you?”
“I know them for terrible warriors,” I said, and found myself again the center of attention as Rhys and his brothers pressed me for a detailed account.
They gazed rapt as I spoke, drinking in my every word. Rhys, as I have told you, was about my age, Maric and Ador not much younger, but as I spoke, I felt older. I thought I had seen and done things of which these young men were entirely innocent, and that those experiences had taught me that the glory of battle is in the dreaming of it, not the doing. I wondered if I was the only man in Dharbek who thought at all of peace.
I was grateful to Dorae for her intervention. Had she not spoken up, I should likely have found myself commandeered by her sons. She it was reminded us that Bannas Eve approached, and with it the seasonal celebrations-a time for joy, not tales of bloody battle. She suggested I be allowed to regale the hall with more fitting stories.
Thus I was provided a table for a platform, in the center of the hall, with all the warband and all the keep’s folk, both Truemen and Changed, gathered around as I told the tale of Gwynnyd and the Ghost.
I think I told it well. Certainly, when I was done there was a moment’s hush, and I saw several glance around nervously, toward the shadows, before they applauded me. I bowed and drank ale to wet my tongue, then launched into the story of the aeldor Kyrd and the Wise Woman of Tyrvan.
By the time that tale was spun the hour was late, and Yanydd reminded the hall we must rise early on the morrow, for the Bannas Eve services. There was a shout of disagreement from Rhys and his brothers, but Dorae bade them be silent, and they concurred, albeit with obvious reluctance, and I was allowed to climb down from my dais.
As we prepared to leave the hall, Laena took my arm. “We must speak,” she said. “Tomorrow or the next day.”
I said, “Yes, as you wish,” hoping she did not notice the alarm her words roused in me.
Likely she sought no more than a fuller accounting of my travels, that she might send back to Durbrecht word of all I had seen, of my thoughts concerning the mood of the land. But I could not help but wonder if something more lay beneath that simple statement.
I had, however, no chance to investigate, for servants came with torches to bring us to our rooms. Lan was my escort, and I followed him in troubled silence. I must hope Laena suspected nothing; and pray I did the right thing in holding secret all I knew of the Changed and that mysterious transaction I had witnessed.
I was startled from my musings by Lan’s voice.
“Is aught amiss, Daviot?”
I saw that we had come to my door. It stood open, Lan waiting with his torch. I forced a smile and beckoned him in. “What troubles you?” he asked.
His voice was entirely solicitous, and for an instant I was tempted to tell him all. I thought that had he been Urt, I should; that Urt would have counsel for me, perhaps answers. But I was not yet ready to trust Lan quite so far. I saw that the wine jug still stood upon the hearth, and that there were two cups. I filled them both and passed him one.
“Laena would speak with me,” I said, and knew my tone was nervous.
Lan waved a casual hand. “Laena does not judge you,” he said. “I think she seeks only that report all Storymen must make. There’s no magic in that, save in her sending word to Durbrecht.”
“Do the sorcerers watch me?” I asked. I realized I accepted without question that he should have such knowledge. “I’ve wondered about that.”
He paused an instant before replying. “They pay you special attention, Daviot. That should not surprise you- that you befriended Urt so openly; your affair with Rwyan; the due you give we Changed; things you said in Durbrecht-such behavior is unusual enough you are noticed by the rulers of this land.”
My face must have expressed alarm at that, for Lan chuckled and added, “I think you’ve not too much to fear. Save you give them greater cause for concern, I think you shall be safe.”
He appeared entirely at ease; I was not. I heard the shutters rattle over my window, buffeted by a wind that seemed, for all the chamber was warm, to pierce my bones. Almost, I blurted out that I concealed secrets greater than those entrusted me by this strange Changed. But I did not-I did not yet quite trust Lan that far. Instead, I asked him, “Have you any word of Urt or Rwyan?”
“Of Rwyan, none,” he said. “There are no Changed on the Sentinels, and so I can tell you only that she was brought safely to the islands. Of Urt? Urt went to Karysvar, where he is, as best I know, a servant to a merchant named Connys. News from so far north is hard to get.”
“You seem,” I said, “to get news aplenty.”
Lan nodded, again as if this were entirely normal. “This hold is famed for its orchards and its tobacco,” he explained. “Craft from both coasts come to Mhorvyn, and traders by land. All bring news, but seldom from farther north than the Treppanek.”
It was more than I had hoped for. Rwyan was resident on the second Sentinel, about which I could do nothing, but if Urt was still in Karysvar … Perhaps someday I might go there and find this merchant. I smiled at the thought.
“You’d find them again?” Lan asked.
“Could I.” I ducked my head and sighed. “But I doubt I shall. At least, not Rwyan. I think she must be forever lost to me. But perhaps someday I might meet Urt again. I should like that.”
“If he’s still there.”
Lan’s voice was soft, the sentence less statement than unguarded thought. I looked up, catching his eye-and saw the mask descend even as I said, “Where should he go?”
The feline Changed shrugged, not replying.
I said, “Across the Slammerkin, Lan? To join the wild Changed?”
Again, he shrugged. “Some do.”
There was hesitation in his voice. I thought he regretted that slip. I suspected he knew more than he revealed. I thought he had revealed so much, what he hid must surely be of great import. I thought we both, for all we exposed ourselves, held back secrets still. I knew mine: I wondered what Lan’s were. I said, “I know nothing of the wild Changed; nothing of Ur-Dharbek. It seems none do, save perhaps the sorcerers. And they’re closemouthed on that subject.”
“Nor I,” he said. “Save Truemen gave Ur-Dharbek to the Changed that the dragons leave them be. Our lot, it seems.”
I said, “I’d go there. I’d know what’s there.”
The mask remained a veil over his true feelings, but I thought I discerned amazement as he looked at me. “Think you a Trueman should find a welcome there?” he asked. “Be there any to welcome him.”
“Have the dragons eaten them, then?” I returned.
He laughed aloud at that. “Dragons, Daviot? Surely the dragons are all dead; the stuff of your stories now, and no more.”
“Be that so,” I said, “then perhaps the wild Changed prosper.”
“Perhaps.” He seemed to me to hold his expression bland. “I’d not know.”
I had taken too many steps along this path to turn back: I pressed on. “Are the dragons gone, what reason for the Border Cities?” I asked, deliberately making my tone one of idle curiosity.
“What reason for any city?” Lan echoed an answer I had got before. “They trade along the Slammerkin just as they do along the Treppanek. They exist for that and no more reason, likely.”
I saw he would give me no more. It was the same bland claim of ignorance I got each time I broached this subject. Perhaps he really knew nothing; I suspected he hid knowledge. I was about to speak again when he flung back his arms, yawning noisily, as if weariness suddenly took him.
“Forgive me.” He became once more the humble servant. “I think perhaps I should find my bed, and you yours. The services of Bannas Eve start early, and I’d get some sleep ere I commence my duties.”
I nodded, aware our conversation was ended. Save I commanded him-which would surely undo his confidence in me; and was not, anyway, in my nature-I should have no more from Lan this night.
“Yes.” I smiled as he rose, collecting my cup and the jug from the hearth. “But I hope we shall speak again.”
“I think we shall,” he said. “Goodnight, Daviot.”
