Fires of Aggar (6 page)

“None taken, Tad,” she assured him, clasping his brawny forearms as he offered both hands, palms up, in belated greeting. “There is reason to celebrate!”

“The name’s Olan, please! Formalities are beyond us now, I think. My daughter, my season’s profits… I owe you much.”

“I am as grateful to you, Olan. It is not often I have the opportunity to lend my sword without drawing blood. I savor the chance when I may.”

Mak’inzi came to join them and he squatted low, pulling his child into his arms once more. A husky note crept into his voice as Olan asserted, “It is not enough.”

“It is, Olan. I am a Marshal, King’s Protector of Travelers. I’m only doing what the Royal Family and Guilds expect me to do.”

“No,” Mak’inzi interrupted, as solemn as only a child of four tenmoons could be. She left her father to come stand before Gwyn. “You helped because you are an Amazon, because you honor life. Just as the legends say your Mothers honored life so much that they came to Aggar’s aid even though it meant exile from your home world. You are a Royal Marshal because you’re an Amazon, not a rescuer because you’re a Marshal. And every friend of Council and King knows that truth.”

The Marshals’ Commons entrance was a single door in the length of a long corridor amidst a maze of grey stone hallways that comprised the Trader’s Guild Hall and Inn. The only thing that marked this entrance as welcomingly different from others was the placket of copper-red cloth webbed with bronze string, the colors of the Royal Marshals — and it was a very welcoming difference.

Within, the commons was warm with three blazing hearths and an endless supply of meats and mead. The temperature was high to ease the stiffened muscles of hard ridden leagues and the aching scars of sword wounds. The food was plentiful and the hours unnumbered, because those guarding the caravans ended journeys at odd hours and often began new assignments before the old had even seen its cargo unpacked. The mood was always welcoming, enticing with stories from boisterous veterans of hapless bullies and with the sweet singing of traveling troubadours. It was also the sole place in Gronday where the eitteh and sandwolves of the Marshals’ crews were as welcome as a pillowfriend. It was a place that many wintered, and a place many called home.

Gwyn paused in the doorway, allowing her four-legged friends to push in around her. They had all been to the baths and settled their gear in the lodging rooms. The mud-splattered coats of the sandwolves had been washed and brushed, the gleaming ripples of lighter beige-grey on taupe were well marked once more, and Ril had ceased her sneezing while Ty was again thinking only of food. Gwyn too had become equally presentable in her soft breeches and laced jerkin of ruddy-brown; the soaking, travel-worn garments had been left at the laundry. Even her fiery red hair had been drawn back and, in the traditional guard-style, had been woven again into a short braid.

Gwyn drew her attention from the milling crowd as Ty gently tugged on her tunic’s sleeve. She bent low, staring across the smoky commons from the vantage point of her packmates, and a crooked smile grew on her face. “I did promise you stewed meats, didn’t I?”

Ril added her own panting grin to their plea.

“Fair enough.” Gwyn pulled at the leather throng about her neck, drawing the green glass Marshal tags from beneath her shirt. Ty gingerly took the leather in mouth, but Gwyn’s fingers held the tags for a moment longer as she warned, “Don’t feast us beyond saddle and bow!”

Ty had the good grace to look guilty.

Gwyn grinned, “Off with you—”

Ril hung back for a moment, a questioning lift to her hairless brows.

“To find Jes,” Gwyn reminded her.

The sandwolf butted her human’s thigh lightly and padded off for the kitchens.

Jes was not a difficult woman to find, if one knew where to search. She was in the small alcove of the Minstrel’s Hearth, and the singers were gently plucking their strings, voices quiet as they contentedly blended their instruments’ harmonies. Alone and content, Jes sat with her back to the noise and smoke of the open commons. Her feet were propped high on her table’s edge, and her dark, graying hair was as short-braided as any other’s.

In the farther corners, there were a few Amazons scattered among the Marshals, and one of these Sisters smiled as Gwyn appeared in the wooden archway. “Behind, Jes!”

Without turning Jes raised a hand above her head, palm upward in greetings. “I heard of your escapades in the gorge.”

Gwyn laughed, joy and precious love binding her heart as she ignored the hand and hugged the woman from behind.

“Ahh careful, child!” the low timbre warned, and Gwyn was suddenly aware of the right arm that was bound tightly in its sling.

“N’Sormee?!” She knelt, facing her mother as concern flashed in her copper eyes. “Your messages said nothing of injury! What happened?”

Jes’ fingers hushed her daughter’s lips as she offered a soft, reassuring smile. Her dark gaze sparkled with familiar mischief and Gwyn felt her anxiety ease. Gwyn pressed a kiss into the callused palm, rising to draw a seat near.

“I’m fine,” Jes murmured. “It was a clean break and due solely to my own foolishness.”

“Which was?” her daughter challenged, elbows on knees as she leant forward.

“I slipped stepping out of the baths.”

Gwyn found them both laughing.

“I’m a rickety old bucket of bones! What else is there to say?” And then the humor died to be replaced with a deep warmth. “It’s good to see you again, Gwyn’l.”

Their hands grasped together tightly, and Gwyn nodded. “It’s been a long winter without you, N’Sormee.”

“Aye,” Jes brushed the tousled red hair from her daughter’s eyes, “it has been so very long. How is Bryana? And your sister, Kima?”

“M’Sormee sends her love. And Kimarie too, I imagine, although I didn’t have time to see her before I left.” Awkwardly, Gwyn looked down as her hand withdrew from her mother’s.

“You hesitate?” Jes’ murmur was one of quiet encouragement.

Gwyn forced a smile, blinking aside an unexpected tear. “You’ve been missed.”

Jes nodded solemnly. “You all were sorely missed as well. I’m too old to be wintering away. You do know it was not my intention?”

Gwyn nodded. “It was necessary. We knew that. But the Changlings’ Wars are over at last!”

“For now.”

“That’s what truly matters.”

“No,” Jes corrected quietly. “What matters is that you are all still there to come home to.”

“We are.”

“Are you hungry?” Jes asked suddenly. She waved towards the table and for the first time Gwyn noticed the steaming platters of food. “They brought word when you arrived. I figured you’d be hungry — and cold! The mead’s been warmed. Which reminds me, two souls seem to be suspiciously absent?”

Gwyn grinned, helping herself to cup and plate. “Ty’s stomach couldn’t wait. They’re off in the kitchens somewhere.”

“I thought she’d outgrow that monstrous appetite of hers?”

Gwyn laughed, “If anything, she’s eating twice what she did as an adolescent.”

“Has she filled out any since I saw her last?”

“Not a bit. She’s as lean and leathery as ever. But she seems blessed with a boundless energy, so she’s still fending for herself mostly, even on our longer trips.”

“And Ril? Is she still her sedate, observant self?”

“The very same. You’d think she was a matronly twenty-four seasons instead of four.”

“Whereas Ty you’d swear was a pup?”

“You’d certainly never think of them as sibs. Although,” Gwyn’s smile softened with a fondness, “to be fair, Ril has a wonderful sense of humor and Ty is actually very responsible when needed. They truly both believe the three of us can handle anything that comes along. To Ril that means she can settle back and relax, be content to watch things unfolding. Ty takes it as permission to play while she has the chance.”

Jes thoughtfully eyed the round berry in her hand. “Where does that leave you?”

“In the middle?” With a pause, Gwyn considered the question more closely. She shrugged suddenly and sat back in her chair. “Ril’s calm is — well, there are times I’d swear she was a Blue Sight projecting that infectious quietness. She helps to center me when I grow too gloomy or anxious. Then there’s Ty playing the clown, keeping me laughing even in a drenched campsite. Both help to keep my head clear enough to keep the three of us out of trouble.”

“So you don’t regret the seasons of growing and training? The responsibilities I imposed by imprinting them to you?”

Gwyn shook her head adamantly. “They’re family. We make a good pack. I’d not trade them for a dozen eitteh, Jes.”

“Well, Khirlan probably has more experience with sandwolves than winged-cats anyway. It was once quite a traders’ city, being on that old route up from the Southern Continent.”

“Hah!” A strange voice intruded with a mocking shout. “Do you seriously think that matters? I tell you! No one on this wooded continent has experience with sandwolves save those fortunate enough to be part of a pack!”

They both looked around to find a spry, skinny little figure of a woman dressed in the flamboyant, bloused tunic and yellow jerkin of the tinker-trade’s costume. Her bony cast of features clearly declared she was from the Southern Desert Peoples, and the crinkles beside her honey-brown eyes attested to an exceptionally good-natured disposition. She leaned over the back of their vacant chair in a leisurely fashion, all the while staring expectantly at Jes. Gwyn watched in fascination as those smiling, thin lips fairly danced with some amusement, and then Jes let out a shriek of recognition, pulling the newcomer close in a welcoming hug.

“Sparrow? By the Mother’s Own Hand! With your hair grown out and in full troubadour colors no less! What are you doing in Gronday?! Oh… here, Gwyn’l, this is Brit’s companion and love, Shel n’Sappho.”

“Actually, everyone calls me Sparrow these days,” the woman asserted, grasping Gwyn’s palms across the table. “And I’m guessing you to be Jes’ oldest and the Royal Marshal, Gwyn n’Athena?”

“That I am,” Gwyn confessed readily, liking the faint musical lilt of the Desert folks’ accent.

“I knew it!” Sparrow spun the chair about and straddled it with a bounce. “You’ve got that red-fire hair of Bryana’s youth.”

Gwyn’s brow lifted in surprise — Valley Bay wasn’t that small! “You’ve met M’Sormee?”

“Once or twice eons ago, at the Keep. I was with the Council before I joined Brit.”

The oddity registered then and, frowning slightly, Gwyn tipped her head aside. “You said to call you sparrow?”

Mirth creased the corners of her eyes again, and the woman bobbed a nod. “Brit’s responsible for it. Shortly after we joined, she dubbed me Sparrowhawk for some reason — after some ancient people’s bird. I don’t even think the thing was one of Aggar’s.”

Jes’ low chuckle erupted. “Brit always told me the creature was known for speed, agility and quick-wits, despite its petite size.”

The other pulled a face at her and confided in Gwyn, “A backhanded compliment, if ever I heard one.”

“But it stuck, spindly frame and all.” Jes grinned without shame. “Eventually it got shortened to plain Sparrow—”

“Sparrowhawk is rather a mouthful.” Sparrow winked at Gwyn.

“And today — few think to call you Shel anymore.”

“Not even my old Council mentors.” A wistful, woebegone sigh and a roll of her eyes mourned the loss dramatically.

“Enough!” Jes gave a wave of her good hand, “Why are you here? And where’s that pompous old healer of yours?”

“Brit? Oh, she’ll be along in a day or so. Ran into difficulties with the ice and mud south of Colmar and nearly lost a wheel. We managed to limp along to Crossroads’ wagon works, but then she sent me on ahead to corral you into waiting for her.”

“Me?” Jes raised a brow in puzzlement. “What have I done to bring you two out of Rotava before the Black River even thaws?”

Sparrow shrugged, then pointed at the food and at Jes’ tacit consent helped herself to a stray piece of roast lexion. She nibbled on the fowl, eyeing both Sisters for a long moment, before she shrugged again. “Don’t know.”

“Ah-huh,” Jes accepted agreeably, and Gwyn stifled a laugh as N’Sormee continued with, “The two of you merely missed my sober face so much that you dragged out those ole plow horses and that rickety, rotting ole tinkers’ wagon — through more than a ten-day of mud and muck, mind you — just so you could join me by the Minstrel’s Hearth. Right. And men-cats have wings now.

“I repeat, Sparrow, why are you here?”

“I don’t know,” Sparrow returned blandly, then her smile brightened quickly. “Honestly, Jes, I’ve barely a clue. We got a message that you might need help. The fellow said you were here and that we should hurry or we’d miss you. But there was nothing about the whys or wherefores. Still, you know the Council. Rarely tells you half of what you need to know.” She popped another morsel in her mouth with more apparent interest in the food than the words.

Gwyn scowled, unconsciously mirroring the expression on Jes’ face as her mother asked, “What’s become so serious that the Council tries to take advantage of their past ties to you?”

Sparrow lifted a shoulder, busily sopping up some of the platter’s gravy with a piece of bread. “Brit’s got the same questions, yet you know how often those elderly Mistresses and Masters are right about trouble coming—”

“I know!” Jes snapped, cutting short the flippancy. “But what did they say to get Brit to agree this round?”

Sparrow met Jes’ gaze steadily, all jesting gone from her manner now. “They said that you two needed help. They didn’t need to say anything else. You know that.”

“Forgive me,” Jes sighed, her frustration fading to sheer weariness. “You’re right. Brit would walk the Firecaps naked if it meant aiding a Sister, even one she didn’t know.”

“We all would,” Sparrow amended quietly.

“We should have expected the Council to take notice eventually,” Gwyn murmured, eyes downcast as Jes looked at her sharply. Her mother stared hard a second, then saw the reason in what Gwyn was saying. Gwyn’s copper glance lifted finally and a crooked smile teased a semblance of better humor from Jes. “It’s only fair play, N’Sormee. Our Ring’s Sighted members keep abreast of the Council’s doings, why shouldn’t we assume the Council’s Seers are following us as well?”