Silver May Tarnish Read online

  “But Hogeth would not know that unless he asked. So ask he did, and Aran died of that asking. I owe Hogeth a debt for that which I shall repay if ever I meet him again.”

  “Do you think Hogeth is seeking you while leaving Paltendale to stand alone without a lord?”

  “I think not. He would rebuild as best he can without coin. Work hard those who returned, in plowing fields and sowing crops, to rebuild cot and barn. He will hunt out nearby dales where a lord is dead and take from them any beasts left alive, taking any property or gear he can terrorize the people into allowing him. He will cozen their people to join Paltendale, and once they are there he will see they remain to work. But between times I think he will ride out to find those who may tell him of me. It would take time to find men who could say one of my description had ridden with Tildale. That may be why it has taken him so long to find the trail.”

  “Then I have a plan,” I said. “You know whence he can obtain news of you. First we do as we had planned for Honeycoombe. We return before Winter with those who will come. We repair the keep, the cottages, and barns. I shall care for my bees when Winter strikes. But once Spring sowing is done we shall ride again. Let us seek out those who have known you and ask of them if Hogeth has been there. Thus we shall find him before he and his find us. Then let you deal with him as you desire.”

  I think my look may have been most unmaidenly fierce as I said that last I did not care. I had talked to one in the keep who had been a friend to this Aran. She had been there when they washed the body, preparing it for burial. From her I had learned how hard my lord’s friend had died. If Lorcan found the man who had done that and slew him, it was no more than justice. Nor would I speak one word against it

  In the end we stayed ten days at Tildale. We talked often to Lord Salas of the better dale to be found near my own home. In the end, he was swayed by his own kin. We had heard from some in the keep that his daughters and their lords had died. One girl, however, had borne children before the invaders came. When she began to fear for her dale, she made arrangements in secret, her own lord being a pompous and obstinate man. Salas told us of this.

  “The children had a nurse.” He smiled sadly. “A daleswoman in body and spirit. Sturdy of body, stout of heart, and loving to children that were not hers. When the invaders drew onto the borders of my daughter’s home, she sent the woman away alone with none but the children and the woman’s son. They came to safety before their dale fell.”

  “Why then did the woman not tell you she had your grandchildren safe, Lord?” Lorcan queried.

  “She could neither read nor write and the war had raged through the dales between us. It was more than a year before she could get word to me. By then it was the edge of Winter. I looked for them in Spring but the girl took a cough and had to stay abed.” He sighed. “I received a letter from the Dames at Norstead saying the boy had taken the cough from his sister and that they feared for him. Best he and his sister remain yet. I agreed. Thus is it that my heart leapt when the boy here ran to say riders approached.”

  I understood first. “Then they are due at the gates of Tildale?”

  “Indeed, and long awaited.”

  So that was why we stayed longer than the day or two planned. The small weary group arrived three days after our own arrival. The old woman, nurse to Salas’s daughter’s lord once, was now nurse to Merria and Malco. I judged the older child, Merria, to be around seven. The boy was barely three. He can only have been a babe when he fled his home. But both appeared lively, sensible, healthy children so I thought Salas was fortunate.

  But it made up his mind. Over the next five days I saw him riding or walking the fields often, stooping to study the meager crops or take up a handful of the thin soil and let it trickle through his fingers. One’s home is one’s heart, no matter how poor it may be. To leave one’s home behind, and more, to uproot others to follow you, is no light or easy decision. But he was a knowing man, the Lord Salas. Tildale had never been rich. It was one of the earlier dales settled and the soil was worked out. Let it lie fallow some generations and it might recover.

  As it was, each Spring the land was less fertile, the people more hungry, the keep poorer. Better Salas took our suggestion, rode South with us and settled a dale both larger and richer. And before others came riding with the same thought in mind. I talked of it with him.

  “Merrowdale is a fair dale. They bred sheep, the Mountain strain with fine wool. We saw some running wild when we rode out past the dale. They had a good keep and were taken only as we were, by treachery.”

  “How many families did it support?”

  I shook my head. “That I cannot say for certain. I know it to be larger than Honeycoombe. My dale had almost one hundred and twenty folk. I think Merrowdale sheltered half again, at least. Neither dale was feeding as many as it could have done.” Lord Salas stared at me. I could understand his surprise. In my wanderings over Tildale I had seen it held some sixty folk in want. A dale which would hold thrice that number in well-fed and spacious comfort was a prize worth the taking.

  Five days after the children had arrived I met Merria riding a small fat pony. She halted to greet me. Since I had ridden to the dale entrance and away from the folk, my warriors had taken to the air as guard. Now one winged down towards the child. I looked for a cry of fear but she held out her hand. My warrior settled upon the flattened palm, fanning his wings and looking back at Merria through black faceted eyes.

  She beamed down. “He’s beautiful. Would he mind if I touched him?”

  “Very gently. He enjoys having his fur stroked with a fingertip.” Others of the winged-ones were descending to land upon me. I heard then the sound in my mind which must have alerted Ithia seven years gone. A honey-sweet humming. Approval and choice. This girl was acceptable to them. In the last few years I had sometimes wondered who would follow me. Now my wing-friends chose. I rode back with Merria, telling her about them, seeing her interest in all I could say. Then I sought out Lord Salas.

  “She has the gift,” I summed up. He sat saying nothing for a long space of time until finally he spoke.

  “Will you wed Lorcan?”

  I would have answered tartly that it was no business of his, but then I saw the fear behind his question. He meant not, would I wed, but would Merria be able to wed if she took my road? All know that across the sea the Witches of Estcarp cannot lie with a man and keep their powers. That did not apply to those chosen by the winged-ones. That difference I had been careful to mention, as if casually, to Lorcan.

  “I do not know if I will choose to wed,” I said now. “But it would be no loss to me if I did so.” Lord Salas leaned forward awaiting my words. “The gifts I have are not changed by wedding and bedding. Ithia before me was wed, she walked alone many years because her man died in a hill storm, and she had borne him no children. Once she returned to our dale she lived alone by choice, taking an apprentice when one was shown her by the bees. I was that one. I may well wed in my turn. If so, the home that was Ithia’s and is now mine, will be inherited by my apprentice on my departure so that she may always have a roof over her head.”

  “That is well. What of your own children, if you have them?”

  “If I bear children they may carry no gifts. Often it misses a generation. If I take Merria as apprentice it may be a granddaughter of mine who is next apprentice in turn.”

  “What if I deny her apprenticeship with you?”

  “Shall Lorcan and I steal her away? The gift’s seed she has, yes. But if she does not use it, nor is trained in the use of it, then it shall wither. That choice, too, is part of this gift. Yet,” I looked at him strongly, “Ithia made our dale very good coin with her knowledge. The cordial she could make saved many lives. Nor do the Gods approve one who denies the gifts they give.” I said no more. Let him consider my words and his granddaughter’s future without feeling I pressed him for my own ends.

  Aye, he was a good and knowing man, old Lord Salas. He consider
ed to some purpose. When we rode out of Tildale it was with his agreement pledged on two counts. With the next Spring crops gathered in, with Summer he and his should ride to take over Merrowdale as our neighbors. Leaving, he said, some few of his people to hold Tildale until his ownership of Merrowdale was assured. He was not one to let loose reality to grasp a dream and lose both.

  He would come in a year and with him would ride Merria, to be my apprentice once her years were enough. Lorcan and I rode South, and if we smiled often and, laughing, sang songs of the dales, who would deny us our happiness?

  XI

  As we rode down the track, almost a week after leaving Tildale, clouds were beginning to loom over us and darken. I looked up at the sky, Lorcan’s gaze met mine, and in wordless agreement we hurried the horses. The weather, which had held off some time now, would soon be upon us. It would rain before dawn and that rain would not be light. One of the dales storms was on the way and they could be ferocious at this time of year. Best we find good shelter so we and the beasts would sleep dry.

  “Do you know the land hereabouts?”

  Lorcan glanced around. “Not well. I rode through a few times taking messages and later in pursuit of stragglers from the invaders. But it was some time ago and I was always in haste. I recall little, save,” he paused to cudgel his memory, “I do recall a shelter in the hills. The man with whom I rode knew of it. We stayed the night there when we met such a storm as we shall see here soon. I think the track to the shelter goes into the hills from the road no great distance from here.”

  “How deep in the hills?”

  “Deep enough. An hour’s hard riding at least. But I think this storm will last the night and maybe the following day. Better we go a distance and have good shelter than we stay on the road and hope for it but find nothing.”

  With that I could only agree. We rode hard then, pushing our mounts, Drustan running behind them. The track Lorcan recalled appeared to the right and we swung our mounts onto it. The faint narrow path led steeply uphill so that we and the horses had to lean into the climb. I thought as we rode that most likely it had been made by feet rather than hooves. Who would place some building here? Perhaps it had been a shelter for beasts and their herders once.

  Thrice as we rode I had a strange feeling, as if one watched to see us pass. I saw nothing but rocks here and there. Three such stood tall like fingers raised to the sky. They appeared featureless and I did but glance as we hurried past. Yet chilly fingers walked my spine at the look of them. The track was trod deep and baked hard by Summer sun. If any had come this way recently there were no signs. If the shelter was known I thought it not unlikely someone had found it. Those who lived thereabouts would know of it.

  Many of the dales in this area were ruined, some so devastated by the strange weapons the invader brought first, that it might be many years or even generations before the dale returned to life. So it had been with Lorcan’s home. It was for that reason he had to seek a new place. I allowed my gaze to touch his face as we moved on. I had come to care deeply for him over the months as we rode together.

  At first I had bid my warriors be vigilant. Lorcan was of that House I knew to be, at the least, untrustworthy with women: Paltendale, whose son had ravaged my great-grandmother thinking her honor valueless since she was not of noble birth. I smiled to myself. Lorcan sorrowed that of all his blood only Hogeth, his enemy, remained along with Lorcan himself. He said little but I knew he grieved. How wrong he was. I who rode beside him was of that House, and his own line.

  I claimed it not, what honor was there in claiming blood begotten thusly? But that blood was yet mine. It seemed also that there were gifts in the line. Had not one of the strange ones appeared to the Lord of Lorcan’s dale once and given treasure? True, they owed a debt, but they had spoken face to face. A rare and wondrous thing. I did not think then of the Lady of the Bees. That was more natural to me. I was her daughter in gift. Why should I not see her and hold speech?

  Lorcan reached over to touch my arm. “I think we are close.”

  “Well enough. I’m tired and the horses are no better.”

  We rounded the comer of a hill. In my mind I heard a shrilling hum of alarm. Of our warriors, several flew always well ahead of us as scouts. Now they cried out to me, warning us back. The winged-ones rose up, wings glittering in the last rays of sun before the storm-clouds. They hung before me, a shimmering curtain of anxiety. I pulled my mount to a halt, hand lashing out to catch at Lorcan’s reins.

  “Danger, Lorcan, there’s trouble ahead. Hold back.” Thanks be he knew to listen.

  “What danger?”

  “I know not, but the winged-ones are certain. Let them go ahead to see for us. I think the shelter is close by.” He glanced up at the sky. The storm was gathering slowly, it would be the more powerful for that. Fast gather—fast fade; slow start—slow end, is the dales saying on our storms—and it is very true.

  “Tell them to go swiftly. Or the choice may be between whatever is the danger they see, and our pneumonia.”

  “The latter may be treated,” I retorted, before I slipped into the hive mind.

  My warriors darted ahead and I saw Lorcan had been right. We were barely a half mile from the shelter. But about that shelter horses were tethered. They were good beasts but hard-used, and with them were a couple of the hill ponies bearing packs. I studied the shelter through many eyes. This may have once been something else, but it had long since been converted to use as a herd shelter. I could see where the stones had been replaced, the wood of the watering troughs repaired. Even those repairs were old. Whatever had once resided here should be long gone.

  I knew that very long ago it had been a building of a different sort. The bees could read that and I through them. The winged-ones floated in the air, allowing me to see all clearly before they drifted high to pass through the open door barely below the lintel. I was speaking, relaying what I saw to Lorcan. And what I saw was an ill thing to see.

  “How many men?”

  “We see seven. I think they are of the kind which slew my dale. Men gone outlaw.”

  They could be men who had run mad from grief at some great loss the war had brought. Yet I knew that their loss excused nothing of what that kind did, in Landale or in other places. I, too, had lost my home, my family, and Ithia my teacher. I had not run crazed, slaying all I met as if their deaths would somehow ease my sorrow. Or had I? I had killed, I and my warriors, without mercy. Maybe that had been my own easing. I would think on that later. Lorcan was muttering at me. I obeyed his demand, sending a warrior outside to count.

  “There are seven horses.”

  “Then that may be the complete tally of the men. The hill ponies you see may belong to those others.”

  Those others, yes. I judged them a family. Like many of the dalesfolk they clung to kin. I could see an elderly woman, two women of middle-age. A man held by one of the women lay flat, blood about his head and face. His arm seemed crooked, so that I suspected it to be broken previously. Three young women and an older boy; he, too, was injured. And several children. They huddled together and I could see the fear on the faces upturned to await their fate. Only the old woman’s face showed no fear, only determination and a kind of waiting. In a comer stood several goats, two with kids.

  “Likely they are refugees from one of the coastal dales,” Lórcan commented, as I relayed what I saw, “come upon this place by accident. Any dales-bred seeing this side path would guess there was some sort of shelter at the end of it. But the men, what like are they?” I knew him to mean those who had come raiding, so I turned the gaze of my warriors upon the seven men.

  “They have two small barrels which one man seems to guard. They are well armed,” I reported. One turned as I spoke. I could see now what lay upon one hip. I sucked in my breath. “One I would judge to be leader wears a dart gun!”

  “A dart-gun?” Lorcan echoed my words. “Only Alizon had those. We use them not in the dales. They are manslayer
s and useless for much else. One pays for them in gold and the darts cost high. Better a bow. They are little better than one and a bow can be more cheaply had.” His voice dropped to a snarl. “It was said in Imgry’s camp that a few of our kind who rode renegade with Alizon were given dart-guns in token. When we flung back the invaders, breaking their army and camps, I heard such renegades ran back to the dales. They are of us, therefore they could disappear more easily. Look closer at these men and tell me more.”

  I obeyed. “The leader is tall, he wears leather clothing. He looks like a dalesman, not of noble blood. More like one who has been well-fed but hard-worked. He is strong and quick. I can see it in the way he moves. He has the dart-gun upon his left hip, on his right he wears a good sword. A lord’s weapon, with a hilt of gold and gems. His dagger is the same.”

  “Loot?” I heard Lorcan mutter to himself.

  “The man who stands by the door is another of that kind. He wears a tabard beneath a cloak. I cannot see all the device, but what I can see appears like a pard’s mask. He wears jewels about his neck and on one wrist. The man beyond him looks very like him in features. I would think them kin. He, too, wears a tabard. I can see the comer of it when he turns. Lorcan, all have gems of some sort. Whatever else they may be or have, they have wealth, but I don’t think it honestly gained.”

  As I spoke we both glanced skyward. The storm was holding off from us, but not for more than a few hours more, I believed.

  “I would judge that the riders came only recently upon this place,” I said. “I think the ponies to be theirs. The outlaws guard barrels the beasts may have borne atop their packs. They seem to be awaiting a decision from their leader.”

  “And not like to be a pleasant one for those they found before them,” Lorcan added. “I would not stand by. Yet we are two. They are seven and well-armed almost certainly trained for war. What use are old women and children on our side? Even if they understand their danger and that we fight for them?” I nodded grimly. It was a hard thing to say and harder to accept, but better Lorcan and I lived, better we saved most of the innocent lives, than we rushed in to die with them.