John himself stood beside the window, gazing through the thick glass of its much-mended casement out over the barren lands to the north, where they merged with the bruised and tumbled sky. His hand was pressed to his side, where the rain throbbed in the ribs that the tail-knob had cracked.
Though the soft buckskin of her boots made no sound on the rutted stone of the floor, he looked up as she came in. His eyes smiled greeting into hers, but she only leaned her shoulder against the stone of the doorpost and asked, Well?
He glanced ceilingward where Gareth would be lying. What, our little hero and his dragon? A smile flicked the corners of his thin, sensitive mouth, then vanished like the swift sunlight of a cloudy day. Ive slain one dragon, Jen, and it bloody near finished me. Tempting as the promise is of getting more fine ballads written of my deeds, I think Ill pass this chance.
Relief and the sudden recollection of Gareths ballad made Jenny giggle as she came into the room.
The whitish light of the windows caught in every crease of Johns leather sleeves as he stepped forward to meet her and bent to kiss her lips.
Our hero never rode all the way north by himself, surely?
Jenny shook her head. He told me he took a ship from the south to Eldsbouch and rode east from there.
Hes gie lucky he made it that far, John remarked, and kissed her again, his hands warm against her sides. The pigs have been restless all day, carrying bits of straw about in their mouthsI turned back yesterday even from riding the bounds because of the way the crows were acting out on the Whin Hills. Its two weeks early for them, but its in my mind thisll be the first of the winter storms. The rocks at Eldsbouch are shipeaters. You know, Dotys says in Volume Three of his Historiesor is it in that part of Volume Five we found at Ember?or is it in Clivy?that there used to be a mole or breakwater across the harbor there, back in the days of the Kings. It was one of the Wonders of the World, Dotysor Clivysays, but nowhere can I find any mention of the engineering of it. One of these days Im minded to take a boat out there and see what I can find underwater at the harbor mouth
Jenny shuddered, knowing John to be perfectly capable of undertaking such an investigation. She had still not forgotten the stone house he had blown up, after reading in some moldering account about the gnomes using blasting powder to tunnel in their Deeps, nor his experiments with water pipes.
Sudden commotion sounded in the dark of the turret stair, treble voices arguing, She is, too! and Let go! A muted scuffle ensued, and a moment later a red-haired, sturdy urchin of four or so exploded into the room in a swirl of grubby sheepskin and plaids, followed immediately by a slender, dark-haired boy of eight. Jenny smiled and held out her arms to them both. They flung themselves against her; small, filthy hands clutched delightedly at her hair, her skirt, and the sleeves of her shift, and she felt again the surge of ridiculous and illogical delight at being in their presence.
And how are my little barbarians? she asked in her coolest voice, which fooled neither of them.
Goodwe been good, Mama, the older boy said, clinging to the faded blue cloth of her skirt. I been goodAdric hasnt.
Have, too, retorted the younger one, whom John had lifted into his arms. Papa had to whip Ian.
Did he, now? She smiled down into her older sons eyes, heavy-lidded and tip-tilted like Johns, but as summer blue as her own. He doubtless deserved it.
With a big whip, Adric amplified, carried away with his tale. A hundred cuts.
Really? She looked over at John with matter-of-fact inquiry in her expression. All at one session, or did you rest in between?
One session, John replied serenely. And he never begged for mercy even once.
Good boy. She ruffled Ians coarse black hair, and he twisted and giggled with pleasure at the solemn make-believe.
The boys had long ago accepted the fact that Jenny did not live at the Hold, as other boys mothers lived with their fathers; the Lord of the Hold and the Witch of Frost Fell did not have to behave like other adults. Like puppies who tolerate a kennelkeepers superintendence, the boys displayed a dutiful affection toward Johns stout Aunt Jane, who cared for them and, she believed, kept them out of trouble while John was away looking after the lands in his charge and Jenny lived apart in her own house on the Fell, pursuing the solitudes of her art. But it was their father they recognized as their master, and their mother as their love.
They started to tell her, in an excited and not very coherent duet, about a fox they had trapped, when a sound in the doorway made them turn. Gareth stood there, looking pale and tired, but dressed in his own clothes again, bandages making an ungainly lump under the sleeve of his spare shirt. Hed dug an unbroken pair of spectacles from his baggage as well; behind the thick lenses, his eyes were filled with sour distaste and bitter disillusion as he looked at her and her sons. It was as if the fact that John and she had become loversthat she had borne Johns sonshad not only cheapened his erstwhile hero in his eyes, but had made her responsible for all those other disappointments that he had encountered in the Winterlands as well.
The boys sensed at once his disapprobation. Adrics pugnacious little jaw began to come forward in a miniature version of Johns. But Ian, more sensitive, only signaled to his brother with his eyes, and the two took their silent leave. John watched them go; then his gaze returned, speculative, to Gareth. But all he said was, So you lived, then?
Rather shakily, Gareth replied, Yes. Thank you He turned to Jenny, with a forced politeness that no amount of animosity could uproot from his courtiers soul. Thank you for helping me. He took a step into the room and stopped again, staring blankly about him as he saw the place for the first time. Not something from a ballad, Jenny thought, amused in spite of herself. But then, no ballad could ever prepare anyone for John.
Bit crowded, John confessed. My dad used to keep the books that had been left at the Hold in the storeroom with the corn, and the rats had accounted for most of em before Id learned to read. I thought theyd be safer here.
Er Gareth said, at a loss. II suppose
He was a stiff-necked old villain, my dad, John went on conversationally, coming to stand beside the hearth and extend his hands to the fire. If it hadnt been for old Caerdinn, who was about the Hold on and off when I was a lad, Id never have got past the alphabet. Dad hadnt much use for written thingsI found half an act of Luciards Firegiver pasted over the cracks in the walls of the cupboard my granddad used to store winter clothes in. I could have gone out and thrown rocks at his grave, I was that furious, because of course theres none of the play to be found now. God knows what they did with the rest of itkindled the kitchen stoves, I expect. What weve managed to save isnt muchVolumes Three and Four of Dotys Histories; most of Polyborus Analects and his Jurisprudence; the Elucidus Lapidarus; Clivys On Farmingin its entirety, for all thats worth, though its pretty useless. I dont think Clivy was much of a farmer, or even bothered to talk to farmers. He says that you can tell the coming of storms by taking measurements of the clouds and their shadows, but the grannies round the villages say you can tell just watching the bees. And when he talks about the mating habits of pigs
I warn you, Gareth, Jenny said with a smile, that John is a walking encyclopedia of old wives tales, granny-rhymes, snippets of every classical writer he can lay hands upon, and trivia gleaned from the far corners of the hollow earthencourage him at your peril. He also cant cook.
I can, though, John shot back at her with a grin.
Gareth, still gazing around him in mystification at the cluttered room, said nothing, but his narrow face was a study of mental gymnastics as he strove to adjust the ballads conventionalized catalog of perfections with the reality of a bespectacled amateur engineer who collected lore about pigs.
So, then, John went on in a friendly voice, tell us of this dragon of yours, Gareth of Magloshaldon, and why the King sent a boy of your years to carry his message, when hes got warriors and knights that could do the job as well.
Er Gareth looked completely taken aback for a momentmessengers in ballads never being asked for their credentials. That isbut thats just it. He hasnt got warriors and knights, not that can be spared. And I came because I knew where to look for you, from the ballads.
He fished from the pouch at his belt a gold signet ring, whose bezel flashed in a spurt of yellow hearthlightJenny glimpsed a crowned king upon it, seated beneath twelve stars. John looked in silence at it for a moment, then bent his head and drew the ring to his lips with archaic reverence.
Jenny watched his action in silence. The King was the King, she thought. It was nearly a hundred years since he withdrew his troops from the north, leaving that to the barbarians and the chaos of lands without law. Yet John still regarded himself as the subject of the King.
It was something she herself had never understoodeither Johns loyalty to the King whose laws he still fought to uphold, or Caerdinns sense of bitter and personal betrayal by those same Kings. To Jenny, the King was the ruler of another land, another timeshe herself was a citizen only of the Winterlands.
Bright and small, the gold oval of the ring flashed as Gareth laid it upon the table, like a witness to all that was said. He gave that to me when he sent me to seek you, he told them. The Kings champions all rode out against the dragon, and none of them returned. No one in the Realm has ever slain a dragonnor even seen one up close to know how to attack it, really. And there is nothing to tell us. I know, Ive looked, because it was the one useful thing that I could do. I know Im not a knight, or a champion His voice stammered a little on the admission, breaking the armor of his formality. I know Im no good at sports. But Ive studied all the ballads and all their variants, and no ballad really tells that much about the actual how-to of killing a dragon. We need a Dragonsbane, he concluded helplessly. We need someone who knows what hes doing. We need your help.
And we need yours. The light timbre of Aversins smoky voice suddenly hardened to flint. Weve needed your help for a hundred years, while this part of the Realm, from the River Wildspae north, was being laid waste by bandits and Iceriders and wolves and worse things, things we havent the knowledge anymore to deal with: marshdevils and Whisperers and the evils that haunt the night woods, evils that steal the blood and souls of the living. Has your King thought of that? Its a bit late in the day for him to be asking favors of us.
The boy stared at him, stunned. But the dragon
Pox blister your dragon! Your King has a hundred knights and my people have only me. The light slid across the lenses of his specs in a flash of gold as he leaned his broad shoulders against the blackened stones of the chimney-breast, the spikes of the dragons tail-knob gleaming evilly beside his head. Gnomes never have just one entrance to their Deeps. Couldnt your Kings knights have gotten the surviving gnomes to guide them through a secondary entrance to take the thing from behind?
Uh Visibly nonplussed by the unheroic practicality of the suggestion, Gareth floundered. I dont think they could have. The rear entrance of the Deep is in the fortress of Halnath. The Master of HalnathPolycarp, the Kings nephewrose in revolt against the King not long before the dragons coming. The Citadel is under siege.
Silent in the corner of the hearth to which she had retreated, Jenny heard the sudden shift in the boys voice, like the sound of a weakened foundation giving under strain. Looking up, she saw his too-prominent Adams apple bob as he swallowed.
There was some wound there, she guessed to herself, some memory still tender to the touch.
Thatsthats one reason so few of the Kings champions could be spared. It isnt only the dragon, you see. He leaned forward pleadingly. The whole Realm is in danger from the rebels as well as the dragon. The Deep tunnels into the face of Nast Wall, the great mountain-ridge that divides the lowlands of Belmarie from the northeastern Marches. The Citadel of Halnath stands on a cliff on the other side of the mountain from the main gates of the Deep, with the town and the University below it. The gnomes of Ylferdun were our allies against the rebels, but now most of them have gone over to the Halnath side. The whole Realm is split. You must come! As long as the dragon is in Ylferdun we cant keep the roads from the mountains properly guarded against the rebels, or send supplies to the besiegers of the Citadel. The Kings champions went out He swallowed again, his voice tightening with the memory. The men who brought back the bodies said that most of them never even got a chance to draw their swords.
Gah! Aversin looked away, anger and pity twisting his sensitive mouth. Any fool whod take a sword after a dragon in the first place
But they didnt know! All they had to go on were the songs!
Aversin said nothing to this; but, judging by his compressed lips and the flare of his nostrils, his thoughts were not pleasant ones. Gazing into the fire, Jenny heard his silence, and something like the chill shadow of a wind-driven cloud passed across her heart.
Half against her will, she saw images form in the molten amber of the fires heart. She recognized the winter-colored sky above the gully, the charred and brittle spears of poisoned grass fine as needle-scratches against it, John standing poised on the gullys rim, the barbed steel rod of a harpoon in one gloved hand, an ax gleaming in his belt. Something rippled in the gully, a living carpet of golden knives.
Clearer than the sharp, small ghosts of the past that she saw was the shiv-twist memory of fear as she saw him jump.
They had been lovers then for less than a year, still burningly conscious of one anothers bodies. When he had sought the dragons lair, more than anything else Jenny had been aware of the fragility of flesh and bone when it was pitted against steel and fire.
She shut her eyes; when she opened them again, the silken pictures were gone from the flame. She pressed her lips taut, forcing herself to listen without speaking, knowing it was and could be none of her affair. She could no more have told him not to gonot then, not nowthan he could have told her to leave the stone house on Frost Fell and give up her seeking, to come to the Hold to cook his meals and raise his sons.
John was saying, Tell me about this drake.
You mean youll come? The forlorn eagerness in Gareths voice made Jenny want to get up and box his ears.