The Steerswoman's Road (15 page)

“Your friend has mentioned that you’ve had some trouble,”
Henra said.

Rowan’s mirth faded. “That’s right. It’s going to take some
explaining.”

The Prime considered, assessing Rowan’s demeanor. She turned
to Bel. “If you cross the garden to those doors,” she said, indicating them, “you’ll
find yourself in the dining hall. There are some at breakfast already, and
others will be along soon enough.” She smiled. “I think you’ll find the company
enjoyable.”

Rowan followed the Prime back into the cool corridors to her
office. Inside Henra seated herself in a massive armchair by the cold hearth.
From a stool beside her she picked up a blue knitted lap robe; so deep in the
Archives, in the central room, the stone walls were an effective barrier against
the warmth of day. Wrapping the robe around her legs, she gestured for Rowan to
take the chair on the opposite side of the low wooden table before her.

Rowan went to the chair but did not sit. She felt as if she
needed to move. She wanted to pace; she wanted to stride to some open window
and view the forested land rolling to the horizon. She wanted her charts, her
book, her pen and calipers in her hand—but they were gone.

She saw that the Prime had noticed their absence and was waiting
for her to speak. Rowan shifted her weight back and forth. “I was attacked on
the road to Donner,” she said at last.

Henra tilted her head. “One of the hazards of traveling.”
She still waited; an unlucky encounter on the road was not, in itself, enough
to send a steerswoman back to the Archives.

“It was a wizard’s man,” Rowan said. Suddenly she felt she
could sit, and she did.

Henra leaned back slowly. Her emerald gaze flickered as she
sifted possibilities and implications, then fell on Rowan. “The one thing we do
not need is the active enmity of a wizard. We take pains not to cross them.”
Rowan knew that well. It had been stressed in her training, passed on to her,
along with an unexpressed, slow-burning anger against the wizards’
secretiveness, their refusal to impart information.

Rowan shook her head. “I had no idea I was working on anything
to interest a wizard.” She pulled out the little leather sack, opened it, and
removed the glittering fragment. “I was investigating this.” She passed it to
the Prime.

Henra studied it, turning it over in her hand, and Rowan
began to speak. She described its history, detailed her findings, and gave her
justifications for straying from her assigned route. Maps were brought out,
and with them spread out on the low table, Rowan sketched the pattern of
dispersal, that narrow oval that stretched from the eastern curve of the Long
North Road into the heart of the Outskirts. She reconstructed the graph she had
made during her conversation with Bel on the road to Donner, and described
Arian’s indignation at her speculations.

The Prime considered the information, questioning her carefully.
At some point a tray of tea was brought in, along with rolls and honey. At some
other point, the remains were removed. Lost in the exchange of information, Rowan
did not notice the intrusion until Henra graciously thanked the woman, who
smiled and exited wordlessly.

At last Henra leaned back in her chair. “And at no point did
you encounter any wizard? Or any person known to work with a wizard?”

Rowan examined her memory again, wishing she had her logbook.
“Not to my knowledge, not until Five Corners. And those men never spoke to me.
Nor asked about me, as far as I know. I think someone would have mentioned it
if they did.”

“Which means,” Henra said carefully, “that they already knew
all they needed.”

“Exactly.”

“Then they know more than we do.”

“That’s not all.” Rowan recounted the dragon attack on the
inn in Donner, and Corvus’s surprising knowledge of the event. She added Artos’s
conviction that she was in danger even in Wulfshaven. Artos, and his skill in
warfare, were known to the Prime.

Finally Henra sighed. “The obvious solution is to abandon
this investigation,” she began.

“No!”

The Prime glanced at Rowan, then smiled. “That doesn’t suit
you.”

“We’ve never been a threat to any wizard. I can’t believe
this jewel can be that important. It doesn’t do anything, not that I’ve seen.”

“Perhaps you haven’t seen all there is to see.”

“We can’t let them limit us!” Rowan was on her feet, pacing.
“Isn’t it enough that they won’t share their knowledge with us?”

“Their secrecy is their strength,” Henra reminded her. “If
everyone had access to their knowledge, the folk and the wizards would be
equal. And if we had that knowledge, it would be free for the asking.”

Rowan stopped short. “Then this must have something to do
with their power.”

“Possibly.” Henra turned the jewel over in her hands; it
caught the light from a high-set window and flashed, once. “Or, they may see
that the course of investigating the jewels will lead you to other avenues, that
may in turn lead you to their secrets.” She handed the blue shard back to
Rowan, carefully folded her lap robe, and rose. “This is a large decision. Let’s
join the others.”

Rowan watched her cross to the door. “Do you know what we’re
going to do?”

Henra turned back to her. “I know what we have to do. I don’t
know that we will do it.”

Rowan and the Prime found most of the Archives’ inhabitants lingering
over bits of breakfast in a hall whose tall windows looked out to the garden on
the one side, to a sweep of woody hills on the other. Bel was seated near the
head of the table, and eager questioners on all sides were taking the
opportunity to ply her with queries about her exotic background and the
customs of the distant Outskirts. The steers-woman at the head shifted her seat
in favor of the Prime, and Rowan found a chair on her right, across from Bel.

“There’s our wayward child,” an elderly woman beside Rowan
greeted her affectionately. “It’s good to see a young face again.”

Bel took in the comment, then looked around the table. “Are
there no other steerswomen Rowan’s age?”

“Steerswomen begin by traveling,” Rowan replied. “The largest
part of our work is done on the road and the sea, observing and learning. Most
steerswomen travel all their lives.”

“Until they get too old,” Keridwen put in, from the end of
the table. “Or,” Arian added, “until they find some particular area of study
which no longer depends on constant fact-gathering.”

Bel’s glance went to his ring. “You’re a steerswomen?”

“Steersman,” he corrected. “Yes, there are a few.”

“It’s not forbidden?”

Several laughed, and Arian snorted derisively. “Most men
seem to be satisfied to live by their muscles. Well,” he admitted, “to be fair,
most men learn to live by their strength early on, and never lose the habit.”

“Very few men apply when the Academy is held,” Rowan added. “And
few of those complete the training. Those who do, manage quite as well as the
women. In fact,” she said with a nod to Arian, “at present we have more steersmen
than ever in our history. Three.”

Someone shifted uncomfortably. Rowan looked around the table.
“What is it?”

The steerswoman beside her placed a hand on her arm. “Possibly
only two, dear. We’ve lost track of Janus.”

“Last year we heard of a ship lost at sea,” Henra added, “sailing
from Donner to Southport.” Southport, Rowan knew, had been on Janus’s planned
route.

“Was he on it?” Rowan asked.

“We don’t know.”

Rowan digested the information, then found Bel watching her.
“It happens,” Rowan explained.

Bel turned to Josef, seated two spaces to her left. “Are you
the third steersman?”

He put up his hands in protest. “No, not me! A simple groom,
beast-tender. Wouldn’t be here at all but for the love of my life.” He made a
nimble snatch at Berry as she passed with a pitcher of water.

Berry made an equally nimble dodge. “As you can tell, my
husband learns his manners from the beasts, as well.” But she smiled.

“But you’re Rowan’s age. Shouldn’t you be traveling?”

Berry placed a pitcher of water carefully on the table and
took her seat next to Josef. “I’m going blind,” she explained matter-of-factly.

Bel was appalled. “How awful! But can you still be a steerswoman,
blind?”

“If there’s a way, we’ll discover it,” Henra said.

“Work of the mind, that’s what you want,” Arian advised. “Some
huge, rare, imaginative problem.”

Berry nodded at him with suppressed amusement. “That’s a
good idea. Perhaps I’ll join you in your math ...”

“Skies, no, girl, you’re not good enough—oof!” The elderly
steers-woman next to Arian had elbowed him mightily in the ribs. “But it’s true.
1)

“Of course it’s true,” the woman said. “But you needn’t beat
her with it. She has other strengths.”

Henra looked around the table, then spoke to Keridwen. “Where’s
Hugo?”

“Still in his room, I believe. On chill mornings, he’s
likely to stay there until noon.”

“Tell him to come here, please.”

Keridwen hurried off, and the Prime helped herself to
another biscuit. “Hugo has made a study of the wizards,” Rowan explained to
Bel.

Keridwen returned presently with a frail elderly man, who
leaned both on her shoulder and on a walking stick as he approached. He viewed
the assemblage. “What’s this? A meal at this hour?” He squinted his watery blue
eyes at the sky. “Don’t tell me it’s morning!”

Henra’s smile was affectionate. “Come sit by me. I need your
advice.”

Rowan vacated her chair and pulled another close beside Bel.
Hugo lowered himself down carefully. “Ah, now, lady, you don’t fool me for a
moment. It’s my manly companionship you’re after, admit it. And more than mere
companionship, isn’t it true?”

The Prime laughed lightheartedly and spoke as if reciting
the lines of a familiar jest. “Now, Hugo, what can you mean? You know you’re
far too old for me.”

“Oh, so you say now! But the gap shrinks, they tell me, as
you grow older. A few years from now you’ll join me by the fireside, and we’ll
toast our toes together, and dream of things we might have done. And do a few
of them, as well.”

Rowan took in Bel’s astonished expression, recognizing her
surprise as the same that she herself had felt when first seeing the
steers-women behave so informally with each other. She leaned toward the
Outskirter. “We’re not an aristocracy,” Rowan explained quietly, “and we’re not
an army, or a religion, either. Whatever doesn’t affect our work, doesn’t
matter.”

As if to illustrate the point, Henra made one small gesture,
and the table fell instantly to attentive silence. Hugo sat the slightest bit
taller, and the wry humor slipped from his face, replaced by the intelligent,
waiting expression of the perfect steersman.

Henra spoke to the group. “Rowan was attacked by a wizard’s
man.”

Every face turned to Rowan. In a visible rapid wave, their
shock turned to seriousness, and they waited, silently, for more information.
Only Josef made a sign; his fist slammed on the table, once. No one looked at
him.

Henra continued. “It was one day’s travel south of Five Corners.”
The elderly woman next to Arian spoke. “You’re certain he was a wizard’s man?”

“At the inn I saw five Red soldiers. I recognized him as one
of that five,” Rowan replied. The woman nodded. No one questioned Rowan’s
ability to recognize the face of a man seen once, in passing, as part of a
crowd.

Henra turned to Hugo. “Which wizard controls that area?”

He sat quietly a moment, rheumy blue eyes flicking at the action
of his thoughts. “That’s difficult to say, lady. Olin, north and east of Five
Corners, he’s Red these days. Or was, as of winter. Five Corners, that’s at the
limit of his area, as clear as these things can be made out.”

Rowan spoke up. “No one seemed surprised to see wizard’s men
in the tavern.”

“With the recent clash, there must be a lot, traveling to
their homes. Five Corners is a likely stop for any of Olin’s men, returning.”

“I didn’t know he kept soldiers.”

“Ah, yes, well, neither did I, until he sent troops against
Corvus and Abremio. It means he must have a keep somewhere, and we’ve been
assuming he didn’t.”

“Don’t all wizards have keeps?” Bel asked.

“No, not at all. Jannik, for instance. All he has is his
house in Donner. Mind you, no one’s ever been inside.” He rubbed his nose
thoughtfully. “Now, Olin, he’s always been especially confusing. Seen rarely,
never in the same place twice, always alone. Often the only way to know he’s
there is by the sudden appearance of some magical event.”

Henra leaned forward, intent. “Might Five Corners be his,
these days?”

“Hard to tell. His boundaries have always been especially vague.
It’s not Jannik’s; it might he no one’s, or Shammer and Dhree’s.”

Rowan remembered Artos’s complaints. “The new Red holding?”

“Right. They’re two, working together as one; I don’t understand
the arrangement. They’re Red.” He turned to Henra. “They’re the culprits, I
believe, or somehow wrapped up in this. I don’t know that Five Corners is
theirs, but it’s possible, and they’re the only new variable in the equation.”
Hugo addressed himself to Bel. “Understand, the wizards and the Steerswomen
don’t like each other, but there hasn’t been violence between us for centuries.
We can’t get rid of each other, so we tolerate each other. But now a
steerswoman has been attacked by a wizard’s man—Rowan, could he have been
acting on his own?”

Rowan thought briefly, checking over her conclusions. “No.
There were five wizard’s men at the inn; there are five roads away from the
inn. They left before Bel and I did; whatever road we took, we would have met
one. This was planned.”

Berry looked around, as if searching the faces she could not
clearly see. “There are other steerswomen traveling in Shammer and Dhree’s holding.
Why was Rowan attacked, and no one else?”