A Turn of Light (72 page)

What if she didn’t?

The day being here at last, he’d find out, wouldn’t he?

Stoking the fire in his stove, Bannan filled his larger pot with porridge and put it on to cook, then dumped in the last of the dried spiced fruit from his and Tir’s travel rations. What was he saving them for, if not guests? The black wizened bits might not look appealing, but they’d plump nicely and add flavor.

The kettle was already hot, and the truthseer made himself a mug of tea, then poured hot water into his shaving cup. Towel over his bare shoulders, cup and mug in his hands, and shaving kit under one arm, he headed outside.

The kit was pure luxury, an oblong box of dark wood with a hinged lid, its outer surface inlaid with rare light woods. The fanciful design echoed the Larmensu crest, with fox faces peering out between stylized sunflowers. Bannan propped it on an upper limb of the fallen branch, a convenient height, and opened the lid. The mirror reflected blue sky and a jaw in dire need of attention.

The kit held a razor, its blade folded into a shell handle, strop, brush, and shaving stick. A farewell gift from his nephews and he’d thanked them gravely. Since they were too young to shave or shop, or to understand he was truly leaving and why, he’d known it came from Emon, the boys’ father. They’d looked one another in the eye, he and the baron, and needed no words. Bannan opened the kit the first day on the road, once beyond Vorkoun’s walls and eyes, and had managed to cut himself no more than three times whilst removing his beard.

Practice helped, plus respect for the splendid edge. He passed it along the strop before using the brush and hot water to draw a fragrant lather from the shaving stick he’d saved till now. Once that precious commodity was used up, he’d have to obtain whatever soap the men of Marrowdell used. Unless Jenn liked him smelling like a Vorkoun baron, Bannan thought cheerfully as he applied the warm lather to his cheeks, neck, and chin. In that case, he’d send for more, whatever the cost.

He drew the blade to his chin, wiped it clean on the towel, then prepared for the next pass.

“What’s that smell?”

The blade halted above where his pulse beat near the skin. “Do you want me to slice my throat?” Bannan asked mildly, that pulse hammering a little more as he resumed shaving.

Wyll’s face appeared beside his in the mirror. “Not before breakfast.” The dragon squinted. “I’m glad I don’t need to do that.” His small reddish-brown beard remained as neatly trimmed as the first day they’d met. “Does it hurt?”

Bannan pretended to scowl. “If you want breakfast, let me finish.”

If he’d hoped Wyll would leave him in peace, he’d misjudged the other’s curiosity. Helping himself to Bannan’s mug of tea, Wyll leaned on the branch nearby and watched intently. After a moment, a breeze found Bannan’s ear, chilling the lather. “You survived the night. I’m impressed.”

So, not about the shaving. Bannan finished his right cheek and glanced at Wyll. “The tinkers were fine company. We got along famously.” He wiped the razor. “They’re joining us for breakfast.”

A flash of silver. “‘Us?’ What did you tell them?”

“Only that you’re my neighbor and occasionally helpful around the farm.” He looked back into the mirror to shave his left cheek, stretching his lips to the side. “I assume they know the rest.” There. Done and he hadn’t nicked himself, despite distraction.

His distraction watched him rinse the razor, then bring up the ends of the towel to wipe the remaining lather from his face. “I brought back your comb,” Wyll said without warning, and produced the missing item from inside his jerkin.

The dragon had looked tidier lately. “Keep it,” Bannan told him. “I’ve another.” He dropped the brush into its cup, closed his kit, then went to the well to splash cold water on his face and neck. Half-done, he stopped. Heart’s Blood.

He straightened to stare accusingly at Wyll. “It wasn’t just the comb.
Talnern’s Last Quest
. You took my book!”

“I can’t bring that back,” the other said calmly. “I used the words in my letters.”

“Ancestors Twice Put Upon and Tormented, Wyll, it was my favorite!”

“Then you should have put it somewhere safe.”

The disgruntled truthseer washed up without another word, then smiled into his towel. ’
Quest
was a daring adventure; its prose was, to be charitable, lurid. The poor dragon must have had quite the struggle to express himself from it.

Bannan tugged on the leather thong to free his hair. “If you need anything else, ask me first.”

Wyll had a charming smile when he chose. “I’ll try to remember. I do need breakfast.”

“Speaking of breakfast, where are the tinkers?” The barn’s big door remained closed. He hadn’t cleaned and greased its wooden rail yet, so how they’d managed that without a racket, he couldn’t guess.

“Meddling in the lives of others.” Wyll lost his smile. “Have you not seen?”

A fair morning, with almost no dew, and a sky that promised heat. Somehow, Bannan knew the dragon meant more than weather. He glanced around the farmyard, finding nothing out of place. “What ‘meddling?’”

“The efflet fled for good reason. Their kaliia lies dead.”

This, he had to see. Bannan left Wyll to follow him indoors. He rushed up the ladder to the loft and looked out his window.

“Ancestors Blessed.”

The grain, shoulder-high yesterday afternoon, now lay in tidy rows. All of it. Radd Nalynn hadn’t been joking.

It should have taken days and sweat. A potent magic. More, a magic used to a particular purpose. Why? The obvious answer was to help the villagers.

He wouldn’t have lasted a week in the marches if he’d accepted the obvious.

Feeling cold inside, Bannan shrugged on a shirt, then went back downstairs to consult the only expertise he had.

“They did it from inside the barn?” he began.

Wyll poured himself tea. “Now that they are within Marrowdell, they can do as they choose. Though why this?” A lopsided shrug. “Your guess is as good as mine would be.”

The truth. Bannan’s heart sank. “I thought you knew all about them.”

“I was their servant, not their fellow.” A glint of feral silver. “Despite the birth of Jenn Nalynn, I’ve avoided being here with the turn-born, nor was I interested in their doings.” The silver faded. “Until now.”

The truthseer clawed hair from his face and scowled. “That’s not very helpful.”

“What is not na?”

Bannan flinched. The house toad, hitherto asleep by the back door, leapt out and away. Prudent creature.

Wyll merely glanced at Mistress Sand. “My efforts in the kitchen,” he said smoothly.

Recovering, the truthseer gave a short bow. “Fair morning, Mistress Sand. Allow me to introduce my neighbor, Wyll. I spoke of him last night.”

“So you did.” Her eyes glittered like frost. “Wyll, is it? I can see why you’d like to be carried to the village.”

They weren’t friends. Until this instant, Bannan hadn’t realized they might be enemies. And here he was, stuck between them.

Wyll smiled. “Mistress Sand. I can see you’re a kindly woman, gracious to grant a favor to those less able.”

Shadows loomed in the doorway behind the tinker, who hadn’t yet stepped through. Her companions, silent and watchful. The dog peered between booted feet, equally wary. The air fell still.

Except for a restless breeze that rattled the cutlery.

“Come in, come in,” Bannan said hastily, before things went further out of hand. “Fair morning, all. I hope you—” Did turn-born sleep? Did they dream? “—were comfortable,” he finished lamely. “There’s porridge in the pot.”

For an ominous moment, no one moved, then, suddenly as a blink, Mistress Sand smiled beatifically and came inside, offering him a bundle tied with string. “I picked out a shawl for you,” she explained. “The gift for your ladylove na?”

Cutlery landed on the floor.

“Thank you.” Bannan tucked the bundle under one arm, having no choice but to take it no matter Wyll’s temper, and quickly stooped to recover the spoons. The little white dog got there first, sniffing hopefully. Meanwhile, the remaining tinkers filed in, avoiding Wyll as best they could within the small space, and helped themselves to porridge.

Oh, the morning was off to a fine start.

“Wainn, you can’t leave it at that,” Jenn pleaded. “Watch the road for what?”

But having made his ominous pronouncement, Wainn would say no more. She fell silent too.

The sun played its own tricks, darkening shadows, shifting them along the road. Twice she straightened, sure she’d seen something, only to sag back, having not. All the while, little chills played over her neck and shoulders, raising gooseflesh on her bare arms.

Then, something moved that wasn’t a shadow. Somethings! “They’re home!” Jenn shouted in relief and waved.

Her wave was returned by two of the three riders now in view. Two packhorses followed. Behind, the sun found brown hide, bright eyes, and tossing heads. The livestock, sensing their place, stepped lively and the riders did the same.

What had Wainn been thinking?

The gate shook as Hettie and Peggs climbed up beside her. They’d run ahead of Kydd and Dusom, doubtless Hettie’s idea. “Oh, we’re in time,” the milkmaid exclaimed breathlessly, her face pale. “Look, there’s the twins and . . . is that Roche or Horst with them?”

It was, Jenn realized a heartbeat later, neither.

Between the twins rode a stranger. A stranger in a green dress with yellow ribbons. A stranger whose lush black curls were topped with a wedding circlet of white summer flowers and trailing lace.

Hettie groaned.

“You don’t know—” Peggs started.

“I do!” their friend despaired. “He’s gone and married. Do you see? He’s brought home a wife!”

Jenn couldn’t tell which “he” from here. The three rode abreast, all of them faced toward the village.

Jenn and Peggs exchanged looks, then both put an arm around Hettie.

This was not a good start to the day at all.

Whatever Bannan had expected from coming into Marrowdell with the tinkers and Wyll, it wasn’t to find the village deserted and the commons empty save for the two sows and their boar, who glanced up as a tinker from the first wagon opened the gate, then lowered their snouts again in supreme disinterest.

Four of the tinkers crowded together in the first wagon. Bannan and Wyll rode the second, with Sand and Riverstone in the third and last with their little dog. They’d let him put his pitchfork in the back with the barrels. They’d put other things in the wagons as well. Tents, poles, bags. From his barn, no doubt.

Bannan did his unobtrusive best to give their driver, Flint, as much room as possible. For his part, the tinker sat hunched forward, elbows on his knees, and stared straight ahead, thoroughly offended by Wyll’s presence. Bannan was reminded of a certain lordling of Vorkoun too full of himself to take advice from someone as common-bred as Tir.

First ambush, he’d bled out in a ditch.

“Where’s everyone?” Bannan whispered to Wyll, squeezed between him and the outside of the seat. Their wagon creaked up the slope beneath the oak tree, the kruars’ hooves crunching on acorns.

Wyll didn’t bother keeping his voice down. “Doubtless they’ve better things to do.”

Doubtless the bundle on Bannan’s lap continued to sour Wyll’s mood. The truthseer hid a grin. He’d no intention of exposing his heart to the turn-born and, much as he enjoyed baiting his rival, the tide had turned. The dragon was now an ally. When the time came, he’d give the shawl to the Lady Mahavar.

But there was no reason to tell Wyll that.

“Seems odd, that’s all,” the truthseer commented mildly as they passed through the open gate.

Inside the pasture, the first wagon left the road and went up the slight rise toward the riverbank, then stopped. Their wagon pulled up next to it, Flint jumping down before it came to rest. “We camp here,” the tinker announced, with a dour look at Wyll. “There’s no place for you.”

Not waiting for a reply, the tinker went to join his companions, busy unloading the first wagon with the economy of long practice.

Bundle under one arm, Bannan rose to take advantage of the extra height of the wagon. He shaded his eyes as he peered over the hedges into the village. “I still don’t see anyone. Where’s Jenn?” He glanced down at Wyll and lowered his voice. “You know, don’t you?”