Fires of Aggar Read online

  Some time later Sparrow emerged from the Trade House with a distinct dissatisfaction that puzzled her thoroughly. She’d gotten everything they’d needed, delivery on the morrow to the Guild stables without extra charge, and reasonably good prices even on the rarer mustard oils.

  A bright bit of brocade with a braided trim distracted her then and took her to the cloth racks across the street. The material put her in mind of a wedding cape for some groom, and she wondered if they had room for any more bolts of fabrics. They’d be south before mid-summer, plenty of time for tailors to use it for the harvest weddings. She toyed with the thought, eyeing a few other designs as well. Absently her fingers strayed to the wristband beneath her left sleeve and tugged at it to ease the ache.

  Ache? Her attention shifted abruptly.

  Sparrow flexed her wrist experimentally, but there was no restriction; nothing was laced too tightly. Yet the dull throbbing was unmistakable.

  Which meant only one thing! She looked to the sun in confusion. The day was still nowhere near three-quarters, let alone eventide. It couldn’t possibly be Brit? But she knew it was; the lifestone embedded in her wrist was insistently prodding — it was Brit. Somehow it was Brit!

  And close — not merely in the city or settling into the Guild’s Inn at the far end of the Square, but here. Near.

  Sparrow jumped up to the top of the weaving shop steps, craning her neck to see over the racks of fabrics and people’s heads. She half-expected the woman to be at Iseul’s own doors, but there was no sign of that familiar face. She concentrated a moment, letting the pull of the lifestone give her a direction. Surprisingly, it drew her further south towards the Beast Sellers’ court. Then she grinned suddenly, remembering the new harness pieces Brit had hoped to find in Crossroads. If she hadn’t been able to get the pieces though… well, some of the best leather work shops in Gronday were along the Sellers’ court and doubtless would draw Brit here on that errand.

  Sure enough, the pull of the small stone led Sparrow through the penned maze of livestock to the Guild’s favored leather shop. And in the midst of yokes and saddles and piled leather riggings, the stoic bulk of Brit n’Minona stood arguing with a crafter. Sparrow smiled and sat herself down on a railing between two shining saddles. Content just to watch, she felt a warm glow rising inside. There was no doubt about it — she loved this woman.

  Brit stood there ranting, hands on broad hips, feet planted wide, and fairly shouted at the burly male who towered over her. She railed at him with all the spirit of a true Amazon, despite the fact that she wasn’t anywhere near as tall as any Niachero. In fact, for all her bulk Brit wasn’t any taller than an average woman of the Ramains. That placed her a good head shorter than this fellow, although Sparrow only came to Brit’s own shoulder’s height. Brit was a strong woman and a big one though…“nearly as broad across as I am up,” she was fond of saying. But unlike most tinker-trades, Brit wasn’t dressed at all flamboyantly. Her knee-length dress was belted and slit at the sides for easy movement, and her trousers were comfortably tucked into low boots. She was a collection of muted grays and browns, the traditional healer’s colors, which was good for advertising that added specialty of their business.

  Sparrow chuckled as the crafter raised placating hands of submission, pleading something or other to gain any calm. Sparrow would bet her life that the man had seen the healer’s garb and figured a modest temper with a modest aptitude for bartering.

  To his chagrin he’d obviously discovered all healers weren’t so meek when overcharged.

  “Not at quarter-day!” Brit snapped all the louder as the man retreated into the shop. “Deliver the lot first thing!” She came away still grumbling and pulled up short at the sound of applause. A broad grin met her as Sparrow sat there clapping gleefully. “Ti Mae! My word — come here, Love!”

  Laughing, Sparrow bounded into Brit’s arms. The hoots and whistles of well-meaning apprentices were staunchly ignored as she claimed both a hug and warm kiss.

  “Oh Soroi — I’ve missed you, Sparrow dear.”

  “Mutual, I assure you.”

  “When they said you were out, I figured to finish with this mess then be freed for the rest of… let me see you proper.” The older woman paused a moment, appraising the shadowy bruises and faint caramel flush that attested to her shadowmate’s exhaustion. But the smug confidence beamed through the weariness and satisfied her too; they’d not been apart too long.

  “Do I pass muster?”

  “Certainly do.” Brit tucked Sparrow in under an arm and started them off towards the Square. “Now, I went without mid-day, so let’s find me something to eat on the way to bed!”

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  “Brit! You look—”

  “I know, I know!” She waved Gwyn’s nonsense aside. “The brown in the hair’s gotten more gray. And aye, I still wear it too bristly short. Not to mention, the waist has gotten fatter and the old voice gruffer.”

  Gwyn raised a brow in rueful humor. “I was about to say you look in rare good form, but I get the feeling you’re not in the mood for compliments — no matter how true they may be.”

  The older woman growled and wrapped Gwyn up in a big hug. “I should know better than to spar words with you, Young Gwyn’l! Not you! The eldest daughter of our Ring Binder.”

  “A diplomat you mean?! Oh Brit, please! Insults so early? We haven’t even left Gronday yet! And your hair’s not so short in back. You’ve still got a respectable bit of a tail there.” Gwyn tugged on the tiny braid playfully. “Even if it isn’t any bigger than my little finger!”

  “Well I like it that way!” Sparrow chimed in, shooing Gwyn’s fingers away and gently stroking Brit’s braid back into place. Her lover smiled at her, knowing it was only a ruse to caress that tender place on the nape of her neck.

  “So sit — sit! Here I am being a rude host.” Gwyn’s room was a reflection of Jes’ own, the standard among the Marshals’ lodgings at the Guild. And she pulled the two chairs away from the table, nearer to the fire. “Have you had eventide yet?”

  “Aye an’ then some.” As Brit hunkered down into her seat, she glanced at Sparrow to share a mischievous smile.

  “No, I’m fine where I am Gwyn,” Sparrow spoke up suddenly, seeing the Amazon was about to settle for the flagstones by the hearth.

  “You’re certain?”

  Sparrow nodded quickly as she wrapped her arms around Brit from behind. Half-teasingly she grinned and strengthened her hug for a brief moment. “This is the only time I can reach her properly.” At Gwyn’s continued hesitation, she added, “I’m Shadow, Gwyn’l. Remember? After a separation, the physical contact helps. I need it.”

  “How do you…?” Gwyn bit off the words with a faint blush and finally took possession of the chair. “Forgive me. I hadn’t meant to pry.”

  “Bright Heavens, woman! It’s all right to ask!” Brit leaned forward to pat her hand lightly. “Why you an’ Kimarie are good as my own nieces, with Jes always feeling like my sib. Go ahead and ask.”

  “Well, it’s just that I was surprised you’d sent Sparrow on ahead like you did. Everything I’ve heard suggested it was pretty impossible for shadowmates to be separated?”

  “For more than a ten-day? Undeniably is. I’d be dead for certain,” Sparrow amended. “But it’s not bad for short stints. I do get tired and restless after a few days—”

  “And those nasty bruises of exhaustion start appearing under your eyes,” Brit grumbled. Gwyn noticed then, she’d not really seen Sparrow without that faint caramel undertone of exertion before tonight.

  “But we’ve had a lot of practice at it — being apart, I mean. And I barely notice the strain these days. Until I see her!” Sparrow smiled at Brit once again, and Gwyn saw much more than simple relief in that glance. “It’s almost worth the separation just to feel so intoxicated.”

  “That’s not all the stone’s bonding, I hope,” Brit huffed.

  Sparrow hugged her fiercely, muttering, “D
on’t be a fool — you know it isn’t.”

  “But I do so like to hear you say it,” her partner chuckled and flushed a deep brown with pleasure.

  “Even I as an outsider can see that it isn’t,” Gwyn inserted gently. She watched her old mentor with a fondness that was fast growing to include this young Sparrowhawk. “I’m finding it hard to imagine you’ve only been together a season or so.”

  “Almost two now,” Brit corrected. “Come end of summer, it’ll be two.”

  “And the lifestone does help with some of it,” Sparrow shrugged. “Major arguments get sorted out, no matter what. It’s simply a given.”

  Brit offered a rather bashful admission then, “You know my temper — it’s no small thing to know she’ll be there in the morning despite my cold ire.”

  “You just needed the security of commitment,” Sparrow assured her. “I rarely see that icy shoulder anymore.”

  “Whatever it is,” Gwyn grinned at Brit, “it seems to suit you — both of you.”

  Brit squeezed Sparrow’s wrist with a sigh, that strong clasp of arms still wrapped around her. Then reality asserted itself, and she looked at Gwyn pointedly. “So, what’s this mess with the Clan that the Council shouldn’t know about?”

  Gwyn told them succinctly of everything, including Jes’ reasons for their joining in the escapade. Yet Brit surprised her when she was through, because the first thing the woman remarked on was the Dracoon’s Sight and not the Clan.

  “A Blue Gift strong enough to reach our home world? Aye, I can see where that explains her reluctance to involve the Council as well as her initial discomfort with Bryana.”

  “How so, Love?” Sparrow prompted.

  “The agreement between us and the Council specifically states that no Blue Sight outside our Sisterhood will violate the privacy of our home world. Anyone wishing to speak with dey Sorormin at Home must first petition the Valley Bay for permission, and the contact must be supervised by the Ring Binder. It would seem that this Llinolae somehow stumbled onto a friend, despite the ban. Still I doubt she did it deliberately, given that Bryana trusts her. Any sort of deceptive personality would certainly have found it difficult to gain your mother’s confidence, Gwyn’l.”

  “It would explain why this Dracoon is avoiding the Council instead of asking them for help,” Sparrow saw. “They get terribly angry at anyone who breaks pact with Valley Bay.”

  “Good friendships do have a way of ignoring boundaries, though,” Gwyn remarked. “Seeing her mentors, n’Shea and n’Athena, accepted her as a fosterling, I find no cause for any of the Council to start wielding judgments. It’s a concern for dey Sorormin — not for the Keep!”

  “Absolutely,” Brit nodded. “I’d wager most Sisters would agree.”

  “Still, it would be best not to actually tell the Council. At least, not at this point,” Sparrow warned. “You know how they are about setting new precedents. They get very stodgy about some things.”

  “Then we proceed as Royal Marshals,” Brit declared amiably. “Both Gwyn and I are official enough, even though I’ll never look it. And you—”

  Sparrow laughed, “I know. I’m the perpetual Marshal’s apprentice!”

  “Just as far as the Royal House is concerned,” Brit amended, then glanced again to Gwyn. “But I do agree with Jes. In Khirla it might be best to work independently. We two will stay in character as tinker-trades, while you distract the Court as the confident, yet ineffective, Marshal-at-hand.”

  “And the sandwolves?” Sparrow prompted.

  “Best to wait and see, but they might do us the most good outside the city gates.”

  “You mean as spies watching for suspicious Palace couriers?” Sparrow elaborated shrewdly.

  “Precisely.” Brit grinned, then suddenly realizing she hadn’t seen so much as a furry paw since arriving. And the bed was set too low to hide such monsters beneath it. “Speaking of your motley crew, Gwyn, where’d they get to?”

  “Jes took them to Market with her. I think they were hoping for a treat.”

  Brit’s laughter broke with a shout. “While she’s hoping to intimidate the barters!”

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  “Now you have everything — absolutely certain?”

  In the Guild Stables, Gwyn looked up from tightly cinching Cinder’s girth, a wry lift to her eyebrow.

  “All right,” Jes sighed. It was rather late in the day for travelers to be leaving, but Gwyn’s small group would easily catch Brit and Sparrow by darkfall. “So you’ve remembered everything, but whatever you’ve forgotten.”

  “Minus whatever you remembered for me.”

  “Most of which you discarded again.”

  “Only because I’m not riding into war, N’Sormee.” Gwyn draped an arm over Cinder’s withers as she faced her mother. Then she grunted at the unexpected weight as Ty promptly took advantage of her stillness and leaned a shoulder into her thigh.

  “You very well might be, with the Clan involved, Gwyn’l.”

  “No,” Gwyn tempered, frowning. “I’ll accept a skirmish or two, but I’m not about to tackle an entire campaign with only two Amazons and a pair of sandwolves behind me. If things have deteriorated that badly, we’ll get out. And with the Dracoon’s consent or without, I’ll bring both the Council and Crowned Rule into this.”

  “Sound judgment.” Jes eyed her eldest with approval. “You’ve grown much in the last tenmoon-and-more.”

  “Aye,” Gwyn stirred uncomfortably and gave Ty’s ears a rub. “Well, I had good teachers somewhere along the line.”

  “Brit and myself? Unlikely,” Jes scoffed. A tender glance met hers, and the elder relented. “Perhaps we didn’t do so poorly, after all.”

  “Nehna?” Gwyn straightened and nudged Ty off of her foot. “Have you any last words of advice?”

  “Oh, two things.” Jes drew a parcel from inside her sling.

  “What are these?” Gwyn opened the beige cloth curiously. “Vambraces?”

  “Look more closely.”

  The amber-brown leathers were long sheaths that would wrap about not only a wrist but also a forearm. In the design, there were exquisite etchings of entwining vines alternating with finger-wide strips of raised smoothness, and a brown-ivory bracelet was bound near each wrist cuff. Then Gwyn did look more closely, and at the inner seam where each tied, the raised smoothness sheathed a taper-thin knife. Its bone-knob hilt was fitted seamlessly into the cuff ring.

  “They’re even of steel — the blades I mean. I had the smithy replace the glass-edged ones with metal reforged from some of my special arrows. I reasoned I’d not be needing the arrows as much as you might need these.”

  “Aye,” Gwyn returned, appreciative of the forethought. “In Court, there are always places where swords aren’t permitted.”

  “Certain courtiers would probably prefer you to be with nothing. But if there really is a traitor in there, you’d best be prepared for unpleasantness.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Then the other thing,” Jes continued, producing a small oblong piece of soft wood with a hole in its center. “At practice yesterday, I heard a faint shing when you drew your sword. You’ve probably worn through to the stone rim on a corner of your sheath ring.”

  “I heard it too.” Gwyn pocketed the thing gratefully. “I was going to ask Brit if she had any in her stock.”

  “I know she’s got the tools to help fit that one in place.”

  “No doubt. So?”

  “So,” Jes drew a deep breath, hating the words, “we find ourselves parting ways once again.”

  “We do seem to do it more often than not.”

  Jes responded with a warm hug and both lingered a moment more, before Gwyn pressed, “You’re leaving for Valley Bay soon. Aren’t you?”

  Her mother nodded with reassurance. “Since you’ve arrived, I’ve realized how badly I’ve been missing you all. I almost suspect myself of breaking this arm semi-purposely.”

  “As an excus
e to go home?”

  Jes shrugged, a little sheepish of that truth. “Extremist and foolish.”

  “But for the best of reasons.” Gwyn stared at her steadily. “It’s important for Bryana too, N’Sormee. She’s grown tired without you, especially in this last wintering.”

  “Then it hasn’t merely been the haze of her harmon shimmering that I noticed?” Jes sighed. “When she last reached me here through Kyra’s Sight, I thought she seemed… well, less than herself. I’d… I’d hoped it was only the strain of reaching me through Kyra here, since Kyra’s Blue Sight has no out-of-time Gift and I know that can make the harmon’s traveling more difficult.”

  “No, it is more than simple weariness for her…,” Gwyn smiled gently, “and for you.”

  “Aye — loneliness far outstretches duties and achievements, Gwyn’l. Remember that, should you ever be forced into a choice between roving and loving.”

  “Forced as you were into no choice? There would never have been a Plateau Treaty without you, N’Sormee. The Changlings’ Wars would still be waging, if you had left them.”

  Jes denied that wearily. “There is always someone else capable of taking my place — or your place, Love. Someone would have managed something, if I’d been elsewhere.”

  “I don’t believe in that ‘always,’” Gwyn refuted. “Neither do you. Or you wouldn’t have stayed.”

  Her mother’s good shoulder shrugged in a helpless gesture. “We Niachero are a stubborn lot — too egotistical for our own good.”

  Gwyn knew only too well the ironic truth of that. She shook their melancholy aside; her troupe needed to be moving. Taking her mother’s hand, she straightened, smiled gently. “May the Goddess walk beside you, N’Sormee. Quita z’Kau. Ann?”

  Jes nodded in reassurance. “May Her Winds ride with you, ti mae Coramee.”