Tale of Elske (22 page)

As they moved southwards, into spring, spring rushed northwards to greet them. When they were not more than a few nights from Trastad, the night air warmed enough so that Elske was never wakened by the cold. When they were at almost two sennights' distance, Elske could smell on a light wind, blowing off the land, the sweetness of flowers. In Trastad, when a flower came into bloom, if you bent over it you could just catch its perfume. Here in the south, the air itself was flowered. “Does it always smell so, the southern air?” she asked Beriel.

“It's only spring,” Beriel answered, but this was Elske's fifteenth spring, and this was more than spring.

And then one afternoon, while sunlight poured down over the deck of the ship and the sails thumped sullenly on their masts, she could see a cluster of buildings on the distant shore, where a wide river entered. Behind the houses, a dark forest spread backwards, so thick and heavy that it seemed to be pushing the little wooden buildings into the water. That day the captain lingered far out to sea, and it was almost full dark before he brought the ship close in, to anchor. Nido explained to Elske, “That town has no name, but all know to keep a distance from it. They're thieves, pirates—and they sell slaves. They can be bribed, sometimes, if your cargo means less to them than gold, but they always choose to board and take Trastader vessels.”

“This is where I go ashore, Nido,” Beriel announced.

“My Lady, you can't go to shore here. What kind of a man do you think my captain is, to leave two unescorted women here? What kind of a fool do you think him, to put himself in danger by lingering at this place?”

Beriel didn't hesitate. “Enough of a fool to transport barrels of what looks like ground charcoal into the south, but which someone might—or might not—guess to be black powder,” she said to Nido's surprised face. Then she added, “I wonder if the Council knows what Var Kenric is shipping into the south, or why one of Var Kenric's near relatives has been given the position of assistant carpenter, when he hasn't completed four years of his apprenticeship and the requirement is for seven. I wonder if Var Jerrol—who is the eyes and ears of the Council—can have been kept ignorant of this merchandise or if it isn't, instead, his own, alone or in partnership with Var Kenric, and the Council kept blind and deaf on this matter. Tell your captain this, if he objects, and tell him that I require to be delivered onto land in the morning. Your ship is safely south of Pericol and we will make our further way by ourselves. Isn't that right, Elske?” Beriel asked.

Elske agreed. She would have agreed to anything that marked the end of this terrible journey.

W
HILE NIDO WAS ROWING THEM
to shore in the morning, Elske watched the ship fall back, and away. The curved wooden sides rose high out of the water, and the tall masts stretched up into a pale sky. Nido's oars dipped and pulled in the water. He tried to persuade Beriel to sail on to Celindon, to make a safer journey from that city, but his words affected her no more than the slapping of the waves affected their little boat. When he'd pulled the little boat up onto a narrow beach, Nido gave Beriel his hand, still making his quarrels. “Leave me,” Beriel answered him, and he obeyed.

Beriel was impatient. “Come along,” she commanded Elske. “What are you doing?”

“Looking back,” Elske said. She had looked back over the distance to flames, leaving the Volkaric, and now she looked back to sails being raised, leaving Trastad.

“It'll take us the better part of the morning to reach Pericol and I'd like to be far from that place before dark has fallen,” Beriel said. “Take up the pack.”

But Elske had started to undress, letting her overskirt fall to the ground.

“
Now
what are you doing?”

“Putting on the trousers. I can make you a pair, in a day; we could delay that day. It would be safer to travel as a pair of young men, wouldn't it?”

“I doubt anything could keep us safe from these citizens of Pericol who try everything—rape and robbery, and there are some who enjoy torture, or we might be sold into slavery. I know them. If Josko is still their King, I've dealt with him before, but if he has been killed—”

“Who would kill the King?”

“Any one of these cutthroats who thought he could get away with it. But Josko is strong, and cruel, a madman in a fight they say. Also, he makes fair judgements, and even thieves and pirates prefer some order in their lives, in their home city. Even thieves and pirates like to keep their possessions and women to themselves. So they allow Josko to rule over them.”

“None would have dared to attack the Volkking.”

“Josko has his protections. He has Wileen, and although a man might leave Josko sitting in his own blood, he knows he must then deal with Wileen—who would take revenge.”

“Why would you know such people?” Elske tied her trousers at the waist.

“He held me captive the first time I came through Pericol, to go to Trastad. But Josko enjoyed a bold child. Who was a girl child. Who paid her own ransom. Who claimed to be Queen, and could make him laugh.”

“Perhaps then you
should
wear trousers, my Lady, now that you aren't a child.”

“A Queen,” and here Beriel paused, as if troubled for the way to speak it, “must always be seen to be a Queen. I will never be otherwise.” She looked at Elske, in trousers and the Wolfer boots, her shirt hanging out loose and her cloak draped over one shoulder. “You'll do for my escort, perhaps; and it is well for you to try, for I've never treated with Josko and not had soldiers nearby. Tie your hair back, and now can we go?”

They scrambled along the land's edge, which was sometimes stony outcropping, sometimes stony beach, and every now and then a shallow cove with a narrow pebbled beach at its heart. Elske followed Beriel, her feet too warm in the boots but too softened by the years in Trastad for barefooted comfort. She had the pack slung across her back, carrying Beriel's clothing as well as the maps Beriel had copied from those Var Vladislav kept. What wealth they had, Beriel carried in three purses. The lightest purse was at her waist. She had one not quite so light hidden under her skirt, at the side. The third and richest purse was in fact the hem of her skirt, which Elske had sewn up in little pockets for storage of coins, and golden chains, and the heavy medallion, the best of her wealth. Before leaving Trastad, Beriel had purchased a knife for Elske, and she carried her own; they wore their weapons sheathed, but only half hidden.

Beriel had said it was unwise to show weapons too openly in Pericol. That might be taken as a challenge, or a threat, or even a game; but games in Pericol were as deadly as challenges and threats. Also, it was unwise to appear helpless, if you wanted to reach Josko safely.

“We will have to see him,” Beriel said, picking her way over the stones which the withdrawing tides had left damp and slippery. She held her skirts up, but they were still wet, and dark with mud. “Only he can offer us the mounts we need and make it easier for us to supply ourselves at a fair price. That is,” Beriel laughed, “fair price in Pericol. Even the profit-mongering merchants of Trastad would be ashamed to take what the tradesmen of Pericol demand for their goods.”

“Do they receive what they demand?” Elske wondered.

“It depends on how desperate the need. It's cheaper, often, to murder than to purchase; and the tradesmen know this, too.”

Like the Volkking's stronghold, Pericol had no outlying farmlands, although there were a few huts—small gardens spread out before them, fishing nets spread out to dry on straw roofs—huddled together at the shore. Then there appeared a dirt path.

Beriel led Elske along this path, which kept them to single file through dense and overgrown woods before it became broad enough to walk abreast on, as it ran between crowded wooden buildings and became a muddy street. Branches and logs had been scattered along the street to make it firmer underfoot. There were no fences, no flowers, no trees in Pericol. Pericol was mud streets and log houses, two stubby docks and a single well; they could have crossed the city in no more time than it took the sun to rise.

It was midday by the time they entered the city, and the citizens were just stirring awake. Shutters were thrown open, and men called to one another from doorways, rubbing their faces and urinating. The sky had filled with clouds but the air was still warm. Elske followed Beriel.

Beriel walked without haste or hesitation, her shoulders high. Some of the men in doorways called out to her, but they did not approach. Women called out at her from windows, hooting and mocking; they called to Elske, too, as if she were a young man. Elske walked behind Beriel, as unresponsive as her mistress.

The muddy street twisted down to a broad river, where low, marshy islands floated on glassy water. On the opposite bank, more log houses could be seen. Some coracles were tied up to ramshackle docks, and some masted boats as well, such as a fisherman might take out into the sea. A sign with two gold coins painted on it hung over a doorway, and there Beriel entered.

Elske followed.

The room they entered was lit by many candles, some in lanterns hung on the walls, some standing in a pool of their own wax on wooden tables, some set into wooden rings, like the wheels of wagons, hung down from the ceiling. The air was thick with the smell of ale mingling with smoke from the open fire, odors of roasting meat, sweat, cheese, privies and damp riverside mud. The room was crowded with people, mostly men, lounging on benches along the walls, or gathered around long wooden tables.

At Beriel's entrance, the noise ceased and every eye was fixed upon her.

Beriel ignored this greeting and moved into the room, winding between tables. The noise rose up again like waves around them as Elske followed.

Beriel crossed the room towards a closed door. Following, Elske looked around at drinking men and women with their breasts half pushed out of their bodices. In a back corner, three men looked with hatred across the table at a fourth; but he was not uneasy. Near them, a man and a girl leaned back against a wall; he offered her a coin. In the shadow of the balcony, two men held a third with a knife to his throat and a hand over his mouth. The third man's eyes wept with fear and fury; his hands couldn't reach to the sword at his side, for they were pinned back behind him; his booted feet kicked out, and his captors backed away, mocking. He was a young man, bearded, and his red hair shone like fire out of the shadows in which he struggled to save his life. At one of the tables in the center of the room, a grey-haired woman—looking like one of the distinguished Varinnes of Trastad—dealt out cards to narrow-eyed men, who tossed their wagers into a bowl she had set before her. At another table, two women sat on the laps of two men and all four laughed openmouthed, and drank from tankards.

Beriel was observed, but not questioned. She was watched, but not accosted. Everything about Beriel declared that she had a purpose and a right to be where she was, going whence she went. Elske followed in the wake of Beriel's passage, looking all about her.

The door opened before Beriel had raised a fist to knock. A man stood framed in it, his face bright with greeting. His thin brown hair was tied back, his grey-brown beard was trimmed short, and his smile showed brown teeth. He held out a hand and Beriel put hers into it.

The room behind watched all of this.

The man wore a dark tunic, not clean, and tights. A sword hung at his side and he had a pair of knives in his belt. He wore golden rings on his fingers and golden hoops in his ears. Raising Beriel's hand to his mouth, and bowing over it, he watched the room behind her.

“Welcome, my Queen. I welcome you to my humble manor,” he said. His voice was rich as red wine, and loud, to carry all around the tavern. “You honor me with this unexpected visit. Please, enter.” He stepped back to let Beriel pass. Elske followed.

When they were through, he closed the door behind them and asked, “Was that greeting enough, Queenie? Was that the honor you looked for?”

This chamber was as large as the room they'd just crossed. A curtained bed stood at the rear, beside another closed door. Two chairs with cushioned seats and backs, and carved arms like thrones, were set out near to the fire. In one of them sat a woman, a jeweled pin in the yellow hair that tumbled in curls down onto her shoulders, her dress a bright woven blue and her stockinged feet resting on a pillow. The woman glanced at Elske without interest. It was Beriel who commanded her attention.

“I am flattered that you come to me without soldiers,” the man said. “This—boy—not being, as I take it, much of a soldier.”

Beriel didn't answer the man. Instead, she returned to the door through which they had just entered. She opened it wide and stood in the open doorway until the room outside fell silent again, and then she raised her arm and pointed. She motioned with that hand, and waited.

Elske could not see past her mistress. She could see only the fall of Beriel's cloak and her brown hair, hanging in a long braid down her back, and her arm raised, imperiously.

The red-haired young man, his face still wet with tears, stepped into the room, a hand on the hilt of his sword, his eyes fixed on Beriel's face as if hearing words she did not speak.

“What do you—?” their host said, but Beriel interrupted his thought.

“Did you permit the slaughter on your very doorstep, Josko? Had you given those two louts permission to take this fellow?”

“I have nothing to steal,” the young man protested to Josko. His beard might be soft, and his eyes might weep, but he was no coward. “Why do they attack me? I have not a single coin.”

“Oh, well,” Josko answered, and a smile returned to his face. “You have youth, and good boots, that's a sweet piece of steel you carry even if it is plain-hilted—”