“It would be good to have Peter with us on the trip. Perhaps he will be going in that direction. Or perhaps I can inveigle him to join us. You’d like that, Jinian. He’s a good companion.”
I took it for a promise, slipping away early the next morning to give the dams the news. Murzy quirked her lips at me, smiling with her eyes. Cat looked slantwise, tight-lipped, as though to consign all love and lovers to some far-off pit, shaking her head the while. Margaret rejoiced with me.
“So you know who he is! And what he is, and that a proper Gamesman. Well, and to think of it. Strange that he, too, is going north.”
“Not strange,” snarled Cat. “Part of the Pattern. Jinian summons Peter with Lovers Come Calling. Kelver summons Jinian with an alliance. Jinian summons Silkhands to accompany her. Silkhands summons Peter. A kind of round dance. Though what it dances ‘round still eludes us, there in the northlands somewhere.”
Her words brought back something I had forgotten until that instant. Bloster, heading away north with all that was left of Daggerhawk Demesne. Bloster’s words at the edge of Chimmerdong. “Do any of you know anything about the Dream Miner and the Storm Grower?”
They became very still, in the manner of creatures so startled they do not move for fear of attracting attention. After a silence, Cat said, “Shhh. Jinian, don’t speak of them loudly. Not even here.”
“Who or what?” I demanded, though more quietly. “They plot my death!”
They hesitated, even Murzemire Hornloss, who seldom suffered tongue loss. It was Cat who spoke at last. “We have spoken of those Wizards who destroy in order to gain power. The things they choose to destroy sometimes appear randomly chosen. As are the things we choose to build with—they, too—would appear randomly chosen to those unfamiliar with our art. Would a layman know why we lay an owl’s feather upon a black stone? Why we set our heels upon a bridge sometimes, or place a stem of maiden bells beneath the spray of a fall? We have a reason. So, if Dream Miner and Storm Grower have marked you for destruction, they have a reason. It is said they dwell in the north. If they plot your death, they do not do it idly and you will be walking toward it.” She looked at the others. Grave faces all around.
“But that is where Peter is going.” As I recall, I said it calmly, without foreboding. But then, I have never been thought to have a Seer’s Talent.
Murzy did, and what she said was, “Why must Storm Grower and Dream Miner have everything their own way? Perhaps we have walked in fear of them too long.”
Silence. Finally a sigh from Cat. “True, Murzemire. Though the very thought chills me.”
Margaret looked at me with love in her face. “Go, Jinian. Return to us when you can. Or perhaps we will find you first.”
“I wish there were time to see to your clothes before you go,” said Bets predictably, completely destroying the melancholy mood we had all fallen into.
Dodie was out in the countryside learning herbary with Sarah, so I could not even tell them farewell. Those who were there, I kissed good-bye, not really understanding the separation was to start at once.
19
We left a few days later, after such a flurry of preparation as left me no time to see the dams again. The words of the Oracle had not been forgotten. Nothing pertaining to Peter was ever forgotten so far as I was concerned. “Let him save your life a time or two,” the Oracle had said. “I see something unpleasant in the way of groles or Ghouls.” Groles I had not seen. Ghouls I had. I preferred not to see one again, but this trip northward might be the opportunity the Oracle had in mind. In which case Peter’s life, and mine, might be endangered.
I strapped Bartelmy’s gift scabbard to my thigh, high beneath my skirts, where it could be reached through a slit pocket, then stood for a long time looking at the weapon it would hold. It was an ugly thing still, breathing with a palpable menace, a hard, horrid chill. But ... but I had labored hard for the Dagger of Daggerhawk Demesne, risked my life for it, been dangled and threatened, all to have the tool to save Peter’s life and my own should it be needed. Would it be needed? I had only the Oracle’s word, and the Oracle never told all the truth.
At last I slipped it into the scabbard, recoiling as the pommel touched me. It lay angrily against my skin, an intimate hostility. After a few hours, I grew accustomed to the feeling. It was never less than discomfort.
And in the brightness of a morning Silkhands and I got into the light carriage that was to carry us north, waved farewell to Queen Vorbold (on whose face I read definite indications of relief), and were trotted out onto the road north.
Peter later wrote an account of that time. I have read it, being alternately amazed and amused. I do not remember saying some of the words he attributes to me. And though in the main it is an accurate enough account, from my point of view, things were not quite as Peter recorded them.
Since this trip was to offer an opportunity for Peter to save my life, it was obvious that I had to be careless enough to put my life at risk. I knew from Silkhands’ chatter that Peter was being harassed by some enemy, possibly that same Huld who had caused him so much trouble in the past. Both Silkhands and I knew that someone out in the wide world very much wanted me dead and gone. Despite this, neither of us spoke to Queen Vorbold about it, and we set out in a light carriage with only two guardsmen, both of
