A Time of Exile

  • • •

  In every warband, Maer reflected sadly, there was always an utterly humorless man like Crindd. If you said it looked like fair weather, Crindd saw rain coming; if you said a meal tasted good, Crindd remarked that the cook had filth under her fingernails; if you liked the looks of a horse, Crindd insisted that he had the legs to come up lame. On a bad day Crindd’s little black cloud of gloom could make even Garoic the captain groan under his breath.

  “Ye gods,” Maer said to Cadmyn one morning, “I’d drown the man except it would give him too much pleasure to have somewhat go wrong.”

  Cadmyn, an easygoing blond who was Maer’s only real friend in the warband, nodded with a faint look of disgust.

  “True-spoken. We all used to mock him, but it wasn’t truly satisfying. He never seemed to notice, you see.”

  “Really? Well, just you leave this to me.”

  That afternoon Maer asked for and received Lord Pertyc’s permission to leave the dun, then rode over to Glaenara’s farm. Much to his annoyance, she was gone, and her brother-in-law refused to tell him where.

  “Just what do you want anyway, silver dagger?” Nalyn snarled.

  “To buy a pint of dried beans or peas from you and naught more. I’ll give you a copper.”

  Nalyn considered, greed fighting with dislike.

  “Oh, I’ll sell you a handful of pulse gladly enough,” he said at last. “But I don’t want you hanging round Glae.”

  After dinner that night, two of the other lads kept Crindd busy in the great hall while Maer and Cadmyn sneaked out to the barracks. They stripped Crindd’s bunk of blanket and sheet, and while Cadmyn kept watch at the door, Maer sprinkled the dried peas over the mattress before he made up the bed again. When the time came, everyone in the warband went to bed full of anticipation. In the dark they could hear Crindd squirming this way and that. At last he got up, and they heard the sound of him trying to brush the sheet clean with his hands. When he got back into bed, the squirming picked up again. Finally one of the men broke and sniggered; the entire warband joined in. Crindd sat up with a howl of rage.

  “And just why are you bastards all laughing?”

  Silence fell, except for the sound of Crindd getting up and messing with something at the hearth. At great length, he struck a spark into tinder and lit a candle. Everyone else sat up and arranged innocent smiles while he stalked over to examine his bunk.

  “There’s somewhat in my bed!”

  “Fleas?” Maer said. “Lice? Bedbugs?”

  “Oh, hold your pus-boil tongue, you whoreson bastard!”

  “Nasty, isn’t he?” Cadmyn remarked.

  Crindd shoved the candle into a wax-crusted holder and began hauling the sheet off.

  “Dried peas!”

  “And how did they get in there?” Cadmyn said.

  “Must be the Wildfolk,” Maer answered.

  The moment Maer said the name he regretted it, because they came at the sound, or so he assumed, not knowing that the Wildfolk love a good prank, the meaner the better. Although it was hard to be certain in the flickering candlelight, Maer thought he saw them as little shapes of shadow, thicker than smoke but just as unstable. When Crindd began gathering the pulse and throwing it impartially at every man within range, the Wildfolk helped the warband catch what they could and throw it back. Maer, however, sat stone-still on his bunk and merely stared, wondering if Nevyn could make a potion that would bring him back to normal. At last Garoic rushed in, wearing a nightshirt over his brigga and swearing at the lot of them to restore order.

  The prank brought Maer so much glory that of course he wasn’t going to stop there, Wildfolk or no Wildfolk. On the morrow he filled a bucket with water, threw in a handful of mucky straw from the stable, and balanced it on top of the half-open door of the tack room. When young Werryc maneuvered Crindd into going to fetch something from this room, Crindd flung the door open and dumped the foul and by then chilly water all over himself. For the rest of the day, he strode around in a humor as foul as his bath, and his mood wasn’t sweetened any when Maer barred the privy door from the outside and trapped him in it. He must have banged and yelled for a good hour before Adraegyn heard him and let him out. Crindd grabbed a rake from the nearby dungheap and came charging for the barracks; he might well have killed someone if Garoic hadn’t calmed him down.

  Although Crindd had no idea who was persecuting him, Garoic wasn’t so dense. That very evening, he caught Maer as he was leaving the great hall and haded him off for a private word.

  “Listen, silver dagger, a jest’s a jest, and I have to admit that I’ve had some good laughs out of all this, but enough’s enough.”

  “But, Captain, sir, what makes you think I’ve got anything to do with it?”

  “My eyes and ears. A warning, silver dagger: the long road might be calling you soon.”

  Since being kicked out of the warband would mean disaster, what with winter coming on, Maer swore that the pranks would end. Unfortunately, Cadmyn came up with an idea that was too good to resist, and he also offered to take the blame for it if worse came to worst. Crindd had a pair of new riding boots, worked in two colors of leather, which had cost him all his winnings from a particularly lucky dice game. Maer and Cadmyn went down to a pond not far from the dun and found the two last frogs who hadn’t dug themselves under the mud for the winter. One fit neatly into each boot. Although Maer and Cadmyn were outside when Crindd went to put on his new boots, they could hear his shriek quite clearly. They were laughing themselves sick when Crindd found them.

  “You foul bastards! I can see the mud on your brigga.”

  From inside his shirt the frogs croaked.

  “You’ve got a pair of pets, have you?” Maer said. “Well, flowers to the fair, and frogs to the warty.”

  Crindd hauled back and hit him in the face. With a yell, Maer swung back, but he was so dizzy that he missed. He could hear Cadmyn shouting, and men running; just as Crindd hit him again, hands grabbed them both and hauled them apart. Although Maer’s right eye was already swelling and dripping, he could see Lord Pertyc and Garoic strolling over, both of them scowling.

  “It was all my fault!” Cadmyn squeaked. “Crindd hit the wrong man!”

  “He would,” Garoic said.

  “What is all this?” Pertyc snapped.

  “Frogs, my lord! They put frogs in my boots. This very morning.” Crindd reached inside his shirt and hauled out the terrified creatures. “Here’s the evidence. And they put dried peas under my sheet and doused me with rotten water and …”

  “Enough!” Pertyc took the frogs, contemplated them briefly, then handed them to a grinning Adraegyn. “Go put these back in the pond, will you? Right now, please. Now. Maer, Cadmyn. Why did you two commit this list of heinous crimes?”

  Cadmyn groped for words and gave it up as a bad job.

  “Well, my lord,” Maer said. “Just for the jest of the thing. You see, Crindd makes a splendid victim.”

  Crindd squealed in outrage, but his lordship laughed.

  “1 do see, indeed. Crindd, it looks to me like you’ve already gotten your revenge on Maer’s right eye. Let this be a lesson to you: never be a splendid victim again. It gives people ideas.”

  “But, my lord—”

  “Just think about it, will you?” Pertyc turned to the two malefactors. “Maer, you’d better go down to the village and have the herbman look at that eye. I don’t like the way it’s swelling.”

  When Maer rode up to the herbman’s cottage, he received a surprise bigger than the one the frogs had given Crindd. Out in the front garden Glaenara was spreading laundry to dry. Pretty in a new dress of woad-blue wool, she was singing to herself, her raven-dark hair gleaming in the sunlight. The sight of her made him feel warm all over.

  “And what are you doing here?” he called out as he dismounted.

  “Keeping up Nevyn’s house for him.” She strolled over to open the gate. “Oh, Maer! Your eye!”

  “I
just got into a little scrap with one of the lads.”

  He found Nevyn sitting at a table inside and sorting out various herbs and dried barks. The old man got up and caught Maer by the chin, tipping his head back for a look as if the silver dagger were a child, and his fingers were surprisingly strong.

  “Well, that’s a nasty mess, isn’t it? I’ll make you up a poultice. Sit down, Maer.”

  When Maer sat, a pair of big-bellied gnomes appeared on the table and considered him. He scowled right back. Nevyn went to the hearth, where an iron pot hung from a tripod over a small arrangement of logs. When the old man waved his hand at the wood, it burst into flame. Maer felt so sick that he slumped against the table behind him like a lady feeling a faint coming on. Nevyn picked up a handful of herbs from the table and stirred them into the water simmering in the pot.

  “I’m assuming someone’s fist gave you that black eye.”

  “It was, sir. Not long ago.”

  “Ah.” Nevyn turned from his stirring and fixed Maer with one of his needle-sharp stares. “Glaenara’s a nice, decent lass, Maer. I would absolutely hate to see her dishonored and deserted.”

  “Would you, sir?” Maer paused to lick dry lips with a nervous tongue. “Er, ah, well, I imagine you’re not a pleasant man to face when you’re angry about somewhat.”

  “Not in the least, Maer lad, not in the least.”

  When he waved his hand again, the fire went out cold. So Lord Pertyc was right about the old man, Maer thought. I wonder if sorcerers can really turn men into frogs? I’ve no desire to find out the hard way, that’s certain.

  Yet, as he was leaving, so was Glae, and he decided that it would be dishonorable to let her walk when he was riding her way. He lifted her to his saddle, then mounted behind, slipping his arms around her waist and taking the reins.

  “What were you fighting over?” Glaenara said. “Some lass, I’ll bet.”

  “Naught of the sort! It’s a long story.”

  During the ride home, he told her about his persecution of Crindd, and she laughed as much as the lads in the warband. He decided that one of the things he liked best about her was the way she enjoyed a good laugh; so few lasses seemed to appreciate his sense of humor. When they got about half a mile from the farm, she insisted that he let her walk the rest of the way to keep her brother-in-law from seeing them together. As he was lifting her down, he tried kissing her. Although she laughed and shoved him away, she let him steal a second kiss. Just as his lips touched hers, he felt a sharp pain, like the pinch of bony fingers, in the back of his left thigh. He yelped and jumped.

  “What?” Glae snapped. “What happened to you?”

  “Er, a muscle cramp, I guess.” He rubbed the spot gingerly—it still hurt, all right. “I’m sorry.”

  “Humph, well, if that’s the way you’re going to be!”

  But she was smiling as she turned away and ran off, heading for the farm. Although Maer waved goodbye, he was completely distracted. For a few moments he could see in a tangle of bushes nearby a small creature, as solid and distinct as she could be, with long blue hair and a face like a beautiful child, scowling at him in jealous rage. Suddenly she disappeared, leaving him wondering if he were going mad.

  Yet he saw her again, the very next time he rode down into town in hopes of meeting Glaenara. Sure enough, he found Glae selling eggs and turnips in the market, but just as he was striking up a conversation, the blue-haired creature appeared, standing directly behind Glae and snarling like a jealous lover. Maer completely forgot himself.

  “Now don’t you hurt her!”

  “What?” Glae said. “Hurt who? The chicken?”

  “My apologies. I wasn’t talking to you—I mean—oh, by the hells!”

  Glae swiveled around to look behind her. Although Little Blue-hair, as he started calling her, stamped a foot and shook a small fist in Glae’s direction, it was obvious that the human lass saw nothing.

  “Maer, you are daft! That’s the oldest prank in the world, making someone look and find naught there. And I must be a lackwit to fall for it.”

  “Ah, er, sorry. Truly, I shouldn’t have … uh, well. Here, I’ve got to go, uh, er, run an errand, but I’ll be right back. Don’t leave without me.”

  Leading his horse, Maer hurried off through the sparse crowd in the direction of the blacksmith’s shop, but he turned off before he got there and found a private spot behind the inn. Little Blue-hair appeared, sitting on his saddle and smirking at him. Although he felt more daft than ever, he waggled a finger at her.

  “Now listen, you, you can’t go around pinching people and suchlike.”

  She held up one hand and made a pinching motion with her thumb and forefinger.

  “Like that, truly. Don’t do it again, especially not to other people.”

  She stuck her tongue out at him.

  “If you don’t behave, I’ll … I’ll … I’ll tell Nevyn the dweomerman on you.”

  He made the threat only because he could think of none better—after all, Nevyn terrified him, didn’t he?—but it had all the force he could possibly have wanted. She leapt to her feet, opened her mouth in a soundless shriek, flung both hands into the air, and disappeared. For a moment Maer felt almost guilty; then he decided that she’d brought it on herself and hurried back to take up his courting in peace. For some weeks afterward, all the Wildfolk stayed far away from him, and he was glad of it.

  “Now listen, Glae,” Nalyn snapped. “You know as well as I do that Doclyn’s a decent young man and a good hard worker. His father’s asking me for the smallest possible dowry that can stand up in a lord’s court. We won’t do better than that. Why won’t you marry him?”

  Glaenara looked up from the bowl of dried beans she was sorting and simpered at him.

  “He doesn’t please me.”

  “Oh, my humble, humble apologies, my fine lady! It’s not looks that matter in a man.”

  “Obviously, or Lida never would have married you.”

  “Glae!” Myna spoke sharply from her chair by the fire. “Please don’t start things up again.”

  Glae banged the bowl onto the table and stalked outside, sweeping her skirts around her as she hurried across the muddy farmyard. The bitter truth, she supposed, was that unless she married someone, she’d go on living here, under her brother-in-law’s thumb, working hard all her life, never having anything resembling her own house—not that she’d ever have the lovely things and leisure that Braedda would. When she reached the cow barn she paused, looking up at the sky, where the moon sailed free of a wisp of icy cloud. She shivered, wishing she’d brought her shawl. Over by the chicken coop something moved: a man shape, detaching itself from a shadow: Maer. She hurried over to him and whispered when she spoke.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Trying to figure out how to get a word with you. Are you cold? You can have my cloak. Here.”

  Bundled in the heavy wool, she walked with him a little ways back into the woods, where he’d left his horse. The moon streamed through the bare-branched trees and made little patterns on the ground.

  “Suppose I came out here tomorrow night,” Maer said. “Would you meet me?”

  “It’s going to rain tomorrow night. Samwna’s joints ached all day today, and that’s always a sure sign of rain coming.”

  “Well, then, I’ll come out here anyway and keep a hopeless vigil in the pouring rain and get a horrible fever and maybe die, and it’ll all be for love of you.”

  “Oh, don’t talk daft.”

  “I mean it. Glae, truly, I’m half out of my mind for love of you.”

  “Oh, don’t lie to me!”

  In the moonlight she could just make out the shock on his face. Half afraid she’d cry, she sat down on the ground under a tree. In a moment he joined her.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re right. But I’ll say this, and it’s not fancy words but the truth. I don’t think there’s another lass like you in all Deverry and Eldidd.”
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  “Is that good or bad?”

  “A little of both. How’s this? I’m not mad for love of you, but I blasted well like you a whole lot, and every now and then, I think maybe I do love you.”

  “That I can believe, and my thanks. I like you, too.”

  Somewhat hesitantly, Maer slipped one arm around her shoulders and kissed her. She let him steal another, found herself thinking of the future, and kissed Maer instead to drive the thought away. When he started caressing her, she wrapped her arms tight around him in the spirit of someone gulping a particularly bitter healing decoction and let him lie her down in the soft leaves.

  The medicine worked. Having a man of her own made the rest of her life easier to take, as did the coppers Nevyn gave her for tending his cottage. Once she set her mind to ignoring Nalyn’s insults and keeping peace between them, they got through whole days without squabbling, and Mam and Lidyan began to relax into a pleased relief. When the explosion came, then, it was twice as bad as it might have been. One evening, just at sunset, Glaenara was chasing the chickens back into the coop for the night when Nalyn came walking out of the house. She could tell something was wrong just from the cold look in his eyes.

  “And what’s eating at you?”

  “I was down in town today, that’s what, and everyone was telling me I should be keeping an eye on my little sister. That silver dagger’s been riding into town to fetch you, hasn’t he?”

  “And what if he has?” Glaenara set her hands on her hips. “It’s decent of him to give me a ride when I’m tired.”

  “Ride—hah! Who’s riding what, Glae?”

  “You little pus boil! Don’t you talk to me that way!”

  Nalyn grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her.

  “You tell me the truth.”

  Glaenara twisted free and kicked him across the shins. When he grabbed her again and held tight this time, she was shocked at how strong he was—towering over her, causing her pain with an easy masculine strength.