He smiled, speaking very softly. “That was the true name your mother gave you. Lanen Kaelar, Lanen the Wanderer. I often wonder if she had the Clear-sight to go with the Farseer. It would explain a lot. I would swear she knew you would go adventuring as she did. Certainly she knew you would be a dauntless soul, you had no fear even as a tiny child. But come, answer me. What will you do when you find these Dragons that call to you so?”
“Talk with them, Jamie. Talk with them, learn the thoughts of those great minds that live, a thousand years and more. Surely that is not impossible.” I let him see my excitement, strong now with knowledge of my past, creating my future as I spoke. I had never dared say these things aloud, and the very sound of the words fired my heart. “I cannot believe that we two races should never meet. Why then can we both speak and reason? If there were but two people in all the world, would they not seek each other out? For companionship if naught else. I will find them, Jamie. Somehow, I will find them, and I will speak with them if I must risk my life to do so.”
He was silent. I found I feared his disapproval as I had never feared anything else.
“I am not mad, Jamie, unless I have been mad my life long.”
“I do not fear for your mind, my girl.” He gazed into my eyes, the love of long years clear and strong. “But I wish with all my soul you did not have to risk your life on anything. Still, you are your mother’s daughter. If you have this dream before your eyes, I know well that no power in the world may stop it.” He smiled. “Just remember that Walther is not all that remains in Hadronsstead. I will be there still, waiting to hear the tales of your adventures.”
He yawned, stretched and stood. “But for now I’m off to bed. We’ll have a long day of it, tomorrow. We’re still three days away from Illara.”
It was still early evening, but I too was exhausted. I wanted to say something to Jamie, but I had no words. What could I have said? I embraced him, bussed him on the cheek and bade him sleep well. I glanced at the couple in the corner, who had long ago stopped talking and now lay with their heads on their table, snoring gently. I smiled and went to my bed. I slept like a rock.
We set off early the next morning. The rain was still dropping showers on us as, it passed, but at last we managed to dry out a little in between. By late afternoon the sky had cleared for good, and by the time we stopped—we rode only until sundown—the ground was mercifully dry. We camped at the border between a wheat field and a small wood.
The next morning I woke to a clear, crisp autumn dawn. Around me the kingdom of Ilsa gleamed, cold, rainwashed and wondrous with the dance of red and yellow leaves left on the tree boughs and the soft murmur of the late, deep golden wheat swaying in the wind. I stood still and let the land fill my senses, birdsong and leaf-whisper, sharp scent of tire and spicy smell of dying leaves, touch of wind on my face and taste of autumn on my tongue.
I shall never forget that morning. I woke for the first time with knowledge of my mother, with a sense of my own past and my own self; and with the knowledge that Jamie, friend and more than father, who had always been for me the love of family, bore within him the life and soul of a paid killer. I also knew what it had cost him and that both sides together made the truth of him. It was frightening, this new clarity of vision: but I felt free at last to know darkness as the other side of light, and that both were needed for sight.
And with that thought—it was almost as though I felt it in truth—the shackles of my old imprisoned self fell away at last. No more did I long for a warm bed behind safe walls. My heart drank in the beauty and wonder and danger of the world, and I saw for the first time that life was not something to survive, but something—the only thing—to be savoured in all its diversity. Light and dark together, mingled in all things, giving depth and substance where either alone was a pale shadow. I felt from that moment I might begin to find all things new.
I never lived in Ilsa again, but I never forgot that journey, the first of my long life of wandering. Forever after, the kingdom of Ilsa was to me the colours of autumn bright as sun after rain, and the sound of wind in the grass.
IV
THE GREAT FAIR AT ILLARA
“That’s the one, the White Horse Inn,” said Jamie. “Hadron always liked it. And keep to your plan! Believe me, during the fair the hostellers in Illara see single women as a losing proposition. He’ll give you the worst hole in the place if he thinks you’re alone. I’ll get the lads and the horses settled at the fairground and arrange a cot for myself out there.”
“Are you sure you won’t stay here with me?”
He grinned. “And miss out on all the inside dealing at the grounds? Not even for you.”
“Good luck to you then, because it’s been forever since I’ve bathed and I’d kill for hot water. I’ll meet you here for supper.”
I watched Jamie and the lads ride off with the horses, who despite constant attention looked as much the worse for wear as I suspected I did. It was evil of me to leave the men with all that work, but we all knew the horses would be the better for my being gone. I was thrilled at being in Illara at last, and the last thing the poor creatures needed in this strange place was the smell of my excitement.
I turned towards the inn. Losing proposition, eh? Just in case, I had changed my filthy leggings for the only skirt I had brought. After l found Shadow a place in the stables I went around front. Now for it.
I took a deep breath for courage and went in. Coming in from brilliant sunshine in the late afternoon was like walking into a cave.
I don’t like caves.
“Yes, milady? Come in, come in, what might I be doin’ for your ladyship?”
Well, he sounded a little greasy, but not so bad as I had feared. I had never been “milady’d” before.
By now my eyes were becoming used to the gloom. The innkeeper was some way shorter than I, but made up for it sideways. (Surely there is somewhere a place where innkeepers are made; they seem all cut from the same cloth.)
“I need a room for the night and an evening meal for two,” I said quietly.
“Certainly, milady.” His smile made me long for clean water. “Though I fear I’m near full up for the fair. I’ve only the one room left and it’s the finest I have. I couldn’t take less than a silver piece for it.”
A silver was worth twelve coppers, or the hire of a man for six days. It was robbery.
I fought the impulse to accept it simply because I could afford it this once. “A silver for the week? That’s fair,” I said innocently.
The man laughed. Ugh. “Oh, no, milady. A silver for the night.”
“A silver for two nights, with breakfast and supper for two thrown in,” I said. “Or if that doesn’t suit, I am certain there are other inns in the town.”
It was twice what he could expect to get for any room he might have and he knew it. “Very well, milady. As you say.” He oiled in front of me, leading the way. “It’s lovely, truly it is, well lit and airy and plenty of room for you both. And it has a balcony as overlooks the river, you couldn’t ask for better.”
I could not suppress my smile entirely. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. Send up a bath as well, please, with enough hot water for two.”
“Yes, milady. And supper will be ready when you come down for it. My cook’s a good hand with a stew, and the bread’s fresh this morning, you’ll be well pleased. Now if you’ll follow me, it’s just up this way.”
He led me up a narrow stair and round a corner. “There you are, big and light like I told you,” he said, opening the door for me. “You’ll have come for the fair, I don’t doubt. Have you travelled far?”
“Yes,” I said, looking round. The room was indeed light and airy, the ceiling allowed me to stand upright, and the bed, thank the Lady, looked long enough so that for once my feet wouldn’t hang over the edge if I stretched out.
“I suppose your man will be getting the horses stabled?” said the innkeeper. It was mere pleasantry.
Right.
“I took my horse to your stables before I came in. Your groom seems able enough.”
The innkeeper frowned. “Then where—your pardon, milady, but where is your husband?”
“I don’t have one,” I replied. When he started to protest I cut him off. “I never said I did. You saddled me with him when I came in.” I was far too pleased with myself as I watched the innkeeper’s jaw drop. “I have been travelling for two solid weeks, to answer your question, and I will need enough hot water for two baths, one for me and one for my clothing. I have arranged to meet a friend here for supper, and now he can join me for breakfast as well. You are very kind.”
He opened his mouth to object, so I kept talking.” And no, I won’t move out of this room for some closet under the eaves. I like it here and my silver is as good as anyone else’s. Now send up my bathwater and a bottle of your best wine. I’ll be down later.”
Before he could speak (or think) I had shoved him out the door and latched it.
I waited until I heard him go cursing down the stair before I laughed. Two days before, when we stayed in a village inn, I had been polite and found myself in a room I couldn’t stand up in because the landlord discovered I travelled alone. This was a vast improvement. It was clean and well warmed by the sun, and there was indeed a tiny balcony with enough room for the little chair that sat by the bed. If I could make my peace with the innkeeper I thought I might stay here while I decided what to do with my new freedom.
Just then my bath arrived, a big caulked wooden tub with six large buckets of steaming water. I filled the tub with three of them and followed them in, lowering my aching body into the hot water with a deep sigh of relief. I lay back, legs hooked over the edge of the tub, letting the heat soak through to my poor mistreated bones and breathing in the steam like rarest perfume. That was the worst of travelling, I thought as I lay back—you so rarely got a chance to bathe. Smelling like a horse is fine for a while, but I hadn’t bathed in hot water for nearly a week. I was sick of horse.
By the time I was clean and dry and the worst of the muck washed out of my clothing, the sun had set. I dressed in the spare linen shirt and clean leggings that I had been hoarding and realised with some surprise that much of my feeling of pleasure and well-being came from the simple fact of being clean again at last.
I took up the bottle of wine and the rough cup that had arrived with my bath and settled into the tiny chair I had moved onto the balcony. Spread there before me lay Illara at the edge of night. The light of the new-risen moon covered the city like a potter’s blue-white glaze, broken only by the shimmer of silver where moonlight caught the river Arlen as it flowed on its way to join the Kai. And in nearly every window there was a light, like a skyful of stars come to rest. I smiled, filled with a quiet delight. I had dreamed of this for so long, dreamed of what it would be like to be in a city. I had never imagined there would be so many lights.
The first stars gleamed at me as I stretched out in my chair; long legs, long body, broad back and strong arms. Jamie had always told me that I looked well enough, but the glass told me clearly I was not beautiful. Still, if I truly was like Maran—so alive, that was what you saw, the others were as candles to the sun—yes, I could live with that. I was proud of my hair at least. Loosed now from its braid it lay draped about me to dry. It was the colour of late autumn wheat, thick and full, and when it was clean it fell to my waist like a waterfall of dark gold. And I had my mother’s northern eyes, grey like the northern skies. .
It was growing cold, I knew I should go inside, but the colours of the clear night were so lovely. I had not known such peace for a long time. I sat back and let myself be filled with moonrise over Illara. It was my first night in a city, and I was making a memory. By noon tomorrow I would have my third-share of the profits and be free to stay here or go where I chose.
The thought still seemed a little unreal. The heavy purse at my side, the carefully packed saddlebags with their hidden silver, made me into another person. No longer the sharp, neglected mistress of Hadronsstead, old before my time, a poor tired farmwife with no husband. I would miss Jamie—now more than ever—but from the moment he left, I would be my own woman, and I had all of Kolmar to discover in truth rather than in dreams.
I sipped my wine. Such a pleasure to be clean and dry, with the prospect of a real bed to sleep in again! I could stay here another few days, enjoy the fair, then off to—where? I wasn’t sure I had decided yet. With all of Kolmar before me, the choices seemed endless.
I grinned then as I realised what I was doing. “I wouldn’t have thought it of you, my girl,” I said aloud. “Waiting still? Seeing all the rest of Kolmar while you wait for your dream yet a little longer? Idiot.” I stood, leaning over the railing of the balcony, my heart beating faster, still speaking aloud to myself. “No more. I will wait no longer. If I am truly to be Lanen Kaelar then I must go where my heart leads. It is but the turn of the season. If by some miracle there is a sailing this year for the Dragon Isle the ships won’t be setting out for some weeks yet. I can get to Corli soon enough. Surely by the time they sail.”
My gut tightened at the idea. There really was no reason to wait any longer. I could leave the moment the fair was over indeed, as soon as the horses were sold—and get to Corli in time to find out if any Merchant was daring or desperate enough to send a ship to brave the passage of the Storms. Corli, whence the bold or the foolish were wont to board ships bound for the Dragon Isle, once in every ten years when the Storms abated enough to allow passage.
I knew perfectly well that this was the one year in ten, but we had heard no rumours of such a venture being mounted. Still, better chance of finding out here in Illara than wandering through the Ilsan countryside!
I started to laugh, for sheer gladness and for the delicious fear that stirred my blood. I could not be still, I had to do something—so I started to dance. Nothing graceful, believe me. I broke into a kind of leaping dance, of the sort done by the people of the Méar Hills before they went to war; a traveller at Hadronsstead had taught it to me to pay for his supper. It involved sharp movements and leaping into the air and loud beating of the feet on the floor, and it was just what I needed. I started to sing the song that went with it when I heard (barely) a loud knocking at the door.
“What is it?” I yelled, striding towards the door.
A high, frightened voice answered, “The Master says will I please tell the lady to shut up, and that supper is ready in the common”—here I threw open the door — “room downstairs,” finished the little maid with a gulp. She was a tiny thing, and from the look on her face the Master hadn’t told her quite how large I was. Poor child.
I smiled at her. “Thank you, lass,” I said kindly. “I’ll be down soon. And dear, the next time your master sends you to tell a guest to shut up, try to soften the blow a bit. Telling someone that another guest needs sleep is good, or that there are rules about only singing in the common room. It makes it seem less rude.”
“Y—y—yes, milady,” said the girl. She curtseyed hurriedly, turned and rushed down the stair as if her life depended on it.
I laughed as I closed the door and began to put myself back together. Poor thing, she looked terrified. I caught sight of myself in the glass and laughed harder. My drying hair was flung in all directions, my eyes gleamed still with my excitement—I looked positively wild. I forced a comb through my hair again, braided it, and belted my shirt about my waist. The wine had been lovely but the thought of food made my mouth water. Jamie and I hadn’t taken a noon meal in our hurry to get to Illara, and breakfast was a dim memory of old hard bread and older cheese.
I was halfway Clown the stair before I remembered. I returned to my room and slipped the slim, sheathed blade into the top of my boot. I knew Jamie would look for it.
I hurried downstairs towards the smell of stew and ale.
When I reached the common room, Jamie was waiting for me at a table on the far side of the fire. “Is this place
to your liking, my girl?” he asked as he signalled to the innkeeper.
“It’s lovely, Jamie. Are you sure you won’t change your mind? I hate to think of you sharing a barn with the horses when I’m lying in such luxury.”
Jamie grinned, the creases in his face deepening. I smiled with him, when of a sudden I had a sense of ending upon me; It was unexpected and unwanted, as I felt for the first time a new aspect of what I was doing. I stared at Jamie with the eyes of memory, treasuring this moment. Hadronsstead I had left with joy, Illara held no regrets—but it would be hard, hard to leave Jamie behind. He was the last of my old life, and the best; even before our journey he had been the dearest soul alive to me. Now… I shook myself to hear what he was saying.
“—and if I’m not there, I’ll have no measure of what the other stock are going for.”
“Ah, well. I’m sure you know best,” I said quietly.
He drew breath and I knew he was going to ask what was troubling me; I could not bear that, not just then. I forced myself to smile and mean it. “Oh, and it worked beautifully. The innkeeper never knew what hit him, he was out the door almost before he had time to abject. I’ve the best room in the house, it’s—oh, hello,” I said pleasantly, as the man himself arrived with two tankards of ale and a jug.
“The girl will bring yer supper, let her know if you need aught else,” he grumped, and left.
I leaned towards Jamie. “Do you know, I don’t think he likes me.”
Jamie grinned.
Our supper arrived moments later, and the same girl brought it as had fetched me. I smiled at her. “I’m not half so frightening sitting down, am I, lass?”
She smiled back, and with the confidence of her age replied, “No, missus, that you’re not. And I hope ye won’t mind, but I much prefer ye down and quiet to up and singing.”
I had to hit Jamie to get him to stop laughing.