Paladins, and Paladins for sale
*arches brow*
Every time I disappear, you people suddenly do lots of stuff on purpose.
Don't think I haven't noticed.
As for me, I'm sorry for my goneness (especially for missing my Thursday chat, Sarah! boo! :/), but I've been doing my Easter assignments. They're all done now except the biggest one, because why would I do the biggest one first?
This morning I rewarded myself for being nominally good with writing time. I started on 'Fire-Heart', but unfortunately I have realised a Problem. It will take me quite some time to think about, probably. So I finished 'Wounds' instead, because all the unfinished things lying around are really starting to annoy me.
The story is set well before 'Seeking', it's long, and it contains absolutely no heroes, Rannon included. That's pretty much all I have to say about it, really. If you don't like stories without heroes, you won't like it, so ... um ... don't read it. ;)
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
"We're all coming into town to resupply tomorrow," Ivrys said, leaning in to kiss Ziana's forehead. Ziana brushed the dark tail of his topknot behind his shoulder, her lip bitten as the conversation and visit both approached a close. "You can go into town, but don't hang around Danyllyn's. I think Kylton is going to have words with him today, and that's not the kind of language our boys need to hear."
"I'll stay away," promised Ziana in a low voice.
Ivrys watched her carefully, his rich brown eyes starting to take on a familiar, exasperated glint. "What's the matter?"
"You know what's the matter."
"Aieren! Why do I hear this every time? I'm feeding our boys, Ziana. None of this is anything a fat caravaner can't spare."
"Harda said a man died last month."
"And Harda's nephew died of the lung-rot the month before that. Too bad they didn't have the money to take him to Ainslieve, isn't it? That's not going to happen to my sons."
Ziana pulled her hands from her husband's. "Unless you die."
"The odds are even that we'd all starve next winter anyway! Be strong, now. I won't die. I'll be careful. Very careful." His arms reached around her from behind, squeezing her to the sour-smelling leather jerkin that had replaced his workman's hessian shirt for almost a year now. "I love you, Zia-star. You and both my little comet-tails. I want us all to have the life we deserve."
"Half of those men are animals, Ivrys," said Ziana heavily, but she turned to return his embrace all the same, desperate to keep him as long as she could.
"Want and pain make all men animals, Zia-star," he murmured into the crown of her long hair. "I'll be careful. You won't lose me. And as soon as we have enough to buy all the seeds and plants and equipment you need, I'll come back and live off your work for a while!"
Ziana stood still, feeling his laughter soughing through her hair. "Perhaps we could just try that now."
"You know we can't," replied Ivrys shortly, his laugh fading. "I have to go, Zia. Kiss my comets for me. And eat the food I brought you - you look half a skeleton."
He kissed her goodbye, wiped a spilling tear from her face with his thumb and then walked down the path from the house, disappearing for what would most likely be another three weeks or more.
Tired and downhearted, Ziana picked up the sacks of food Ivrys had left and took them inside, hanging up the goat-hind, stacking cheeses and stowing the small bags of flour and oats in a lower cupboard. Then she sat by the window and looked out at her sparse herb-garden for a while, trying to imagine it full and thriving beside the reedy riverbank, her boys strong and never hungry …
As if conjured by her thoughts, the noisy voices of the boys floated up to the house on the late afternoon breeze, jabbering like a pair of excited magpies. It wasn't too long until she saw them running along the river towards the house, pursued by their struggling, huffing grandfather.
Tiras made it through the door first. Castwyn had made a forced stop to pick up the tacklebox he'd dropped. "Dadda! Where's Dadda?"
Ziana went over and picked him up, playing with the little topknot of his hair. "Oh, darling, I'm sorry. Dadda had to go. You'll see him next time, hey?"
As expected, Tiras's dark eyes - infant mirrors of his father's - began to well up with tears. Ziana wiped them away with her thumb, as Ivrys had done for her, then kissed him again and put him down. "Don't cry, my darling! Dadda sends his love. He's left us lots of food, too - we'll have a wonderful dinner tonight."
She looked over to the doorway, where older Castwyn was now standing with angry, teary eyes, and tried to wave him inside, but he turned and ran back out into the yard instead. Her father Joharn stood back from the doorway to let him leave, still gasping for breath, and looked at his daughter sadly.
"How did he look?" Joharn panted, making his way to the other chair and collapsing into it.
"Well enough," replied Ziana neutrally, watching weepy Tiras wander around the hanging meat-haunch.
Joharn sighed - at least, he might have somewhere in the midst of all his panting. "He'll be back for you, my darling," the old bard promised. "He loves you and the boys far too much to get himself killed."
"Love's no protection," muttered Ziana. She didn't share her father's fond fancies. "He's left quite a lot of food this time. Brigandry certainly pays better than herb-growing and mushroom-selling."
"And harping," Joharn replied with his impish old grin, taking it as a joke. "Don't you worry, my darling girl - as soon as you've the opportunity to get all the herbs and materials you need, your healing craft will do more than well enough for your family. No fire will keep us down for long, eh?"
Ziana hated even the mention of the fire. She'd lost her first home to those flames, and her husband too - not in death, but in 'the pauper's last gambit', as her father so flippantly put it.
"Any money?" asked Joharn hopefully.
"Some," she replied. "I'm going to town for some wool tomorrow. I can see Tiras's little rump through his trews."
Tiras gave a very small, watery giggle at the 'naughty' mention of rumps and wiggled his a bit.
"Go call for your brother, love. We'll have a little bread and cheese."
Joharn leaned back in his brittle chair and stretched, carefully, scratching his thinning grey hair and fiddling with the ties of his topknot. "Things will get better soon, my darling. You'll see."
Ziana looked out the window at her herb garden and her boys. "Fetch me one of the cheeses, please, father."
* * * * *
The last two weeks prior to Ivrys's visit had been particularly meagre, as the cycle usually went, so it was a rare comfort to go to bed satiated. She rose refreshed in body if not in spirit the next morning, checking the cupboards jealously for any signs of thieving mice, cleaning about her tiny house in the ambient predawn greylight.
It was hard not to bitterly compare this place to her old home. Two small rooms in exchange for three; a thriving herbal garden and thriving healer's trade in exchange for four miserable rows of common plants and a trade in scavenged mushrooms; misery and hunger in exchange for that golden ideal, enough.
They'd rebuilt in the same area - the burnt-out shell of her old home was just an hour's walk south over the hills - but it couldn't have been a more different place. Her children and her father slept in the same room that served as the kitchen, scullery and workroom, separated only by a ratty old curtain, because it was warmer out here when winter came. And the cold back room was made colder still by the fact that Ziana always slept there alone.
There was absolutely no point railing at the unfairness of times lost - it would change nothing, she knew - but sometimes it was just too hard not to.
Extra attention to the morning chores helped, and so too did the boys, when they woke. They were both very excited about going into town. Castwyn had forgotten about yesterday's angry sulk; Tiras ran about while Joharn chased him around, trying to make him put on his pants. Even Ziana found herself looking forward to it. She had no intention of lingering near Danyllyn the farrier with her boys, as she'd been warned, but she might well see Ivrys from a safe distance when the brigands came to town.
Their horse had long since been sold; the trip into quiet Ells Allyn was always on foot now. It didn't take too long to walk to town, but carrying even a small bale of wool back was bound to make it longer - not to mention the added effort with two young boys. They always enjoyed it, though, and they seemed like they needed a bit of cheering up after missing their Dadda the day before.
Walking down to the riverbank, they all began to follow it east along the older pig-track that passed their house, taking hunters to the woods in the opposite direction. The lazy river Lésmé stirred only sullenly at this point in her flow, and indeed almost down her entire length; not until she reached the Source River itself, much further south, did she ever stir herself to rush and churn like other waters.
Ziana watched Lésmé without any real longing as her boys ran in circles and threw fallen hoarnuts around. Her father had always told her marvellous stories about his younger travels in the East, but she didn't feel a similar need to go and to see. She'd already had everything she'd wanted in her old house on the hill; all she really wanted in life now was to have it back.
"Ah, you have no idea how much I miss old Butterfly," her father muttered to her as the walk went on, stopping to prise a stone out from the cracked sole of his shoe. "She was a marvel, wasn't she? We'd be there already."
"Not with the boys," Ziana pointed out, amused. "You'd be right here leading the horse."
"Eh. So I would. Well, for all the other times, then."
"I think it's good for you not to have a horse. It means I don't lose you to the Cockerel quite so often." She kissed him on the cheek as he growled something dire and then bent to pick up Tiras, tugging plaintively on her skirts.
When the trees, already thin on the old pig-track, finally began to give way before fields, they knew Ells Allyn was not far away - just behind the next hill in one looser, wider slip of the Lésmé. Ziana's arms were sore from carrying weary Tiras; her littlest tired quickly on these walks.
As she paused to try to shift his weight properly, smiling an absent smile at Castwyn's optimistic offers to pig-a-back his brother the rest of the way, the distant, hill-thrown snatches of a voice became faintly audible. Ziana glanced at her father, made nervous by the hints of a raised voice, but he just grinned at her.
"Someone's singing, sweetling," he said, approvingly. "Hear how it rises and falls?"
"Who'd be singing?" she asked warily, looking back the way they'd come.
"Don't know. Perhaps Magrun has caught us up on that old nag of his, and he's just managed to get the fox that's kept taking his lambs."
Ziana pursed her lips and moved on again, ignoring her sore arms, but the singer at their back was most definitely riding a horse - if slowly. Soon the voice could be heard quite clearly, and if that strong taproom sweep was raspy old Magrun, Ziana wanted to know which miraculous fountain he'd drunk from.
"Oh! the woods of the East are uncommonly fair
As they roll from the hills to Ffányr;
But full gladly I'd go, never see them again,
In return for Old Raylen's brown beer!
"Ah! the seas of the South face on white diamond shores
And lap warm at fresh Saillbrene's pier;
But not all the grey gulls of the ocean's own sky
Could yet keep me from Old Raylen's beer!
"Now the brew of Old Raylen's true marvellous stuff;
It can turn iron black, it can melt gems and gold,
It makes lions of mice and young men of the old -
Just one stout little tankard is never enough!
"Hey! the peaks of the North house the Lord of the Air
Yes, he's throned atop Icemantle's spear …"
Ziana ushered her boys out of the way as the rider finally came into view. He was a lone man on a horse, only lightly cloaked for the weather, his reins held slack in one hand so his mount could walk at its own pace. It was a truly magnificent beast, its coat, mane and tail all a vivid silvery-white, just a little foiled by the darker dust of the road. There was no horse its worth within the reaches of Ells Allyn, that was certain.
The brigands will have him if he roves about too thoughtlessly, Ziana thought, trying not to imagine what sort of money her Ivrys might bring home after stealing such a beast. He stands out like a hilltop beacon - white horse, white cloak …
"Sweet Lord Aieren," Ziana said out loud, staring at the approaching white horse. "Grandadda, I think that's a Paladin."
"You think so, Zia?" Joharn shaded his crow-footed eyes and peered down the road. "He's certainly wearing white. I can't make much else out. Elementals, I haven't seen a Paladin since I was Castwyn's age!"
"That's a bit of a strange song for a Paladin to be singing, mind."
Her father just chuckled. "Well, if you can't drink, why not sing about it?"
Tiras and Castwyn fidgeted on either side of Ziana as they all waited for the rider to pass them safely by. The closer he came, the more details Ziana could make out; lines of silver winked and flashed on his white clothing and cloak, and a white sword was slung up with his saddlebags. There was little question at this range that he was a Paladin. He was also a tall man, even while slouching in the saddle, and his hair gleamed like the trimmings of his cloak - but in gold.
"My oath, Ziana, that's not just a Paladin, that's a Wood Elf," Joharn muttered, half-surprised, half-nervous. "Northmen are fair, but not like that."
There hadn't been a Paladin in Ells Allyn since Ziana's father had been a boy, as he'd said. But there hadn't been a Wood Elf in Ells Allyn for … well, centuries, most likely. The soultree forests and their inhabitants were long gone from this area, so close to the Northern lands; Ells Allyn had none of the dreadful, bitter fighting with the fierce Wood Elven tribes that other regions of the East suffered through.
Ziana and her father stood watching with trepidation as the Paladin finally seemed to notice them down there on the roadside, breaking off his song and reining in for a moment. He was most definitely not human. His face was extremely angular, his cheekbones very prominent; the pointed tips of his long, thin ears showed through his metallic hair, and his slanting eyes had catlike pupils, a bright and vivid green.
But something about his expression made his face less alien than it might have been. He was smiling cheerfully, for one thing, and there was a lively glint in those strange eyes.
"Morning," he said in perfect Common, scratching the side of his long nose. "Am I anywhere near a place called Ells Allyn?"
"It's just down this road, master Paladin," replied Joharn.
"Ah, thank the Maiden! I've been wandering back-trails for days!" The Paladin leaned back in the saddle and sighed. "What's the inn like?"
"There are two in town, sir." Joharn paused again, this time with his old-man-impishness. "The White Cockerel has excellent beer, if not as good as Old Raylen's."
"Hey! Don't you get smart with a servant of the Light!" exclaimed the Elf, grinning crookedly. "I might decide not to slay any slavering demons you may have."
"Can't say as we've noticed any, but you never know."
"Actually, you usually do," the Paladin replied. "Very noticeable creatures, demons. You all look like you've been walking for a while - you wouldn't prefer to ride a little way, would you?"
"Thank you, sir, the offer's kind, but the town really is quite close," said Ziana quietly but quickly. Drawing this kind of attention today of all days seemed the worst kind of crazy. "Enjoy the Cockerel."
The Wood Elf tipped his head to one side, perhaps noticing Joharn's quizzical glance at her. "You're sure?"
"Yes, sir. Thank you."
He gave an unsurprised smile - it was probably not a rare reaction around here to an Elf - and an unruffled nod. "Well, thank you for the peace of mind. It'll be nice to finally see a town. Enjoy the morning."
Ziana's boys watched in wide-eyed silence as the Paladin rode on; Tiras didn't even grizzle when she firmly removed one of his fingers from his nose.
"A Paladin's a Paladin, love, whatever his eyes look like," said Joharn reproachfully once the man was just a small shape on the road ahead. "And the boys might at least have had a little fun."
"I know, Grandadda," she replied. "I wasn't worried about that. He stands out a little too much, that's all. I don’t think we want that today."
"You mean -"
"Yes, but it'll be fine. They're just resupplying in town, that's all."
Joharn nodded, not looking altogether happy about it. "Well, come along, my sprites. That's enough staring. Not far to go now."
As they followed the last arch of the river around the last hill and saw the small buildings reflected in the water, Ziana felt the first twinges of nervous anticipation. The thought of possibly seeing Ivrys wasn't quite enough to dispel all her fear of the brigands he kept company with now. She'd seen them once or twice before on their resupply trips, and although they never made serious trouble - serious trouble meant loss of local sympathy, and serious attention from the Old Lord's bandit-breakers - they were rough and desperate men, and they frightened her.
Walking by the outer wooden fishing-shanties by the river, Joharn leaned in quietly for a word, his thoughts obviously running in the same vein. "Are you absolutely sure we should be here today, love?"
"Ivrys said it should be fine," she replied quietly.
"Llonwyn told me there was some unpleasantness when they came into town last time. Danyllyn refused to shoe their horses for free."
"Yes, Ivrys mentioned that. He said the brigands will probably go and bully him around a little until he caves in. But I need the wool to get started on the boys' trews. I'll get you to entertain the boys well outside the square while they're all swearing and shoving each other, Father."
"You're simply a tyrant, Zia," he replied reproachfully. "I was hoping to stop in by the Cockerel just briefly."
"Of course you were."
Ells Allyn was busy this morning. Most of the bustle was from fishermen - they'd just brought in the midday catch, and the bawling from the quayside could be heard throughout the rest of town while the fish markets went on - but there were plenty of visitors, buying and selling, from the smaller towns and villages that peppered the hills of Ells Allyn.
Ziana left her father to entertain the boys down by the boats, wishing she had money to give them for a charcoaled fish lunch, and headed into the town square proper. The square wasn't quite as busy as usual today; stalls and proper stores did a lazy trade in candles, clothing, earthenware and suchlike. Today she could also see the travelling barrow where she'd once bought rarer herbs and plants for her old garden, and the sight of it stole away half of her lighter spirits.
Putting it firmly from her mind, she strode across the square to the stall where Magrun's wife sold their fleece, just under the tailor's awning. Charity was legendarily a weak point for Magrun and his wife, so Ziana knew she'd end up paying full price for the half-bale she wanted, but she made a determined attempt at beating down the price anyway.
The stall was also in perfect position to keep an eye on Danyllyn the farrier, whose noisy shopfront directly faced the tailor's awning, so Ziana's bargaining was rather distracted. She kept half an eye on the farrier's throughout, watching the big-shouldered shapes of the farrier and his oldest son as they went about their work.
They were probably already expecting some trouble today. Rumours of visits from the local brigands flew fast. She hoped they'd keep things as calm and simple as possible, though that was probably a bit too much to expect from fiery Danyllyn and his fierier Glonas.
While Ziana was watching, and only half-listening as Magrun's wife strayed from flat bargaining towards the borders of personal attack, she saw the head of a white horse emerge from the top street into the square. There was only time for a glimpse of the golden Elf-head beside it before the people ahead of Ziana were crowding into her line of sight, peering cautiously and curiously at this rarest of visitors.
For all the disturbance, she couldn't tell what the Paladin was doing until she heard his clear voice, half-obscured in all the murmurs and whispers. "Ah, two large fellows with hammers. Are you the farriers, or is the air in Ells Allyn just that good for you?"
"We're the farriers, master Paladin," chuckled Danyllyn's ironworks voice, thick and heavy. "I'm Danyllyn Sugredllan and this is my son Glonas. We'll be honoured to serve."
"Paid, too," the Paladin added.
"Don't you speak of that, sir," warned Glonas's voice - similar to his father's, but still lighter. Ziana was unsurprised; theirs was a particularly devout family. "The Maiden will pay us as she sees fit."
"I do love the Maiden, but she's notoriously tight with her money," came the Paladin's reply. "I'll make you a deal, shall I? If the work's not your best, I'll let you ask my silver lady for some of her coin."
Danyllyn only laughed again, his voice thick with pride this time. "In that case, master Paladin, you'd best prepare to pay, because even the Old Lord's farriers can't shoe a horse so well!"
Ziana became nervous as the watching crowd and the Paladin's voice failed to disappear, even when the sound of the hammer struck up in the background. Was Danyllyn keeping the man at hand on purpose, hoping he might deter the brigands' rumoured errand today, or was the Paladin simply talkative after a lonely road? It was something to wonder about, motive and outcome both … but not for long.
She had finally finished haggling unsuccessfully for her wool, standing just off to one side to watch with the rest of the crowd, when she heard the first anxious murmurs rising up like a wave. Some of the people began to ebb out of the square, a retreating tide, and many others retreated just as far as the sidelines, leaving Ziana with a clear view of Danyllyn's open workshop.
The Paladin's horse stood under shelter beside the anvil, its gleaming hindquarters facing onto the square, while heavy-set Danyllyn braced one of its hooves tight between his knees and tapped in the nails of a new shoe. The Paladin was only partly visible, standing on the other side of his mount and leaning folded arms on the saddle while he watched and talked. Glonas, however, was standing at the storefront with a frown on his square young face, watching the new group of men in the square whom everyone else was making way for.
There were eleven of the brigands in town today - fairly close to the full band of nineteen, Ziana knew. Hard living was writ on every wiry body; their cheeks were hollow, their topknots long and tangled, their leathers dirty and stinking even at this distance with mud and manure. They were all local men, though only Ivrys and three others he'd told Ziana about were from Ells Allyn itself; the rest were from the poorer outer villages, hungry for food and for respect.
Ziana spotted Ivrys quickly amongst the rest, even with his back turned, and suppressed the old urge to hurry over to him. Even under more benign circumstances than these, Ivrys the brigand was not Ivrys her husband.
"Father," called Glonas in a low voice, and Danyllyn tapped the last nail into the horse's shoe, releasing the hoof and standing up. As he came out of the open workshop, he traded the shoeing-hammer for a much larger one.
"Go inside and lock up your sisters," the farrier replied, and Glonas disappeared immediately into the house beside the workshop, taking the four front steps at one leap.
Danyllyn turned and folded his arms as the band of brigands collected outside the storefront and their leader stepped out - Kylton, the former crofter from the hills whom broad-shouldered Ivrys always talked about with such wary respect. He wasn't the tallest or the biggest of them all; all the muscle was in his eyes. This was a man such as only the leanest parts of the country could make, pared down hard by life and too dead to pain to feel it.
"Sorry, did we catch you busy, Danyllyn?" Kylton asked as Danyllyn strode right up to face him, looking down at the brigand from half a head's extra height.
"Want your horses shoed again, do you?" returned Danyllyn flatly. "I'm almost done. It'll cost you same as anyone else, just like last time."
"I've been meaning to talk to you about that, actually." The brigand paused for an interested glance into the workshop, looking over the gleaming mount and its owner both. The Paladin hadn't moved out of the workshop yet, but Ziana could see him standing up straight, his eyes on the men out front. "Wow, look at that! No wonder you're taking on airs lately - your clientele's improving!"
"Definitely improving on the last time you were here," the farrier said in a curt voice. "Hurry up and trot out your threats, Kylton. I'm getting bored."
"Just a moment, Danyllyn. I'm going to go say hello." The tight-built brigand turned away from the farrier and strolled into the workshop, whistling through his teeth at closer sight of the magnificent horse.
"That's a fine beast, master Paladin," he said with a smile, moving around to the stallion's sleek left flank and facing the Paladin across the saddle. "Any idea how many starving men and women it'd feed?"
"Horsemeat would taste foul, I'd think," the Paladin's voice replied.
"Cute." Only Kylton's mouth continued to smile. "You're right, I shouldn't be lecturing you about the commons. It's a hard and selfless life, being a Paladin, isn't it? Silvery clothes, a prince's mount, a kingdom's-ransom sword -"
"This sword is the only weapon that will settle for a demon," interrupted the Wood Elf in a brisk heard-this-before tone. "My horse is the only kind of mount that'll face a demon without bolting. And this uniform …"
The Paladin held his arms out and did a small pirouette in a swirl of cloth. "I don't know why we get the uniform, actually, but doesn't it suit me?"
At that, a few of the brigands laughed, and even edgy Danyllyn gave a slow grin. Ziana absently looked to see whether Ivrys was laughing too.
"You honestly find this funny?"
Kylton's voice cracked like a whip in the town square, freezing the rough chuckles of his fellows in their throats and killing any attempt at calming levity. Danyllyn gripped his hammer hard again. The Paladin, his face grave, looked back watchfully at the brigands' leader.
"I don't," Kylton said, his expression utterly cold. "Because my son and daughter died for want of one-tenth the money I'd get for selling that sparkly shirt. Because Wood Elves further east shot the only members of my family who might've done something to help. Because I don't like you, Paladin."
"I'm sorry," said the Paladin evenly. "I didn't intend any disrespect to your family. But whether we like each other or not, I don’t think it would be to your benefit or mine to take matters further."
"Sure. We're only here for business, Paladin," said Kylton, calm again. "You know how your Order have the right to wander around taking what you like in the name of the House? No money? Well, we've sort of adopted that."
"We take only what we absolutely need and only when we absolutely must," replied the Wood Elf flintily. "Especially when we happen to be Elves in a human settlement. I've paid Master Farrier here for his services today. Does that in any way assuage the towering chip on your shoulder?"
Elementals, man, don't talk to him like that! thought Ziana anxiously, trying now to catch Ivrys's eye. He still stood at the back, nervously playing with the hilt of his sword, showing no sign of seeing her.
A young mother hurried past Ziana, leaving the square with her small daughter's hand gripped tightly. Ziana had never been quite so pleased not to have her boys at her side.
Kylton, after a small pause, had begun to smile again, softly patting the white horse's flank. "That's good news, Paladin. It really is. It'll probably cover most of what Danyllyn owes me after last week."
Danyllyn flushed a dark, angry red. "You aren't the only one with children to feed, you bastard!"
"No, you are," replied the brigand. "Mine are dead, remember? Pay attention and don't take on so. You do well enough to spare me one week's takings. Motivate you to do as we ask next time, maybe."
'This will get you nowhere, man," the Paladin interrupted flatly. "Forget about his money. You won't have it."
"Yes, I will. I'll have your horse, too. Don't make me shave your head as well and sell it for some madam's pretty wig."
"My horse will do you no good. He won't obey you."
"Then we'll just have to see what horsemeat tastes like after all."
"The Maiden curse you, you sacrilegious filth!" snapped Danyllyn, his fist locked around his hammer so tightly that his heavy arm shook. "You'll not threaten a Paladin in my hearing! Get out of here before I crack your skull! Now!"
The Paladin shook his head flatly, staring out at the bristling farrier without approval. All remaining eyes in the square were fixed on the workshop now. "No-one's cracking any skulls or taking any money. Let it end here, all right? This isn't worth it."
"One more time," said Kylton, taking a step back now from the horse to give himself room. "The last time, actually. Pass over the reins while you still have both hands."
"Kylton," said one of the brigands - Ziana wanted it to be Ivrys, but it wasn't - "we don't want to be striking a Paladin."
"Call him an Elf, then," Kylton replied. The brigand moved back out of the workshop and drew the short sword on his belt; one or two of the others followed suit. Neither was Ivrys. "Danyllyn, if I don't see that hammer drop in the next two heartbeats, you'll probably end up either extremely regretful or dead as well."
"You'll not threaten a Paladin in my hearing!" roared Danyllyn again, and charged.
The big farrier's attack startled the last of the brigands into drawing their swords or lifting their cudgels, though not all lunged forward with Kylton to meet the charge. Danyllyn kept them at bay with heavy, two-handed swings of his hammer, yelling as they closed on him.
All at once a brilliant white light flared up behind the farrier and the brigands, and the watching townsfolk gasped. The Paladin had drawn his sword from its sheathing in his horse's harness, and it blazed like a streak of moonlight in his hand as he strode out of the workshop. The brigands backed off for a moment, blades and cudgels defensively raised.
"Fall away, Lais," called the grim-faced Elf, and the white stallion burst out of the workshop like the sun coming out from the clouds, wheeling off and cantering from the square. Some brigands watched the horse go with relief, others with outrage.
"My horse is gone," the Paladin said in a very different voice, cold with menace, his emerald eyes fiery. "There's nothing left here but bitter consequences. Go back where you came."
"Are you a Paladin?" asked Kylton quietly, his scarred young face lit up almost angelically in the light of the sword.
The Paladin's gaze did not shift. "You know I am."
"Just checking."
The brigand lunged. The Paladin lashed back Kylton's sword with a discordant parry, holding his bright blade defensively once more.
Kylton attacked again. The Paladin ducked aside. Kylton struck a third, fourth and fifth time, and the golden-haired Elf continued to parry or dodge each one, keeping bristling Danyllyn clear of the fight with bitten-off directions.
"There you are, lads," said Kylton coolly, glancing back quickly to the waiting, wavering brigands. "Aieren bless the Paladins, eh? He talks big, but he can't hit back."
"No, but I damn well can!" shouted Danyllyn. "Come on! If I have to be washing your blood off my doorstep all afternoon, so be it!"
'The odds aren't good, Danyllyn. Sorry."
"This is getting ridiculous," the Paladin said through clenched teeth. "If you absolutely must be fools, at least leave your own townsman out of it!"
"They're not leaving me out of anything, master Paladin," Danyllyn growled.
"Let's all stop yapping, shall we?" said Kylton.
The brigands attacked - at least, nine of them did. Three of them hung back, anxious and unwilling. In the confusion of the battle, Ziana simply couldn't tell whether her Ivrys was one of the three. Don't be there, love, don't be there, don't be there … but if you are, Elementals, don't die …
Danyllyn raged around the storefront like a summer squall, lashing out with total indiscrimination all around him; he wasn't a man trained for fighting, Aieren knew! The Paladin did his best to keep the farrier safe, darting in and out with those sweeping light-arcs tracing the path of his defensive sword. The meaning of the phrase 'Elf-quick' became fully clear as he moved and turned, but even Ziana couldn't fail to see how hopeless the odds must eventually prove.
The Paladin was visibly trying to steer himself and Danyllyn back towards the farrier's workshop or house - a refuge and quick end to the fight - but the brigands continued to block the way, and defensive parries and sweeps naturally couldn't hope to aggressively open a way through. Couldn't he just swing and try not to land a lethal hit? wondered Ziana, only to have another part of her mind cry, No! Suppose he did, and it was Ivrys who felt it ..?
A few of the watchers in the square were shifting uncomfortably now. Ziana could see it and understand it. Should someone do something? What was to be done? It was all very well to speak of courage in another's trouble, but this was a terrifying, confronting spectacle. And what would become of one's own family if worst came to worst ..?
Money and a horse weren't worth it … why did you two make trouble?
"Stop swinging out! Get to your house!" the Paladin called out breathlessly to Danyllyn, but the nine willing brigands were closing in fully, now, and Kylton was - if nothing else - a good leader. Ziana gasped with the rest of the numb spectators as Danyllyn let out a roar of agony somewhere in the press and went down.
"Enough, that's enough -!" shouted the Paladin, the only sign of his presence the glow that silhouetted the men around him. Whatever else he shouted was drowned out by a loud cry from the farrier's house: "Get away from him, you bastards!"
Ziana was no longer watching, covering her eyes against the scene, but she heard the pounding footsteps of Danyllyn's older son as he finally came flying protectively from the house.
She heard another sound, much like the sound the carving knife had made when she'd stuck it into the hind of beef Ivrys had once brought her. Then all she could hear was Danyllyn again, howling like a speared wolf.
She uncovered her eyes slightly. She had to. Glonas had gone down right in front of the steps of their house, his throat a red mess, the hammer he'd grabbed lying useless beside him. Danyllyn was howling not from any new wound Ziana could see but rather from the sight of it, on his knees and crawling for the steps, his own hammer also abandoned on the ground. Three of the brigands had moved back to let him room - perhaps Glonas had only been struck by accident, whatever little that meant.
The Paladin had gone down in the meantime as well, surrounded by five of the other brigands, one of them Kylton. Only when Ziana concentrated through the horrible din could she make out what the Elf was shouting: "Let me through! Just for a moment! Let me through!"
She couldn't hear what Kylton said in reply. She only saw the heavy kick that the brigand came lashing in with, and the three after that.
Finally Kylton turned and went back into the workshop with three of his men, making no move towards Danyllyn and his fallen son. The whole square was transfixed with horror. No-one spoke. Ziana could see Ivrys now, standing stock-still outside Danyllyn's shop, but she didn't even dare look at his face.
Danyllyn had stopped howling now. He'd reached his son and gathered him in close, hugging him to his chest with the blood soaking his dirty leather apron.
The Paladin was also moving now, coughing out erratic breaths after Kylton's attentions, making his slow way over to reach the pair. Danyllyn didn't look up as the Paladin reached in to feel for the boy's pulse. He clearly knew already what the Paladin's test soon told him.
The Elf lowered his head, murmuring something impossible to make out across the distance, and then laid a hand instead on the deep, ugly gash spilling an ugly river from Danyllyn's side. After a few more moments, he took his bloody hand away. There was no visible change until a heavy flush of crimson began to soak through the Paladin's white tunic.
"Why didn't you kill the bastards?" asked Danyllyn suddenly, and then bent once more over his dead son, sobbing so low that only small catches of the sound could be heard.
If the Paladin answered, Ziana could not hear it at all.
Footsteps. Kylton came out of Danyllyn's workshop again, a crude washcloth full of jingling coins in one hand, and looked down at the farrier for a moment.
"I'm sorry for your loss, Danyllyn," he said. "Means nothing, I know. We'll call accounts settled from here on in. - Lads, we're leaving."
The brigands gathered readily together as one group and hurried away from the farrier's, leaving him with his son. All eyes in the square watched them leave. And even then, even after the last man in leathers had been well and truly lost from view, for a long time no-one could bear to cross the distance; in fact some were already slowly drifting out of the square.
No, I can't leave, thought Ziana. I couldn't help, but I can't leave, either.
Hesitantly, one slow step at a time, Ziana left the shelter of the tailor's awning and approached the farrier's storefront. "Danyllyn …"
"Don't you talk to me," Danyllyn snarled, still huddled with his son. The Paladin was sitting on his knees behind them, head down, unresponsive to Ziana. "Don't any of you come near me. I saw your Ivrys. Did you enjoy the play, you brigand's bitch?"
It stung. But Ziana forced herself not to flee, forced the tears to stay locked behind her eyes. "Don't say that. No human being could enjoy that."
"No human being could move, either! There were eleven of those slime! Eleven! Why did you all stand back and watch my boy die?"
"Where are the warriors in Ells Allyn, Danyllyn? There was nothing anyone could have done for you except die and leave their children to starve …"
"Then you can all get out of my sight for your children's sake. There's nothing you can do for my child now."
Ziana wiped at her eyes and turned away, stricken and yet very willing to do as he said.
"Stop! Wait!"
His gravelly voice rose sharply. When she turned again, she saw for herself what had prompted the change of heart: the Paladin had passed out where he'd sat, slumping sideways onto the ground, bleeding freely after that mysterious healing.
"You called yourself a healer once," the farrier said bitterly.
She started at the implication. "Danyllyn, the fire … I still don’t know whether I have the supplies to -"
"You'll damn well do it, or the Maiden curse you and your two miserable brigand rats!" flared Danyllyn.
Ziana flinched back, frightened by the ferocity in the big man's eyes. "I … I will. But I can't get him to my house on my own …"
"Collar the nearest of these worthless cowards -" Danyllyn waved a crimson hand around with loathing contempt at all the nervous eyes still watching - "and get them to help you. And you know what? If he dies, 'healer', I might just become a brigand myself - maybe even the house-burning type. Get out of here!"
* * * * *
Ziana was deeply, deeply afraid. She didn't know whether or not Danyllyn was capable of carrying out his last threat - she hoped not - but either way, the more pressing danger by far was food. A fifth mouth to feed was beyond her means; nor could she spare the time that an invalid would take away from her vital herb- and mushroom-gathering. She made little enough from it as matters stood.
There was no choice in it, though. She could do nothing but set the Paladin aright as quickly as possible.
With the assistance of Tellys the cooper and his cart, she brought the wounded Paladin home and put him to bed on her own pallet. When her father arrived home with the boys later in the day, fearful and anxious from all the flying stories in town, she forestalled his questions by sending him down to the river for water. Tiras and Castwyn assailed her with goggle-eyed queries in their grandfather's stead as she bustled around, running in and out underfoot for looks at the unexpected visitor, until finally she had to send them outside to play.
Joharn came back soon afterwards with the water, setting the bucket down beside the pallet. "What in sweet Aieren's name happened, love? I heard all kinds of wild madness running around -"
"The brigands went to Danyllyn and demanded money after last week's act-up," Ziana replied shortly. Gingerly she pulled up the Paladin's blood-sodden tunic, revealing the streaming gash beneath the undamaged cloth. It was a very ugly sight. "The Paladin was there. He tried to stop them. Things went very bad."
"Is Danyllyn all right?"
"He's alive, but his oldest was killed."
"Young Glonas? Oh, no." Joharn shook his hoary old head. "That's cruel."
Ziana kept her eyes firmly fixed on the bleeding wound. "Pass me the patching-rags, father."
"You know," he said in a slow reluctant voice, bringing them over, "noble though it was of you to take the Paladin on, I don't think we can afford to care for him terribly long, can we? Why don't I fetch Tellys back and we take him to the healer in Ainslieve?"
"Ainslieve is two days out, father. He'll die before then without at least a bit of basic care. I'll just patch him up over the next day or two and then ask someone like Tellys to help him on his way."
Ziana began padding the Paladin's wounded side with the precious clothes-mending rags, hoping they were clean enough. There didn't look to be enough time to boil them clean before he bled out. It was a very grave injury, that much was certain - a rent cut out by the tip of a sword, four or five inches wide and more than an inch deep.
Another wound on his leg was less serious - just a flesh wound slashing across the back of his right thigh, perhaps a little of the muscle - but the two injuries were conspiring to spill a fair amount of blood. Luckily Kylton's vindictive kicking didn't seem to have left any broken bones - just ugly, red-black bruises and swelling.
"I'll go watch the boys," said Joharn, rising slowly.
"Thank you, Father." Ziana finished washing the Paladin's bloody leg as well as she could, then padded and bound it like his side.
Then she started to tear up the oldest of her two dresses. I'll have to start the fire and boil the water … I think I have some linleaf, but no icemint or isladda … perhaps I could go get some from the riverside …
If she closed her eyes, it almost became an older, happier time. She could almost smell the herbs drying as they hung from the ceiling, hear Ivrys asking where she wanted the water basin …
But to open her eyes was to see the wounded man - the wounded Paladin - whom her husband and the brigands had attacked, whom half of Ells Allyn had stood and watched while he stood up for one of their own, whom Ziana simply could not feed for too long if she wanted to keep her own family healthy.
Ziana dashed away a hot tear from her face as she continued to tear up new bandages, hearing her boys yelling and tumbling around outside.
* * * * *
By the time night fell, Ziana had done all that one afternoon could allow. She'd found no icemint, but there'd been plenty of bitter isladda down by the riverbank - enough to make a weak tincture with some yarrow to clean and dress the Paladin's wounds. The bandages made from her dress had been boiled, replacing the first rags. Pain had driven the Paladin in and out of consciousness several times as she'd worked, but with a little belladonna Ziana had left him sleeping, his chest lightly rising and falling in shallow, wound-favouring breaths.
All that attended to, she now knelt just outside the front door with the washtub, rinsing the Paladin's bloody white tunic as much as she could with some princet in the water. The silver trimming of the cloth winked and gleamed like the moonlight rippling over the river.
Joharn came out of the house and looked down at her. "The boys are in their beds, my princess."
"Thank you, father. You can go to sleep too - nothing left to do tonight."
"I was hoping you'd say that." He stooped to kiss her breeze-tousled hair. "Don't retire too late yourself, now. You've seen to the Paladin; he won't grudge you his clothes."
She smiled absently, murmuring a 'goodnight' as he went back inside. For a long time the rhythmic slosh-slosh of the washwater, the shrill cricket-song and the steady background murmur of the river replaced all human conversation, leaving her to raise her sweaty face to the summer evening breeze and think.
The unexpected sound of footsteps approaching from the river made her lift her head, her heart beating a little faster at the thought of vengeful Danyllyn prowling around. But she could not have mistaken the tall, big-shouldered silhouette slowly walking up towards her straggling herb garden, even in the tricky moonlight. "Ivrys!"
Ivrys opened his arms and caught her as she ran down the gentle slope, still dripping with princet-water. "Zia-star … I'm glad you're awake …"
"What are you doing here?" she asked, gripping his shoulders hard to make sure he couldn't mistake that for disapproval.
"I want to sit down," he said distractedly. "Can we sit?"
They sat down on the ground, right there beside the thyme in the garden, facing the river. Ziana brushed her fingers gently over the square contours of Ivrys's face, letting them rasp over the messy whiskers he'd begun to sprout. She could see at least half his reason for being there in his hooded, troubled eyes.
"Why couldn't I have been born one of the Old Lords?" he asked, his eyes on the river. "We'd never want for anything."
"You'd look foolish with an oakleaf crown," she replied. "You've only half a lord's beard."
"Well, a horse-breeder, then. Lots of money and we'd ride whenever we pleased."
"Herbs smell much nicer than horses, love."
Ivrys was silent for a moment. Then he said, "Danyllyn's boy died, didn't he?"
"… Yes, love."
"I wasn't the one who struck him, you know."
"I know, love."
"You hoped, Zia."
He drew in a slow breath, thirsty for air and calm. "The food? Have you been eating well?"
"I want you home, Ivrys," Ziana said quietly.
"I don't want to be away, Zia. You know that. We're better off like this. But …"
Ziana caught that 'but' and held it tightly in her mind, daring to fan a hope that hadn't been there before. She didn't want to speak for fear of blowing it away.
"Kylton has a lot of demons on his back," said Ivrys slowly. "I've seen … that is, the caravans … they fight back, sometimes, and some men have … but this is our own town …"
She leaned in and kissed him, silencing the stumbling words. "I want you home, Ivrys," she repeated.
Ivrys kissed her back, almost as if in relief, and then drew away, pulling her up to her feet with him. "I know. Maybe. Let's talk a little more inside."
The warm taste of joy filled her mouth as she turned and walked slowly with her husband back towards the house, leaning her head against his shoulder with her heart singing all the Elementals' praises. A hundred other thoughts occupied her mind, so it came as a sudden surprise when Ivrys stopped sharply short of the doorway.
"Zia … is that ..?"
He bent down over the washtub, pulling out a corner of the Paladin's sodden tunic from the pungent water. The bright-pointed silver star blazoned on the chest flashed in the moonlight.
"I brought the Paladin here," she confirmed, smoothing back his topknot. "I've treated his wounds and set him to -"
"We can't care for him, Zia!" Ivrys exclaimed, letting the tunic splash back into the water. "In onlder and better times, yes, but not now! He needs to go to Ainslieve."
"He's too injured to move yet, love," replied Ziana soothingly, "but as soon as a little of his strength's back, we can send him on."
"How long?"
"Tomorrow. Only tomorrow."
"You're not giving me the black with the bright, Zia. What if he gets worse?"
"He won't get worse! There's no -"
She broke off, seeing Ivrys clench his eyes shut in bitter regret. "No, listen to me, Ivrys, I've taken good care -"
"I can't come home yet, Zia-star," sighed Ivrys, softly shaking his head. "There's not enough food to be safe. And if the worst happens, we can't afford to feed his extra mouth and mine."
"We can! We'll manage! Ivrys, please …"
"A little longer, Ziana. Just a little longer." Looking weary all over again, he pulled her in for a last, tight hug, vainly wiping away all the tears that replenished just as quickly on her face. "I'll see you after the next caravan, love."
"Ivrys, don't leave!" she cried after him, but he didn't turn, striding back down towards the river and then westward towards the woods.
Silver winked in the washtub as she sank down beside it in fresh despair, clenching two handfuls of the dirt. For a long, long time she crouched that way, willing the tunic in the tub and its owner both gone.
Then she straightened, slowly brushed the dirt from her hands, and went back to washing.
Every time I disappear, you people suddenly do lots of stuff on purpose.
Don't think I haven't noticed.
As for me, I'm sorry for my goneness (especially for missing my Thursday chat, Sarah! boo! :/), but I've been doing my Easter assignments. They're all done now except the biggest one, because why would I do the biggest one first?
This morning I rewarded myself for being nominally good with writing time. I started on 'Fire-Heart', but unfortunately I have realised a Problem. It will take me quite some time to think about, probably. So I finished 'Wounds' instead, because all the unfinished things lying around are really starting to annoy me.
The story is set well before 'Seeking', it's long, and it contains absolutely no heroes, Rannon included. That's pretty much all I have to say about it, really. If you don't like stories without heroes, you won't like it, so ... um ... don't read it. ;)
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
"We're all coming into town to resupply tomorrow," Ivrys said, leaning in to kiss Ziana's forehead. Ziana brushed the dark tail of his topknot behind his shoulder, her lip bitten as the conversation and visit both approached a close. "You can go into town, but don't hang around Danyllyn's. I think Kylton is going to have words with him today, and that's not the kind of language our boys need to hear."
"I'll stay away," promised Ziana in a low voice.
Ivrys watched her carefully, his rich brown eyes starting to take on a familiar, exasperated glint. "What's the matter?"
"You know what's the matter."
"Aieren! Why do I hear this every time? I'm feeding our boys, Ziana. None of this is anything a fat caravaner can't spare."
"Harda said a man died last month."
"And Harda's nephew died of the lung-rot the month before that. Too bad they didn't have the money to take him to Ainslieve, isn't it? That's not going to happen to my sons."
Ziana pulled her hands from her husband's. "Unless you die."
"The odds are even that we'd all starve next winter anyway! Be strong, now. I won't die. I'll be careful. Very careful." His arms reached around her from behind, squeezing her to the sour-smelling leather jerkin that had replaced his workman's hessian shirt for almost a year now. "I love you, Zia-star. You and both my little comet-tails. I want us all to have the life we deserve."
"Half of those men are animals, Ivrys," said Ziana heavily, but she turned to return his embrace all the same, desperate to keep him as long as she could.
"Want and pain make all men animals, Zia-star," he murmured into the crown of her long hair. "I'll be careful. You won't lose me. And as soon as we have enough to buy all the seeds and plants and equipment you need, I'll come back and live off your work for a while!"
Ziana stood still, feeling his laughter soughing through her hair. "Perhaps we could just try that now."
"You know we can't," replied Ivrys shortly, his laugh fading. "I have to go, Zia. Kiss my comets for me. And eat the food I brought you - you look half a skeleton."
He kissed her goodbye, wiped a spilling tear from her face with his thumb and then walked down the path from the house, disappearing for what would most likely be another three weeks or more.
Tired and downhearted, Ziana picked up the sacks of food Ivrys had left and took them inside, hanging up the goat-hind, stacking cheeses and stowing the small bags of flour and oats in a lower cupboard. Then she sat by the window and looked out at her sparse herb-garden for a while, trying to imagine it full and thriving beside the reedy riverbank, her boys strong and never hungry …
As if conjured by her thoughts, the noisy voices of the boys floated up to the house on the late afternoon breeze, jabbering like a pair of excited magpies. It wasn't too long until she saw them running along the river towards the house, pursued by their struggling, huffing grandfather.
Tiras made it through the door first. Castwyn had made a forced stop to pick up the tacklebox he'd dropped. "Dadda! Where's Dadda?"
Ziana went over and picked him up, playing with the little topknot of his hair. "Oh, darling, I'm sorry. Dadda had to go. You'll see him next time, hey?"
As expected, Tiras's dark eyes - infant mirrors of his father's - began to well up with tears. Ziana wiped them away with her thumb, as Ivrys had done for her, then kissed him again and put him down. "Don't cry, my darling! Dadda sends his love. He's left us lots of food, too - we'll have a wonderful dinner tonight."
She looked over to the doorway, where older Castwyn was now standing with angry, teary eyes, and tried to wave him inside, but he turned and ran back out into the yard instead. Her father Joharn stood back from the doorway to let him leave, still gasping for breath, and looked at his daughter sadly.
"How did he look?" Joharn panted, making his way to the other chair and collapsing into it.
"Well enough," replied Ziana neutrally, watching weepy Tiras wander around the hanging meat-haunch.
Joharn sighed - at least, he might have somewhere in the midst of all his panting. "He'll be back for you, my darling," the old bard promised. "He loves you and the boys far too much to get himself killed."
"Love's no protection," muttered Ziana. She didn't share her father's fond fancies. "He's left quite a lot of food this time. Brigandry certainly pays better than herb-growing and mushroom-selling."
"And harping," Joharn replied with his impish old grin, taking it as a joke. "Don't you worry, my darling girl - as soon as you've the opportunity to get all the herbs and materials you need, your healing craft will do more than well enough for your family. No fire will keep us down for long, eh?"
Ziana hated even the mention of the fire. She'd lost her first home to those flames, and her husband too - not in death, but in 'the pauper's last gambit', as her father so flippantly put it.
"Any money?" asked Joharn hopefully.
"Some," she replied. "I'm going to town for some wool tomorrow. I can see Tiras's little rump through his trews."
Tiras gave a very small, watery giggle at the 'naughty' mention of rumps and wiggled his a bit.
"Go call for your brother, love. We'll have a little bread and cheese."
Joharn leaned back in his brittle chair and stretched, carefully, scratching his thinning grey hair and fiddling with the ties of his topknot. "Things will get better soon, my darling. You'll see."
Ziana looked out the window at her herb garden and her boys. "Fetch me one of the cheeses, please, father."
* * * * *
The last two weeks prior to Ivrys's visit had been particularly meagre, as the cycle usually went, so it was a rare comfort to go to bed satiated. She rose refreshed in body if not in spirit the next morning, checking the cupboards jealously for any signs of thieving mice, cleaning about her tiny house in the ambient predawn greylight.
It was hard not to bitterly compare this place to her old home. Two small rooms in exchange for three; a thriving herbal garden and thriving healer's trade in exchange for four miserable rows of common plants and a trade in scavenged mushrooms; misery and hunger in exchange for that golden ideal, enough.
They'd rebuilt in the same area - the burnt-out shell of her old home was just an hour's walk south over the hills - but it couldn't have been a more different place. Her children and her father slept in the same room that served as the kitchen, scullery and workroom, separated only by a ratty old curtain, because it was warmer out here when winter came. And the cold back room was made colder still by the fact that Ziana always slept there alone.
There was absolutely no point railing at the unfairness of times lost - it would change nothing, she knew - but sometimes it was just too hard not to.
Extra attention to the morning chores helped, and so too did the boys, when they woke. They were both very excited about going into town. Castwyn had forgotten about yesterday's angry sulk; Tiras ran about while Joharn chased him around, trying to make him put on his pants. Even Ziana found herself looking forward to it. She had no intention of lingering near Danyllyn the farrier with her boys, as she'd been warned, but she might well see Ivrys from a safe distance when the brigands came to town.
Their horse had long since been sold; the trip into quiet Ells Allyn was always on foot now. It didn't take too long to walk to town, but carrying even a small bale of wool back was bound to make it longer - not to mention the added effort with two young boys. They always enjoyed it, though, and they seemed like they needed a bit of cheering up after missing their Dadda the day before.
Walking down to the riverbank, they all began to follow it east along the older pig-track that passed their house, taking hunters to the woods in the opposite direction. The lazy river Lésmé stirred only sullenly at this point in her flow, and indeed almost down her entire length; not until she reached the Source River itself, much further south, did she ever stir herself to rush and churn like other waters.
Ziana watched Lésmé without any real longing as her boys ran in circles and threw fallen hoarnuts around. Her father had always told her marvellous stories about his younger travels in the East, but she didn't feel a similar need to go and to see. She'd already had everything she'd wanted in her old house on the hill; all she really wanted in life now was to have it back.
"Ah, you have no idea how much I miss old Butterfly," her father muttered to her as the walk went on, stopping to prise a stone out from the cracked sole of his shoe. "She was a marvel, wasn't she? We'd be there already."
"Not with the boys," Ziana pointed out, amused. "You'd be right here leading the horse."
"Eh. So I would. Well, for all the other times, then."
"I think it's good for you not to have a horse. It means I don't lose you to the Cockerel quite so often." She kissed him on the cheek as he growled something dire and then bent to pick up Tiras, tugging plaintively on her skirts.
When the trees, already thin on the old pig-track, finally began to give way before fields, they knew Ells Allyn was not far away - just behind the next hill in one looser, wider slip of the Lésmé. Ziana's arms were sore from carrying weary Tiras; her littlest tired quickly on these walks.
As she paused to try to shift his weight properly, smiling an absent smile at Castwyn's optimistic offers to pig-a-back his brother the rest of the way, the distant, hill-thrown snatches of a voice became faintly audible. Ziana glanced at her father, made nervous by the hints of a raised voice, but he just grinned at her.
"Someone's singing, sweetling," he said, approvingly. "Hear how it rises and falls?"
"Who'd be singing?" she asked warily, looking back the way they'd come.
"Don't know. Perhaps Magrun has caught us up on that old nag of his, and he's just managed to get the fox that's kept taking his lambs."
Ziana pursed her lips and moved on again, ignoring her sore arms, but the singer at their back was most definitely riding a horse - if slowly. Soon the voice could be heard quite clearly, and if that strong taproom sweep was raspy old Magrun, Ziana wanted to know which miraculous fountain he'd drunk from.
"Oh! the woods of the East are uncommonly fair
As they roll from the hills to Ffányr;
But full gladly I'd go, never see them again,
In return for Old Raylen's brown beer!
"Ah! the seas of the South face on white diamond shores
And lap warm at fresh Saillbrene's pier;
But not all the grey gulls of the ocean's own sky
Could yet keep me from Old Raylen's beer!
"Now the brew of Old Raylen's true marvellous stuff;
It can turn iron black, it can melt gems and gold,
It makes lions of mice and young men of the old -
Just one stout little tankard is never enough!
"Hey! the peaks of the North house the Lord of the Air
Yes, he's throned atop Icemantle's spear …"
Ziana ushered her boys out of the way as the rider finally came into view. He was a lone man on a horse, only lightly cloaked for the weather, his reins held slack in one hand so his mount could walk at its own pace. It was a truly magnificent beast, its coat, mane and tail all a vivid silvery-white, just a little foiled by the darker dust of the road. There was no horse its worth within the reaches of Ells Allyn, that was certain.
The brigands will have him if he roves about too thoughtlessly, Ziana thought, trying not to imagine what sort of money her Ivrys might bring home after stealing such a beast. He stands out like a hilltop beacon - white horse, white cloak …
"Sweet Lord Aieren," Ziana said out loud, staring at the approaching white horse. "Grandadda, I think that's a Paladin."
"You think so, Zia?" Joharn shaded his crow-footed eyes and peered down the road. "He's certainly wearing white. I can't make much else out. Elementals, I haven't seen a Paladin since I was Castwyn's age!"
"That's a bit of a strange song for a Paladin to be singing, mind."
Her father just chuckled. "Well, if you can't drink, why not sing about it?"
Tiras and Castwyn fidgeted on either side of Ziana as they all waited for the rider to pass them safely by. The closer he came, the more details Ziana could make out; lines of silver winked and flashed on his white clothing and cloak, and a white sword was slung up with his saddlebags. There was little question at this range that he was a Paladin. He was also a tall man, even while slouching in the saddle, and his hair gleamed like the trimmings of his cloak - but in gold.
"My oath, Ziana, that's not just a Paladin, that's a Wood Elf," Joharn muttered, half-surprised, half-nervous. "Northmen are fair, but not like that."
There hadn't been a Paladin in Ells Allyn since Ziana's father had been a boy, as he'd said. But there hadn't been a Wood Elf in Ells Allyn for … well, centuries, most likely. The soultree forests and their inhabitants were long gone from this area, so close to the Northern lands; Ells Allyn had none of the dreadful, bitter fighting with the fierce Wood Elven tribes that other regions of the East suffered through.
Ziana and her father stood watching with trepidation as the Paladin finally seemed to notice them down there on the roadside, breaking off his song and reining in for a moment. He was most definitely not human. His face was extremely angular, his cheekbones very prominent; the pointed tips of his long, thin ears showed through his metallic hair, and his slanting eyes had catlike pupils, a bright and vivid green.
But something about his expression made his face less alien than it might have been. He was smiling cheerfully, for one thing, and there was a lively glint in those strange eyes.
"Morning," he said in perfect Common, scratching the side of his long nose. "Am I anywhere near a place called Ells Allyn?"
"It's just down this road, master Paladin," replied Joharn.
"Ah, thank the Maiden! I've been wandering back-trails for days!" The Paladin leaned back in the saddle and sighed. "What's the inn like?"
"There are two in town, sir." Joharn paused again, this time with his old-man-impishness. "The White Cockerel has excellent beer, if not as good as Old Raylen's."
"Hey! Don't you get smart with a servant of the Light!" exclaimed the Elf, grinning crookedly. "I might decide not to slay any slavering demons you may have."
"Can't say as we've noticed any, but you never know."
"Actually, you usually do," the Paladin replied. "Very noticeable creatures, demons. You all look like you've been walking for a while - you wouldn't prefer to ride a little way, would you?"
"Thank you, sir, the offer's kind, but the town really is quite close," said Ziana quietly but quickly. Drawing this kind of attention today of all days seemed the worst kind of crazy. "Enjoy the Cockerel."
The Wood Elf tipped his head to one side, perhaps noticing Joharn's quizzical glance at her. "You're sure?"
"Yes, sir. Thank you."
He gave an unsurprised smile - it was probably not a rare reaction around here to an Elf - and an unruffled nod. "Well, thank you for the peace of mind. It'll be nice to finally see a town. Enjoy the morning."
Ziana's boys watched in wide-eyed silence as the Paladin rode on; Tiras didn't even grizzle when she firmly removed one of his fingers from his nose.
"A Paladin's a Paladin, love, whatever his eyes look like," said Joharn reproachfully once the man was just a small shape on the road ahead. "And the boys might at least have had a little fun."
"I know, Grandadda," she replied. "I wasn't worried about that. He stands out a little too much, that's all. I don’t think we want that today."
"You mean -"
"Yes, but it'll be fine. They're just resupplying in town, that's all."
Joharn nodded, not looking altogether happy about it. "Well, come along, my sprites. That's enough staring. Not far to go now."
As they followed the last arch of the river around the last hill and saw the small buildings reflected in the water, Ziana felt the first twinges of nervous anticipation. The thought of possibly seeing Ivrys wasn't quite enough to dispel all her fear of the brigands he kept company with now. She'd seen them once or twice before on their resupply trips, and although they never made serious trouble - serious trouble meant loss of local sympathy, and serious attention from the Old Lord's bandit-breakers - they were rough and desperate men, and they frightened her.
Walking by the outer wooden fishing-shanties by the river, Joharn leaned in quietly for a word, his thoughts obviously running in the same vein. "Are you absolutely sure we should be here today, love?"
"Ivrys said it should be fine," she replied quietly.
"Llonwyn told me there was some unpleasantness when they came into town last time. Danyllyn refused to shoe their horses for free."
"Yes, Ivrys mentioned that. He said the brigands will probably go and bully him around a little until he caves in. But I need the wool to get started on the boys' trews. I'll get you to entertain the boys well outside the square while they're all swearing and shoving each other, Father."
"You're simply a tyrant, Zia," he replied reproachfully. "I was hoping to stop in by the Cockerel just briefly."
"Of course you were."
Ells Allyn was busy this morning. Most of the bustle was from fishermen - they'd just brought in the midday catch, and the bawling from the quayside could be heard throughout the rest of town while the fish markets went on - but there were plenty of visitors, buying and selling, from the smaller towns and villages that peppered the hills of Ells Allyn.
Ziana left her father to entertain the boys down by the boats, wishing she had money to give them for a charcoaled fish lunch, and headed into the town square proper. The square wasn't quite as busy as usual today; stalls and proper stores did a lazy trade in candles, clothing, earthenware and suchlike. Today she could also see the travelling barrow where she'd once bought rarer herbs and plants for her old garden, and the sight of it stole away half of her lighter spirits.
Putting it firmly from her mind, she strode across the square to the stall where Magrun's wife sold their fleece, just under the tailor's awning. Charity was legendarily a weak point for Magrun and his wife, so Ziana knew she'd end up paying full price for the half-bale she wanted, but she made a determined attempt at beating down the price anyway.
The stall was also in perfect position to keep an eye on Danyllyn the farrier, whose noisy shopfront directly faced the tailor's awning, so Ziana's bargaining was rather distracted. She kept half an eye on the farrier's throughout, watching the big-shouldered shapes of the farrier and his oldest son as they went about their work.
They were probably already expecting some trouble today. Rumours of visits from the local brigands flew fast. She hoped they'd keep things as calm and simple as possible, though that was probably a bit too much to expect from fiery Danyllyn and his fierier Glonas.
While Ziana was watching, and only half-listening as Magrun's wife strayed from flat bargaining towards the borders of personal attack, she saw the head of a white horse emerge from the top street into the square. There was only time for a glimpse of the golden Elf-head beside it before the people ahead of Ziana were crowding into her line of sight, peering cautiously and curiously at this rarest of visitors.
For all the disturbance, she couldn't tell what the Paladin was doing until she heard his clear voice, half-obscured in all the murmurs and whispers. "Ah, two large fellows with hammers. Are you the farriers, or is the air in Ells Allyn just that good for you?"
"We're the farriers, master Paladin," chuckled Danyllyn's ironworks voice, thick and heavy. "I'm Danyllyn Sugredllan and this is my son Glonas. We'll be honoured to serve."
"Paid, too," the Paladin added.
"Don't you speak of that, sir," warned Glonas's voice - similar to his father's, but still lighter. Ziana was unsurprised; theirs was a particularly devout family. "The Maiden will pay us as she sees fit."
"I do love the Maiden, but she's notoriously tight with her money," came the Paladin's reply. "I'll make you a deal, shall I? If the work's not your best, I'll let you ask my silver lady for some of her coin."
Danyllyn only laughed again, his voice thick with pride this time. "In that case, master Paladin, you'd best prepare to pay, because even the Old Lord's farriers can't shoe a horse so well!"
Ziana became nervous as the watching crowd and the Paladin's voice failed to disappear, even when the sound of the hammer struck up in the background. Was Danyllyn keeping the man at hand on purpose, hoping he might deter the brigands' rumoured errand today, or was the Paladin simply talkative after a lonely road? It was something to wonder about, motive and outcome both … but not for long.
She had finally finished haggling unsuccessfully for her wool, standing just off to one side to watch with the rest of the crowd, when she heard the first anxious murmurs rising up like a wave. Some of the people began to ebb out of the square, a retreating tide, and many others retreated just as far as the sidelines, leaving Ziana with a clear view of Danyllyn's open workshop.
The Paladin's horse stood under shelter beside the anvil, its gleaming hindquarters facing onto the square, while heavy-set Danyllyn braced one of its hooves tight between his knees and tapped in the nails of a new shoe. The Paladin was only partly visible, standing on the other side of his mount and leaning folded arms on the saddle while he watched and talked. Glonas, however, was standing at the storefront with a frown on his square young face, watching the new group of men in the square whom everyone else was making way for.
There were eleven of the brigands in town today - fairly close to the full band of nineteen, Ziana knew. Hard living was writ on every wiry body; their cheeks were hollow, their topknots long and tangled, their leathers dirty and stinking even at this distance with mud and manure. They were all local men, though only Ivrys and three others he'd told Ziana about were from Ells Allyn itself; the rest were from the poorer outer villages, hungry for food and for respect.
Ziana spotted Ivrys quickly amongst the rest, even with his back turned, and suppressed the old urge to hurry over to him. Even under more benign circumstances than these, Ivrys the brigand was not Ivrys her husband.
"Father," called Glonas in a low voice, and Danyllyn tapped the last nail into the horse's shoe, releasing the hoof and standing up. As he came out of the open workshop, he traded the shoeing-hammer for a much larger one.
"Go inside and lock up your sisters," the farrier replied, and Glonas disappeared immediately into the house beside the workshop, taking the four front steps at one leap.
Danyllyn turned and folded his arms as the band of brigands collected outside the storefront and their leader stepped out - Kylton, the former crofter from the hills whom broad-shouldered Ivrys always talked about with such wary respect. He wasn't the tallest or the biggest of them all; all the muscle was in his eyes. This was a man such as only the leanest parts of the country could make, pared down hard by life and too dead to pain to feel it.
"Sorry, did we catch you busy, Danyllyn?" Kylton asked as Danyllyn strode right up to face him, looking down at the brigand from half a head's extra height.
"Want your horses shoed again, do you?" returned Danyllyn flatly. "I'm almost done. It'll cost you same as anyone else, just like last time."
"I've been meaning to talk to you about that, actually." The brigand paused for an interested glance into the workshop, looking over the gleaming mount and its owner both. The Paladin hadn't moved out of the workshop yet, but Ziana could see him standing up straight, his eyes on the men out front. "Wow, look at that! No wonder you're taking on airs lately - your clientele's improving!"
"Definitely improving on the last time you were here," the farrier said in a curt voice. "Hurry up and trot out your threats, Kylton. I'm getting bored."
"Just a moment, Danyllyn. I'm going to go say hello." The tight-built brigand turned away from the farrier and strolled into the workshop, whistling through his teeth at closer sight of the magnificent horse.
"That's a fine beast, master Paladin," he said with a smile, moving around to the stallion's sleek left flank and facing the Paladin across the saddle. "Any idea how many starving men and women it'd feed?"
"Horsemeat would taste foul, I'd think," the Paladin's voice replied.
"Cute." Only Kylton's mouth continued to smile. "You're right, I shouldn't be lecturing you about the commons. It's a hard and selfless life, being a Paladin, isn't it? Silvery clothes, a prince's mount, a kingdom's-ransom sword -"
"This sword is the only weapon that will settle for a demon," interrupted the Wood Elf in a brisk heard-this-before tone. "My horse is the only kind of mount that'll face a demon without bolting. And this uniform …"
The Paladin held his arms out and did a small pirouette in a swirl of cloth. "I don't know why we get the uniform, actually, but doesn't it suit me?"
At that, a few of the brigands laughed, and even edgy Danyllyn gave a slow grin. Ziana absently looked to see whether Ivrys was laughing too.
"You honestly find this funny?"
Kylton's voice cracked like a whip in the town square, freezing the rough chuckles of his fellows in their throats and killing any attempt at calming levity. Danyllyn gripped his hammer hard again. The Paladin, his face grave, looked back watchfully at the brigands' leader.
"I don't," Kylton said, his expression utterly cold. "Because my son and daughter died for want of one-tenth the money I'd get for selling that sparkly shirt. Because Wood Elves further east shot the only members of my family who might've done something to help. Because I don't like you, Paladin."
"I'm sorry," said the Paladin evenly. "I didn't intend any disrespect to your family. But whether we like each other or not, I don’t think it would be to your benefit or mine to take matters further."
"Sure. We're only here for business, Paladin," said Kylton, calm again. "You know how your Order have the right to wander around taking what you like in the name of the House? No money? Well, we've sort of adopted that."
"We take only what we absolutely need and only when we absolutely must," replied the Wood Elf flintily. "Especially when we happen to be Elves in a human settlement. I've paid Master Farrier here for his services today. Does that in any way assuage the towering chip on your shoulder?"
Elementals, man, don't talk to him like that! thought Ziana anxiously, trying now to catch Ivrys's eye. He still stood at the back, nervously playing with the hilt of his sword, showing no sign of seeing her.
A young mother hurried past Ziana, leaving the square with her small daughter's hand gripped tightly. Ziana had never been quite so pleased not to have her boys at her side.
Kylton, after a small pause, had begun to smile again, softly patting the white horse's flank. "That's good news, Paladin. It really is. It'll probably cover most of what Danyllyn owes me after last week."
Danyllyn flushed a dark, angry red. "You aren't the only one with children to feed, you bastard!"
"No, you are," replied the brigand. "Mine are dead, remember? Pay attention and don't take on so. You do well enough to spare me one week's takings. Motivate you to do as we ask next time, maybe."
'This will get you nowhere, man," the Paladin interrupted flatly. "Forget about his money. You won't have it."
"Yes, I will. I'll have your horse, too. Don't make me shave your head as well and sell it for some madam's pretty wig."
"My horse will do you no good. He won't obey you."
"Then we'll just have to see what horsemeat tastes like after all."
"The Maiden curse you, you sacrilegious filth!" snapped Danyllyn, his fist locked around his hammer so tightly that his heavy arm shook. "You'll not threaten a Paladin in my hearing! Get out of here before I crack your skull! Now!"
The Paladin shook his head flatly, staring out at the bristling farrier without approval. All remaining eyes in the square were fixed on the workshop now. "No-one's cracking any skulls or taking any money. Let it end here, all right? This isn't worth it."
"One more time," said Kylton, taking a step back now from the horse to give himself room. "The last time, actually. Pass over the reins while you still have both hands."
"Kylton," said one of the brigands - Ziana wanted it to be Ivrys, but it wasn't - "we don't want to be striking a Paladin."
"Call him an Elf, then," Kylton replied. The brigand moved back out of the workshop and drew the short sword on his belt; one or two of the others followed suit. Neither was Ivrys. "Danyllyn, if I don't see that hammer drop in the next two heartbeats, you'll probably end up either extremely regretful or dead as well."
"You'll not threaten a Paladin in my hearing!" roared Danyllyn again, and charged.
The big farrier's attack startled the last of the brigands into drawing their swords or lifting their cudgels, though not all lunged forward with Kylton to meet the charge. Danyllyn kept them at bay with heavy, two-handed swings of his hammer, yelling as they closed on him.
All at once a brilliant white light flared up behind the farrier and the brigands, and the watching townsfolk gasped. The Paladin had drawn his sword from its sheathing in his horse's harness, and it blazed like a streak of moonlight in his hand as he strode out of the workshop. The brigands backed off for a moment, blades and cudgels defensively raised.
"Fall away, Lais," called the grim-faced Elf, and the white stallion burst out of the workshop like the sun coming out from the clouds, wheeling off and cantering from the square. Some brigands watched the horse go with relief, others with outrage.
"My horse is gone," the Paladin said in a very different voice, cold with menace, his emerald eyes fiery. "There's nothing left here but bitter consequences. Go back where you came."
"Are you a Paladin?" asked Kylton quietly, his scarred young face lit up almost angelically in the light of the sword.
The Paladin's gaze did not shift. "You know I am."
"Just checking."
The brigand lunged. The Paladin lashed back Kylton's sword with a discordant parry, holding his bright blade defensively once more.
Kylton attacked again. The Paladin ducked aside. Kylton struck a third, fourth and fifth time, and the golden-haired Elf continued to parry or dodge each one, keeping bristling Danyllyn clear of the fight with bitten-off directions.
"There you are, lads," said Kylton coolly, glancing back quickly to the waiting, wavering brigands. "Aieren bless the Paladins, eh? He talks big, but he can't hit back."
"No, but I damn well can!" shouted Danyllyn. "Come on! If I have to be washing your blood off my doorstep all afternoon, so be it!"
'The odds aren't good, Danyllyn. Sorry."
"This is getting ridiculous," the Paladin said through clenched teeth. "If you absolutely must be fools, at least leave your own townsman out of it!"
"They're not leaving me out of anything, master Paladin," Danyllyn growled.
"Let's all stop yapping, shall we?" said Kylton.
The brigands attacked - at least, nine of them did. Three of them hung back, anxious and unwilling. In the confusion of the battle, Ziana simply couldn't tell whether her Ivrys was one of the three. Don't be there, love, don't be there, don't be there … but if you are, Elementals, don't die …
Danyllyn raged around the storefront like a summer squall, lashing out with total indiscrimination all around him; he wasn't a man trained for fighting, Aieren knew! The Paladin did his best to keep the farrier safe, darting in and out with those sweeping light-arcs tracing the path of his defensive sword. The meaning of the phrase 'Elf-quick' became fully clear as he moved and turned, but even Ziana couldn't fail to see how hopeless the odds must eventually prove.
The Paladin was visibly trying to steer himself and Danyllyn back towards the farrier's workshop or house - a refuge and quick end to the fight - but the brigands continued to block the way, and defensive parries and sweeps naturally couldn't hope to aggressively open a way through. Couldn't he just swing and try not to land a lethal hit? wondered Ziana, only to have another part of her mind cry, No! Suppose he did, and it was Ivrys who felt it ..?
A few of the watchers in the square were shifting uncomfortably now. Ziana could see it and understand it. Should someone do something? What was to be done? It was all very well to speak of courage in another's trouble, but this was a terrifying, confronting spectacle. And what would become of one's own family if worst came to worst ..?
Money and a horse weren't worth it … why did you two make trouble?
"Stop swinging out! Get to your house!" the Paladin called out breathlessly to Danyllyn, but the nine willing brigands were closing in fully, now, and Kylton was - if nothing else - a good leader. Ziana gasped with the rest of the numb spectators as Danyllyn let out a roar of agony somewhere in the press and went down.
"Enough, that's enough -!" shouted the Paladin, the only sign of his presence the glow that silhouetted the men around him. Whatever else he shouted was drowned out by a loud cry from the farrier's house: "Get away from him, you bastards!"
Ziana was no longer watching, covering her eyes against the scene, but she heard the pounding footsteps of Danyllyn's older son as he finally came flying protectively from the house.
She heard another sound, much like the sound the carving knife had made when she'd stuck it into the hind of beef Ivrys had once brought her. Then all she could hear was Danyllyn again, howling like a speared wolf.
She uncovered her eyes slightly. She had to. Glonas had gone down right in front of the steps of their house, his throat a red mess, the hammer he'd grabbed lying useless beside him. Danyllyn was howling not from any new wound Ziana could see but rather from the sight of it, on his knees and crawling for the steps, his own hammer also abandoned on the ground. Three of the brigands had moved back to let him room - perhaps Glonas had only been struck by accident, whatever little that meant.
The Paladin had gone down in the meantime as well, surrounded by five of the other brigands, one of them Kylton. Only when Ziana concentrated through the horrible din could she make out what the Elf was shouting: "Let me through! Just for a moment! Let me through!"
She couldn't hear what Kylton said in reply. She only saw the heavy kick that the brigand came lashing in with, and the three after that.
Finally Kylton turned and went back into the workshop with three of his men, making no move towards Danyllyn and his fallen son. The whole square was transfixed with horror. No-one spoke. Ziana could see Ivrys now, standing stock-still outside Danyllyn's shop, but she didn't even dare look at his face.
Danyllyn had stopped howling now. He'd reached his son and gathered him in close, hugging him to his chest with the blood soaking his dirty leather apron.
The Paladin was also moving now, coughing out erratic breaths after Kylton's attentions, making his slow way over to reach the pair. Danyllyn didn't look up as the Paladin reached in to feel for the boy's pulse. He clearly knew already what the Paladin's test soon told him.
The Elf lowered his head, murmuring something impossible to make out across the distance, and then laid a hand instead on the deep, ugly gash spilling an ugly river from Danyllyn's side. After a few more moments, he took his bloody hand away. There was no visible change until a heavy flush of crimson began to soak through the Paladin's white tunic.
"Why didn't you kill the bastards?" asked Danyllyn suddenly, and then bent once more over his dead son, sobbing so low that only small catches of the sound could be heard.
If the Paladin answered, Ziana could not hear it at all.
Footsteps. Kylton came out of Danyllyn's workshop again, a crude washcloth full of jingling coins in one hand, and looked down at the farrier for a moment.
"I'm sorry for your loss, Danyllyn," he said. "Means nothing, I know. We'll call accounts settled from here on in. - Lads, we're leaving."
The brigands gathered readily together as one group and hurried away from the farrier's, leaving him with his son. All eyes in the square watched them leave. And even then, even after the last man in leathers had been well and truly lost from view, for a long time no-one could bear to cross the distance; in fact some were already slowly drifting out of the square.
No, I can't leave, thought Ziana. I couldn't help, but I can't leave, either.
Hesitantly, one slow step at a time, Ziana left the shelter of the tailor's awning and approached the farrier's storefront. "Danyllyn …"
"Don't you talk to me," Danyllyn snarled, still huddled with his son. The Paladin was sitting on his knees behind them, head down, unresponsive to Ziana. "Don't any of you come near me. I saw your Ivrys. Did you enjoy the play, you brigand's bitch?"
It stung. But Ziana forced herself not to flee, forced the tears to stay locked behind her eyes. "Don't say that. No human being could enjoy that."
"No human being could move, either! There were eleven of those slime! Eleven! Why did you all stand back and watch my boy die?"
"Where are the warriors in Ells Allyn, Danyllyn? There was nothing anyone could have done for you except die and leave their children to starve …"
"Then you can all get out of my sight for your children's sake. There's nothing you can do for my child now."
Ziana wiped at her eyes and turned away, stricken and yet very willing to do as he said.
"Stop! Wait!"
His gravelly voice rose sharply. When she turned again, she saw for herself what had prompted the change of heart: the Paladin had passed out where he'd sat, slumping sideways onto the ground, bleeding freely after that mysterious healing.
"You called yourself a healer once," the farrier said bitterly.
She started at the implication. "Danyllyn, the fire … I still don’t know whether I have the supplies to -"
"You'll damn well do it, or the Maiden curse you and your two miserable brigand rats!" flared Danyllyn.
Ziana flinched back, frightened by the ferocity in the big man's eyes. "I … I will. But I can't get him to my house on my own …"
"Collar the nearest of these worthless cowards -" Danyllyn waved a crimson hand around with loathing contempt at all the nervous eyes still watching - "and get them to help you. And you know what? If he dies, 'healer', I might just become a brigand myself - maybe even the house-burning type. Get out of here!"
* * * * *
Ziana was deeply, deeply afraid. She didn't know whether or not Danyllyn was capable of carrying out his last threat - she hoped not - but either way, the more pressing danger by far was food. A fifth mouth to feed was beyond her means; nor could she spare the time that an invalid would take away from her vital herb- and mushroom-gathering. She made little enough from it as matters stood.
There was no choice in it, though. She could do nothing but set the Paladin aright as quickly as possible.
With the assistance of Tellys the cooper and his cart, she brought the wounded Paladin home and put him to bed on her own pallet. When her father arrived home with the boys later in the day, fearful and anxious from all the flying stories in town, she forestalled his questions by sending him down to the river for water. Tiras and Castwyn assailed her with goggle-eyed queries in their grandfather's stead as she bustled around, running in and out underfoot for looks at the unexpected visitor, until finally she had to send them outside to play.
Joharn came back soon afterwards with the water, setting the bucket down beside the pallet. "What in sweet Aieren's name happened, love? I heard all kinds of wild madness running around -"
"The brigands went to Danyllyn and demanded money after last week's act-up," Ziana replied shortly. Gingerly she pulled up the Paladin's blood-sodden tunic, revealing the streaming gash beneath the undamaged cloth. It was a very ugly sight. "The Paladin was there. He tried to stop them. Things went very bad."
"Is Danyllyn all right?"
"He's alive, but his oldest was killed."
"Young Glonas? Oh, no." Joharn shook his hoary old head. "That's cruel."
Ziana kept her eyes firmly fixed on the bleeding wound. "Pass me the patching-rags, father."
"You know," he said in a slow reluctant voice, bringing them over, "noble though it was of you to take the Paladin on, I don't think we can afford to care for him terribly long, can we? Why don't I fetch Tellys back and we take him to the healer in Ainslieve?"
"Ainslieve is two days out, father. He'll die before then without at least a bit of basic care. I'll just patch him up over the next day or two and then ask someone like Tellys to help him on his way."
Ziana began padding the Paladin's wounded side with the precious clothes-mending rags, hoping they were clean enough. There didn't look to be enough time to boil them clean before he bled out. It was a very grave injury, that much was certain - a rent cut out by the tip of a sword, four or five inches wide and more than an inch deep.
Another wound on his leg was less serious - just a flesh wound slashing across the back of his right thigh, perhaps a little of the muscle - but the two injuries were conspiring to spill a fair amount of blood. Luckily Kylton's vindictive kicking didn't seem to have left any broken bones - just ugly, red-black bruises and swelling.
"I'll go watch the boys," said Joharn, rising slowly.
"Thank you, Father." Ziana finished washing the Paladin's bloody leg as well as she could, then padded and bound it like his side.
Then she started to tear up the oldest of her two dresses. I'll have to start the fire and boil the water … I think I have some linleaf, but no icemint or isladda … perhaps I could go get some from the riverside …
If she closed her eyes, it almost became an older, happier time. She could almost smell the herbs drying as they hung from the ceiling, hear Ivrys asking where she wanted the water basin …
But to open her eyes was to see the wounded man - the wounded Paladin - whom her husband and the brigands had attacked, whom half of Ells Allyn had stood and watched while he stood up for one of their own, whom Ziana simply could not feed for too long if she wanted to keep her own family healthy.
Ziana dashed away a hot tear from her face as she continued to tear up new bandages, hearing her boys yelling and tumbling around outside.
* * * * *
By the time night fell, Ziana had done all that one afternoon could allow. She'd found no icemint, but there'd been plenty of bitter isladda down by the riverbank - enough to make a weak tincture with some yarrow to clean and dress the Paladin's wounds. The bandages made from her dress had been boiled, replacing the first rags. Pain had driven the Paladin in and out of consciousness several times as she'd worked, but with a little belladonna Ziana had left him sleeping, his chest lightly rising and falling in shallow, wound-favouring breaths.
All that attended to, she now knelt just outside the front door with the washtub, rinsing the Paladin's bloody white tunic as much as she could with some princet in the water. The silver trimming of the cloth winked and gleamed like the moonlight rippling over the river.
Joharn came out of the house and looked down at her. "The boys are in their beds, my princess."
"Thank you, father. You can go to sleep too - nothing left to do tonight."
"I was hoping you'd say that." He stooped to kiss her breeze-tousled hair. "Don't retire too late yourself, now. You've seen to the Paladin; he won't grudge you his clothes."
She smiled absently, murmuring a 'goodnight' as he went back inside. For a long time the rhythmic slosh-slosh of the washwater, the shrill cricket-song and the steady background murmur of the river replaced all human conversation, leaving her to raise her sweaty face to the summer evening breeze and think.
The unexpected sound of footsteps approaching from the river made her lift her head, her heart beating a little faster at the thought of vengeful Danyllyn prowling around. But she could not have mistaken the tall, big-shouldered silhouette slowly walking up towards her straggling herb garden, even in the tricky moonlight. "Ivrys!"
Ivrys opened his arms and caught her as she ran down the gentle slope, still dripping with princet-water. "Zia-star … I'm glad you're awake …"
"What are you doing here?" she asked, gripping his shoulders hard to make sure he couldn't mistake that for disapproval.
"I want to sit down," he said distractedly. "Can we sit?"
They sat down on the ground, right there beside the thyme in the garden, facing the river. Ziana brushed her fingers gently over the square contours of Ivrys's face, letting them rasp over the messy whiskers he'd begun to sprout. She could see at least half his reason for being there in his hooded, troubled eyes.
"Why couldn't I have been born one of the Old Lords?" he asked, his eyes on the river. "We'd never want for anything."
"You'd look foolish with an oakleaf crown," she replied. "You've only half a lord's beard."
"Well, a horse-breeder, then. Lots of money and we'd ride whenever we pleased."
"Herbs smell much nicer than horses, love."
Ivrys was silent for a moment. Then he said, "Danyllyn's boy died, didn't he?"
"… Yes, love."
"I wasn't the one who struck him, you know."
"I know, love."
"You hoped, Zia."
He drew in a slow breath, thirsty for air and calm. "The food? Have you been eating well?"
"I want you home, Ivrys," Ziana said quietly.
"I don't want to be away, Zia. You know that. We're better off like this. But …"
Ziana caught that 'but' and held it tightly in her mind, daring to fan a hope that hadn't been there before. She didn't want to speak for fear of blowing it away.
"Kylton has a lot of demons on his back," said Ivrys slowly. "I've seen … that is, the caravans … they fight back, sometimes, and some men have … but this is our own town …"
She leaned in and kissed him, silencing the stumbling words. "I want you home, Ivrys," she repeated.
Ivrys kissed her back, almost as if in relief, and then drew away, pulling her up to her feet with him. "I know. Maybe. Let's talk a little more inside."
The warm taste of joy filled her mouth as she turned and walked slowly with her husband back towards the house, leaning her head against his shoulder with her heart singing all the Elementals' praises. A hundred other thoughts occupied her mind, so it came as a sudden surprise when Ivrys stopped sharply short of the doorway.
"Zia … is that ..?"
He bent down over the washtub, pulling out a corner of the Paladin's sodden tunic from the pungent water. The bright-pointed silver star blazoned on the chest flashed in the moonlight.
"I brought the Paladin here," she confirmed, smoothing back his topknot. "I've treated his wounds and set him to -"
"We can't care for him, Zia!" Ivrys exclaimed, letting the tunic splash back into the water. "In onlder and better times, yes, but not now! He needs to go to Ainslieve."
"He's too injured to move yet, love," replied Ziana soothingly, "but as soon as a little of his strength's back, we can send him on."
"How long?"
"Tomorrow. Only tomorrow."
"You're not giving me the black with the bright, Zia. What if he gets worse?"
"He won't get worse! There's no -"
She broke off, seeing Ivrys clench his eyes shut in bitter regret. "No, listen to me, Ivrys, I've taken good care -"
"I can't come home yet, Zia-star," sighed Ivrys, softly shaking his head. "There's not enough food to be safe. And if the worst happens, we can't afford to feed his extra mouth and mine."
"We can! We'll manage! Ivrys, please …"
"A little longer, Ziana. Just a little longer." Looking weary all over again, he pulled her in for a last, tight hug, vainly wiping away all the tears that replenished just as quickly on her face. "I'll see you after the next caravan, love."
"Ivrys, don't leave!" she cried after him, but he didn't turn, striding back down towards the river and then westward towards the woods.
Silver winked in the washtub as she sank down beside it in fresh despair, clenching two handfuls of the dirt. For a long, long time she crouched that way, willing the tunic in the tub and its owner both gone.
Then she straightened, slowly brushed the dirt from her hands, and went back to washing.