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The burns between her digits were painful, made more so once she climbed up the rough stairs from the landing when the blisters burst, but she’d learned a valuable lesson that would outlast the pain about her body’s resistance to fire. Next time she’d close up her toes, she thought as she passed over Mossbell’s road wall.
A dim light glimmered from the stone-flanked skylight to the library. Perhaps he was still up, reading. She smelled horses in the turnaround by the old fountain.
Wistala decided that the stable might not be the best place for her to sleep. She climbed up her yew tree and made herself as comfortable as possible in the branches.
Exhaustion allowed her to sleep.
She found Rainfall out the next day, gathering blueberries into a satchel that smelled of strawberries, acorns, hickory nuts, and onions.
“How went the hunting expedition, Wistala?” he asked with his back to her. Perhaps he smelled her approach—he had a sensitive nose.
“I . . .” She groped for the right Elvish word. “I’ve misspent your trust and lost Stog.”
He turned, his countenance a foggy morning. “I heard a most curious story from one of the thane’s riders. Two nights ago, the most astonishing creature crept into Galahall.”
“Yes—”
“According to the eyewitnesses, it was bluish, had two heads on long necks, one at either end, feathers all about the face, and shot flame from its glowing eyes. Half the country is rooming with their sheep as men stand guard with fire buckets. I don’t know what to think. Should I be on my guard that a two-headed featherface come to burn down my hall?”
Wistala’s mouth opened and then shut again.
Rainfall suddenly laughed. “Rah-ya! I’m sorry, Wistala—I shouldn’t torment you. Come inside and have a little soup and what’s left of those rabbits. I wish to hear this story.”
Wistala fought the urge to nuzzle his cheek against hers—she could just reach if she stood on her hind legs—and instead turned a quick, happy circle.
“What?” he asked as they walked. “You thought I’d be cross with you? Ever since I dragged you out of the river, there’s been excitement. Save for the awful loss of Lessup, and, of course, our Avalanche, I’d say those old tales out of the East about dragons being omens of good fortune have been proved. And don’t worry about the mule; Stog will turn up. He’s smart enough to find his way home.”
They went into the house, and he passed her a platter that held the remains of his stew and grease-fried entrails.
As she ate, she told the whole story—save for the death of the hunter. She didn’t feel a bit sorry for the damages to the thane’s Galahall, but relating the loss of Stog made her miserable, as well as her confession that she’d failed to return with his granddaughter.
“I wish you’d have discussed this adventure with me before you’d set out. I would have saved your claws the burns and wear.”
“But it’s not right.”
Rainfall poured himself a little more wine and juice squeezings. “Had you come back with her, I would have taken her in both hands. But then I’d have escorted her straight back to Galahall.”
“But you could conceal her, as you did me—”
“Tala, how can I make it plain to you? The thane misuses the law, certainly, whether he breaks it in his misuse is not for me to say. But that doesn’t relieve me of my obligation to live by it. Laws stand only by common consent; enforcement can do only so much.”
He paused and waited until she nodded, then went on: “The thane at least keeps most of the Hypatian traditions, which are just as important as laws in their way. In other provinces, there are thanes who rule like the despots of old. I’ve heard of thanes who force their landholders to will their estates over to him, lest they be labeled traitors and executed, then find an excuse to execute anyway once everything is set down in writing. All quite legal on the face of it, but appallingly against the Hypatian tradition. Hammar will die or go into his dotage eventually, and Hypat will appoint a new thane.”
“Someone like you should be thane, then. An elf is better than any man.”
“Oh, that racial rubbish. Have you been listening to the soldiery? There was a time when Hypatian citizenship was what counted, not the shape of your legs and angle of your shoulders.”
Wistala took a last mouthful of fried entrail. “So you’re content to let those blighters in Galahall rut about your granddaughter, and not see her again?”
“What’s that? Rut?”
“That tower. There were babies in it. Well, a baby.”
Her host’s face writhed. “How young? Perhaps he’s warded a child. . . .”
“I’m not sure. Still suckling at his youngish mother, anyway.”
Rainfall passed his hand through his hair, dropping a long, thin willowlike leaf or two. “He wouldn’t. Not wards of the thane! Oh, if only I’d been more provident with my gold plate, I could sell it or melt it.”
