the riverboat harbor lass tugged against the moorings as it rode at anchor between the wharves. It seemed to Corson that the boat was as eager as she to be free and on its way to the next port. She watched the crew loading the last casks of wine, under the direction of Leclairin ar’n Edonaris. It would not be long now before they cast off.
“If you ask me, the Cymvelans brought it on themselves,” she said suddenly to Nyctasia. “Maybe they did cause the drought, in a way, because they defied Nature. Everything they did was so controlled-making herbs grow in fancy patterns, making water flow in fancy patterns. Maybe the drought and… the rest… was Nature’s way of rebelling and showing them her power.”
Nyctasia smiled. Corson’s nature had chafed at military discipline all during her years in the army, and left her with an incurable distrust for any form of restraint or confinement. “I doubt it,” she answered, “but really you have a remarkable grasp of Elemental Balance.” Still, it might be as well not to restore the knot-gardens after all, Nyctasia reflected. “Well,” she continued,
“since you disapprove of interfering with Nature, perhaps you won’t want this little keepsake I made for you.” She knelt and looked through her satchel for her parting gift to Corson, a small parcel wrapped in a scrap of leather. She moved stiffly and painfully-the result of a final lesson in swordplay from Corson.
At first Corson was puzzled when she unfolded the covering and found only a simple wooden comb. But then she remembered that Nyctasia had once told her about a certain perfume of ancient Kehs-Edre-a perfume for the hair. She sniffed at the comb eagerly. “I don’t smell anything.”
“I told you, only men can smell it, and only when it’s combed through a woman’s hair. Don’t try it now, for vahn’s sake! Put it away-you must only use it when you’re alone with the man of your choice, and then only in a place where you can wash your hair afterward. I’m serious, Corson, I warn you. In your hair, the scent might even be dangerous.”
Corson believed her. When Nyctasia was lying she never seemed at all anxious to be believed. “I’ll be careful,” she promised, putting the precious comb safely at the bottom of her pack. “Thanks! I’ll write and let you know how I fare with it.”
“Yes, do. You’ve almost learned to write legibly. You should keep in practice.”
“And you, remember to use your shield arm. Always think of your shield as a weapon, not just a protection, even if it’s only a cloak wrapped around your arm. Never let your shield arm hang idle-if there’s nothing else to hand, grab some dirt and throw it.”
“I’ll remember,” said Nyctasia with a grimace, touching her left forearm, which was bandaged. But then she started to laugh. “You’re lucky ’Deisha didn’t take up arms against you for the way you misused me. She’d have minced you to bits and fed you to her dogs, she was that furious. Now she thinks you’re a brute.”
“Well, I think she’s a darling,” Corson said generously.
“And that puts me in mind of something else-when Raphe wished you a good journey, why did you say, ‘The same to you, and many of them’? What did you mean by that? He’s not going anywhere.”
Now it was Corson who laughed. “Why don’t you ask him to explain it? You Edonaris are great ones for explaining.”
“Never mind. I think I can guess… It looks as if they mean to weigh anchor soon. Perhaps you should get on board. Do you have the letters I gave you?
Remember, don’t take them to Chiastelm with you, Give them to a courier in Meholmne or Lhestreq, except the one for-”
Corson picked her up and hugged her roughly. “I won’t forget, don’t worry.”
“Put me down, fool!” said Nyctasia, and kissed her on the nose.
Corson obeyed, and took up her pack instead, slinging it over her shoulder. They started down the wharf to the gangplank of the Harbor Lass.
“Take care of yourself, Corson. And send me word if there’s… news… of Rhostshyl.”
“I will. Maybe I’ll bring you word someday. I’m bound to be in these parts again, sooner or later. I’ll come for a visit.”
“You’ll be most welcome-especially to our Raphe. But if you had any sense, you’d stop your vagabonding and settle down in Chiastelm, you know.”
“Sense! If I had any sense, I’d not have taken up with you in the first place.”
“True. But I didn’t hire you for your sense.”
“No, you hired me because you were so fond of me,” said Corson triumphantly.
Before her startled companion could reply, she raced up the gangplank to the deck of the Harbor Lass, well satisfied that she’d finally managed to have the last word in a conversation with Nyctasia.
When she looked back. Nyctasia had gone to join the other Edonaris. Leclairin was concluding their dealings with the trader who’d purchased their wine for shipment to distant markets, while her brother Aldrichas paid the hired wagoners. Nyctasia looked on patiently, without comment.
Soon the call was given to weigh anchor, and the lines were cast off, the plank drawn in. Corson watched the sails unfurl and swell as the Harbor Lass moved slowly away from the wharves. The sight reminded her of something, and she chuckled at the idea. The sails, the rigging-what were they but a web to catch the wind? “I’ll have to remember to write that to Nyc,” she thought. “She likes that sort of nonsense.”
Nyctasia waved to her from the dock. For a while she watched the graceful vessel sail out of the harbor and head downriver, then she turned back to her waiting kinfolk, ready to start for home.