“The chartered families have predictably chosen an alternative Warden,” Redal-Stan said, and Alissa held her breath. Perhaps Lodesh would be spared. “They have chosen Earan,” he finished. “The city will decide between them tomorrow.”
Her hopes died to less than ash. The masses would choose Lodesh. She knew it.
Redal-Stan sipped his tea, swallowing as if in pain. “It falls to me to accompany him to Ese’Nawoer tomorrow.” He paused. “I don’t want to. You will take him.”
Alissa looked up in annoyance. “I don’t want to, either.”
“I don’t care,” he said mildly. Connen-Neute stirred uneasily at her defiance, but Redal-Stan was unruffled. “I wasn’t the one who suggested he be considered,” Redal-Stan said dryly, shifting Alissa’s anger to guilt.
“I’ll go,” she whispered.
“That’s what I said,” he drawled. “Besides, no one but you will be able to keep him from running once he realizes we want to make him Warden. Connen-Neute will go as well, as the official representative of the Hold.”
Redal-Stan stood and stretched for the ceiling, looking like a tired plainsman, not a Master, in his nondescript robe. Collapsing in on himself, he motioned Connen-Neute to fetch the two remaining lights from the mantel. “I suggest you get what sleep you can,” Redal-Stan said. “You leave shortly after sunrise.”
Alissa didn’t move from the uncomfortable chair that somehow existed in both versions of Strell’s room. “You said we had a long night,” she said. “Aren’t we going to find out how to get me home?”
With a series of hand waves, Redal-Stan ushered Connen-Neute out. He hesitated before grabbing Lodesh’s pot of tea. “Go to sleep, Squirrel,” he said in the new shadows. “I never said I was going to bed.”
The door shut with a creak. “Strell?” Alissa called, getting no response. Not surprised, she burrowed farther under Connen-Neute’s robe, unwilling to leave for even the moment it would take to get her pillow. Strell was here. She wasn’t going to move, even to shift the empty, rank-smelling tray of veal to the hall.
Alissa closed her eyes before the cold hearth in a room that wasn’t hers, clothed in a nightdress that belonged to someone else, covered by a robe given to her by yet another, falling asleep to the sound of Beast humming a lullaby into their thoughts.
34
“Curse you, Lodesh,” Strell shouted, trembling in his anger and frustration. “I talked to her! I still would be if you hadn’t scared Connen-Neute away!”
“I said I was sorry about that.” Lodesh stood just inside the piper’s door. His words were sincere, but Talo-Toecan could see a shadow of insolence, or perhaps relief, in his stance. It took all his restraint not to respond to the Warden’s growing lack of tact. Almost, it seemed as if Lodesh was glad he had broken the link between Strell and Alissa.
“Lodesh,” Talo-Toecan said, edging forward in the hard chair before the piper’s unlit hearth. “I feel the dampness in the air tonight.” He hesitated. “Go make tea.”
The Keeper took a breath to protest, then, realizing he was being asked to leave, spun and strode away. The sharp sounds of his booted feet faded. Talo-Toecan listened to the night’s rain as he gathered his thoughts. In direct opposition, Strell began to pace. Seeing his long, jerky steps, Talo-Toecan wondered if the piper might be just this side of insanity.
Little air made it through Strell’s one small window, and it was stuffy. Talo-Toecan’s tired gaze ran over the bare walls and ugly furniture. It seemed cold, though the night was balmy. His globe of light made sharp shadows and hard corners. Strell’s room looked like a cell. “You’re free to search the annexes for anything to make your stay more comfortable,” he said.
Strell halted, startling him with the wild look in his eyes. “Why? Alissa is the only one who ever thought your offer of shelter was made out of any genuine attempt at hospitality.”
Talo-Toecan blinked, peeved at the wash of guilt Strell’s words evoked. Giving up trying to find a comfortable position on the hard chair, he moved himself to the floor and put his back to the cold hearth. The rain gusted in to mist the piper staring in frustration out the window. Talo-Toecan began to fashion a ward to keep it out, then halted. Strell hadn’t asked him to.
He was, Talo-Toecan realized, serving the piper badly. Strell was doing all he could to get Alissa back, while the Warden did nothing. Less than nothing. Talo-Toecan’s eyes drifted to the crack in the wall. He would fix that, he decided.
Strell came to rest on the sill, slumping with an exhaustion that told of little food and even less sleep. “She finally heard me,” he said with a sigh, the harsh lines of worry relaxing. “Hounds. She felt so good as her thoughts melted into mine.” He stiffened as he looked at Talo-Toecan. “She says she’s all right,” he said nervously. “But worried about the lapses of control she has been having.”
Talo-Toecan smiled. “She isn’t used to having anyone tell her what to do. With any luck, she will return to us better than she left.”
“No.” Strell shook his head. “I don’t think that’s what she meant.” Driven from the sill by the rain, Strell hovered uncertainly before sitting on the edge of his bed. “She’s sometime before the walls go up at Ese’Nawoer,” he continued. “Most of the Masters are gone for the fall season. There are only two about, Connen-Neute and a Redal-Sen or Stone.”
“Redal-Stan,” Talo-Toecan offered, and Strell nodded. Talo-Toecan’s brow rose. Lodesh had been about during that time. His eyes narrowed as he considered the possibility that Lodesh was keeping something from them. “I think,” he said slowly, “I have an idea of when she is, but more important is her ideas as to why your contact is unreproducible upon command.”
Strell leaned forward. “She doesn’t know. But if we can talk, won’t the rest follow?”
Turning from his hopeful expression, Talo-Toecan felt a stab of worry. “I don’t know,” he said. “Next time you reach her, ask what Redal-Stan believes. He was the foremost authority on tripping the lines. Taught it to most of the Masters in his day. After discovering the ward of healing, he was granted a leave of absence from his duties to study tripping the lines in more detail. We never found his remains.”
Breathing deeply of the night, Talo-Toecan looked for the missing scent of book paste. Redal-Stan had been like a grouchy uncle, a proud father, and a demanding teacher all in one. Strell was silent; even the nervous shifting of his foot had stilled. “I’m sorry,” he offered.
Talo-Toecan briefly met his eyes. “I was the last to see him. We expect either he did something that blew himself to ash, or a bloodthirsty zealot out to revenge his sheep surprised him while he was tripping the lines. We lose most of our feral kin that way,” he said with a sigh. “They let humans get far too close, underestimating their deadly capabilities.” A gust of mist blew in, darkening the floor. “Redal-Stan would know if she can return.”
Strell’s head rose, his eyes dark with an inner pain. Talo-Toecan watched him take a deep breath, shifting his entire body as he exhaled. “There has to be a way to get her back,” Strell said. “She’s proved the impossible can be done. We have to find out how.”
Unable to bring himself to agree, Talo-Toecan looked away. It was a fool’s hope. The sound of Lodesh coming with the tea prompted him to pull the battered footstool closer.
“There’s got to be a way,” Strell agonized as the Warden walked in.
Not looking at anyone, Lodesh set the pot and three cups on the footstool. Talo-Toecan served the tea, the sound of liquid pouring into the cups mixing with the rain. He suspiciously watched Lodesh take his first, hot sip. There was only one autumn the Hold had been so empty of Masters. And Lodesh had been there. Was this guilt he was seeing?
“If only,” Strell whispered, seeming consumed by his misery, “you hadn’t frightened Connen-Neute away. We might have talked longer, perhaps figured this out.”
“How many times do I have to say I’m sorry,” Lodesh muttered, then froze as he noticed Talo-Toecan’s eyes mist
rustingly upon him.
Talo-Toecan’s long fingers interlaced about the cup. “So, Strell. Are you still convinced the more parallel we make our separate situations, the better our chances to make contact again?”
“Yes.” Strell straightened. Fear, anticipation, doubt, and hope showed in him.
“Then perhaps I should leave,” Talo-Toecan said slowly.
“Leave?” It was a horrified shout.
“I was in the plains that particular fall with—with Keribdis.” Talo-Toecan gulped the bitter tea to distance himself from the memory. Almost he had understood her. Almost she had understood him.
“You don’t think it’s that sensitive, do you?” Strell asked. “Wouldn’t a raku length be enough? I’ve always had to coax Connen-Neute that close before I noticed any difference.”
Talo-Toecan eyed Lodesh. “What do you think, Warden?” he said, and his pulse quickened as the man flushed. It was so subtle, any eyes but a Master’s would have missed it.
“I would think,” Lodesh said slowly, “that a raku length of distance would be sufficient.”
“Then you do believe I talked to her!” Strell cried.
Lodesh frowned. “I guess I do,” he admitted.
Talo-Toecan watched the exchange with interest. The question now was whether he should believe the Warden. He took a sip of tea and set the cup down in disgust. “By the Hounds, Lodesh,” he complained. “Didn’t you even boil the water?”
“There is nothing wrong with my tea,” he said, standing up and storming from the room.
Strell watched him go, his eyes wide. “What’s bothering him?” he asked.
Talo-Toecan’s brow furrowed in mistrust. “I’m not sure— yet.”
35
There were three of them in the predawn darkness of his room in the Keepers’ hall. Lodesh mumbled, shifting his covers to look through his cracked lids. He sent a whisper of thought to see who they were. Before he could get an idea, one said, “He’s awake. Get him.”
Lodesh bolted upright. A blanket tangled him. An arm went about his neck, a hand over his mouth. Something pinned his ankles. A muzzy field settled over him, keeping him from sensing anything with his tracings. Frightened, he set his thoughts to a ward of destruction.
“Wait!” he heard Alissa call. “Lodesh. Wait!”
Immediately he stopped, and the hand fell away from his mouth. “Alissa?” he whispered. A blindfold quickly replaced the blanket, too fast and skilled for him to glimpse anything. He gratefully breathed the cooler air.
“Lodesh. I’m sorry,” Alissa pleaded. There was a tentative touch on his arm. “You’re going to be all right. I promise.” Someone swung his feet to the floor. “I promise,” she repeated, sounding as if she were trying to convince herself.
“Foot?” a gray voice said, and Lodesh started. Connen-Neute? What did the young Master want with him? There were repeated taps on the floor, and Lodesh obligingly lifted his foot. The familiar fit of his riding boots slid onto first his right then his left foot.
“You need the necessity?” came Breve’s recognizable grumble, and Lodesh shook his head. He’d only been asleep a few hours, and he felt ill from the lack of sleep.
A firm grip on his shoulder pulled him up. “Put this on,” Breve muttered, and Lodesh slipped his arms into a long coat whose hem bumped about his calves. It smelled of mirth trees.
Fumbling fingers tried to fasten the buttons. “I’ll get them,” Lodesh said, annoyed. The heavy buttons were metal, and the pattern graven on them teased a memory. He left the lower half of the coat open. He had on boots; they were going by horse. But where?
“All right,” Breve said, sounding tired. “Let’s go.”
His door opened, and he balked. “Alissa? What’s going on?”
Her touch drew him into the hall where a more aggressive attempt would have turned him violent. “I’m sorry, Lodesh,” she said unhappily. “No one will hurt you. I promise.”
Lodesh counted the stairs all the way to the floor of the great hall. It was quiet, before the students woke. Then someone coughed, and he realized the students were assembled, and he was walking through them to the door. His warded thoughts could sense nothing. Only his trust in Alissa kept him from digging in his heels and demanding to know what was going on.
It was in relief that he heard the Hold’s doors open and the comforting, jangling sounds of saddled horses. A familiar nicker and a nudge in his chest brought a nervous smile, and his hands fluttered over Frightful’s bony head. The horse’s ears flicked back at Connen-Neute’s presence. “Can’t I just walk?” he heard Alissa complain, and Breve’s gruff, sympathetic answer. There was a soft jingling followed by a short gasp, and Lodesh knew Alissa was mounted.
“Your turn,” Breve directed at him. Still blindfolded, Lodesh swung onto Frightful. As soon as he was settled, the Keeper yanked his arm, pulling Lodesh’s ear close to his mouth. “And if you’re thinking of taking off that blindfold and bolting, I warn you that sorry excuse of an animal you’re on is tied to Tidbit. Alissa will fall.” He hesitated. “Understand?”
Lodesh nodded, and he felt the weight of a hat hit his head. Slowly he straightened, raising a hand to its unfamiliar shape. He was kidnapped and forced to wear clothes he couldn’t see. But he was too worried to be outraged.
“Shall we wait?” Alissa said.
Breve made a small sound. “I can bring him out myself. Lodesh is the more difficult of the two. Connen-Neute?” His tone shifted to respect. “Would you care to accompany Alissa? These two horses show less fear.” And with Alissa’s nervous laugh, they moved forward.
The morning sun was upon his face. Its autumn strength gave little warmth, and he was glad for the hat and coat. They rode slowly east to Ese’Nawoer. It would have been wonderful riding with Alissa, even with Connen-Neute along, but he barely heard the birds or felt the wonderful snap in the air, so consumed by his worry was he.
What had he done? Was he being publicly punished? He felt his hat again, searching for the ropes of ridicule, but it seemed ordinary Keeper garb. The coat, too, was of a fine fabric, not the coarse cloth of the damned. He strained his ears as they went into shadow and the acidic smell of rotting leaves and hemlock came to him. Soft thumps told him there were four horses, the last two some ways behind. “Wolves take you, Breve,” he heard his brother Earan curse faintly. “Tell me what’s going on, or I swear I’ll shove you from your horse.”
“What do you think is going on?” Breve snapped back.
With a quick breath, Lodesh knew. Earan was up for Wardenship now that both their uncle and father were gone. That meant he . . . was . . . too! “No.” A shift of balance, and Frightful halted. “I won’t do it,” he said, reaching for his blindfold.
“Please,” Alissa pleaded, sounding scared as she stopped him. “Don’t make this harder.”
“I won’t be the Warden. They can’t make me,” he said, hearing panic in his voice.
Small and alone, Alissa whispered, “Yes, they can.”
“You said everyone had a choice!” he exclaimed.
“They do,” she said unhappily. “But sometimes, someone else makes them for you.”
Frightful sidestepped, nickering nervously. “A problem?” Connen-Neute’s voice ghosted out of Lodesh’s enforced blindness.
Terrified of what was happening and unable to stop it, Lodesh weighed his options. He could refuse, he rationalized frantically. Yes. He would refuse. They couldn’t make him do anything. “There’s no problem,” he said stiffly.
“Thank you,” Alissa whispered, and he jumped at her touch on his arm as they resumed.
They entered the city in an unreal envelope of silence. He never would have known it but for the clop of hooves echoing against the houses and hard-packed streets. In the distance he heard the rhythmic clanging of a blacksmith’s forge, then nothing. The scent of spice cakes came to him, and he placed himself: third arc out on a small street headed for the field.
Behind him he
heard, “Where are we, Breve?” and Breve’s hushed reply, “West quarter.”
Everyone was gone, Lodesh decided. Gone or silent, he couldn’t tell with that cursed ward over him. He had never felt so alone. The clop of hooves became thuds, and the smell of damp earth rose high. Frightful grew frisky as a bachelor herd swung close and shied away at the scent of Connen-Neute. Their rumble vanished, leaving only the sound of the grass against the horses’ chests. Slowly the rich, intoxicating scent of the mirth trees came to him. A faint rumble drifted on the air, unrecognized. Frightful halted of his own accord with a nervous head toss.
“You’ll be walkin’ from here,” Reeve muttered from right before him. “I’ll not have those horses on my moss.”
“Good morning, Reeve,” Alissa said, hardly recognizable for the guilt in her voice.
“Alissa,” he replied stiffly. “I’m telling you I don’t like this.”
“Neither do I,” she said with a sigh.
“Here,” Reeve said to Alissa. “I’ll help you from that flaky beast before she spills you.”
Lodesh hastily dismounted to stand helplessly by Frightful. “Father?” Lodesh pleaded. “Don’t let them do this to me.”
“Hush, boy,” he said gruffly as the sound of Breve and Earan grew close. “We don’t have to like all the choices we make.”
“But, Father,” Lodesh whispered, and he turned at Alissa’s touch. She was trembling, and he grasped her arm as she stumbled and nearly fell.
“Sorry,” came her breathless murmur. “I don’t feel well all of a sudden.” She leaned heavily upon him. “Ashes, my head hurts. Give me a moment.”
Alarmed, Lodesh cast sightlessly about. “Father?” he called.
“By the Hounds, Alissa!” Reeve exclaimed, and Alissa’s weight vanished. “There you go. Hold my arm. You can sit in the tent. Did that fool of a Master let you come out here when you weren’t feeling well?”
“I was fine this morning,” she protested weakly. “I didn’t sleep much last night.”
Lodesh reached for his blindfold. “Enough,” he said, finding his arms pinned to his sides.