A Man Rides Through (22 page)

Quiss took her past a door that stood slightly ajar. As they crossed the opening, a plaintive voice called out, "Quiss! In the name of decency!" The tone of the appeal was both lugubrious and funny. "I'm dying."

"And about time, too," muttered Quiss without stopping—or letting Terisa pause.

"Who was that?" Terisa asked in surprise.

Then she was surprised even further to see Quiss' entire face turn red.

"Stead. One of the sons Da seems to value so highly. He hasn't had a woman since a tinker broke his collarbone, and he wants me to bed him. As soon as he learns you're here, he'll get the same idea about you.

"Take my advice," Quiss continued primly. "Have nothing to do with him. He's the only one of the Domne's sons who has no sense at all. Personally, I won't even let the serving girls go in his room. A groom and one of the shearers are taking care of him."

Terisa made an effort to keep from laughing. "What does he think he can do—with a broken collarbone?"

Quiss stopped in the hall and gave Terisa the full force of her bright blue eyes. Softly, she said, "You must not have much experience with men. It isn't what he thinks he can do. It's what he thinks you can do."

Her expression, however, suggested that she wasn't listening to herself—that her own thoughts had gone in a different direction. She had become grave, almost somber; perplexity knotted her brows. "Before yesterday," she murmured, "none of us knew you existed. Then Geraden arrived out of nowhere, breathing fire about a possible attack and at the same time acting like all the heart and hope had been beaten out of him. He said he left a woman behind who was probably being tortured because she was his friend. Now that I see you, it seems astonishing how little he actually told us about you.

"He never mentioned that you could have any man you wanted."

Terisa bit back an impulse to ask, Is that really what you think? She wanted to believe that she was pretty; and Quiss' opinion seemed to
have tremendous value. But Tholden's wife obviously wanted to get reassurance, not give it. She wanted to believe that Geraden wouldn't be hurt anymore. Deliberately, Terisa put her questions aside.

"They put me in the dungeon," she said, "because I wouldn't tell them where he was. He rescued me when my old life was going nowhere. He's risked himself for me any number of times. He even tried to fight the High King's Monomach for me once." Quiss was impressed; but Terisa didn't stop. "He's the only reason I'm alive— the only reason I'm here. Even if I didn't like him so much, I wouldn't be interested in anybody else."

Certainly not Stead, who sounded suspiciously like Master Eremis.

That was what Quiss wanted to hear. She didn't smile—apparently, she rarely smiled when she was happy—but warmth shone from her. "Then I'll stop worrying about him and leave him to you. If anybody can get him out of the pig wallow he's in, you can."

Briskly, she moved Terisa again in the direction of a bath.

Three turns, two doorways, and another long hall brought them to a bedroom with a low, flat cot that contrasted strangely with the rest of the furnishings: the heavy armchairs and the sturdy washstand. "This is Artagel's room," Quiss explained. "It's relatively private, but I can get you a softer bed if his cot is too hard. I don't know how he sleeps on it. Sometimes I think he may actually be as tough as he thinks he is."

"I'll try it and let you know," said Terisa. The bed in her former apartment had had the firmest mattress she could find.

"The advantage," Quiss went on, "is that you get your own bathroom." She pointed at the other door to the room. "Why don't you get started? There's water—and the hot water should be here in a minute. I'll go find you some clothes."

Terisa agreed gratefully. As soon as Tholden's wife left, she closed the bedroom door, pulled off her boots, and went into the bathroom.

It had no running water—apparently the Care of Domne didn't know as much about plumbing as Orison did—but clay pipes had been set in the floor to carry bathwater and waste away. Which explained, now that she thought about it, why she hadn't seen water, not to mention sewage, standing in the ditches alongside Houseldon's streets: underground drains. And that perception, in turn, made her laugh softly at herself. Her time in Orison, and Elega's attempt on the reservoir, had taught her some strange lessons. The woman she used to be would never have noticed plumbing or drains unless they didn't work.

As Quiss had said, however, there was water, plenty of it in a vat beside the wooden bathtub.

Instead of filling the tub right away, however, Terisa went back into the bedroom, sat down on Artagel's hard cot, closed her eyes, and tried to absorb the fact that she was here and safe; that she had finally made her way to a place where she could feel the sun's warmth in the wood of the wall beside the bed, and where the people around her were moved by simple things like family and friendship and wool, rather than by treachery, ambition, and revenge.

She sat there, soaking up the peace of the house, until two serving girls arrived with four buckets of hot water between them. Then she gave herself what felt like the most luxurious bath she had ever had in her life.

Some time later, she dried her scrubbed body and her now-lustrous hair, drained the tub, and tried on the clothes Quiss had left for her.

The undergarments were of fine linen; the shirt and skirt, of unlined sheepskin, supple and delicate against her skin, yet remarkably tough. The long skirt was wide around the hem, and had been slit to the knees both in front and in back, so that it could be worn on horseback; the shirt was decorated only by its buttons, which appeared to be polished pieces of obsidian. Both the shirt and the skirt went well with her winter boots.

Now all she needed was earrings to match the buttons. And a mirror, so that she could do something with her hair.

Of course, she didn't really want a mirror—not for something as simple as vanity. What she actually desired was a chance to see what she looked like, so that she might begin to believe in herself— to believe that Geraden would notice her enough, and care enough about what he saw, to let her reach him.

Get him out of the pig wallow
—

She didn't trust any of the conclusions he had reached. And she couldn't bear to see him like that.

When Quiss came to take her back to the Domne, she went both hesitantly and eagerly, unsure of herself, and yet sure that what she wished to do was worth doing.

"Da likes an early lunch," Quiss explained, "and he doesn't like to admit that he's too impatient to wait while you eat, so he asks you to eat with him. Also Tholden is here, and I'm sure he wants to question you. If you don't mind."

Terisa couldn't think of a quick way to describe how important the Domne and his concerns were to her, so she replied simply, "I don't mind."

In the front room, the light had been improved by the raising of the window covers and the altered angle of the sun. Two men sat at the table, and as Terisa entered the room she had no difficulty seeing that one of them was the Domne—or that his companion was huge.

"Ah, Terisa," said the Domne in his warm, comfortable voice, "I'm glad you could join us. I want someone to share my lunch. And Tholden thinks he can't wait to talk to you." Gesturing toward the huge man, he went on, "Terisa, this is Tholden, my eldest. Another of the benefits of sons is that one of them is bound to be the right man to inherit their father's place. Tholden is the right man for mine.

"That's fortunate, since he's also"—the Domne laughed softly—"the only one of my sons who wants the responsibility."

Tholden stood beside his father like a bear; his stiff hair nearly brushed the beams of the ceiling; his beard was so long and wild that it made his chest seem even thicker—and his chest was already thick enough to create the illusion that his shoulders were round and stooped. When he sketched a bow toward her, Terisa saw that his hands were ridged with calluses: they looked more like gardening implements than normal hands.

She also noticed that he had straw and a few twigs caught in his beard. Involuntarily, she smiled. Then, trying to recover her manners, she said, "I'm glad to meet you. Geraden talks about you a lot."

Tholden grinned—a smile which lifted his beard, but didn't soften his expression. "I'm sure he does." His voice was unexpectedly high and gentle; he sounded like a man who wasn't able to shout. "Quiss and I had the doubtful pleasure of raising him after our mother passed away. He probably remembers every beating he deserved in agonizing detail."

Quiss went to the stove and began pulling a meal together. Politely, Terisa replied, "No, nothing like that. He has a higher opinion of you than you think." Then she asked, "Where is he, by the way?"

"He was here," said the Domne. "We talked for a while—"

'Then I sent him to help Minick." Tholden let his smile drop. "Minick is trying to explain to an assortment of farmers, shepherds, merchants, and servants how we want them to defend the walls. He's the most meticulous man in Houseldon, and he's certainly thorough, but he can be a bit slow, and his explanations have a tendency to confuse people. Geraden will get more done in less time, even if he has lost his sense of humor."

Terisa glanced at the Domne, then looked up at Tholden again. "In other words, you want to talk to me alone."

The Domne began chuckling to himself.

From the stove, Quiss said, "I warned you subtlety would be wasted on her." Her tone made it clear that she wasn't laughing at Terisa.

"Silence, upstart woman." Without so much as glancing in his wife's direction, Tholden swung his arm and managed to slap her across the bottom. "Don't be pert. Women should be seen and not heard. As much as possible."

Rather than retorting, Quiss looked at Terisa and rolled her eyes in mock-despair.

Terisa herself wasn't amused, however. Holding herself still, she asked in a neutral tone, "What's the matter? Don't you trust him?"

Tholden opened his mouth as if he had been stung; the Domne waved him silent. "Terisa," the older man said quietly, and this time she could hear his years in his voice, "I would sell my soul at the word of any of my sons. Even Nyle, who seems to have forgotten who he is. But this Geraden who came storming into Houseldon only yesterday, warning of imminent destruction—who is he? He isn't the Geraden who left us for Orison with more hope in his heart than most simple flesh and blood can hold. It's not just that he has become hard. I know him better than that, Terisa. He has become closed. He talks about defending his home as if the mere idea was terrible.

"A change like that"—the Domne spread his hands—"it could mean anything."

"And you want me to explain it," said Terisa stiffly.

The lord and Tholden nodded together. Quiss watched mutely from the stove. "I will sell my soul for him now, if I must," murmured the Domne, "without another word from you—or from him. But I would prefer to understand what I'm trusting."

Without warning, Terisa found that she wanted to say, It isn't your fault. It isn't anything you did. He's just been so badly beaten— He's failed you, he's failed Artagel and Nyle, he's failed Orison and King Joyse—and now, when it's too late to do any good, he finds out he really is an Imager. He could have made a difference. He went through all those years of humiliation, and now it's too late.

But the words refused to be spoken. They weren't hers to say: they were his. She could feel it in the room that she couldn't try to explain him without erecting a wall between him and his family—a wall with pity on one side and loneliness on the other. The more they knew about his pain, the more difficulty they would have confronting it, challenging it. She herself was almost paralyzed by knowing too much. If he didn't speak for himself, he would never be whole again.

So she said, "I'm sorry. That's between you and him. He'll have to tell you himself."

Then she said, "But
I
trust him."

Tholden was scowling. Quiss concentrated on her pots and pans as if she were leery of what she might say if she spoke. But the Domne smiled at Terisa with sunlight in his eyes.

Distinctly, Tholden asked, "Do you consider yourself a friend of his?"

Almost without interrupting her preparations, Quiss swung an elbow into her husband's ribs. Then, ignoring his muffled grunt, his sharp glare, she lifted two platters heaped with food and carried them to the table. "Sit down, Terisa," she said, "eat," placing one platter in front of the Domne, the other before the chair nearest Terisa. "If I've given you too much, don't worry about it. I'm used to cooking for this great ox and the farmers he consorts with."