Magic Casement (11 page)

“Your
Majesty!” the captain said urgently from outside the door.

“Tides
do not wait for kings, my darling.” Then he was gone. She was horribly
aware of Aunt Kade standing there and she wanted to be alone.

“We
can go back up on deck and wave, if you want,” Aunt Kade said quietly.

“There
was so much I wanted to say!” Inos was very much afraid she was about to
weep. “And I couldn’t say it because there was no time. All those
formalities!”

“That’s
why we have them, dear.” Kade patted Inos’s arm. “They keep
us behaving like royalty.”

Southward
lay the hills. On the hills were the herds, and therefore the herders.

Herding
was lonely work and usually dull. The cattle and the horses were the first to
return to the land in the spring, as soon as the winter hills began to molt
into brown. Rack-boned and staggering, they were driven across the causeway and
then by gentle stages up to the higher slopes to join as many of the sheep as
had survived. There they prospered mightily. They grew fat and sleek and
produced young-and also began to develop independence of mind. In particular,
they took to hankering after the hayfields and crops. Much of the herdsmen’s
time was spent in keeping the livestock away from the farming. Cattle
especially were stubborn creatures that could not see why they must graze the
scanty grass of the uplands when the valley bottoms were more lush.
Undiscouraged, ever hopeful and bovinely stupid, they would spend all day
circling around, looking for a new approach. A few stout fences would have made
life simpler for the herders, but in Krasnegar the cost of lumber made fences
unthinkable. So there were no fences and the dreary contest continued, day
after day, year in and year out.

Not
long after his return, Rap was ambling the high hills upon a gray gelding named
Bluebottle while three large, tangle-haired dogs bounded along at his side. He
was wearing beige leather trousers that he had purchased in the spring. Their
many patched patches bespoke a long history of previous owners, but they were
very comfortable, and he regretted that his ankles were already growing out of
them. He carried a shirt tucked in his belt on one side and a lunch poke on the
other. Earlier there had been rain to give the world a clean, fresh smell, but
now the sun smiled from a cloudless sky, the wind played lazily in the grasses,
and a curlew wailed its mournful cry.

Dull!
Almost he could have hoped for a wolf or two coming after a lamb or a calf or a
long-legged foal, but wolves normally found easier pickings in the summer among
the coneys and mice. And even wolves were not very exciting-the dogs took care of
them, upon request.

That
day Rap was minding the horses. They were not quite so idiotic as the cattle,
but their leader was a stallion named Firedragon who had a driving ambition to
keep his herd as large as possible. He objected mightily to having its members
conscripted and driven off to take their turns at wagon duty. He was willing to
forget about the hay crops in the name of freedom, dreaming of some promised
land to the south, beyond the reach of men, to which he was determined to lead
his people. These tendencies, also, it was Rap’s job to discourage, with
the enthusiastic but muddled assistance of his dogs.

The
morning had been spent, therefore, in maneuvers, with Firedragon seeking a
breakout to the south and Rap persistently cutting him off. At noon the game
was postponed for some serious grazing and rolling, and Rap was then able to
start thinking about lunch. His viewpoint looked down upon the highway, and it
was then he observed a solitary traveler in obvious trouble. Having confirmed
that Firedragon had temporarily suspended his planned migration-being presently
more interested in one of the mares--Rap pointed Bluebottle down the hill and
went off to assist. On the way he donned his shirt to be respectable for human
company. The highway was a barely visible track through the hills, here
following a winding valley marked at long intervals by the graves of some who
had tried to follow the trail in winter, but otherwise barren of any other sign
of mankind. Plodding upon it was the traveler. Some way ahead of him, a saddled
horse methodically cropped the grass. Every few minutes it would wander a few
steps and return to eating, but those few steps were deceptively effective. The
gap between quarry and pursuer was growing no narrower. It certainly never
would, unless the horse was unlucky enough to catch its reins in a bush. There
were very few bushes. The wayfarer noted Rap’s approach and stopped to
wait for him, undoubtedly with relief. He flinched as the dogs bounded up, but
once they had sniffed him thoroughly and decided that he was not a wolf in
minstrel’s clothing, they wandered off to inspect the scents upon the
road.

Jalon
was garbed in the same brown cloak and oversize doublet he had worn when Rap
challenged him at the palace gate, and the same baggy hose.

“You
are a welcome sight, young man!”

Rap
returned the smile, slid from Bluebottle’s back, and eased his aching
legs. “It is a long walk to Pondague, sir. “

“You
think perhaps I should ride the horse?”

“It
would be quicker.” Obviously Rap had not been recognized, which was not
surprising, for men-at-arms did not wander the hills. He unhooked his grub bag
from his belt. “I was about to eat, sir, if you would care to join me?
Company with lunch would be a rare luxury. “

Jalon
glanced at his mount, which was pretending not to be watching but had noticed
Bluebottle. “I was going to do the same about an hour ago,” he
confessed, “but I forgot that a horse is not a harp, which stays where
you put it. “ Then his smile turned to alarm as he saw Bluebottle also
wandering off in search of lusher nourishment. “Have you not just made
the same mistake?”

Rap
shook his head. “He’ll come if I call. “

Now
Jalon had noticed more and was staring in disbelief. “No saddle? No
bridle? No reins?”

His
surprise was understandable. Rap squirmed slightly. “It was a wager, sir.
Some of the other men bet me that I could not ride herd all day like that.
Usually I use saddle and bit, sir. Except for very short journeys.”

The
minstrel, studied him for a few moments in astonished silence. “You can
control a horse without?”

“Most
of them. “ Rap felt more embarrassed than flattered. It was no great
trick, for the horses had known him all their lives.

Jalon
frowned. “Then can you call mine over? I have some royal provisions that
I shall be happy to share. “

Rap
nodded. “That one I can. Sunbeam! Come here!”

Sunbeam
raised her head and sent him a look of studied insolence.

“Sunbeam!”

She
twisted her ears a few times, bent for a few more mouthfuls to show that she
was pleasing herself, and then began to drift toward the men, nibbling as she
came.

“They
don’t like to be rushed,” Rap explained, but he did not have to
call again. In a few moments Sunbeam arrived and nuzzled his hand. He loosened
the saddle girths and tied the reins back out of harm’s way. Then he
detached the saddlebag and laid it down. He patted Sunbeam’s rump and she
wandered off to join Bluebottle.

“Incredible!”
Jalon said.

“Sir,
the way you sing is incredible. You must allow me a knack for horses.”

Rap
thought he had made rather a cute little speech there-for a stableboy-but it
had an astonishing effect on Jalon. He started. His mouth opened and closed a
few times. He almost seemed to lose color.

“Impossible!”
he muttered to himself. “But... you are the one the princess went to!”

Rap
did not answer that, but his face must have reacted, for the minstrel at once
said, “I beg pardon, lad. I mean no harm.”

He
knelt to fumble with the saddlebag.

His
supplies were certainly more appetizing than Rap’s. One spot being as
good as another, the two of them sat down where they were. Jalon laid out a
fine lunch of cold pheasant and fresh rolls, wine and cheese and big green
pickles, but obviously he had encountered some problem and his eyes kept coming
back to Rap’s face.

“Your
name is Rap, right?” he asked suddenly. “And you were the guard,
also!”

“Yes,
sir. I usually work in the stables, not on the gate. You were correct when you
said that I must be new to it. You were the first stranger I ever challenged.”
He had also been the last. Thosolin had bounced Rap straight back to his post
and then bawled him out thoroughly, telling him to stand there and look pretty
and challenge nothing short of a gang of armed pirates in future.

“I’m
not surprised you work in the stables,” Jalon remarked, licking fingers, “with
that kind of ability. Tell me about yourself. “

Rap
shrugged. “There is nothing to tell, sir. My parents are dead. I work for
the king. I hope to stay in his service and be a man-at-arms one day.”

Jalon
shook his head. “I can tell from your face that there is more to it than
that. I do not mean to be personal, but your nose does not come from Krasnegar.”

However
it was meant, that remark seemed personal to Rap.

“You
have brown hair,” the minstrel added thoughtfully. “The
Kransegarians are either lighter or darker than you. Even if they are of mixed
parentage, they are one or the other. Gray eyes? So your parents came from far
away. From Sysanasso, I would guess. You’re a faun.”

“My
mother, sir. My father was a jotunn.”

“Tell
me! “ Jalon chewed a pheasant leg and fixed his strangely dreamy blue
eyes on Rap, although there was certainly interest in those eyes at the moment.

Rap
did not see that it concerned the man, but Jalon was a friend of the king and
was therefore due respect from a servant of the king.

“My
father was a raider, sir, one of a crew that roamed far to the south. Slavers.
They found good trade selling their captives. My mother was one, but my father
took a fancy to her and kept her. Later he settled in Krasnegar and became a
net maker.”

Jalon
nodded thoughtfully. “Was he captain of the ship?”

Rap
shook his head. “Just a crewman, sir. “

“And
what happened to him?”

This
was none of any minstrel’s business! “He broke his neck. “
Rap did not hide his bitterness. Maybe it would shame the man out of his
curiosity.

It
did not. “How?”

“He
fell off the dock one night. Perhaps he was trying to swim, but the harbor was
frozen solid-he was drunk. I am not of noble birth, sir!”

Jalon
ignored the sarcasm. “It wasn’t him, then.”

He
sat in silence for a moment, pondering. Rap wondered what that last remark had
meant.

“And
your mother, this slave who was not sold with the others... was she the common
property of the whole crew, or just of your father? “

“Sir!”

Jalon
smiled apologetically and then stretched out to lean on one elbow while he ate.
“Put up with me for a moment, friend Rap. I am not good at this sort of
thing. I know others who would do it better. But I sense something here... I
have traveled widely and I have heard tales and seen sights that you have not.
I have been to Sysanasso. It is hot and jungly and unhealthy. Fauns have wide,
rather flat noses, and brown skins-browner than yours, mostly-and they have
very curly brown hair. So your hair is a compromise.” He grinned. “Or
an argument?”

Rap
smiled as politely as he could manage and said nothing. Far away, Firedragon
whinnied. Sunbeam replied, and Rap swung around and shouted at her. She seemed
to sigh regretfully and went back to grazing.

Jalon
was amused. “Fauns have the reputation of being very good with animals.”

“That
explains me, then.”

The
minstrel nodded. “All the keepers in the imperor’s zoological
gardens are fauns. So are many hostlers.”

Rap
had talked about fauns with sailors, but he had never heard that before. “What
else can you tell me about them, sir?” Jalon wiped the neck of the bottle
and passed it. “They are supposedly peaceful, but dangerous when roused.
Wouldn’t be human otherwise, would they?” He smiled. “People
like to label people. Jotnar are always said to be big and warlike, but look at
me!”

“Yes,
sir.” No one could have looked less warlike than this slight,
flaxen-haired minstrel.

He
cleared his throat awkwardly. “That’s understandable, too. I don’t
usually mention it in this part of the world, but there’s elf blood in my
family. When I’m near Ilrane, of course, I apologize for my jotunn part.
I can’t pass as an elf, though. “

Rap
had never met an elf. He’d heard they had unusual eyes.

“So
there’s nothing wrong with a little outcross!” Jalon said in an
unusually firm tone.

“No,
sir.” Rap sipped sparingly at the wine. He didn’t care for wine. If
there was nothing wrong with being a halfbreed, then why was the minstrel going
on and on about it? Perhaps he thought he was putting Rap at ease by mentioning
his own elvish descent.

“Fauns?”
Jalon muttered. “Oh, yes... they have very hairy legs.” He glanced
at Rap’s protruding ankles and then grinned at his angry flush. He began
musing again, almost to himself.

“Krasnegar
is a hard place to live, but no worse than Sysanosso, I suspect. How old were
you when your father died?”

“About
five, sir.”

“You
don’t need to `sir’ me all the time, Rap. I’m only a
minstrel. Punch me on the jaw if you want to. What happened to your mother
then?”

Rap
scowled at the question. He twisted around to look at the horses. Firedragon
was grazing, and apparently play had not resumed yet. “The king took her
into his household, and she was found to be a fine lace maker. I suppose she
had been making the nets my father sold. She died of fever about five years
later.”