Sword of Fire Read online

  “You get used to it.” Travaberiel paused for a small choking noise. “Eventually.”

  Benoic had bought Alyssa a pomander in Dun Sebanna for just this occasion. She held her reins in one hand, took the silver ball out of her kirtle, and held it to her nose.

  “It’ll rain soon,” Cavan said. “That’ll clear things out a bit.”

  When the road topped a low rise, they saw the fair at last.

  “There it is!” Trav said. “It’s a cursed good thing we got here early in the day. We need to find proper shelter.”

  “Good gods!” Alyssa said. “It’s enormous.”

  The fair spread out along both sides of the river. On the west bank, horses grazed. Downstream stood elven tents, at least thirty of them, Alyssa estimated. On the east, mules and merchants camped downstream from a cluster of knocked-together wooden booths. Men and Westfolk both gathered around or strolled back and forth between them.

  “They sell all sorts of things,” Trav said. “Ale and mead—a lot of that.”

  In the midst of all this stood the bridge itself, made of wood but standing on proper stone pillars on each bank. Now and then a merchant and his servants led their latest purchases across. As soon as their hooves hit the hollow-sounding boards, the horses tossed their heads and pulled uneasily on the lead ropes, but the men calmed them and guided them across. These Western Hunters, as the breed was known, were too valuable to “encourage” with whips or sticks.

  Since they were already on the west side of the river, Graelamala could take her herd and her people directly out to the grass beyond the fair. Benoic lingered a moment. He rode up to Alyssa and leaned in the saddle to speak to her.

  “Do you have need of me?”

  “None.” She smiled at him. “Go help Joh tether her horses, if you’d like.”

  He grinned, made her a half-bow, and rode off after the Westfolk.

  Trav led Alyssa and Cavan past the horse herds to the cluster of Westfolk camps. In the silvery light from the approaching storm, their brightly painted tents gleamed in a long scatter across the beaten-down grass. As they dismounted, a young Westfolk man, slender and not very tall, hurried to meet them.

  “There’s Linderyn,” Travaberiel said.

  Alyssa’s first impression was that Linderyn had to be part owl. He had large dark eyes, a sharp beakish nose, and his pale hair, cropped short, stood up from his forehead in two soft peaks. After a round of introductions he stood watching, hands on his hips, as Cavan and Travaberiel unloaded the pack mule. Her tiny lean-to caught his attention.

  “That little bit of canvas won’t keep you dry, Alyssa,” Linderyn said. “I’ll let you use my tent. Trav, Cavvo, and I will impose on Trav’s father.”

  “My very great thanks.” Alyssa wondered how she could possibly find the courage—no, the affrontery—to speak, but the other men had wandered away out of earshot. I’m a wild woman now, she reminded herself. “But I’d rather Cavan stayed with me.”

  “Very well, then.” Linderyn glanced at the sky. “He’d best get your gear stowed away. This rain’s not going to hold off for long. The other silver dagger?”

  “He’s over there.” Alyssa pointed to the edge of the cluster of tents. “He’s found a place to stay.”

  “Good. Let me get things arranged, then.”

  And that was all there was to it, her momentous decision. Alyssa smiled and curtsied as Linderyn hurried off to tell the others. She watched as Joh and Benoic began to set up her small peaked tent, just large enough for two people. She hoped that her new friend would soon have the child she wanted, and that she herself escaped a similar gift. A scrap of linen, she reminded herself, you soak it in mead or vinegar, wrap it around a smooth pebble, and—the idea spoiled the romantic glow of her scheme, but then, a baby would spoil a great deal more.

  Linderyn’s round tent, painted with images of birds and trees, though she could see no owls among them, stood ready for them. The dwimmerman had cleared out his own bedding. She carried some of her own gear inside, but Cavan insisted on hauling most of it as well as his own. They dumped their possessions on the floor cloth in untidy heaps and hurried back outside. Both of them wanted to see something of the fair before the rain hit.

  “There’s a big horse fair like this near Lughcarn,” Cavan said. “My father and his equerry went yearly, of course. I always wanted to see it, but he’d never take me, only my youngest brother.”

  “He didn’t take the eldest? The heir?”

  “Not even him. But the youngest, Careg, was his little favorite. He knew how to flatter and wheedle and twist our father round. He learned how from my sisters.”

  “Did you ever get to the fair? After they sent you away, like.”

  “They exiled me in Slaughter-Month. No fairs then, not for a long time.”

  He forced out a smile, but Alyssa caught her breath. “They sent you away in the dead of winter with only a silver coin and a horse.”

  “The usual terms of exile, truly. Oh, they let me keep a warm cloak and an extra pair of boots, too.”

  His face revealed nothing, his eyes open as usual, his mouth absolutely neutral—not a twitch, not the hint of a frown. If his father had appeared at that moment, Alyssa would have thrown together a flyting song on the spot, gwerbret or no.

  “Old tales,” Cavan said in a moment. “Let’s go have a look, shall we? I’m wondering if some of our enemies have followed us here. I want to get a good look at the crowd.”

  “That third bounty hunter?”

  “For one. And the man with the shaved head. I’ll recognize him if I see him.”

  With a glance at the darkening sky, she followed him across the bridge to the east bank. A good many merchants who had naught to do with the trade in horses came to the fair. Off to one side, on the other side of the tent camps from the horse herds, stood a confusion of booths and pedlars. Some of the booths were cleverly constructed of wood so they could be taken apart, loaded onto a wagon and moved to the next camp. Others were mere stacks of firewood. Pedlars moved through the crowd with small goods piled in baskets. Here and there a farmer knelt behind a blanket spread with cheeses or fruit or vegetables. Brewers sold their ale and beer out of the barrel. Over it all hung the scent of roasting lamb and pork and the sound of Westfolk harps and song.

  As they wandered from booth to booth, Cavan made a great show of pointing to various things for sale, but he kept on guard. As they walked, he kept glancing at the people around them. He paused often to look over a display of hunting knives here or leather pouches there, but even as he studied the merchandise, he’d pause for a quick look around. Eventually they came to a booth with fine jewelry laid out on a dark woad-blue cloth. Brooches and bracelets, mostly silver with touches of gold and gems, were sewn to the cloth, nailed to the wood beneath it. This time Alyssa was the one to pause for a better look.

  The smith, a Westfolk man with emerald eyes, made her a little bob of a bow and smiled. His oddly long fingers moved among the merchandise like pale spiders as he pointed out finger rings and brooches, bangles and bracelets of silver and bronze. At one side of the display lay a line of betrothal brooches, made of two silver wires cleverly wound and spiraled to look like a single strand at first glance. She did her best to ignore them, though her rebellious eyes insisted on turning toward a particularly fine one, set with two red stones in the embrace of the silver. You’re not likely to ever get a betrothal brooch now, she reminded herself. Rebels and wild women don’t.

  “Does summat interest you, fair maid?” the jeweler said.

  “I’m just admiring your skill, good sir. You do lovely work.”

  He smiled and bowed again. She nodded in response and led the way from the booth.

  They paused again at a cutler’s to let Cavan haggle over a hoof pick with a stag-horn handle. Alyssa walked a few steps away and studied the crowd—mostly me
n, the merchants, their muleteers and horsehandlers. All the other women she saw were Westfolk, striding through the fair with their long knives at their sides. Off to the north of her she heard a sudden noise—the crowd murmuring and moving. The men nearest her began to drift in that direction to see what the excitement might be, but in a moment it appeared on its own. A smug-looking merchant was leading one of the most beautiful horses she’d ever seen, a Western Hunter gelding whose golden coat shone like polished metal. It walked proudly, head up, eyes pricked, feet lifted high as its new owner led it through on a halter rope.

  “Oh, splendid!” Cavan came up beside her. “I wonder what he traded away for that. Half his fortune, I should think.”

  “He’ll get it back and more from some high-ranking lord,” Alyssa said. “Probably paid for with bribes from the law courts.”

  One of the bystanders near her turned to give her a smile. “Well said, lass!”

  She returned the smile, but Cavan laid a firm hand on her arm.

  “Seen enough for now?” Cavan said. “I was thinking of a tankard of beer and maybe a stick of that roast lamb.”

  “Splendid idea!” She looked at the slate-gray sky. “We’d best hurry. Rain’s on its way.”

  Hurry they did, because he kept her moving fast. Once they were well away from the fellow who’d spoken to her, “Lyss,” he said, “you’ve got to hold your tongue about the courts! We don’t know who might be listening.”

  She winced in a little shudder of fear. “True spoken. Apologies.”

  “Well and good, then. Now let’s go get summat to eat.”

  They’d barely finished their meal when, with a roll of thunder, the rain began in big spatters. Alyssa and Cavan ran back to their borrowed tent and reached it before the downpour began. Alyssa rummaged through a mule pack and brought out a punched tin candle lantern and a candle.

  “How are you going to light that?” Cavan said, grinning. “I’ll wager that no one in this camp thought to have a fire ready.”

  “You’ll see.”

  Alyssa brought out a tin box of sulfur matches and a scratch stone. When she struck one, Cavan caught his breath in surprise. She lit the candle and shook the match out.

  “An alchemist back home invented these,” she said. “A couple of our merchants are vying for the right to sell them elsewhere.”

  “Splendid! I could have used them many a time on the road.”

  Cavan stared at the glowing candle for a long moment, then knelt down by the untidy heap of goods that they’d dumped in the tent earlier. Alyssa looked around the tent and found a safe place for the lantern. He unrolled his bedroll and spread his blankets out on one side of the fire pit. Alyssa knelt by hers and undid the straps holding the roll in place. She was surprised that her hands weren’t shaking, just from the gravity of her decision.

  “We shouldn’t be sharing a tent,” Cavan said. “Your womanly honor—”

  “My womanly honor?” Alyssa paused for a bark of a laugh. “Do you truly think that matters any more? Cavvo, I’m as much an outcast as you are.”

  “What? Lyss, that makes no sense—”

  “Doesn’t it? Do you think Gwerbret Ladoic won’t notice that I brought the book to Cerrmor to use as evidence against him? Do you think Travaberiel turning up with a claim on his rhan will gladden his heart? And who’s bringing Trav with her?”

  Slack-jawed, Cavan stared at her.

  “Do you think I’ll be able to just go back to Aberwyn and take up my studies, all peaceful, like? Marry some guildsman just like naught’s happened?”

  He made a strangled sound that might have been “Ye gods.”

  “I may never even see my family again,” Alyssa continued. “I’ll miss my mam so badly, but if I try to visit them, it could well mean as much trouble for them as it would for me.”

  “True spoken. Ye gods, Lyss! You’re right. I’ve not seen that. My apologies.”

  He stayed kneeling, staring at the floor cloth of the tent as if he were thinking something through. She stood up and shook her blankets out, then laid them next to his.

  “What—” Cavan began, then let his voice trail away.

  “I’ve got naught to lose, have I?”

  She knelt down on the blankets, a mere arm’s reach away from him. He studied her face as intently as if he were trying to see her soul through her eyes.

  “I don’t suppose you do,” he said at last. “But I’m still not worthy of you.”

  “That’s for me to judge, not you.”

  Outside the tent, the wind picked up with a sound like a distant voice. She shivered with a little toss of her head.

  “Frightened?” he said.

  “I’m not. This cursed rain! I feel so cold.”

  “Oh, well, then.” He held out his hand. “Let me keep you warm.”

  She smiled and laid her hand in his. He drew her close and kissed her with a passion that sparked her own.

  * * *

  When Cavan woke, the candle had long since burned down. The sky showed gray through the smoke hole of the tent, but the rain had stopped. He could hear that the camp outside had started its day. Distantly a dog barked, a mule brayed, men’s voices murmured. Cavan rolled out of the blankets as quietly as he could. Alyssa turned over, smiling in her sleep, and nestled down in the warmth. He felt torn between wanting to kiss her awake and letting her rest, caught between thinking “she’s mine at last” and “ye gods, what I have done to her!”

  He dressed, then stood and watched her sleep until he started fearing he’d wake her. He slipped out of the tent and made sure that he guided the tent flap silently back into place. He’d crept away from the beds of other women without waking them to avoid any kind of conversation or commitment. This time was different.

  The various merchants had long been up and working. He saw none of the pedlars or the farmers with their blanket stalls, but the merchants with booths were grumbling together as they wiped the wood dry. Some had already spread out their goods, but they seemed more concerned with inspecting than selling them. Cavan went straight to the Westfolk silversmith. He smiled and nodded in greeting.

  “Those silver betrothal brooches,” Cavan said. “Got any left?”

  “The priciest ones, of course.”

  “Good. The one set with red stones?”

  “Right here. I noticed your lass fancied it.”

  My lass, Cavan thought. She is now, for all the good it’ll ever do her. It took most of the coin from his hire to pay the smith, but he considered it the biggest bargain he’d ever made.

  Cavan entered the tent as quietly as he could, but she sat up, still naked, when he knelt down beside her.

  “I’ve got summat to give you.” He offered her a hand clasped around the brooch. “For what it’s worth.”

  When she held out her open hand, he dropped the silver brooch into it. She gasped in delight.

  “It’s truly lovely! Thank you!” She looked up with a grin. Out of habit, she’d used the polite form, “chi,” for “you.” She repeated her thanks with the familiar form, “ti.” “We probably know each other well enough now.”

  He laughed and caught her by the shoulders for a kiss.

  “This brooch is so lovely,” she said. “It’s the second-best thing anyone ever gave me.”

  “Only second?” He tried to keep his voice light, but he knew that disappointment stained it.

  “You gave me the best thing last night.”

  For a moment he missed her meaning, but the way she grinned at him jogged his mind. He kissed her again, caressed her, and they lay back down together in the blankets.

  * * *

  The sun hid behind thinning clouds by the time Alyssa and Cavan left the tent in search of much-needed food. Fortunately the fair had returned to its usual busy self. They ate bread slathered with butter, roast
pork, and a handful each of dried apples. Cavan washed down his share with a tankard of dark beer, but she found someone selling boiled water. She used her own tin cup to drink a ladleful.

  As they headed back to the tents, a pair of men walked between them, hurried off with an apology—but Alyssa was left some six feet away from her silver dagger. As she turned to go back to him, someone laid a heavy hand on her shoulder. She twisted around and broke free to see a grinning fellow dressed in rough wool clothes.

  “Here’s a real lass!” he said. “None of those cursed ears, eh? How much for a tumble, wench?”

  “Not for sale,” Alyssa said. “Keep your paws off!”

  “Ah, just give me a kiss, then.”

  Cavan charged up beside her, grabbed the fellow by the arm with one hand, and hit him so hard in the guts with the other that the fellow staggered and went down. He struggled but managed to get to his knees. Alyssa jumped back just in time as he spewed the contents of his stomach at her feet. Cavan grabbed him by the hair. She saw his silver dagger flash.

  “Stop! Don’t cut him!”

  Cavan held his hand with the dagger just at the man’s throat. All around them men were shouting, pushing forward to reach out for Cavan, but then holding back, stepping away fast when he swirled around to face them.

  “Don’t!” Alyssa threw every bit of force she had into the words. “Stop it! No bloodshed!”

  Cavan shook his head like a man who’s been stunned. He took a deep breath and looked at her. She could see from his eyes that the berserker fit had left him.

  “It’s over, good sirs,” Alyssa said. “Cavvo, put the knife away. Please?”

  “By all means.” Cavan sheathed the dagger. “My thanks for stopping me. Ye gods!”