, sir. It seems it was the first kindness he was freely given since he so foolishly left my cottage. I did not mean to leave you unthanked. But my time is fleeing. I must return to the Gate before your light comes.’

Vandien took the boy’s hand. ‘Then we have the same errand. I, too, must pass that Gate tonight. As I do not know the way, would you guide me there? And I would ask, rudely perhaps, how a child as young as this comes to be working alone in a tavern such as that.’

The pale gown of the mother was a blur before Vandien as he followed her down the narrow street. ‘Chess is a willful boy. He is not one to stay at home around my feet as I do the chores and work the land. Always he is off by the stream, or up in the trees on the hillside, or loitering by the Limbreth’s road. I did not worry when he was late for our meal. I saved up the scolding I had for him. But the time for second meal came, and he did not come, I went seeking him. A neighbor told me he had seen Chess speaking to a Gate Keeper. The Keepers are deceitful, honorless ones. I knew no good could one wish my Chess. I hastened to the new Gate. But even before I got to the Gate, I saw a stranger coming up the road, attired as one from this world. I knew she could not come in unless one had gone out. ‘Where are you going?’ I asked her. She gave me a cold look and no reply as she rode past on her black beast. Then I knew she came seeking to steal away the Jewels of the Limbreth. I hurried to the Gate. But the time was past, and the Gate led to hot deadly light. Too late to pass now, even if there had been one willing to change places with me. The Keeper vowed he had never seen my child. I knew he lied. He stood safe within his Gate and lied to me.

‘I have haunted the Gate and waited. Once Chess came, but we could not pass. So I had to wait. Until now, when a woman drove animals and a cart through the Gate and the Keeper let me through to balance her. Our chance of returning to our side is slight. But I have regained my Chess. Whatever we face, we face now together.’

‘She went on without me,’ Vandien muttered dully. His abused mind could not absorb the full import of her words. ‘What has she been lured into?’

‘She seemed not at all like others who have come through,’ the woman commiserated. ‘Yet I fear the Jewels will seize her nonetheless. It’s a pity. She seemed to have her heart in this world. Yet she went off down the road that leads to one end without a backward glance, a fool like the rest. Still, I shall not speak ill of one who let me through to my Chess.’

‘I will,’ grumbled Vandien. ‘She chooses her companions recklessly, and takes foolish advice. She makes more haste than sense.’

The darkened streets were deceptive in their turnings. Vandien was not sure if it were darkness or Alys that made the way so tricky for him. The game leg did not help. The mother and son preceded him, her pale garments and hair floating before him in the blackness. They seemed to find the way clear and familiar, stepping past the potholes that Vandien stumbled in, and turning at crossroads down streets that led only to darkness. Vandien followed them like a led beast. Once he found Ki, he’d fumble his way back to the tavern and his horse. For now he had to get through the Gate and catch her before she went too far. The moon grew paler in the sky.

They turned an abrupt corner, Vandien stumbling hastily after them. He stepped on the hem of her garment, for she had halted before him. He pulled himself up and looked past her. The Limbreth Gate glowed before them.

It struck Vandien as no more than a rectangular hole in the city walls. It was difficult for him to make out the country beyond it, and yet the Gate itself was strangely clear to his eyes. It was as if the darkness itself had been pressed back to make a space for this red Gate. No bars or portcullis hampered the way. Only an old gatekeeper in grey robes. Vandien put a gentle hand on the woman’s shoulder to urge her forward. Even intoxicated, he felt sure he could handle the old wretch. But under his hand her muscles were tight as a hunting cat’s.

‘So you have returned, have you?’ the Keeper charged her. ‘What will you do? Haunt me from that side now? By now you know I am beyond your reach. How can two of you ever expect to enter? No two will ever wish to leave, and the Limbreth has told me to let the Gate close. Folly. You should have returned to your farm, woman, and mourned the child as dead.’

Vandien tightened his grip on her clenched shoulder muscles. With a courtliness that was only partially the Alys, he stepped past and in front of them, placing them in the shelter of his body.

‘Why do you seek to bar these two from returning to their home?’ His tone was of reasonable curiosity. His fingers did not even venture to the worn hilt of his belt knife. There was nothing in his stance to suggest a threat, but every muscle in the set of his face promised it. It was a disparity that Vandien cultivated. He smiled hard, letting his scar pull his left eye into a sinister squint.

But the Keeper was not daunted. Instead he seemed to be staring past Vandien, considering the skyline. He smiled blindly and nodded toward it in a superior way. After a moment, Vandien’s eyes unwillingly followed his gaze. There was nothing to be seen. Only that the moon was a little paler in a sky that was venturing toward dawn.

‘What is it?’ the woman behind him whispered in awe.

‘Nothing!’ snorted Vandien. ‘It’s an old trick, supposed to unnerve us by implying he has comrades behind us. Pay no attention.’

He glanced back at the Gate Keeper. The Gate was harder to see in the growing light. Its red glow had paled and faded to match the stones of the wall. Vandien heard the boy whispering to his mother.

‘The world is going away. It does that here, Mother. A great heat and whiteness descends. If you remain out in it, as once I did, you are blinded and burned. We must seek shelter from it now. It may be hard to believe, but it becomes much worse than this. This is only the beginning, what they call “dawn.”’

‘Tavern man! Where can we go?’ Vandien turned to that piteous plea. Chess had hidden his face in his mother’s gown, and the woman had thrown her arm across her eyes. They wilted like daffodils in a drought.

‘You must let them through!’ Vandien cried, understanding only vaguely what was happening. But the Gate that had been before them a moment ago now eluded him, first winking wide, then showing only as a narrow rift in the wall. It hid in the growing light. He glimpsed the Keeper’s toothless grin. As Vandien sprang forward angrily to seize the mocking creature, his outstretched hands met a forgiving resistance, as if he pressed against the air bladder in a fish. He pushed against it, ignoring a stinging tingle like nettles. So far would his hands go, and no farther. The Keeper’s laughter did not reach their ears, but Vandien had a glimpse of his mirth as he battled with the evasive Gate.

Behind him he heard cries as the first rays of sunlight touched the city. At the same time, his fist scraped the old stone of the city walls. He pulled back his hands and stared at the coarse stone of the solid wall before him. Gate and Keeper were gone like mist in the sunlight. He spent a few futile seconds pushing against this and that stone of the wall, seeking some hidden catch or loose stone. The carved figures smiled down at him condescendingly. He pressed his hands against the wall, weaving his hand from side to side like a blind thing. The Gate would glimmer for an instant, and be gone before he could see it. Vandien cursed, clawing mindlessly at the stone. Then he felt a fumbling at his cloak.

The woman had sunk to her knees, her face huddled across her crossed arms. Chess had crept across to him, to tug at him piteously. He crouched, whimpering wordlessly before Vandien. The morning sun colored his hair between blond and grey. It fell forward over his bowed shoulders, baring a slender neck as brown as wild honey. Vandien looked at the solid wall and shook his head in bewilderment. His brain rattled sharply inside his skull; the first stabs of an Alys-inspired headache jabbed him.

He eased himself down to untangle Chess from his cloak. Any sudden movement or violent activity would trigger a truly memorable headache. He knew he should turn his efforts to finding Ki. But he couldn’t just leave these two here. ‘We’ll go to the next Gate and circle around,’ he promised them.

As he unhooked each of Chess’s small hands, they fell unresisting to the dusty street. He continued to whimper as if he wished to cling to Vandien but found the effort beyond his strength. His high-pitched keening and the deeper sobs of his mother pierced Vandien’s brain like arrows. ‘What has happened to the Gate? Will they open it again?’ he asked them gently. There was only the rising and falling of the boy’s wailing as a reply. Vandien felt needles at the back of his eyeballs. ‘Chess, stop that, please. I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me.’

More keening. Vandien reached for the thin shoulders, repressed just in time a violent urge to shake the child into silence. He looked down in pain and consternation at the small head bowed before him. His eyes widened and his own throbbing head was forgotten.

Small watery pink blisters were rising on the back of his exposed neck, popping up even as Vandien watched. His belly tightened and he started to back away from whatever unsuspected disease this was. Where the hair parted on the boy’s skull, more blisters were popping up in a neat row like seedlings after a rain. Chess’s eyes were screwed tight shut in pain as he raised his face to Vandien. The skin of his small brown face was pure still, but as soon as the morning sunlight touched it, the blisters began to swell.

‘The light! The hot light!’ Vandien looked at the mother struggling to rise. ‘How can it be endured? We shall die here!’

She lifted her once proud head and staggered a few steps closer to Vandien. Her eyes were squinted to slits. He saw the blisters rise on her nose and high cheeks as she groped toward him. She fell to her knees, her hands seeking blindly before her. The green of her airy garments began to brown and crumple in the morning light like leaves seared in a desert wind. Pink blisters popped on her exposed hands and arms.

He did not understand why, but he comprehended the need. With a sudden movement that brought demons to dance in his skull, he whipped the cloak from his own back and floated it down over the woman. It covered most of her, and as soon as she sensed its protection she drew her arms and legs neath its shelter. ‘Chess!’ Her agonized moan came from beneath the garment.

The child at his feet whimpered in reply but didn’t move. The brown ragged garment from the inn covered most of his body. He had the sense to crouch with his arms and legs drawn up beneath him and his face averted from the sky. The cloak would not cover both of them. Vandien was tugging off his shirt when he heard the scuff of a footstep behind him.

He twirled, wincing at the pain this cost him. A portly man, the worse for his night’s revelry, regarded the group with a carefully uncurious eye. As Vandien rounded on him, he became even more disinterested; his careful walk proclaimed that the woman huddled under the cloak and the child that whimpered and scrabbled at Vandien were invisible. A true city dweller, he gave them only an oblique glance that never reached Vandien’s eyes.

Vandien knew the courtesy of the city forbade him to look at the stranger or express any need, but his splitting headache and the peril of the young boy before him banished politeness. He dragged himself free of Chess, to clutch at the man’s sleeve. ‘I need your cloak, man! The child is burning up!’

The man opened his bloodshot eyes a trifle wider. He belched, and pulled his arm free of Vandien’s frantic grip, even though the tug nearly cost him his balance. He staggered a few steps sideways, drew himself up gravely, and shot Vandien a haughty and disdainful look. But as he shrugged his cloak back even about himself, his eyes took in the blisters on the child’s exposed arms. With a speed surprising in one so large, he ripped the cloak from his back and dashed it down into the street.

‘My thanks for your mercies.’ Vandien stooped to take up the cloak.

The man’s mouth opened wider than Vandien supposed it could. His eyes were distended and suddenly sober. ‘Pox!’ The word blared from his mouth like a blast from a hunting horn. ‘Pox bringers!’ he screeched again.

Vandien flung the cloak about Chess as aroused citizens began to stir. A door slammed somewhere. Heads began to pop out of doors in the side street. A young woman stepped from a door near the corner. She halted at the sight of Vandien with the bundled child in his arms and the body huddled under a cloak beside him.

‘Pox bringers!’ She took up the cry lustily and the man made it a chorus. Stooping to the street, she grabbed a loose stone. Vandien flung up his arm to shield his face, but the fist-sized rock bounced instead off the woman. It brought a sharper cry from under the cloak. The streets were filling with people awakened by the cries of ‘Pox bringers!’ Head and heart pounding, Vandien stooped beneath his burden of the child to seize the mother by her arm and drag her erect. The cloak fell away from her face as she came up; the stone throwing woman gave a shriek of horror. The blisters were rupturing. A watery flow shone on the woman’s face and dripped from her chin. Screaming with pain, she dragged the cloak over her face again.

And then they were running, with stones skipping and bouncing past them. Vandien received a solid thunk from one that hit between his shoulders, but no more flew true after that. Mentally, he cursed the gods for his luck, and in the same breath thanked them that his pursuers were city bred and poor in the skills of aiming and throwing.

Chess jolted in his arms as he tried to keep a hand free to guide the woman along. The cloak blinded her and the pain crippled her. Their run was little more than a hurried hobble; they had no chance of outdistancing their pursuers. His rapier was in the wagon with Ki; but he had no hand free to draw it in any case. He had only his belt knife against a fear-crazed crowd.

He glanced back to check their numbers. But though they shook fists and hurled stones, they had given up the chase. Perhaps they only wished to harry the pox bringers out of their area; perhaps they feared getting closer and becoming contaminated. Vandien realized now why the man had parted with the cloak. And he had thanked him.

‘I cannot go much farther.’ Chess’s mother panted from under the cloak. Vandien cast about for shelter. But no inn would take in two marked with oozing blisters, even if Vandien had possessed sufficient coin. It was early yet, and few folk were about; but they could not rely on that for long. As soon as they were seen, they would be stoned again. He steered them down an alley.

He half dragged them past the windowless backs of squat mud brick dwellings. He was staggering under his double burden, uncertain of what type of shelter he was seeking.

They scuttled across a street that interrupted the alley, and back into the shelter of the next alley. This one appeared a little more run down. Dry yellow grass grew against the backs of the houses, new green sprouts pushing up in their shade. Another street was crossed, and Vandien found himself in an alley where the weeds and trash choked the footpath. He gave the woman what trodden surface there was, himself hopping over the tufty grasses, bits of broken furnishings and crumbling piles of rain-melted mud bricks. Chess was silent and limp in his arms.

A wooden porch jutted into the alley, clinging haplessly to the crumbling wall of a fallen-in house. But as Vandien cautiously skirted it, he realized it was not a porch. Chicken feathers and dung crushed the floor. A splintered wooden door hung crookedly on sagging leather hinges. There were no windows nor any door into the abandoned house it clung to. The dung cracked dryly under his feet as he dragged his charges into this dubious shelter. As soon as he halted, the woman sank down onto the floor. Mercifully, she became silent. He deposited his motionless bundle beside her and turned back to the door. It looked as if few folk passed this way, but it would be a bad place to be cornered. It couldn’t be helped. He dragged at the door and it scraped toward him, to wedge tight half a handspan from being closed. It could not be tugged farther. His stubborn efforts only wrenched the doorframe and threatened to pull it loose entirely. It would have to do. Vandien sat down wearily on the filthy floor. The dryness of dust, old dung and chicken feathers tortured his mouth and throat. He lowered his throbbing head into his hands, and wondered unhappily how yesterday’s pleasures had gone so wrong. Dust motes danced in the narrow wedge of light that slipped through the door’s crack. The random sounds of an awakening city came distantly to his ears.

He lifted a corner of the cloak that covered Chess. The boy’s breath was light and shallow, his eyes still squeezed shut. His face was not as badly blistered as his arms. But when Vandien lifted the cloth higher for a better look, Chess cried out and scrabbled deeper within its cover. At the sound, his mother stirred and crept closer to him. ‘Hush, Chess. Hush.’ She raised a corner of her cloak to peer out, but dropped it as soon as the dim sunlight reached her. ‘Are we safe here?’

‘For now. What manner of Humans are you, that cannot bear the light of day?’

‘Day.’ There was wonder and dread in the muffled voice. ‘It is more fearsome than any legend warned. I thought it only a myth, a tale to warn adventuresome fools who could not satisfy themselves within our own world. Each Gate, they say, has a terror beyond it. Some murmur that the Limbreth should not open Gates. But who are we to question the Limbreth?’

Vandien’s pounding head ground small sense from her words. She implied the Gate was more than a passage through the wall. Well, he had heard of stranger things, and seen a few of them proved true. He made a futile effort to cough without jarring his head.

‘Will you feel safe here if I go to fetch water? And some food, perhaps, if I can manage it. Your blisters might be calmed by cool water. And I’ve a thirst that this chicken dust only torments.’

‘We will be fine here, man from the tavern. You are very kind not just to leave us. You seem different from the other folk of your world. Do you belong here?’

‘I wonder?’ he mused bitterly. ‘Vandien,’ he offered her then. ‘My name is Vandien. And I am not all that different. The folk who stoned us were terrified; they thought we had brought pestilence into the city. Fear breeds cruelty. And I can’t let you think I am so unselfish. If I am to catch up with my partner, I need to pass through your Gate. Doing that may require your assistance. It is like no Gate I have ever encountered.’

Beneath the cloak he saw the motion of a shaking head. ‘It cannot be passed. Not unless a like number of folk were willing to come out. The Keeper calls it the balance. But I will try to recall all I have ever heard of the Limbreth’s Gates. It will not be much. I was content in my land, tending my own farm, and didn’t listen to foolish tales of the Gates. Not until Chess was lured through one.’

‘I will be back as swiftly as I can. Keep silent while I am gone.’

‘Jace.’

‘What was that?’ Vandien paused with his hand on the crooked door.

‘My name is Jace, Vandien. We shall be silent until you return.’

The splintery door scraped earth and sod as he forced it open and then shoved it closed behind him. He dusted the dirt and feathers from his clothing and stretched. His eyes blinked and watered in the bright sunlight that stabbed his eyes. The day would be hot. Day, he mused to himself, and started back to the inn and his horse.

When he returned, the sun was reaching for noon. The alley was still empty. Vandien led his horse down to the chicken coop and tethered it to a scraggly bush. He slipped off the worn bridle so the horse could graze. The saddle he left in place. It was small burden to his horse. If the tethered animal did attract curious folk, Vandien intended to be ready to retreat with Chess and Jace.

He took the still cold and dripping waterskin from the saddle. The new pouch was empty now. But he had found two small loaves of bread at an early baker’s stall and flat slabs of red salt fish at a fly-buzzing fishmonger’s. These purchases he balanced awkwardly in the crook of one arm. He kicked lightly at the door of the chicken coop. There was no stirring within, no reply of any kind.

Vandien set down the waterskin to jerk the door open. Then there were sounds, gasps of pain and a quickly smothered cry from Chess as they dove under the cloak covers again. Vandien entered hastily, dragging the door shut behind him. But the small shaft of sunlight still squeezed in the door, and neither Jace nor Chess emerged.

‘Just for one moment,’ Vandien promised as he took up the corner of Jace’s cloak. She gasped in fear as he whisked it from her and stuffed it into the gap left by the faulty door. The portly man’s cloak was a fine one, its weave heavy and costly. The bright fibers shut out the sun. Vandien had plunged himself into a hot and dusty darkness. He wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm.

‘That’s so much better,’ breathed Jace. Vandien heard her sit up in the darkness beside him.

‘I can’t see a thing,’ he complained, but as his eyes adjusted, he found that was not strictly true. The pale green of Jace’s gown almost glowed, and there was a sheen to her hair and eyes that even the darkness could not quench. Chess at last unrolled from the cloak and ventured out. Vandien distinguished his pale eyes and fine hair in the darkness. He proffered the waterskin to Jace and she seized it gratefully.

Chess drank first, taking in long gasping gulps. Vandien moved his tongue inside his mouth. He had drunk his fill of cold water at the public well when he filled the skin, but the fine dust and feathers sucked the moisture from his mouth. Sweat trickled down his back in the closeness and heat, but he said nothing. He watched Jace drink, more quietly than the unabashed boy, but with equal eagerness and relief. She then damped the corner of Vandien’s cloak and soothed the blisters that had begun to break and run on Chess’s face and arms.

‘I never saw a people so affected by the sun,’ Vandien observed.

Jace damped the corner again and began easing the sores on her own face. ‘And I never saw a man so blind, and yet so easy in his movements. When the hot light came, neither you nor the folk of your city cried out or were burned.’

‘Where does that Gate go?’ Vandien asked the question that gnawed him, thinking of Ki who had gone ahead.

‘To my home,’ Jace replied with childish inadequacy. ‘I wish I could tell you more. There is only this. When the worlds are in alignment, the Limbreth can make a Gate. The Gate can be used as a passage, as long as the balance is kept. Through the Gate the Limbreth calls folk to bring it new ideas and joys. Out of the Gate pass those discontented in our own world. Those who come in walk the road that leads to the Limbreth, to be blessed by the Jewels.’

‘Your legends leave little hope for us to get through the Gate.’

‘Legends do not always tell all there is to know.’

‘The innmaster’s cellar was cooler than this place.’ Chess broke the conversation. ‘I liked being down there during the day. Usually he left me alone down there for all the hot light time. I wish I were there now.’

‘Hush!’ Jace rebuked him. ‘At least we’re together now. And we have a friend.’

The silence that followed weighed awkwardly on Vandien. He fumbled in the darkness, found the loaves of bread and the dried fish. ‘I brought food,’ he announced in a falsely hearty voice. ‘I thought you might be hungry.’

Chess immediately reached for a loaf and broke an end off. He was already nibbling at it while Jace took a piece of salt fish from Vandien’s hand. He heard her sniff at it cautiously.

‘What is this made from? I do not mean to seem ungrateful, but it smells spoiled.’

‘Let me see it.’ Vandien nibbled a piece off, swallowed it. Immediately his drink-soured stomach offered it back to him, but he managed to keep his throat closed. After a moment’s struggle, ‘It’s fine,’ he managed. ‘Smoked a little heavily for my taste, but good river fish. This spring’s catch, or so the monger claimed.’

‘You ate a fish?’ It was Chess’s shocked voice coming in the brooding silence. ‘You ate a moving, alive thing?’ There was horror in the voice, and hurt.

‘Such is our custom.’ It sounded stiff, even to Vandien. But how could he have known that there were Humans who ate like Dene, refusing all food that didn’t grow from a root? Vandien heard a scuffling as Chess crept to his mother’s side.

‘He’s as horrid as the rest of them,’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘As bad as the innmaster … who sometimes did not leave me alone in the cellar.’

To Vandien the stuffy little coop was suddenly as cold and dank as some evil well. ‘I …’ he choked. ‘Among our people, it is not a custom … not acceptable to force … never a child …’ He could find no words of defense and his own bile rose at what Chess had implied. Soured Alys and acid scorched the back of his throat. He wished he could be sick, alone somewhere. But he could not open the door and let light fall on them. He breathed deep, his lips and eyes tight. He heard Jace whispering words of comfort to her son, but for his own soul there was no comfort. He got up, paced two steps and flung himself into the far corner of the coop. ‘I am sorry.’ Empty words. ‘There will always be those who prey on the defenseless. There will always be the occasional one who is twisted, a disgrace to the whole species.’

‘Not in my world.’ Jace’s voice was firm now, but Vandien sensed the thinness of her control. ‘Not in my land. I hunger so for its peace now. This is horror and evil beyond my wildest fears. My Chess will have much to forget. If he can. I know I cannot.’

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