The Steerswoman's Road (22 page)

He gazed about with a stunned expression, like someone
amazed to be alive. “No,” he said. “I mean, I don’t know. I was never able to
find out.”

She urged him into a slow walk. They began to drop back as
their fellow travelers continued at a steadier pace. Bel tugged the donkey back
into motion and fell in with them.

“If the charms are this dangerous, perhaps you should get
rid of them,” Rowan said.

He shook his head, partly in dissent, partly to clear it. “I
don’t know that the spells would have escaped.
Sometimes
they do, if you
drop them. Not always. It’s just hard to be sure. I’ve never carried so many at
once. If one releases, they all will, this close to each other.”

Bel had caught the substance of the conversation. “What
would have happened?”

Shock and guilt on his face, Willam looked up the line of
travelers and wagons, then down it, then at the surrounding landscape. It came
to Rowan that it all would have been affected in some terrible way. “Nothing
good” was all he said.

Bel looked pleased. “Then you ought to be more careful. A
good weapon should be treated with respect.”

He nodded vaguely, then came back to himself. “The
steers-woman,” he said.

It took Rowan a moment to remember that he was not referring
to her. “Ingrud,” she amplified. “I’ll try to keep out of the way tonight. When
you or Sala see her, tell her that I’ve changed my mind. She’ll be too occupied
to think much of it.”

Rowan sat in darkness on the edge of the camp, on the far side
of the charabanc, her back against one tall wheel. The team of donkeys that had
pulled it during the day were contentedly grazing around her and tugging at
their staked tethers, her own beast among them. Behind her, travelers and
drivers were gathered into cheery groups. Some were dancing.

Listening, Rowan identified the instruments: a pair of
three-stringed viols, a bass flute, a bodhran, and a banjo, all led in a mad
swirl by Ingrud’s squeeze-box. The music was an ancient dance tune, “Harrycoe
Fair.” Nearby, someone was trying to dredge the nonsense lyrics from memory and
making a bad job of it.

Rowan sullenly tossed a pebble at one of the donkeys. It
fell short, and the animal ambled over to investigate, on the chance that it
might be edible.

The music stopped, to scattered applause and appreciative
comments. It did not start again, and the voices picked up their conversations.
Apparently the musicians were taking a rest.

Someone approached. Rowan looked around the wheel to see Bel
wandering in her direction, the very image of nonchalance. Beyond, in a circle
of chattering people, Rowan caught sight of one energetic figure topped by a
wild cloud of smoky-brown hair.

Rowan turned back and waited. Her donkey, appetite
satisfied, came over to her and lowered itself to the ground. Shifting to one
side, it found that the length of its tether was just sufficient to allow it to
lean its head against her knee. It did so, and heaved a little happy sigh.

Bel sat down beside her, eyes reflecting the light leaking
under the charabanc. “I like her. She’s an interesting person.”

“I wish I could talk to her.” Rowan and Ingrud had their
differences and were perhaps not the best of traveling companions; yet somehow,
despite their talent for annoying each other, they had forged a friendship
during their training. It was an odd friendship, one that seemed to require
equal doses of distance and proximity.

But now Rowan felt a need as compelling as hunger. She
needed to see Ingrud again, to find out how the road had treated her. She
wanted to compare notes with her, to read each other’s logbooks, to reminisce
about their training and share dreams of further roads ahead.

Instead Rowan was sitting in darkness, listening to Ingrud’s
music in the distance.

“I think you’ll need to talk to her,” Bel said. “She’s
carrying one of the jewels.”

Stunned, Rowan turned to her. “You’re sure it’s the same?
Did she show it to you?”

“She’s using it as a brooch for her cloak.”

Rowan felt a sudden chill. Ingrud was carrying a jewel in
plain sight. And whoever had tried to strike at Rowan was looking for a
steerswoman with a blue jewel

“She’s in danger, and she doesn’t know it.” She shoved the
donkey aside and rose to peer past the charabanc toward the firelight. Ingrud was
no longer in sight. “Can you get her over here, alone, on some pretext ?”

Bel considered. “She’s too popular at the moment. I’ll wake
her from sleep later tonight and tell her there’s something she should see.”

“She won’t trust you,” Rowan said. “Not even a steerswoman
would go off into the dark with a total stranger. Not on this road, not in this
season.”

Bel thought a moment, then smiled. “I’ll bring Willam. She
likes him. He’s been plying her with questions all night.”

“Questions ?”

“Yes.” Bel laughed. “He seems to have a lot of them. He acts
as if he wants to know everything about everything.”

As Bel made her way back to the firelight, Rowan felt an odd
stab of jealousy. She thought: He should be asking those questions of me.

“The merchant Attise, isn’t it? You’re having no problem, I
hope.”

Rowan looked up at the mounted guard, trying to affect an
air of dignified distraction. “No, there’s no problem, thank you. I needed to
think, and I thought a bit of a walk might help matters.”

He shook his head indulgently. “Oh, that’s not a good idea,
merchant. Wandering off in the dark by yourself. With all the noise we made
tonight, every thief and cutthroat for miles around is surely headed this way.
And possibly arrived. We’re one of the first caravans this year, and they’ve
had a hard winter, I think.”

Rowan knew that to be true. “I trust your excellent
patrolling.” He laughed. “Best of the lot, that’s me. Still, it’s good to be
safe. You’d be wise to take yourself off to sleep.”

Only a solitary thief could manage to slip into the camp. Rowan
carried a sword, and believed it unlikely she could be caught by surprise in
these circumstances. “My bodyguard will be joining me shortly.”

His face brightened. “Sala! Now, she’s certainly impressive.
And knows her business well. A fine soldier, and a fine woman, too, I think.
She could probably teach me a thing or two. I wouldn’t mind wrestling her, any
number of ways, if you catch my meaning.”

Rowan suppressed a grin. “I’ll tell her of your high
opinion.”

He considered. “You do that.” He turned his horse and moved
off, a musing, contemplative expression on his face. Rowan turned back to her
own thoughts.

The first thing she’ll do, Rowan thought, is shout my name.
Then she’ll ask why I’ve left my route. Then she’ll wonder why I’m dressed so
oddly ...

Rowan would have to speak first, she realized. She needed to
find some way to prevent Ingrud’s quicksilver emotions from giving Rowan away
to whoever might still be awake to listen. But she could not think of what to
say or do, and then she heard people approaching and knew she had run out of
time.

They were speaking, Ingrud’s tone dubious, Bel’s reassuring,
as they came around the side of the charabanc. Will followed in their wake,
suspicious of Bel’s behavior and Rowan’s change of plans. Rowan moved back to
prevent the light from catching her face too soon. She waited until the trio
reached the point where the wagon completely blocked them from the rest of the
camp, then stepped forward.

“Ingrud ... ”

She had been wrong about her friend’s reaction. Ingrud’s narrow,
foxy face quickly showed first surprise, then delight; but when she took in the
strange clothing, she stopped short suddenly. One glance showed her that Rowan’s
steerswoman’s ring was absent.

To Rowan’s amazement, Ingrud burst out in dismay, “No! Not
you, too!” She turned to one side in helpless outrage and pounded her own right
leg with a fist. “This can’t happen again!” Angry, she stepped forward and
shook her index finger in Rowan’s face. “I will
not
be put off this
time! I’m
going
to get an explanation!”

Rowan pulled the hand down, tried to calm the steerswoman. “Ingrud
please, not so loud ...”

“You and Janus have a lot to answer for—”

“Janus?” Rowan shook her head, then dismissed the non sequitur.
“I’ll tell you anything you like, but please, we mustn’t attract attention.”

Puzzled, Will said to Bel, “They do know each other. I asked
the steerswoman, and she said they didn’t.”

Bel was distracted by an approaching guard. She stepped forward
to reassure him. “They’re old friends,” she explained when he pulled up. “I’m
sorry about the noise, but you know how it can be when old friends meet ...”

“You are going to explain this!” Ingrud asserted, oblivious
to everything except Rowan. “Janus can do what he likes and be damned for it,
but you’re my friend ...”

Rowan realized with astonishment that Ingrud was close to
tears. Abruptly ashamed for she knew not what sin, she held out her arms to her
friend. Ingrud went silent, and then Rowan found herself embracing a
helplessly weeping woman. “It’s all right,” she tried to reassure her in the
midst of her own confusion. “I can explain everything. It’s all right ...” She
looked up over Ingrud’s shoulder at the guard. “I—I’m afraid my little joke
went badly,” she extemporized. “I shouldn’t have tried to surprise her.”

The guard relaxed a bit and looked to Bel for confirmation. “Really,
there’s no problem here,” Bel said. “We’re sorry we bothered you.” He nodded,
said something to her that Rowan could not catch, and wheeled off.

Ingrud calmed at last, and Rowan managed to get her to sit
on the grass beside the charabanc. The steerswoman insisted through her tears, “You
had better tell me what’s going on.”

“I was about to ask the same of you,” Rowan replied. “What’s
the matter? And what’s this about Janus?” She found a handkerchief in a sleeve
pocket and gave it to Ingrud.

Ingrud pressed it across her eyes, as if she wished to blot
out the world as well as her tears. “He’s left.”

“What do you mean? I’d heard he was missing ...”

“No, he’s left, he’s quit!” Ingrud looked up. Light from
under the charabanc played across her face. Her agitated hands worked at the
handkerchief. “I met him in Deaver’s Well last autumn. He was traveling with a
band of tinkers. He’s not a steersman any longer!”

Rowan rocked back as if from a blow. “He’s resigned? But
why?”

Ingrud shook her head widely, smoky curls moving across her
shoulders. “He wouldn’t say. I asked him, and he wouldn’t tell me. He wouldn’t
tell me where he’d been, what he’d been doing ...” She closed her eyes again. “He
refused to answer any of my questions. So he’s under our ban. I told him so. He
said he didn’t care.”

“Incredible ...” Rowan groped mentally, searching for some
approach by which to understand what she was hearing. Steerswomen had left the
order before, for many reasons, internal or external. But to resign without
explanation, without that simple courtesy to one’s fellows; and worse, to place
oneself under the Steerswomen’s ban by refusing information ... Small wonder
Ingrud had been so upset on seeing Rowan without her ring and chain. It must
have seemed that the impossible had happened twice, and this time to a better-loved
friend ...

But while one part of Rowan’s mind was filled with concern
for Janus and confusion about his motives, another was casting about, seeking
connections and finding none. She said, half to Bel and half to herself, “It
probably doesn’t have anything to do with us.”

Bel nodded, satisfied, but Ingrud looked up.

“I don’t know what Janus was doing, Ingrud,” Rowan continued.
“I had heard that he was missing, that’s all.”

“And what about you?” Ingrud’s face showed a mixture of anger
and concern.

Rowan hesitated. “Will.” He was startled by her sudden attention,
then squinted suspiciously. “I think the steerswoman will need her cloak in a
moment.”

“You’re trying to get rid of me,” he accused.

Bel nudged him. “Of course she is. Now do as you’re told.” With
ill humor, he complied.

Rowan gestured for the Outskirter to sit beside her. “This
is Bel,” she told Ingrud, and then proceeded to deliver a rapid, concise explanation
of the jewels, the evidence of wizards’ interventions, the Prime’s decision,
and her own mission.

Ingrud interrupted her then. She looked carefully into Rowan’s
face, studying her expression. Ingrud’s tilted eyes were a lovely mixture of
brown and green. Rowan remembered them as always filled with merriment, but now
her gaze made Rowan shy back. “Are you still a steerswoman?” Ingrud asked
quietly.

Rowan drew a breath and expelled it slowly, calming herself.
She found that it was difficult to say. “Technically, temporarily ... no.”
Ingrud looked dazed, incredulous. “I hope all this is worth it.”

“I think we’re in a great deal of danger. All of us, the
whole way of life.”

“It seems impossible.”

Rowan leaned forward to stress her point. “The wizards are
putting restrictions on us. They’ve never done that before. We can’t permit it;
who knows how far they’d take it, if they had that power over us?”

“And what’s so special about these jewels? What magic can
they hold?”

“None that’s visible. They seem to do nothing at all. I’ve
carried one for over a year, and it’s had no effect on anything, that I could
tell. Bel’s carried hers for over ten years. And you carry one yourself, so Bel
tells me.” Rowan pulled the little sack from around her neck. Her ring and
chain jingled faintly against each other as she pulled the jewel out and handed
it across. “Is this the same as the jewel on your brooch?”

Ingrud studied it, then looked up in amazement. “This is the
source of all the problems? Of all these ridiculous schemes?”