Читать книгу The Three Sisters - Rebecca Locksley - Страница 9

The following morning Yani arose at first light and went outside to say the Morning Chant. She knelt facing Ermora, as she had every morning and evening of her life. It always struck her as ironic to face it when she could remember nothing of her life there. She had been but a babe in arms when her grandmother had taken them away. Yet all her life she had felt a part of the Circle of Life and honouring it seemed unquestionably right.

The Morning Chant was a prayer to the life spirit and a promise to respect its balance in the day to come. As she prayed to each element, she drew the five circles representing the five elements on the ground: fire, water, earth, air and, encircling the other four, the separate but uniting element of life. Then she drew crossed lines through them to symbolise their connection. As she prayed she opened herself to the elements and felt them flowing through her - a great interconnected skein of being, warm and peaceful like liquid sunlight and at the same time strong, surging and urgent like the flow of a river or the roar of flame.

She wondered how long she would be able to maintain the useful illusion that she was a proper Tari, not the grandchild of an outcast. She hoped that they would find Elena safe and well and rescue her. These thoughts she bound up in her prayers so that her wishes might be given shape by the elements of the Circle and be made into destiny.

Prayers finished, she sat back on her heels savouring the peace and wondering where Marigoth was. Yani hoped she had found somewhere warm to spend the night. It had gone to Yani's heart not to ask for an extra bowl of hot soup for her, but she had been unwilling to do so in front of the Mirayan. She looked around now to see if Marigoth was about and saw instead Duprey standing nearby, watching her.

His dark-eyed gaze made Yani's spine tingle with excitement. Duprey drew her. He was attractive with his lean, hard body and face. She liked a lively man who could tell good stories. But there was more than that. He was mysterious and he held part of himself back, watching and secretive. She did not find him threatening, but she was certain he could be dangerous if pushed. Though he limped badly, she suspected he could give a good account of himself in a fight. Not just in a fight. She felt a certain longing to feel his hard, brown hands smoothing across her bare skin. The sexual opportunities open to her as the queen's champion had been considerable - from the royal masseurs who had offered her 'extra' services to energetic fellow officers and adventurous townsmen who enjoyed 'grappling' with a strong woman. You have become spoilt, she had told herself last night as she lay on her pile of straw, regretting that she was playing the part of a man. A few weeks of celibacy wouldn't hurt.

'Good morning,' Duprey said. 'Is your worship now over? Arlette has brought us some bread and cheese.'

'Yes, I have finished,' she said. 'Please. Sit down.' She spread out the cloak she was kneeling on. He sat down beside her and passed her some bread and cheese. 'Is Ezratah…?'

'The Mirayan still sleeps,' said the Seagani. 'Will you be continuing to travel with him?'

'I'm not sure,' she said. She smiled. 'He is not a very harmonious fellow, is he?'

'It is odd to see one of the Guardians travelling with one of the Gibadgee,' Duprey said. His face was difficult to read. Yani found this tantalizing.

'The Gibadgee? Seagani for rubbish, isn't it? I am tempted to leave without him, but a Mirayan companion might be useful. Last night I started trouble without meaning to.'

Duprey's face lightened. 'Still, you really cut those men's harvests. But I've seen you fight before. In Dania.'

'Oh!' Yani said. For a moment she was taken aback, then threw back her head and laughed. He knew who she was after all. The sudden revelation filled her with the same admiration and excitement as skilled swordplay.

Duprey smiled wryly. 'Did you think you had fooled me? You might have, but I had the advantage of recognising you. You are a mighty fighter. It was that fight with Becktalan the Ogian.'

'Ah yes! What a fight that was. We were well matched that day.' She smiled, remembering the smell of dust and sweat and the roar of the crowd when she had won.

'It was a poetry of swords and movement. For all your strength, you fight with a woman's grace.'

'Flatterer!' grinned Yani. An idea struck her. 'But if my sex is so obvious perhaps I should not try to ape the man. This padding and binding - it's hot gear for summer.'

'No, no,' cried Duprey. 'You are very wise to pretend to be a man around the Mirayans. They have a very troublesome view of women. They would not let you fight at St Stefan's for a start. It is a blasphemy for a woman to be on the field.'

'Blasphemy? Is St Stefan's a religious festival, then?

'Yes. He is the special holy man for soldiers. Lord - er - Lady Yani, I think you must be very careful not to let Mirayans know your sex. They are not to be trusted with native women.'

Yani's attraction to Duprey suddenly vanished. She had agreed with this masquerade as much to prevent this kind of protective interference as to avoid the attentions of attackers.

'I can look after myself,' she said.

'I do not doubt it,' Duprey said seriously. 'But against a mage? Be careful. Mirayans regard peninsula women as prostitutes because they go around freely with their hair uncovered. Great Stallion knows what they will think of one who goes around dressed as a man.'

This conversation was turning sleazy and irritating. Did this fellow think she was hopeless? And were his motives so pure? In her experience, Mirayans were not the only people who got strange ideas about a woman who fought.

'Perhaps you should travel with us and protect me,' said she cynically.

'I must wait here for friends. But you are welcome… ' He caught the look in Yani's eye and flushed.

'Forgive me,' he said coldly. 'It was an honestly meant warning.' He stood up and turned to leave. Yani sprang up from her place, instantly regretting her words.

'I have been rude,' she said.

'Not at all,' he replied stiffly.

'I can take care of myself,' Yani said. 'But it was very good of you to warn me and I shall take proper heed.'

'You would be wise to,' he said shortly. 'For myself, I will keep your secret. I've no wish to further offend a Guardian.'

He went back into the barn. Yani felt bad and she made to follow him, wondering what she could say to smooth things over. She was interrupted by Marigoth, who came rushing out with Yani's pack on her back.

'The Mirayan is awake,' she hissed. 'Quick, let's get going.'

Perhaps they would be wise to ditch this Mirayan and this was the opportunity to do so. With a look of regret Yani shouldered her pack. She disliked being on bad terms with people, especially if it was her fault, but it was stupid to care what people thought. The deed was done now and did not look easy to undo.

* * *

Ezratah awoke in the loft. He had passed a disturbed night and, in the way of such things, had then fallen heavily asleep the moment dawn had broken. As he opened his eyes he saw a little girl kneeling by his pack, tracing the runes on his mage's staff with one slender finger. It was moment or two before he was awake enough to realise that this child was interfering with his things.

'Hey!' he cried, sitting up. The girl leapt to her feet, shot a cheeky grin at him and swung down the loft ladder before he was even out of his blanket. He made it to the edge of the loft just in time to see her laughing figure slip through the doorway. He snorted. Cheeky kid. He took a drink from his water bottle and pulled on his jacket. Why hadn't the wardings warned him she was there? Probably because she wasn't an enemy. It was too early in the morning to wrestle with such questions.

'There is food here,' a voice said. The native man, Duprey, had come limping in. He pointed to a plate of bread and cheese that was sitting on the table.

'Thank you,' Ezratah said. He climbed slowly down the ladder, sat down at the table, took some bread and cheese and poured himself a cup of the remarkably fine ale the Seagani made. The man started grooming a little native horse. The two of them talked in a desultory way about the weather. The native was polite and friendly this morning. Perhaps he had learnt a lesson last night. Outside he could see a middle-aged Seagani woman throwing scraps to hens.

'Where's Yani?' he asked Duprey.

'Out front praying, Highness.'

Not a thing to interrupt, Ezratah thought sleepily. He was happy to sit and eat. 'So tell me about the Tari,' he asked. 'Where is this holy land of theirs?'

'Ermora is at the top of a range of mountains in the heart of the peninsula. My people call them the Gen Mountains. They are very steep and heavily forested. Very few outsiders have ever been there, but I was once at a border town close by. A place called Penterong, where they run a healing hospice. They are masters of such gentle arts; a loving people who have showed me much kindness - though they are powerful and should always be treated with respect.'

'If they are so powerful why do they not rule?' Ezratah said.

'It is not their way,' Duprey said.

'It is everyone's way,' Ezratah said.

Duprey shrugged. 'Then I do not know the answer, Highness.'

'How is it I have never heard of these people before?'

'If you will forgive me saying so, Highness, there is much about Yarmar and the rest of the Archipelago the Mirayans do not yet know,' said the fellow, impertinent as usual. 'Your people live on the coast and have barely brushed the surface of this land.'

'I find it hard to believe we would have missed such powerful mages. Why…?'

A scream rang out outside and there was shouting. Ezratah sprang from his seat and ran to the door, Duprey close behind him.

Outside a group of armed men seemed to be holding the farm family captive. Ezratah called attack magic to mind, but even as he did so a man riding a horse and flanked by two huge yellow mastiffs came around the side of the farmhouse. He was Mirayan, as were most of the men surrounding the farm family. Probably the local lord and his henchmen.

The man on the horse did not see Ezratah in the shadow of the barn. He was a thickset, older man with greying hair, a hard, scarred face and a hawklike nose. He leaned on the pommel of his saddle and said conversationally, 'So, Marren, I hear you had a visitor last night.'

'He's gone,' the farmer said through clenched teeth. Two of the henchmen had his arms twisted painfully behind his back.

'I don't think it's very nice of you to give aid to a fellow who beats up my men. And I don't think it's nice of you to hide him now. Where is he?'

'I don't know,' Marren said. He yelped as the henchmen tightened their grip on his arm.

'Marren, I'm a fair man but I don't tolerate disloyalty. You disappoint me. Perhaps your womenfolk might be a bit more sensible. You want to tell us where the fair freak is, girlie,' he said to the young girl of about thirteen.

'I will never betray one of the Guardians,' the girl said, white-faced but determined.

'Oh, impertinent words, little one. Let's see if you are so brave when my men have finished with you.' He nodded at the men and two of them closed in on her, grinning.

The other Seagani cried out as the two men seized the struggling girl. Duprey tensed and moved forward. Ezratah felt a chill go through him. Even native women deserved to be treated with the gentleness due their sex. A real man protected women.

'Stop! They are telling the truth,' he cried.

Everybody froze. An unexpected mage usually had that effect. The horseman was still leaning on his saddle as he looked at him. Not a man to be easily scared.

'Hold!' he ordered the men. 'And who are you, mage?' he called to Ezratah.

One of the henchmen, a man whom Ezratah thought he recognised from the fight the night before, said something in a low voice to the horseman.

'I am Ezratah Karanus. Late of Duke Wolf Madraga's Mage Regiment.'

'Karanus,' the horseman said. 'A good Mirayan name and a long way from home. How is it such an honourable name involves himself with tavern scum?'

I might ask the same of you, Ezratah thought. But since it was always best to get across rough ground easily, he switched into High Mirayan, which none of the natives were likely to understand and said, 'If you are referring to the tall, fair man, he beat three of your men single-handedly in a fair fight. All I did was prevent the fight becoming ten against one. I thought he acquitted himself very honourably for a native. Though it pains me to say it, he was more honourable than the Mirayans. And he made no move to provoke further trouble.'

'I see,' the horseman said. From the annoyance in his tone, it was clear he had not been told the whole truth. Not that it would probably have mattered. Mirayans had to stick together in a situation like this. 'So where is this fellow now?'

'I think he went off very early this morning,' Ezratah said, suddenly realising that this was probably the truth. He cast a dirty look at Duprey, who had obviously been distracting him. Duprey was looking at the ground.

'I don't know what direction he took, but he told me he was heading for the Horse Seagani lands in the north,' Ezratah continued.

'Is this so?' the horseman said to the farmer.

'It is, lord,' the farmer's wife said. 'Sir, I beg you. Believe us. I saw the fellow leaving over that hill this morning. And not a word of thanks for our hospitality.' She threw herself on her knees and held up her folded hands. 'Please, Highness, don't harm my child. She's young and stupid. She doesn't know her place.'

'You should school your children better, Marren,' the horseman said, averting his eyes from this forward woman. 'Or get her a husband who will beat some sense into her. I don't harm the children of loyal servants. But take care I don't learn otherwise. Stay there,' he told his men curtly. He walked the horse over the farmyard to where Ezratah stood. As he came up, he caught sight of Duprey in the shadow of the barn.

'Who are you?'

'Duprey, Highness. Of the Horse Seagani. On my way to St Stefan's.'

'Get over there with the other natives,' he said, then leaned on his pommel and looked down at Ezratah. 'I hope you're not some kind of native lover.'

'These people gave me good hospitality last night,' Ezratah said. 'And they are telling the truth.'

'Native lovers make no friends in these parts,' the horseman said. He looked briefly over at his men and sighed. 'So, Karanus, what are you doing round here?'

'I'm going to Olbia for St Stefan's. I fell in with the pale fellow, Yani, on the road yesterday. I must admit, sir, to a special interest in him. My liege, Duke Wolf, has expressed considerable interest in meeting one of these pale people. A tribe called Tari.'

'That so?' the horseman said curiously. 'Any money in it?'

'A duke's gratitude might mean that,' Ezratah said. 'However, now that he's gone, I'll have nothing to give but information.'

'You don't seem too worried about it.'

'I have hopes of a good position in Olbia,' Ezratah said. 'I cannot jeopardise it by chasing the mere chance of a reward.'

'I see,' the horseman said coolly. He stared at Ezratah for a moment. He looked and spoke like a lowborn thug and probably was. That was the problem with a new country like this. Still, he was no fool and was obviously not about to go running around the countryside after some phantom Ezratah had set him on to. Ezratah felt a sudden respect for him. It could not be easy bringing a new country under control.

'Then I will bid you good day,' he said to Ezratah. 'I will not prevent your journey any longer. But if you will pardon the advice, don't trust the natives around here too much. I'm surprised they didn't cut your throat last night.'

There seemed nothing for Ezratah to do but thank the man, go into the barn and pack up his things. He did so quickly. Before leaving the building he cast his eyes around the place where Yani had slept and was very pleased to find a couple of fair hairs caught on a splinter in one of the posts.

'You won't elude me for long, smart fellow,' he said to himself as he wrapped the hair in the piece of white linen he kept in his mage's pouch.

As he came back out of the door, the horseman who had been waiting for him to emerge turned his horse back to the group of natives and henchmen.

'Since this noble Mirayan has backed you up, I'll believe you this time, Marren,' he said. 'But I don't want to catch you sheltering any more travelling natives like this so I'm going to leave you a reminder. Burn down the barn,' he told the henchmen. The farmer protested half-heartedly. He knew he was getting off lightly. His wife was busy picking their weeping daughter off the ground and leading her into the house. The other three natives, Duprey, Marren, and his pregnant daughter Arlette, scrambled to get the animals out of the barn.

It seemed a fair lesson. Ezratah knew full well that the farmer was lying about Yani's direction, because he had backed up Ezratah's lies. Somehow the barn burning diminished his unease about undermining a fellow Mirayan. Now he was free to gain his advantage from the Tari. And he would, too, the minute he caught up with him.