Lords of the Sky

“The hearth is good enough for me,” I said.

“Then be welcome. Save …” She paused a moment. I thought her, albeit on only short acquaintance, unusually hesitant. “Not all approve of us. Perhaps you’d best reserve your decision until Maerk returns.”

I asked, “Your husband?”

She answered, “My man. We’re not wed in the Church’s eyes.”

I laughed then and said, “That matters nothing to me. I’ve not the niceties of some mantis.”

“It’s not that,” she returned me, and looked me straight in the eye. “Maerk’s a Trueman.”

I could not conceal my surprise, and she saw it. Her fine features darkened a fraction; not, I thought, with embarrassment, but with defiance. I swallowed a mouthful of ale. Alyn studied me solemnly.

I said, “Is that why not all approve of you?”

Pele nodded. “And why we seldom visit Thornbar. There’s some would see us punished. It’s why we live here; in part, at least.”

I shall not tell you I was not taken aback. That would be a lie. It was not unknown for Truemen and Changed to consort casually. Indeed, there had been establishments in Durbrecht that boasted the exoticism of Changed cyprians, and I had heard tales of women who enjoyed the services of Changed lovers. But it was not a thing done openly. It was a thing denounced by the Church, furtive, and marriage was unknown. The slurs Barus had cast my way were indicative of the common feeling: a couple such as Pele and Maerk must inevitably find themselves outcast. I could not help but glance at Alyn.

Pele saw the direction of my gaze and shook her head. “I was wed before,” she said softly, “and widowed. My babies are both Changed; Maerk bought us after.”

My brows must have risen at that. Certainly the thought entered my mind that Maerk had purchased himself a cyprian of a kind. I think it did not show, but Pele was quick as any feline, and as good at gauging mood. She reached beneath her blouse and drew out a disk, held around her slim neck by a leather thong. Silently, she held it toward me: it was such a disk as freed Changed were given, stamped with the marks of authority. I had seen such disks in the hands of beggars.

Pele said, “He was a carpenter then. He saved and borrowed until he was able to buy me. Then he set me free. His family cast him out for that.”

Her voice challenged me to object. I said, “He must be a good man.”

She said, “He is. And more-he loves me; and I him. Can you understand that, Daviot Storyman? Do you know what love is?”

I said, “I know what it is. In Durbrecht …”

I shrugged, and could not help the sigh I vented. I had believed my memories of Rwyan under tighter rein, but this story brought them back. I thought that we might have found some refuge such as this hamlet, some lonely place far from our duties. Then I thought of the secret I carried and knew that once duty is accepted, it cannot be escaped. I said, “She was a sorcerer. They sent her to the Sentinels, and me here.”

Pele nodded as if she understood. I suppose she did. She said, “Perhaps you’ll find her again.”

I said, “I think not.”

She drew me another mug and stood before me then. “We are not the only ones,” she said. “Of the families in this place there are two Changed and three Trueman. Two are of mixed blood-Maerk and I, Durs and Ylle. Durs is of canine stock.”

Perhaps she anticipated outrage, or criticism, but I felt none. I was, as I have said, surprised, but I had witnessed stranger things of late, and to express disapproval of such arrangements would have been a betrayal of my belief that there was, in truth, no longer very much difference between my kind and hers. Still, she seemed to expect a response. I am not sure why I said what I did; the words sprang unpremeditated from my mouth: “I had a friend in Durbrecht of canine stock. His name was Urt.”

She said, “A friend?”

Her tone was casual, neutral. Perhaps purposefully so. She looked at me with her head cocked slightly to one side. That I was Trueman and she Changed meant nothing, and everything. I do not believe she judged me, but I felt a tremendous need to explain: I told her of my friendship with Urt.

When I was done, she nodded and returned to her bread. After a while she said, “He was a good friend.”

I said, “Yes. Perhaps the best I’ve known-he risked much for me.”

“And was rewarded with exile.”

She glanced up as she said that, watching me with enigmatic eyes. I did feel judged then, as if I stood in place of all my Trueman kind. I answered her, “That was not my choice. I argued it.”

Again she nodded. Then she smiled and said, “I think Urt found a good friend in you, Daviot.”

I returned her smile, but mine was cynical. “It seems my friendship brings poor reward,” I said.

“The same might well enough be said of Maerk and I.” Pele shrugged. It was a lazy, feline movement. “This world deems us different and would not see Trueman and Changed together. Save as master and servant.” “Or dragon bait,” I said.

“That was long and long ago.” She chuckled. “So long ago, none but you Storymen remember those old ways.”

“And yet,” I said, “Ur-Dharbek still stands a barrier between this country and the land of the dragons.”

“Old habits die hard,” she said. “And Ur-Dharbek is not much different now to the Forgotten Country, I think.”

I said, “Save the wild Changed dwell there in freedom.”

I looked to cast a hook in the waters of her knowledge. This was no sorcerer, but a woman of the Changed who appeared to me entirely open and honest. I thought perhaps to land a catch of information.

Instead, I got a laugh, a shrug, and, “So it is said. But I’ve no idea.”

“Should you and Maerk,” I asked, “and all these others, not be received better there?”

She said again, “I’ve no idea,” and then: “Why should it be different? If Ur-Dharbek is indeed a kingdom of we Changed, then should attitudes not likely be the same? Save in reverse? I’d not see Maerk reviled by my kind.”

I digested this. It had not properly occurred to me that the Changed would indulge the same prejudices as Truemen. I had thought, albeit vaguely, that if Ur-Dharbek harbored a Changed society, if it was now a country in its own right, then it should be a free society, a country without such partiality. In this, Pele was wiser than I. Why should Ur-Dharbek be different? Indeed, the wild Changed must have greater reason to detest the Truemen who had made them to be prey for the dragons and now used them as servants. As slaves, in fact, for the Changed of Dharbek had few enough rights. That should surely be a weight of suffering’s memory. I found no ready answer.

“No,” Pele said as I sat silent, “I think we do better here. We are left alone, and we’ve a good enough life. Besides, Ur-Dharbek is a very long way off.”

I said, “That’s true,” with such unconscious solemnity that we both laughed.

Then Tyr came in. He carried my saddlebags and my staff, which he set at my feet. He faced me with that dignity only children can command. “I’ve seen your horse settled,” he told me. “She’s very ill-tempered. When I took off her saddle, she tried to bite me.”

“I apologize for my disagreeable horse,” I said, “and thank you for tending her. Perhaps I’d best look to her needs from now on, though.”

He thought about this a moment, then nodded solemnly and said, “If you wish. Besides, if you’re to ride her, you’d best learn to handle her.”

I said, “Yes, I had,” trying very hard not to offend him by laughing at his earnestness.

Pele rescued us both with the suggestion that he go select a chicken for our dinner, and he ran out with Alyn hard on his heels.

“You’ve fine children,” I said.

“Yes. It’s a pity I can have no more.” She looked a moment pensive, then shrugged and said, “But the seed of Changed and Trueman mixes no better than that of cat and dog.”

I could think of nothing to say to that and so held my tongue, watching as she set her bread in the oven and began to prepare vegetables. It was a scene of such domesticity as I had not encountered in some time. I had been mostly in the keeps and towns of late, and there such things were done out of sight by Changed servants,