The Blue Sword (19 page)

She was in a long narrow hall with a dozen or so low beds in it; high overhead, narrow but close-spaced windows let in a flood of sunlight. She only dimly remembered coming here, having seen Tsornin stabled and unsaddled and happy with a manger of grain and a heap of hay; and falling into her bed, asleep before she touched it. Most of the other beds in the room were still occupied. The hall was built of large blocks of undressed grey-and-white stone; the same sort of stone, she thought, as much of Corlath’s City. The room was cool, but it smelled clean and sharp, like young leaves.

There were doors at each of the narrow ends of the room, and as she stood at the foot of the bed she could look through either of them. The flagstones were cold underfoot. She sat back down on the edge of the bed—It’s even a real bed, she thought—and regarded her pillow a moment. Then she sighed regretfully and pulled on her boots. Narknon opened one eye and closed it again. The rooms on each side looked much like the one she was in, and full of still-sleeping bodies rolled in dark blankets. There was another door midway in the wall opposite the windows. This she went through.

Here was a vast hall, taller than the ancient trees of the forest she had just walked wearily through, with windows cut at the very heads of the walls to open above the lower roofs of the sleeping corridors. At one end of this space was a fireplace that in any room less immense would have been itself enormous; here it looked insignificant. There were several massive wooden chairs before it, and a long trestle table beyond these; the rest of the chamber was empty. Opposite the fireplace wall were doors, thrown open to admit sunlight and birdsong and the rustle of leaves. She looked up at the ceiling. Curiously, there was no sense of oppression built by the stone and space; rather there was peacefulness, the quiet of repose.

Contented simply to be less tired than she had been the night before, she stood a moment, drinking in the sense of relaxation. For the first time since the confrontation with Corlath, the thought of the northwest pass left her freely, without her straining to push it aside; even the knowledge of the coming war, of her part in her first battle, did not trouble her at present. Of the latter she did know it would trouble her later—soon; but she would attend to it later. For now she smiled. Her mouth felt stiff.

She brought her gaze down from the ceiling and directed it again toward the fireplace. Sleep and peace were all very well, but she smelled food, and she was hungry.

The man with yellow hair who had stood talking with Corlath the night before was sitting in one of the great wooden chairs; she did not notice him till she was quite near. Her footfalls dropped gently to silence; no sullen echoes ran up the walls to disturb the birdcalls. She stopped. There was a tiny fire, barely two hands’ breadth, burning at the front of the cavern of the hearth. Over it hung a large silver pot on a chain, and on a stool nearby were a stack of deep silver bowls, and a heap of shining silver spoons.

“Breakfast,” said the man with yellow hair. “I’ve had mine; eat as much as you like. I flatter myself it’s quite good, although I admit I’m not much accustomed to cooking for so many, and one begins to lose count of how many potatoes one has already put in after the first armful.” She sat down with her bowl, feeling that formal introductions were not wanted and that he would be amused if she tried to be conventionally polite; and she was so hungry. As she sat, he brought up a leather bag from the far side of his chair and poured into a flagon discovered at his feet. He handed it to her: “Goat’s milk,” he said. There were brown flecks of spices floating in it. She smiled, not so stiffly this time.

She looked at him as she ate; and while she was sure he knew she watched him, he kept his eyes on the small leaps and dance steps of the flame beneath the pot, as if letting her look her fill was a courtesy he did her along with filling her belly.

He was tall, she knew; sitting, he looked even taller, for he was so slender. His arms were spread wide from his sides to rest on the arms of the chair; but his long fingers reached well over the curled fronts of the armrests, and his knees were several inches beyond long seat of the chair. He wore a dark green tunic, and a brown shirt beneath it, with long full sleeves gathered at the wrists with gold ribbons. He wore tall pale boots that reached just above his knees, where the tunic fell over them. The tunic was slit up the side to his waist, and the leggings beneath it were the gold of the ribbons. He wore no sash; rather a narrow band of dark blue cloth made a cross over his breast, and wrapped once thinly about his waist. The ends of it were tassels, midnight blue shot with gold. A huge dark red stone hung on a chain around his neck.

His face was thoughtful as he stared at the fire. His nose was long and straight and his lips thin; his eyes were heavy-lidded and blue. His hair was curly as well as bright gold, and it grew low over his collar and ears although he was clean-shaven. He should look young, Harry thought. But he did not. Neither did he look old. He turned to her as she set down her bowl and cup, and smiled. “Well? Did I know when to stop adding potatoes?”

Hill potatoes were golden and far more flavorful than the pale Homelander variety that Harry had eaten obediently but without enthusiasm when she was a child, and here they blended most satisfactorily with the delicate white fish that was the basis of the stew. It was the first time she had eaten fresh fish since she had left her Homeland, where she had often brought supper home after a few hours beside a pool or stream on her father’s estate; and she was pleased, now, to notice that remembering this fact caused no nervous ripples of emotion about her past or her future. “Yes,” she said peacefully.

Their eyes met, and he asked, as though he were an old friend or her father, “Are you happy?”

She thought about it, her gaze drifting away from his and coming to rest on the tip of Gonturan, as she leaned against her sol’s chair; for she had, without thinking about it one way or another, slung Gonturan around her as soon as she stood up from her bed. “No, not precisely,” she said. “But I don’t believe I wish to complain of unhappiness.” She paused a minute, looking at the thoughts that had been with her constantly for the weeks since she had left her old life as a bundle across Fireheart’s withers. “It is that I cannot see what I am doing or why, and it is unsettling always to live only in the moment as it passes. Oh, I know—one never sees ahead or behind. But I see even less. It is like being blindfolded when everyone else in the room is not. No one can see outside the room—but everyone else can see the room. I would like to take my blindfold off.”

The man smiled. “It is a reasonable wish. No one lives more than a few moments either way—even those fortunate or unfortunate ones who can see how the future will be cast; and perhaps they feel the minute’s passing the most acutely. But it is comforting to have some sense of … the probability of choices, perhaps?”

“Yes,” she sighed, and tapped a finger on Gonturan’s hilt, and thought of the red-haired rider on the white horse. He had looked as though he knew where he was going, although she had to admit that he had also looked as if the knowledge gave him no joy.

“Not he,” said the man with yellow hair. “The Lady Aerin. You should begin to recognize her, you know; you have seen her often enough.”

She blinked at him.

“You carry her sword, and ride to a fate not entirely of your own choosing. It is not surprising that she in some manner chooses to ride with you. She knew much of fate.”

Not surprising. It continued to surprise her. She would prefer that it surprise her, in fact. She permitted herself—just briefly—to think about her Homeland, with the wide grassy low hills and blue rivers, when the only sword she knew was her father’s dress sword, which was not sharp and which she was forbidden to touch; and where the only sand was at the seaside. She rediscovered herself staring at a silver pot over a tiny fire.

“I’m afraid I can’t comfort you very much with predictions; it is pleasant when I can comfort anyone with predictions, and I always enjoy it as much as possible because it doesn’t happen too often. But I can tell you even less than I can usually tell anyone, and it hurts my pride.” His hand closed around the dark stone at his neck; it glowed through his fingers like fire.

She looked at him, startled.

“You have already begun to see the hardness of the choices that you will soon be forced to make; and the choosing will not be any easier for your not knowing why you must choose.” His voice took on a singsong quality, the red light of the stone pulsed like a heart, and the heavy eyelids almost closed.

“Take strength from your own purpose, for you will know what you must do, if you let yourself; trust your horse and the cat that follows you, for there are none better than they, and they love you; and trust your sword, for she holds the strength of centuries and she hates what you are learning to hate. And trust the Lady Aerin, who visits you for your reassurance, whether you believe it at present or not; and trust your friendships. Friends you will have need of, for in you two worlds meet. There is no one on both sides with you, so you must learn to take your own counsel; and not to fear what is strange, if you know it also to be true.” He opened his eyes. “It is not an enviable position, being a bridge, especially a bridge with visions. I should know.”

“You’re Luthe, of course,” she said.

“Of course. I told Corlath in particular to bring you—although he has always brought his Riders if he brings anyone. And I knew you had been made a Rider. I don’t ask for anyone often; you should be pleased.”

“I can see the two worlds I am between,” she said, unheeding, “although why the second one chose to rise up and snatch me I still don’t understand—”

“Ask Colonel Dedham the next time you see him,” Luthe put in.

“The next—? But—” she said, bewildered, and thrown off her thought.

“You were about to ask me a question important to you, for you were trying to put your thoughts in order, when I interrupted you,” said Luthe mildly, “although I won’t be able to answer it. I told you I am not often comforting.”

“What are your two worlds?” she said, almost obliterating the question as she continued: “But if you can’t answer it, why should I ask? Can you hear everything I’m thinking?”

“No,” he replied. “Only those arrow-like thoughts that come flying out with particular violence. You have a better organized mind than most. Most people are distressing to talk to because they have no control over their thinking at all, and it is a constant barrage, like being attacked by a tangle of thornbushes, or having a large litter of kittens walking up your legs, hooking in their claws at every step. It’s perhaps also an effective preventative to having one’s mind read, for who can identify the individual thorn?”

Harry laughed involuntarily. “Innath said you lived where you do, high up and away from everything, because lowland air clouds your mind.”

“True enough. It is a little embarrassing to be forced to play the enigmatic oracle in the mountain fastness, but I have found it necessary.

“Corlath, for example, when he has something on his mind, can knock me down with it at arm’s length. He’s often asked me to come stay in his prison that he calls a city, saying that I might like it as it is made of the same stone as this—” He gestured upward. “No thank you.” He smiled. “He does not love the stone walls of his city, and so he does not understand why I do love my walls; to him they look the same. But he knows me better than to press it, or to be offended.”

“If it is only within arm’s length you find Corlath overwhelming, I have no sympathy for you,” Harry said ruefully, and he laughed.

“We soothsayers have other means of resistance,” he said, “But I shall be sure to tell him you said so.”

She sobered. “I’d rather you didn’t, if you don’t mind. I’m afraid we’re—we’re not on the best of terms just now.”

Luthe drummed his fingers on the wooden armrest. “Yes, I did rather suspect that, and I’m sorry for it, for you need each other.” He drummed some more. “Or at any rate he needs you, and you could do a lot worse than to believe in him.” Luthe rubbed his forehead. “But I will grant you that he is a stubborn man at times.”

He was silent a moment. “Aerin was a little like that; but she was also a little like you … Aerin was very dear to me.” He smiled faintly. “Teachers are always vain of the students who go on to do great things.”

“Aerin?” said Harry. “
Aerin
? Lady Aerin of this sword?”—and she banged the hilt of Gonturan.

“Yes,” said Luthe gently. “The same red-haired Aerin who troubles you with visions. You asked me about my two worlds: you could say that they are the past and the present.”

After a long cold moment Harry said, “Why did you ask Corlath to bring me here?”

“I told you that, surely. Because I knew he needed you; and I wanted to find out if you were the sort of vessel that cracks easily.”

Harry took a deep breath. “And am I?”

“I think you will do very well.” He smiled. “And that is a much more straightforward answer than anyone consulting an oracle has a right to expect. I shall stop feeling guilty about you.”

Corlath and his Riders spent two days in Luthe’s hall; the horses grazed in a broad meadow, the only wide stretch of sunlit green within a day’s journey of the tree-filled valley where Luthe made his home. Harry found Sungold tearing across the field, head up and tail a banner, on the first morning, the toilsome way up the mountain apparently forgotten. He galloped over to where Harry leaned on the frame of the open stable, where a few of the horses still lingered inside, musing over their hay. “You make me tired,” said Harry absently, thinking of her conversation with Luthe. “You should be recuperating, not bounding around like a wild foal.” Tsornin thrust his nose under her chin, unrepentant. “You realize we will have to do the whole thing again shortly? And then go on—and on and on? You should be harboring your strength.” Sungold nibbled her hair.

The other Riders and the fifteen other horsemen slowly seeped out of the tall stone house. Harry tried to decide, watching them, if any had had bewildering conversations with their host; but she couldn’t guess, and it did not seem the sort of thing one might ask. They all looked only semi-awake, as if the journey so far—this was the first real halt since they left the City—combined with the sweet peacefulness of Luthe’s domain prevented the lot of saddle-hardened warriors from feeling anything but pleasantly drowsy. They smiled at one another and leaned on their swords, and even tended their precious horses nonchalantly, as though they knew that the horses did not need them here. Narknon, so far as Harry could tell, never moved from her bed; she merely stretched out when Harry left it, and reluctantly permitted herself to be shoved to one side when Harry re-entered. Harry, although she felt the same gentle air around her, was surprised; whatever it was, it had less effect on her.