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7
That evening, Lady Inoulia’s big dining hall filled with talk of spreading grassfires, talk punctuated by coughs as occasional drifts of smoke came through the windows. All day long people had trickled into the castle, carrying their movable property in wagons or packs. While many were fed by an open air kitchen in the main courtyard, the important people, village headmen and artisans, dined with the castle residents. Sandry felt sorry for them and resentful, and was ashamed of her resentment. This summer she had seen too many refugees fleeing earthquake damage and pirate raids. She had hoped that, so far north, there would be no families driven from their homes.
She wished there was someone to talk with. On her left Lady Inoulia conversed with the duke. Niko, on her right, was speaking to Yarrun. Perhaps her friends …
Briar, Daja? she called silently. Nothing happened; they didn’t even look up. Tris?
The redhead was chatting with the kitchen boy next to her. If she’d heard Sandry’s mind-call, she gave no sign of it.
Frowning, Sandry touched the front of her dress, where the small pouch she wore on a chain around her neck lay hidden. The pouch held magical things, including a circle of thread with four lumps in it. It had been the first she’d ever spun, with a lump for each of them, a symbol of the way she had brought their magics together. With it under her fingers, she ought to have been able to speak to her friends.
Briar? Tris? Daja?
She felt no trace of magic, not in her call and not in the pouch. She was about to ask Niko what had gone wrong when she remembered the loom and her afternoon’s work. If ever she needed proof that she had bound their power into her weaving, here it was. She didn’t even have the thread circle’s magic to use. With a sigh, she returned to her dinner.
“Is Tris well?” Niko asked Sandry a short time later. “She’s coughing a great deal.”
“It’s the smoke,” replied Sandry. “I wish there was a way to screen it out. Has Uncle mentioned when we’ll be moving on?”
“No, but I would guess not for another few days at least.” Niko rubbed his eyes tiredly. “People from the smaller valleys along the Gansar border are expected to meet him here. We simply have to cope.”
Once the meal was finished, the duke and Lady Inoulia stood. The lady held up her hands, motioning for quiet. “Men and you boys of the household who are older than twelve, report to Emmit Steward. It is necessary to dig a firebreak along the edges of the forest. He will give you proper instructions and tools.”
People murmured anxiously. It was rare to create firebreaks—broad strips of bare ground that fire could not cross. Doing so now made everyone nervous.
“My friends, my friends!” Now it was Yarrun who motioned for quiet, one of his false-looking smiles plastered to his face. “You know me, as you knew my father before me. Have we ever failed you? This is a precaution, nothing more.”
Sandry shook her head as she and Niko walked down to join Briar, Tris, and Daja. She would feel ever so much better if the person making such assurances were Niko, or Tris. It was hard to have faith in Yarrun. There was a lack of strength in his eyes, and his collection of humorless smiles made her skin crawl.
I hope Uncle isn’t just getting advice from him about these fires, she thought, offering Tris her pocket handkerchief. The redhead took it with a relieved smile and used it to cover a burst of coughs.
Frostpine had not come to supper. It was only after Sandry had returned to work—hooking the free end of her backstrap loom to a cedar chest—that he arrived in their rooms freshly bathed. A servant came in his wake with a tray of food.
“I don’t know what Tenth Caravan Idaram is doing,” he told the children, Lark, Niko, and Rosethorn in between bites of chicken. “At first all they wanted us to do was touch up some metal work—replace a wheel, mend some harness. Then, this afternoon—late this afternoon—they say they want everything gone over. Everything. Every buckle, every brass stud, every ring or bit or clasp in the caravan. It’s at least two more days work for Kahlib and me—his apprentice isn’t good for much. I was so late because we had to make sure he has the raw metal for the work. He sent his apprentice to Owzun Manor for more brass. Of course Kahlib’s happy as a”—he looked at Lark and grinned—”a lark. It’s a fortune to him. I just thought the Traders wanted to clear out soon, for—for silly reasons of their own.”
“Because there’s a trangshi here,” Daja remarked gloomily.
“But they changed their minds,” Frostpine pointed out. “I think they want something so much it’s worth being around a trang—”
He stopped. Briar had carried the iron vine over for him to see; Tris bore the attached copper plate. It was nearly half gone now, and the remainder was as buckled and rippled as if half melted. Now all the branches on the side of the vine closest to the plate sported copper buds.
“—shi,” Frostpine said weakly. “Shurri defend us. They know about this?”
“That plate was Polyam’s trade-token for me,” Daja said. “We left it beside the vine. There was just one bud out when she left, but she raised the price to two gold majas when she saw it.”
“Right there?” asked Frostpine. “She didn’t ask to consult with her gilav?”
The four young people and Lark shook their heads.
“They have a buyer,” Niko said firmly. “They must. It’s the only reason to offer that much. They have someone who pays well for magical artifacts.”
“Do you know who?” Rosethorn asked, inspecting the copper buds. It was the third going-over she’d given the vine since she’d seen it late that afternoon.
“There is a handful of people around the Pebbled Sea who pay highly for magical curiosities,” replied Niko. “If you like, Daja, you might try to sell it directly to them.”
Sandry looked at Niko, surprised. It was certainly Daja’s right to try to go around Polyam, but it didn’t seem honorable.
“No,” Daja said, frowning. “I want them to think Polyam dickered me exhausted and got an outrageously cheap price. That might replace some of the zokin she lost when they made her qunsuanen.”
Niko smiled, approval in his dark eyes. Sandry glared at him. “Daja doesn’t exactly need to be tested on whether she’s honorable or not,” she told him crossly.
“Doesn’t she?” asked Niko. “Don’t all of you?” He looked at each of the four. “This is your first taste of the things which may come from your being powerful mages. People will offer you gold, status, even love. I want to know how you will react. I want to know if your teachers will release greedy, thoughtless monsters into the world.”
All four young people looked away.
“Well,” Frostpine said cheerfully when the silence grew long enough to make Little Bear and Shriek stir restlessly, “while your creation was getting away from you, how did your ordinary work go? Let’s see your nails, Daja.”
With a groan, she fetched the bucket full of her afternoon’s work. Smoke billowed in the window, making the others cough as she handed the bucket to Frostpine.
He said nothing at first, but the look on his face as he scooped up nails and let them run through his fingers was odd. “This makes no sense,” he muttered. “Not in the lea—Where is it?” he demanded. “Where’s your magic?”
“Sandry has it,” replied Daja, startled that he’d asked.
“‘Sandry has it,’“ Frostpine repeated, eyebrows raised. “I see. You just, you felt generous, and you said, ‘Take my magic, Sandry, I’m not using it—’“
“Don’t get into one of your flames,” Lark advised, tucking her hands in the sleeves of her habit.
“One of my—” Frostpine’s voice rose. “You strip my apprentice of her power—”
“It’s just a loan,” Briar protested.
“Look at what Sandry’s doing, before you say anymore,” Lark told Frostpine.
He glanced at the young noble, who wove as she had since they returned from supper, deep in a trance of concentration. Working at a steady pa
ce, she threw the shuttle, with its burden of power and silk thread, to and fro in the warp on the loom. Under her fingers lay three inches of cloth. Although the thread on the shuttle was creamy undyed silk, there was a pale touch of color in the cloth. On one edge a barely green stripe was shaping; on the other, an orange-red one. A white stripe lay inside the green one, while a blue tint brushed the cloth between the white and the orange. A second look showed that threads of each color trickled into the other stripes, starting just an inch away from the bottom of the loom.
“She’s mapping, you great dolt,” said Rosethorn sharply. “You know as well as we do that something must be done about the way their power is leaking. Or do you want to put it off until lightning strikes whatever you’re working on next?”
“You shouldn’t encourage them to turn their power over to anyone,” argued Frostpine, his eyes glittering with anger. “Not to each other, not to us, not to anyone on the face of the earth! They have no idea what evils could result, but I would have thought that you did!”
“We do know,” replied Niko. “This must be done, and done now.”
Daja rested a hand on her teacher’s arm, not wanting him to be upset. “If you could feel my magic in plain work like nails, couldn’t that be trouble someday?” she asked. “Lark thinks we can fix this now. I want it fixed.”
“Me too,” said Briar.
“Me three,” added Tris.
Frostpine ran his fingers through his mane of hair. “I don’t like it,” he protested. “What if Sandry goes awry?”
“She can’t,” Lark replied calmly. “She and I bound every protective and enclosing spell I could think of into the warp and the structure of that loom before a single thread was woven. When she’s done, loom and cloth alike will be taken apart and the thread burned.”
Frostpine gave Sandry another look, then stalked out onto the balcony. Daja stared at the remaining adults. Frostpine never acted this way. Even during the pirate attack on Winding Circle he had stayed calm.
“I’ll speak to him later,” Niko said, rubbing his temples. “He’s just miffed that we didn’t consult him, even though he agreed that Lark and I make the decisions where this kind of learning is involved.”
Daja wasn’t sure that Niko was right. Frostpine didn’t get into a swivet because he hadn’t been asked.
“You know what I’d like to do tomorrow?” Tris announced. “I’d like to go see that Dalburz glacier. Could we?” she asked Lark and Niko. “I’ve never seen one.”
“I have this to do,” Sandry pointed out. It was time for a break. Sliding out of the loom, she walked around, rubbing the back of her neck.
“You should spend a few hours away from your loom in the morning,” Lark told her. “You will be feeling today’s magical effort. A ride will be just what you need to refresh yourself, and then you can work in the afternoon.”
“I could guide you, if you wish to make the trip.” Polyam stood in the open door, a package in her unscarred hand. She nodded to the adults in greeting. “Our caravan passes it all the time.”
“I actually like the sound of this,” Niko said with approval. “Tris should see a glacier, and the experience would be good for all of us. Lark and I will come, too.”
“Well, if I’m to go riding in the morning, I’d best get back to work now,” Sandry commented with a sigh. Lifting up the backstrap, she stepped into it and sank to the floor, pulling her loom taut.
Polyam walked over for a better look at her cloth. “It’s a mess,” she said critically. “You were fine at the start, but your threads are getting all confused.” Her frown crinkled the yellow-marked scars on her face. “And how can the stripes be colored? Your thread isn’t.”
“It’s a long story,” replied Lark, sitting with a basket of needlework. “Can we offer you something to drink?”
The Trader shook her head. “I came only to bring a new trade-token, since it looks as if I will buy my old one with the purchase of the main piece.” She walked over to the iron piece, her staff thumping on the carpet. “It works fast, this vine.”
“And it does so all by itself,” Daja said. “It stopped drawing on my magic once Frostpine got it to let me go.”
Polyam bowed, offering her the package she carried. “I hope you will take this as our new trade-token.”
Her gift was wrapped in yellow silk, as were all important Trader gifts. Carefully Daja undid the knots. The cloth fell away to reveal a hand-sized figure of a long-tailed, spotted cat in palest green jade. Tris, Lark, and Briar gasped as Daja showed it to them. When the boy stretched out his hands, Daja let him take the figure. He examined it from all angles, running his fingers over the maker’s mark carved in its base.
“It’s called a snow leopard,” Polyam explained. “Shy animals. They live in the southern mountains of Yanjing. They’re actually white with black spots.”
“Very nice,” said Niko. “A worthy offering, don’t you think, Daja?”
Daja nodded. “Yours?” she asked Polyam.
The Trader smiled. “No—it came from the caravan’s goods,” she replied, her good eye dancing.
“Then I will prize it,” Daja replied, with a smile. She knew how such things worked. That she was offered a gift from the caravan’s goods meant that she was rising in the opinion of the gilav. “You’re still doing the bargaining, though, aren’t you?” If they thought enough of what she had to sell that they would offer her a gift like this, they also might want a high-status daka bargaining, not Polyam. I don’t want that, Daja realized. I like her. It was a startling thought.
Polyam shook her head. “They would have to qunsuanen the dakas. Why waste the time, and the paint”—she gestured to herself—”when I’ve gone through it already?”
Briar’s lips moved as he did calculations. “I might get five silver astrels from a top-of-the-ladder pump for it,” he said, handing the carving to Daja. “That means it’s worth maybe a gold maja on the market.”
Someone—Tris—gasped.
“I told gilav Chandrisa you’d probably sell at three gold majas,” Polyam commented. “Don’t make a fool of me.” She smothered a yawn with one hand. “I’ll meet you by the stables in the morning. For this, I believe I can even scrape together another bargaining meal.” With a cheerful wave, she left them. Daja danced a jig, thinking of more Trader food.
“Polyam is enjoying this too much,” said Niko sourly. “As are you four.”
“We’ve been good all day,” protested Briar. “We didn’t use our magic without someone to watch us.” Daja, standing behind him, saw his fingers cross behind his back. She agreed; if none of the castle’s people had mentioned the appearance of a steam-vent in one of the courtyards, she and Briar weren’t about to. “We’ve earned a bit of fun, don’t you think?” Briar asked.
“I don’t understand,” Tris said, her voice hoarse. “At first she acted like she almost hated Daja, but now she goes to all this trouble, getting food and offering to ride with us—” She stopped, coughing.
“I think partly she does it because she can,” Lark explained when Tris caught her breath. “Because they let her. As wirok she’s a despised person. They give her their leavings—”
“And their scorn,” said Rosethorn quietly. She had been seated at a desk, writing.
Lark nodded. “But now, she’s the only avenue for them to buy something they want. She’s getting better food out of them than she might see for weeks, not to mention access to trade goods. They’re listening to her now. I’d take advantage, in her shoes.”
“I never thought of it like that,” Tris admitted. She began to cough again. “It’s all this smoke, from those grassfires!” she gasped. “I hate it.”
“I don’t like the sound of that,” Rosethorn said. “Let me give you something for it.”
“I don’t want anything nasty,” Tris croaked, following Rosethorn into the room where she and Lark slept. “I’ll be all right.”
Lark got out her needlework, keeping an eye
on Sandry. Briar decided that Little Bear needed to be combed and set about it, while Niko picked up a book. Daja went onto the balcony.
Frostpine sat on the stone railing, his back against a section of wall. He glanced at Daja, nodded, then returned to staring at the valley below. Tris’s starling, Shriek, was asleep on his shoulder, half tucked under some of the man’s hair.
Daja sat nearby and looked at the view. The bands of fire were just a few miles from the lower edge of the forest. Drifts of smoke blew into her face off and on. They didn’t affect her or Frostpine as they clearly did Tris and the others, perhaps because as smith-mages they were used to smoke.
She wasn’t sure what to say to him, so she said nothing. After a while she heard his quiet voice. “I was born in Mbau, southeast of the Pebbled Sea.”
Hot country—good ebony, mahogany, and brass-work, though, Daja thought automatically. She remained silent.
“My father was a shepherd in our village. He was poor once. My older brother and sister talked about eating bean stew for days because that was all they had. There was enough money after I was born, though. My mother and sisters had several dresses. My father could pay someone to watch the flocks while he sat in the shuq with the elders, and told stories, and judged quarrels.” There was a dreamy tone in Frostpine’s voice, as if he told a story about someone else.
“Our mchowni—shaman, you’d call him—was like an honorary uncle. He ate with us on feast days, and brought us children presents. He found husbands for my sisters and a place among the warriors for my brother. I didn’t like him. He was always watching me.”
A larger-than-usual cloud of smoke drifted over the balcony. Taking a deep breath, Frostpine blew at it as if he were a bellows, driving it away. On and on his breath went, until no smoke remained in the air around them.
“I was ‘the moody one.’ Most of my time I spent with the blacksmith, fetching and carrying. When I was older, he taught me. I loved it, but it frustrated me, too. Something was missing. It was like always reaching for a tool, only to find it gone when you try to grab it. Some days I went so crazy that the only thing for it was to run, and run, and run.”
