I paused deliberately and asked him, “Did you know your father’s name?”
It was a crude sally, but subtlety was wasted on such as he. Someone chuckled nervously. Barus’s face flushed dark, his lips thinned in a snarl of unalloyed rage. I saw his right hand close about his sword’s hilt. I saw the blade slide out a little way. I tensed.
Krystin had not moved or touched her own sword. She had no need-there was such authority in her voice we both froze. I felt immediately embarrassed that I had allowed my irritation a hold, that I had sunk to the jennym’s level. Barus rammed his sword home in the scabbard. His eyes were narrowed, as if he fixed my face in his memory, and there was the promise of murder there.
“Barus, I’ll not Warn you a second time. You insult a guest of Tryrsbry Keep, and do you continue you’ll answer to Yrdan. After me.” It seemed her eyes shone as she glared at him. I thought of the two, it should likely be her punishment was the worse. Then she turned that blue gaze on me. “And you, Daviot-is this fitting for a Storyman? To trade insults like some common tavern brawler?”
I shook my head and said, “No. My apologies, lady.”
“I’m no lady,” she returned me, echoing Rekyn, “and what apology you offer is best directed at Barus, not me.”
I caught my refusal before it was voiced and said, “My apologies, jennym.”
Barus said nothing. Krystin said, “Barus …”
He scowled, less like a warrior in that moment than a willful child caught in some mischief.
“Barus …”
He said, “My apologies, Storyman,” and promptly rose to his feet, kicking the wineskin aside as he strode into the shadows.
Krystin rose and went after him. I wondered what transpired between them. I could not believe they were lovers, nor could I hear what was said. I felt a hand nudge me and turned to find the wineskin proffered. I murmured thanks and swallowed long. The soldier who had passed it me said, “Barus makes a bad enemy, Storyman. Best watch your back do you linger in the keep.”
I nodded and asked him, “Why does he take such objection to me?”
The soldier glanced away, ascertaining Barus was gone out of earshot before he said, “He’d bed our commur-mage, would she but have him.” He chuckled and winked lewdly. “But she’ll not, and that puts him in foul temper. The worse that he sees the way Krystin favors you.”
Late the next day we arrived in Tryrsbry. It was a sizable place, a good many leagues inland, the town spreading across the mouth of a fertile valley, the keep perched above, a little way up the north wall. A river descended the slope there, its course shifted to moat the hold, and we clattered across a wooden bridge into the yard. It was not so grand a keep as Thyrsk’s tower in Arbryn but more akin to Cambar, plain for all I could see this was a wealthy bailiwick.
We left our mounts to be stabled, Krystin taking me with her to meet Yrdan. Barus prowled like some foul- tempered black dog alongside. Since that night we had not spoken, and whilst he had offered no further insult, he did not conceal his dislike. I was minded of the friendly soldier’s advice-to watch my back.
The aeldor’s welcome went some way to compensate for his jennym’s animosity. We found him in private chambers, engaged in a game of catch-dice with his wife and two daughters, who-fortunately for them-favored their mother. Yrdan was an ugly man. He wore the typical dark locks and swarthy skin of a westcoaster, but his nose was huge and hooked, and his jaw excessively broad, displaying twin rows of overlarge and entirely separate teeth as he smiled. He was short and his legs were bowed, so that he must tilt back his head to find my eyes. In stark contrast to his looks, his temperament was sunny, and he greeted us with a cheerful roar, embracing Krystin as if she were kin, shaking my hand, and shouting for a daughter to pour us ale before he took report of our encounter with the Sky Lords.
Krystin’s account was succinct, and when she was done, Yrdan said to me, “I bid you welcome, Daviot Storyman. You’ve bed and board in Tryrsbry as long as you choose. Now, do you tell the tale?”
I agreed readily and told him all I had witnessed. After, he nodded and said, “That was well done,” then laughed as he slapped his malformed thighs. “I’d not have managed such a race. And nor shall you again. Do you take that horse as my thanks-gift?”
I said, “You are kind, my lord.”
He returned me, “Yrdan, Daviot.” Then he winked: “And, am I honest with you, there’s few with much liking for that mare, and she with none for anyone.”
“She has something of temper,” I agreed solemnly.
Yrdan bellowed laughter and beckoned his wife and daughters forward. “I am remiss,” he said. “I forget my courtly manners in this rough place. So …”
His wife was named Raene, and she stood a head taller than her husband. She possessed that sultry handsomeness common to the women of the West Coast, and her beauty was emphasized by his homeliness. I noticed, however, that when her eyes fell on him (which was frequently), they were filled with an absolute adoration. The daughters-Danae and Kyra-were as lovely as their mother, of marriageable age (I soon learned they were courted by the sons of several neighbors), and of dispositions akin to their father’s. It was a cheerful audience, marred only by Barus’s darkly looming presence.
Soon enough, though, the jennym left to attend his soldierly duties, and Yrdan suggested Krystin show me to my quarters. The commur-mage led me to a chamber on an upper level, a simple room but furnished comfortably and with a splendid view along the valley. She left me there, promising to send servants with hot water, and her company to the dining hall. I saw that her chambers were across the corridor.
Not long after, four Changed brought in a tub. I thanked them, seeking in their faces and their replies some indication as to the keep’s attitude to their kind. Yrdan and his family had treated me well, but I was a Trueman, and I thought perhaps their benevolence did not extend to those beast-bred, that perhaps Barus expressed the common feeling.
The servants, however, seemed quite at ease, answering me with smiles, and I decided that the jennym was likely extreme in his views. Indeed, this was confirmed when I repaired to the dining hall. The Changed I saw there appeared happy, exchanging pleasantries with the men of the warband and their womenfolk; all save Barus and a handful of others, whom they treated with a wary deference. Yrdan accorded them much the same casual courtesy as he dealt the few Trueman servitors, and-Barus and his cohorts apart-I thought the Changed well served in this friendly keep.
It was a fine meal, and I enjoyed it and the company in equal measure. I was honored with a seat at the high table, between Danae and Kyra, whose questions occupied me throughout. They were a flirtatious pair, and I was grateful for the lessons taught me in Durbrecht, that I was able to meet their sallies without discomfort or offense: I had no wish to upset so genial a host as Yrdan. Even so, I was somewhat relieved when the aeldor rescued me from their attentions with the request I entertain the hall with a story or two.
I chose the tale of Mallach the Swordsmith, and that of Aedyl Whitehair, and both were received so well, a third was called for. I spoke of Corun and the Witch of Elandur, and the hour was late before I was done.
Yrdan called a halt then, thanking me for my tales and repeating his offer of hospitality for so long as I cared to remain in Tryrsbry. I told him I would linger there awhile, for now that I had a sound horse to carry me south, I might journey more leisurely. He chuckled at that, and winked, and tapped his massive nose, declaring me caught by his cunning gift. Even on such short acquaintance, I liked this aeldor greatly.
The candles that lit the corridors were guttered low as Krystin and I returned to the floor we shared. The commur-mage had shed her black and silver leathers for a gown of dark blue, and her hair was bound up in a net of silver set with little beads of jet. Her neck was long and slender, and she now appeared entirely feminine, without hint of the martial air her travel gear afforded. We came to my door and halted.
I said, “Goodnight, Krystin.”
She gave no answer, only looked at me. In the dim light her eyes were dark, unfathomable. She put a hand to her head, removing the net, and shook her hair loose. I stood silent, watching the play of light over her blond tresses. She took my hand and drew me toward her chambers; and I did not resist.
There was an outer room lit by a single lantern, across which she led me to a sleeping chamber. That was dark, save for the faint moonlight entering through the open window. It fell on a wide bed. She closed the door
