“They came here only yesterday,” said Pyrrin, “and have hardly emerged from their chambers. Had Varius not received word from the Sentinels, I’d wonder but if she doesn’t look to hide him.”
She? I felt my heart start beneath my ribs. It was like a blow, and for a while I was without breath, heart and head aswirl. It could not be … surely not … it could not be: that should be too much to dare hope. Worse, if it were and she was Durbrecht-bound. To find her only to lose her again? That should be more than I could bear.
I heard Pyrrin say, “Daviot? What ails you, man? By the God, but you’re gone white. Are you ill?”
I shook my head, not yet able to speak. My throat was clogged with hope; and fear, also, that I might regain and again lose so much. All their eyes were on me. The aeldor pushed a mug to my hand, asking the while if I’d have him summon the keep’s herbalist. On his face I saw the fear I brought disease into his hall. I was not sure what I saw on Varius’s, but I recalled Rekyn’s warning that I was observed by her kind. So: did this plump, scarred magus suspect the reason for my discomfort?
In that instant I did not care. I forced down ale and asked, “She?”
It must have seemed to them a strange question. My whole demeanor must have seemed strange. I did not care.
It was Pyrrin who answered, “Aye, she. Rwyan, her name.”
Rwyan!
I knew not what I did then. Reason was gone, sense: my body reacted of its own. I sprang to my feet, sending my chair clattering over, my head turning, eyes ranging the hall in search of her.
Rwyan!
Robyrt came upright with me, his sword drawn and raised to cut me down. I ignored him: all my eyes knew was that she was not there. I took a step away from the table, turned. They must have believed me crazed. Across the hall, Allenore had dropped her embroidery, hands pressed frozen to her mouth. Her women clustered about her, as if her presence should protect them from this madman. Robyrt stood defensive before Pyrrin, who was himself on his feet, a dagger in his hand. The warband came with naked blades. I saw, as if from outside my body, that some held spears readied to cast. I could not see Rwyan. There was a silence broken by Varius’s calm voice.
“Aye, Rwyan. A blind mage with hair like burnished copper. Bound on tomorrow’s tide for Durbrecht. Now do you sit down and gather up your senses? Or must we bind you?”
I groaned, or wailed-I know not to this day which; but I righted my fallen chair and sat.
Varius filled my mug and bade me drink. I obeyed. I was suddenly gripped with a terrible fear that the sorcerer, or the aeldor, or the jennym, would order me bound, have me locked away until Rwyan was departed. I sat and drank as swords were sheathed and spears lowered. I was the focus of attention. I noticed that Robyrt had taken Pyrrin’s seat, putting the length of the table between the aeldor and me, and that his blade rested ready across his thighs. I gestured apology and mumbled, “Forgive me, my lord Pyrrin; lady Allenore. I …” I shook my head. “She’s here? In the keep now?”
Pyrrin nodded. From his expression it was obvious he had not the least idea what went on. All he saw was a Story-man seemingly made mad by mention of a woman’s name. Robyrt was all undisguised suspicion, as if I were a slavering red-eyed hound. From behind me I heard a voice murmur, “Berserker.” I took deep breaths, forcing myself if not to calm, then at least to its semblance, enough to reassure them I was not an immediate danger. Oh, by the God! She might walk in at any moment. I did not know what I might do then. I burned with impatience; with a maelstrom of emotions, hope and fear all mixed. It was all I could do to hold my seat.
All eyes were on me: an explanation was called for. Hoarse-voiced, I said, “We were lovers once, in Durbrecht. I’ve not seen her since; I’d not thought to see her again.”
Pyrrin favored me with a look somewhere between amazement and pity. “By the God!” he said softly. “And she’s come here now; and you. What odds on that, eh?”
Varius said, “Perhaps better had you come here tomorrow, or the day after. But …” He shrugged, that side of his face still mobile twisting in approximation of a sympathetic smile.
I said, “But I did not. She’s in her quarters now?” My voice sounded strangled.
The sorcerer nodded. “She and her man, aye.”
A hideous doubt assailed me. Her man; her servant? There were no servants on the Sentinels, I knew that much. So who was this fellow? Had Rwyan a lover? Jealousy flared. Irrational, unjustified, but no less fierce for that. I had found comfort in Krystin’s arms, had I not? How then could I burn so hot at thought of Rwyan with another? What right had I? None, fairly-which made no difference at all. What’s fair to do with love?
I swallowed down the lump that seemed to clog my throat, drank ale, and asked in as calm a tone as I could manage, “I thought the sorcerers of the Sentinels had no truck with servants?”
“Nor do they, usually.” I could tell from Varius’s expression that he saw the direction of my thinking. “But neither are many blind. This fellow’s servant and guide both; hired to ease her passage. No more than that.”
I think I sighed then. I know I felt relieved; and as quickly suspicious again. Perhaps Varius looked only to soothe me, to avoid public disturbance. Certainly, my behavior so far provided him with concern enough. I said, “I see.” And then, “But-”
I bit back the words. Rwyan was blind, aye. Of course she was; of course I knew that. Knew it as surely as I knew she had no need of men to play the watchdog. With the gift of her talent she could “see” as well as any sighted woman. Jealousy flared anew: a servant, a guide? I saw that Varius waited on me, no less Pyrrin. Robyrt sat alert, his blade still drawn. My mind raced. Did Rwyan stoop to sophistry that she might bring a lover with her?
My hosts still waited on me. I said, “But I had never thought to find her again.”
It sounded weak to me, but they appeared satisfied; at least none made comment. I raised my mug and set it down empty. Were this a story or a balladeer’s song, Rwyan should enter the hall now, fall into my arms and go with me into some sunlit future. But it was not: there still lay a wall between us, our callings. There was still this mysterious servant. I summoned that empty dignity men rely on in such situations: had Rwyan come here with a lover, she should not see me disadvantaged. I should be strong; I should dismiss him. And her, needs be.
I said, “Does she take her meals in the hall?” And when Pyrrin told me aye, “Then likely I’ll see her betimes. Meanwhile”-I gestured at my dusty shirt-“if I might bathe?”
The aeldor nodded enthusiastically. I suspect he was pleased enough to be rid of me awhile. I thought, aware of the undisguised curiosity emanating from Allenore and her ladies, that the hall should soon enough be abuzz with gossip. What a tale I made-the Storyman and the sorcerer, love thwarted not once but twice: a tale to moisten eyes. I rose, dignified, taking up my saddlebags and staff as Pyrrin called a Changed servant and charged the fellow with escorting me to a chamber, seeing a bath drawn.
I bowed and followed the Changed-cat-bred, I dimly noticed-from the hall. As we departed, I thought I heard conversation erupt. I had no doubt it concerned me. I revised my notions of lingering here: I should quit Carsbry as soon I might.
But meanwhile I should meet Rwyan again. I was no longer sure I welcomed that.
Ryl was the Changed’s name. That much I noted, but little else. All thoughts of exploring his unseen world fled me as I was brought to my chamber. I thought entirely of Rwyan.
Here in Carsbry.
With an unneeded servant.
Taking ship tomorrow.
In Durbrecht, Telek had taught how sometimes ill-conceived humors may so affect the heart that that organ falters in its task. Its pumping becomes irregular, blood thins along its course, or spurts; breath comes short. At worst, the heart ceases its work altogether. As I lay in my tub, I thought I suffered so. I feared my heart should burst. I felt it pound against my ribs, as if demanding exit. I could not remain still for long but must scrub at the grime, soap my hair, and leap from the tub. Only to pace the floor in a fury of indecision. Should I return to the hall? Should I wait? Ryl had taken my boots to polish, my spare shirt and breeks to clean. All at my request; with the request he hurry, return them to me as soon as he was done-I’d not meet Rwyan clad vagabond. I believe the unfortunate fellow was somewhat frightened of my manner. I went to the window, aware I sucked breath as does a drowning man. I pressed against the sill, forcing my labored breathing even.
Below was the yard, bright in the sun, ordinary. A farrier’s hammer clattered; horses nickered; a few folk moved slowly about their ordinary tasks. From the kitchens came the odor of cooking food to remind me the midday meal should not be long. I wondered if Rwyan should eat in the hall, as Pyrrin had said, or remain in her chamber. I wondered, if she did, if I should go to her. I wondered what I should say, did this mysterious servant prove my worst fears true. I wondered if she knew yet I was here in Carsbry.
I started as Ryl’s knocking announced the return of my clothes. I gave him effusive thanks and waved him away, tugging on cleaned shirt and breeks, my gleaming boots. I tidied hair overlong in need of cutting. I picked up my staff and set it down. I turned Lan’s bracelet around my wrist. I wanted to go; and I wanted to stay. I wanted to see Rwyan; and I was afraid. I could not decide if it were better we meet in the crowded hall or alone. I thought of finding her chamber-Ryl or some other servant would surely know where she was quartered-and then of what I might find there. Indecision became an agony. Hope and fear lay balanced. Finally, I could wait no longer-whatever lay in store, I’d face it and know it, for worse or better. I took a deep breath and flung through the door, into the corridor beyond.
I had thought perhaps she might be quartered on this same level and we meet by chance, privately, but the corridor was empty. I walked to the stairs. Sweat that had little to do with the heat beaded my brow; my fresh shirt felt limp on my back. I straightened my spine and went down the winding stairway to the hall.
Pyrrin sat with Allenore and Varius at the high table. There were two empty chairs and a sudden silence as I appeared. All up and down the room eyes turned toward me. The aeldor beckoned, and I went to join him. The crossing of that hall seemed to take a long time. I sat as, slowly, conversation started up again. Faces still looked my way, when they were not turned, anticipatory, toward the door through which Rwyan must come. In gratitude, I must say that Pyrrin and his wife and Varius did their best to set me at my ease; also, that they faced an impossible task. I accepted the wine offered me and drank faster than was my wont. I smiled and made small talk, all the while waiting. It was an effort of will to keep my eyes from the door. I swear that waiting was worse than any battle I have fought. I had sooner face Kho’rabi knights than endure that again.
I was turned in Allenore’s direction, responding to some question, when I heard the silence fall. I saw Allenore’s pale brows rise, a hand clench in nervous fist. I felt a chill, as if iced water were spilled down my back, and at the same time hot. I broke off in midsentence, careless of my manners as I turned.
Rwyan stood beneath the arch of the door. She wore a loose gown of cream linen, gathered at the waist by a narrow belt of braided leather. Her hair, lighter than I remembered it, was piled up, so that her neck appeared a fragile column, tanned the color of wild honey. Her face was that same perfect oval that lived, vivid, in my memory, the planes and lines of jaw and cheeks and nose ideal. Her lips were full and red. I remembered their taste with agonizing clarity. Her eyes were that lovely ocean green. I saw them spring wide as her talent gave her sight of me and then, before any others there could see it, return to normal. Save she affected a blankness I knew was false.
I held my breath, unaware I did, as I directed my attention to the man at her side.
He was tall, about my own height, and I suppose he looked somewhat like me. At least, his skin was dark and his hair black, his eyes a blue that might be gray. His face was impassive, but I saw that his gaze flickered swiftly over the entire hall, as if, from habit, he checked the diners, the shadowed corners. I thought that a fighter’s look. He wore plain shirt and breeks of unbleached linen, the blouse sleeveless, exposing muscular arms. Rwyan’s right hand rested on his forearm, and I hated him for that touch, for that familiarity. I saw her murmur something to him, and he reply, casting a hooded glance in my direction. Or perhaps it was in the direction of the high table only, and my assumption born of jealousy. As they came forward, I saw that he walked loose-limbed: a warrior’s stride. This was not, I thought, any servant.
My mouth was dry as they approached. I knew Rwyan could “see” me; knew with absolute certainty she was aware of my presence. I could not understand this pretense. I wet my mouth with wine. My heart was a battle drum under my ribs. I rose from my seat, about to speak, to say her name, but Pyrrin preempted me.
“Rwyan,” he said, not much at his ease, “we’ve another guest. The Storyman, Daviot. You … know … him, I believe.”
I saw her hand tighten on her servant’s arm. Her head cocked. To anyone who did not know she could “see,” it would have seemed she merely turned her face as the blind do. That the movement set her eyes directly on mine should have seemed pure accident. I stared at her, utterly confused.
She said, “Daviot?” and in her voice there was something I could not define. Was it pleasure or surprise? Alarm? I could not tell, only gape, my heart aching, and say, “Rwyan.”
Solicitous, Pyrrin eased back a chair. I stared as the dark-haired servant guided her to it, saw her seated, and took station behind. My confusion increased apace-she treated the man as if he were a servant, and I could scarce believe my gentle Rwyan would deal so with a lover. Not save she’d changed dramatically during her sojourn on the Sentinels.