Sunset of Lantonne (37 page)

Ilarra smiled at thoughts of the many fights Raeln had won in the village to prove himself and to shield her from bullies. He had even risked himself a half dozen times fighting off tribal raiders that had come too close to the village. Never had he complained about his injuries.

“He likes to fight,” she said eventually.

Shaking his head, Greth pulled Raeln up into a sitting position as he said, “Then he should learn to not get hit so much. The boy needs to be more picky about who he fights, or something will take his head off one of these days. I like fighting too, but I like keeping my hide even more.”

“He never backs down from a fight.”

“That’s stupid,” Greth replied quickly, hoisting Raeln onto his back with a grunt despite their difference in size. “Survival means knowing when to run with your tail tucked. People who never run end up being talked about in the past tense by those who did run.”

His paws digging deep into the snow with each step, Greth struggled to march toward the house he had pointed out in the distance earlier. He did not stop once on the way, pushing on with Ilarra following and watching in amazement at his strength and endurance. The man might not be Raeln’s equal, but he seemed to do far more with less muscle.

It was far into the night before they reached the small cabin. A single candle flickered through the window’s shutters, giving no indication if the occupant was awake or not.

“No time for civilities,” Greth muttered, kicking the door open. Before he could take a step inside, the cabin lit up from dozens of candles that seemingly had not been there a moment earlier. “Mairlee, it’s your least-favorite wildling,” called out Greth as he marched inside. “For once, I’m not the one who’s half-dead.”

Following cautiously, Ilarra leaned into the cabin, trying to get an idea of whether they were welcome there. Greth seemed unconcerned, but she had no desire to intrude even with the wounds Raeln had suffered.

“Always the polite one,” came a woman’s voice off to Ilarra’s left where a hall left the main room. “I believe I told you that you would need to knock the next time you came, or I would drag you back outside by your ears and shave you.”

From the unlit side room, a slight human woman emerged, dressed in nightclothes. The woman was old, her long, unruly hair grayed and wrinkles covering the area around her eyes. She crossed her arms over her breasts as if she were about to scold Greth, then seemed to notice Ilarra and Raeln. “I see, for once, you keep better company,” Mairlee noted, smiling at Ilarra. “Please tell me that you have taught the boy some manners, child.”

“You know me better than that,” countered Greth, setting Raeln down hard on a cot that creaked and appeared ready to collapse under his weight. “The elf girl couldn’t resist my charm and followed me out here. The big male is just plain stupid.”

Mairlee studied Raeln briefly, then returned her attention to Ilarra. “I called you stupid the last three times I found you unconscious on my land,” she reminded Greth while watching Ilarra. “I will tend to the wildling friend of yours, but the girl is a different matter entirely. Where did she come by her condition and why would you bring her here?”

Ilarra’s skin went cold, realizing that the woman was somehow aware of what might be wrong with her. She had not seen Mairlee attempt to use any magic and the woman was still ten feet away…how she could determine anything was a mystery to Ilarra.

“I promised them you’d try,” Greth told the old woman, then walked to a nearby shelf. Searching it, he grabbed two bottles. “Clear bottle for injuries and green to keep me quiet, or did you change which bottle has which alcohol?”

“As tempting as it was to put something toxic in the one you tend to grab before asking, I realized long ago that it would not change your behavior, even if I had to heal you every time you stole my mead.” The woman sighed, finally looking to Greth rather than Ilarra. “Sit. Both of you, sit. I will tend to your friend, and then I will see what can be done about or to the girl.”

Greth seemed to be ignoring the woman entirely, gathering jars and tools Ilarra could not identify from shelves around the tiny cottage. He placed them near Raeln and worked to better situate Raeln on the cot, making him look somewhat less like a corpse.

Ilarra, on the other hand, searched the room for a chair in which to sit. Finding none, she realized Mairlee was watching her and immediately sat down on the floor near the door.

“You should bring guests more often, Greth,” Mairlee said pleasantly. She walked over to the wildlings and shoved Greth out of her way. “The girl knows her place. I don’t have to housebreak her.”

“She is an elf. I can’t really complain about one curling up at your feet and fetching things. Besides, if you really want me to piss on your floor…”

Mairlee’s backhand very nearly took Greth off his feet, either by surprise or unexpected strength. He hurriedly moved to Ilarra’s side and sat down on the floor. He gave her a somewhat apologetic wince, then pulled his knees up under his chin and watched Mairlee work.

“Have you learned nothing at all?” muttered the old woman as she bent over Raeln. She picked at the bloody fur on the back of his head and frowned deeply. “These stitches could have been made by a blind and fingerless troll. I’ve seen straighter seams done by goblins.”

“I…” began Greth.

“Shut your yapping jaw,” Mairlee cut in. She took a wet cloth and dabbed at Raeln’s head. “I can fix your friend.”

“Not my friend…”

“Greth, I’ve saved your life five times in two years and your father’s twice as many times. I know you well enough that I can see that you care for someone. His lifeless corpse—or hers—would not have been found until spring if you hated them. For all your words, your actual thoughts and feelings are far different. Now close your mouth before I stitch it shut.”

Ilarra stifled a snicker, which Greth seemed to realize. He met her amused glance with a glower and crossed his arms, pouting silently.

The two of them remained by the door until the sun had begun to shine through the room’s shuttered windows. Throughout the night, Marilee remained at Raeln’s side, keeping one had on the wound while mixing several of the liquids Greth had set out for her and dabbing them to the cut with a rag that quickly became stained red.

“If the dragons are willing, your friend will be fine in a few days,” said Mairlee at last, sitting down on a chair that Ilarra swore had not been there when she had looked for one earlier.

“Dragons?” Ilarra inquired before she thought better of it. “You’re…a dragon-worshipper?”

“The ancient ones,” the woman added, closing her eyes. “It is their power that lets me help your friend…”

Again, without thinking prior to speaking, Ilarra blurted out, “There are no dragons. Everyone knows that. Dragon-worshippers are practically a cult. The only people who are serious about that belief live far from civiliza…oh…”

Mairlee smiled but did not open her eyes. “You found yourself another unbeliever I see, Greth,” she noted, smiling. “As I find myself often having to tell people like the both of you, until a generation ago nearly every person in these lands worshiped either the dragons, the fae, or the elemental lords. A few wizards here and there preached about the merits of more arcane things, but you would both have been executed for speaking as you do. That or fed to a dragon as tribute.”

Greth managed to speak up before Ilarra, answering, “And as I told you, that was a lot more than one generation ago. In the wilds, we stopped worshiping forest spirits before we even came to these lands. Altis hasn’t had a shrine to a dragon in more than two hundred years.”

“Which,” said Mairlee sharply, “is within someone’s lifetime, if not yours. Never assume I speak of you. Your life is a blink in the eyes of the world’s pattern.”

Groaning, Greth grabbed Ilarra’s wrist and shook his head fervently.

“What pattern do you mean?” asked Ilarra, narrowing her eyes at Greth. He sighed and hung his head immediately.

“Funny you should ask, Ilarra,” said Mairlee, getting up and walking into the back room. “Give me a moment.”

Yanking her hand free of Greth, Ilarra said softly, “We didn’t give her my name. How did she do that?”

“She just does,” he answered in a whisper. “First time she found me, she knew my name and that of the person who’d stabbed me. My father said she asked about how his parents were doing by name…but he barely even knew them before they died while he was young.”

Before Ilarra could ask anything further, Mairlee came back out into the room carrying a long brown cloth sheet. She came straight to Ilarra, dropping the fabric in her lap.

“Look at that and tell me what you see,” the woman said, standing over Ilarra.

Ilarra lifted the cloth and spread it out, finding that it had been embroidered with gold strands that wound through the whole sheet, creating wave-like patterns throughout. She studied those for a short time, trying to make out the picture the original creator had intended. In the back of her mind, she reveled in getting to touch anything that contained gold. The simple blanket could have been worth more than the whole of Hyeth.

“I’ve seen the style before,” she told Mairlee, smoothing the fabric. “Most artists use that type of pattern to represent wind.”

Mairlee shook her head and said, “You are ignorant like so many. Even the elves see only the surface of what they look at, ignoring the details that make everything fall into place.”

Kneeling, Mairlee lifted an edge of the sheet and raised it toward Ilarra’s face.

“A hundred threads are interlaced here,” she told Ilarra, tracing several with her fingertip. Those threads are what make up what you see. A single thread out of place will change the appearance of the whole. The threads matter more than the result, but working together, they create a pattern. Each thread can only hold its place through the existence of the others.”

Mairlee stopped there, watching Ilarra’s face as though she expected a specific answer.

“What does that have to do with our lifetimes and this nonsense about dragons?” Ilarra asked, trying to ignore the furious head-shaking of Greth.

Smiling as though she were regarding prey rather than a visitor, the old woman answered, “Nothing at all. However, patterns exist in many places other than fabric. You are a wizard, so I would have thought you had learned to apply your education to more than spells. This is something you must understand. One strand plucked away from where it belongs and the whole thing is ruined if it cannot be put back in a hurry.”

“I really don’t understand.”

“No matter,” the woman answered, snatching away the sheet. “My son will explain when he arrives. He understands this particular thread far better than I do and will know if it must be torn out and replaced.”

“Arrives? We weren’t planning on staying long…only long enough for you to look at Raeln and see if you could do anything to help me…”

Mairlee shook her head as she walked back over to Raeln. Sitting down, she said, “Ilarra, what Dorralt has been done to you will kill you sooner or later. That I cannot change. Keep Raeln alive and his strength will help you endure. If he continues to injure himself to this degree, what is in you will destroy you both…” Trailing off, Mairlee yanked a thread from the sheet with a deftness that Ilarra found remarkable, letting it fall from her hand onto the floor. The woman began looking around, though her eyes were distant. She sniffed like Ilarra would have expected Raeln or Greth to, holding up a hand to keep her visitors from asking questions.

“You have been here too long…the riders are on their way,” she said at last, standing quickly. “One of the made-men has helped them find your path and will lead them here if we are not quick. I will not be here when they arrive.”

“Made-men?” asked Ilarra as Greth leapt to his feet and began checking the windows.

“A halfling you call them,” Mairlee answered. “A race of men made by the ignorance of wizards like yourself, Ilarra. I have no patience for created beings…I have little enough for the races that have existed for all of your recorded history. Keep him out of my home, and I will see to it that my son catches up with you. That is the only promise I will make you. Until then, for the dragons’ sake, stop using your magic.”