Robin and Sharn stood in the shade of the forest at the edge of the clear track. Sunlight filled the track, and touched the petals and leaves of a wild rosebush at the forest edge.
Cutting a rose just short of the branch, she lifted the bud to her face. Its scent made her smile the way the sun smiles at break of day. She added it to her pile, folded a cloth around the bouquet and picked it up.
The wolf watched each move, then followed her back into the root house. Reaching the main room, Robin’s straight brow lowered.
Gath stood over the anvil, naked except for a fur and hide loincloth. His wounds had scabbed over, but several cracked open as he hammered a piece of Kitzakk metal which glowed red within exploding sparks. He stopped, looked at the face of his hammer and growled with disgust. The edges were being mangled by the hard steel.
Robin said quietly, “Maybe you can do some of your work outside today, in the fresh air and sunshine.”
She moved to the side table, and arranged the roses in a wine jar. Gath frowned at her. Feeling it, she tilted her head playfully.
“There,” she said. “Fifteen roses, one for each of the fifteen days I’ve been here. So you won’t forget me.” Her smile had some fun romping about her cheeks. “At least not right away.” •.
Gath did not comment, but his expression softened.
Robin turned from his eyes and began to move about the room touching the armor, furs and root walls. She moved slowly. His eyes followed her like leashed pets. When she reached him, she looked up solemnly. “I’ll never forget being here. It’s like something in a minstrel’s tale. So full of hiding places and tunnels and…” her wistful eyes locked with his, “and mysteries.”
Still no reply.
She grinned, lifted a hand and touched the scabs on his jaw as her voice scolded. “You know, if you’re going to keep getting in fights, you really should wear a helmet.”
He grabbed her hand as if to throw it aside, but instead cradled it in his pawlike hand. Lifting it, he breathed in her fresh warm scent, a bouquet of roses and leaves and air and Robin. When he looked at her, there was wonder in his eyes.
Robin trembled slightly with a rush of uncertainty, and looked away in confusion. He let her hand drop, and turned back to the anvil. Robin glanced over a shoulder at him and his head turned slightly toward her. The glowing metal cast deep shadows in the sockets of his eyes. They were intense and alert, yet strangely young, like a child grown old and hard before his time, before enjoying the years of laughter and the thousand nights of dreaming. She could not tell if he had lived thirty summers or twenty.
After a moment, Robin said quietly, “I will be going soon, but there are some things I must tell you first.” He turned away again and she moved to his shoulder. “Will you listen now, please? It’s very important.”
Without turning he said, “Because you saved my life does not mean I have to listen to your jabber.” He positioned the glowing metal, raised his hammer, then suddenly gave up, shoved the metal back into the fire and set his hammer down.
“Thank you,” she said primly. She fetched a wine jar and gave it to him, then gathered a fur and sat down. He took a long drink and sat down facing her, his back against the hearth.
Robin repeated her message carefully. “I came to Calling Rock to tell you what you now know better than anyone, that the Kitzakks are coming, in great strength. And to… to ask for your help.”
“Why? The forest tribes have hidden from raiders before.”
“This isn’t the same. There are thousands of them, and they’ll come again and again, and keep coming. It’s the truth. Brown John knows them. He lived among them. They’re organized and relentless. They will march through each village one by one, kill the men who resist, and carry off the women and children in chains and cages. No one will be spared. And Brown John sent me to tell you…”
“To do what? Conquer this horde?” He grunted brutally. “Does he think I am a magician?”
“He thinks… he knows you are strong.”
He nodded. “Strong enough to take care of myself.”
He lifted the wine jar to drink, but did not. He stared over the lip at her, watching her enthusiasm and confidence waver. She did not avoid his eyes, but her voice became quiet.
“How can you hide when you know what I say is true? When you know we need you?”
“It suits me.”
“But you can’t ignore them forever. They’ll come here too.”
“Let them,” he whispered, and drank deep.
“Gath,” she begged, “you must believe me. No one can hide from them. Particularly you. You’ve defeated them twice now. Shamed them. They won’t rest until you’re dead.”
“My trail is set,” he blurted harshly. “I have taken an oath. I work alone.”
“But surely the god of these trees,” she pointed at the root walls, “or whatever god you swear by, will understand?”
“I did not swear to a god. I swore to myself.” His tone had the finality of a driven nail.
She sat back defeated. “Then you leave us to die… or live in cages.”
He studied her, his eyes impenetrable. “What do you… no… what does Brown John think I can do?”
“Oh, Gath!” She sat forward with a sudden rush of renewed hope. “You can unite us! Be our champion! If we have hope, everything is possible. And with you and Brown John working together, we’ll have it.”
He smiled mockingly.
“Don’t look down on him,” Robin begged. “I know you think he’s only an entertainer, but entertainers can be smart, and they can inspire. Look at what he’s done already!”
“I will tell you what he has done, small girl of the Weavers. He has pestered and annoyed everyone, particularly the Kitzakks. He is a foolish troublemaker! An actor and maker of lies who trades for silver, things which are not his.”
She started to argue, but stopped as he stood up and hovered over her. His voice was hollow.
“Look at yourself. He tricked you with his fancy talk and tall tales, compelled you, a helpless girl who weaves cloth, to come here and feed yourself to the dangers of The Shades, to find and enter this house which no other mortal has left alive.”
The sudden sharp truths made her falter. They were different, new, but unalterably true and she swayed beneath the understanding of them.
He turned to the anvil, and looked down at the metal in the fire.
“I see,” she whispered, “you… you’re not going to let me go?”
“I should not,” he said, “but I am going to, so you can carry my message to Brown John. Meat for metal, that is all I will give, him. Tell him that. I need a helmet, and body armor made of this outlander metal.” He turned to her. “Now we are finished. I saved you, and you have healed me. So you are free to go.”
She sighed with relief. “I swear I’ll tell no one of this place.”
His expression remained impenetrable.
She nodded, then stood and said bravely, “Well, I don’t understand you any better than you understand me. Least of all why you saved my life. But you did. And you saved my village, my people. I am grateful to you for that, and I always will be. But… well, I am finished also. I have given you my message, so now I will return to Rag Camp with your reply. Will you take me there?”
He nodded.
“Thank you.” She slung her pouch over her shoulder, moved to the stairs and Sharn, sitting on the fourth step, stood abruptly and growled.
“Wait!” It was a command.
Robin stopped short and turned to him. “It’s all right,” she said calmly, “Sharn won’t stop me. He knows me now.”
She moved up to the growling wolf, stroked his head and gave it a kiss, then ascended the stairs and went out. The wolf and man remained motionless, staring at each other, their expressions as identical as a matched pair of fools.
By late afternoon, Gath and Robin were moving east along Summer Trail in the Valley of Miracles. He walked.
She drove her wagon. When they came in sight of Rag Camp, Gath turned back. Robin reined up, sighed, and watched him for a long while. Then she headed her wagon toward the camp.