The Windsingers Series: The Complete 4-Book Collection

‘We’ve quarters for Humans,’ acknowledge the Dene. ‘Provided they adhere to our customs and can pay the rates before they enter. Half-copper for the night for a Human. That includes a meal. One copper per night per horse as large as that.’

The Dene had moved in close, as if admiring Sigmund. Ki’s hopes fell. Its grayish top swayed as it tried to inspect the team without being rudely obvious. Its plump, limbless body pulsed. Ki knew the bare smooth hide was impervious to cold or heat. The eternal cool wind off the mountains would never trouble this innmaster. Knowing what would come next, Ki silently climbed back onto her wagon box.

‘Your team is gelded!’ the Dene announced. Despite the slurred Common, its tone of dismay and outrage was clear. A rippling pink flush, mark of deep emotion for a Dene, spread over its body.

‘Gelding a team is the custom of my people,’ Ki replied. She gathered up the reins hastily.

‘You will find no shelter here with us!’ the Dene thundered at her self-righteously. ‘Denes do not associate with sentient beings that mutilate other beings for convenience!’

Ki nodded wearily, then translated the motion for the Dene. ‘I know. I know. You Denes might be a little more understanding if someone stabled a team of stallions with you for the winter. No, don’t raise a fuss. I’m on my way already.’

Ki shook the reins, and the team reluctantly leaned into the harness. The tall yellow wheels began to turn.

‘The Pass of the Sisters is closed!’ the Dene shouted triumphantly behind them. ‘You will have to go back down the hills. If you wish to cross the range this time of year you must go south, to Carrier’s Pass.’

‘I’ve heard I can cross here if I am determined.’

‘If you are a fool! It has snowed much already. You must go back! You cannot go on. You will only have to come back this way, and we will not give you shelter!’

‘I won’t be back!’ Ki promised over her shoulder. The creaking of the tall wheels over the rutted roadway drowned out whatever other warnings the Dene shouted after her. Ki drove on, trying to put the inn from her mind. At the sight of it she had felt a surge of hunger for a meal of fresh red meat. She had imagined a soft feather bed in a well-lit, warm, dry room. Well, she had heard of Dene inns, she comforted herself sourly, and of what they considered fit lodgings for Humans. Denes preferred a damp environment. Ki would have found no meat, no feather bed, no animal product there, but a damp bed of musty straw and a bowl of warm porridge. Such was the hospitality that a Dene provided for Humans.

Just as well, just as well. Nonetheless, the wind seemed more chill on her face and hands than it had before she had sighted the inn. Without checking the grays, she slid open the cuddy door and leaned back into the wagon. She snagged a small skin of sour wine off its hook. She wet her mouth with it and drank a mouthful. Habit made her sparing of all her stores when she had an unfamiliar trail before her. She had replenished her food in Vermintown before she left, but her caution was the habit of a lifetime.

The wagon seat rocked gently beneath her to the music of the eight steady hooves. She smiled down on the wide gray backs and sent a little shiver of encouragement down the traces. Sigmund tossed his head in acknowledgement and skeptical Sigurd snorted. They would carry her through. They had been through much together and had never failed one another.

It was late autumn in the country they now passed. The grasses were dry on the sides of the trail, and the spruce trees darkest green in preparation for winter. By the time she camped tonight she would be in a country that faced early winter. Sometimes, through gaps in the trees when the trail twisted, she could see the road further along where it snaked across the face of the mountain. The sun there shone on whites and grays and palest blues. Ki frowned at the unlikely circuit the trail followed. It was as if the makers of it had sought the longest path between the inn and the pass itself. The trail dipped into every shallow dale, went around every small rise of land between it and the pass.

She had driven away from the inn at midmorning. At noon she chewed dried strips of meat but did not stop for a meal. Time enough for that when it became too dark for travel. A light breeze was blowing the chill of the mountain down to her. She shivered in anticipation of the deep cold to come.

Ki’s wagon passed into the shelter of a rise of land, and the wind eased. The swaying of the wagon, the creaks like small creatures talking to one another, began to lull Ki’s senses. On a familiar road she would have yielded to the temptation to drowse as her team picked its slow way over the trail. But she straightened her spine and pushed her hood back so that the cool air could touch her cheeks. A mountain trail like this could at any time turn into a runnel of washed-away gravel or a slush of standing water and mud. Then was no time to be awakened from a nap, as your wheels stuck with a jerk or your axle smacked against a standing rock.

And, she admitted to herself as she ran a hand across the back of her neck, the value of her cargo weighed on her mind. It was not the first time she had hauled such a shipment. The hidden cupboard had held jewels before, papers that recognized a bastard daughter as heir, and once a forbidden book sealed shut against curious eyes with green wax imprinted with a wizard’s ring. Valuable cargo was nothing new. But the very elaborateness of Rhesus’s precautions disturbed her. Suppose Rhesus was not the paranoid little man Ki had always supposed him to be? Suppose someone was watching him? Would not they have noticed the number of couriers that he sent out, and wondered? And there was the man’s pompous ego to consider, and his fondness for brandy. It would be a great temptation to a man like Rhesus to boast of his own cleverness. Even if he resisted that temptation for days after Ki had left, what was the speed of a loaded wagon compared to a rider on a swift horse? Ki teased her wits with such questions as the day wore on. The very generosity of Rhesus’s payment made her mission all the more suspect.

Night had not yet fallen when the grays waded across a shallow river that had spread across the road. It was not a bad crossing, for it was small, sound gravel under the wheels. But it offered Ki fresh water, the shelter of some small trees, and a level place for the wagon to rest. On the other side of the water, she had the grays pull the wagon off onto level ground beside a stand of spruce.

She cared for her team first, wiping their coats down and covering them with matching blankets. The blankets were a bit worn; she had received them at the same time she had been given Sigmund and Sigurd. For a moment she saw once more Sven’s blue eyes dancing with joy at her surprise, felt the brushing touch of his wide, callused hands as he put into her fingers the stiff new leads that held the wide-eyed three-year-olds. She blocked the image from her mind. The blankets had been too big for them then. Now they were almost worn. She would replace them soon, she promised herself, knowing that she lied.

Ki shifted the leaky bag of salt at the back of the wagon. She lifted the bag below it, opened it, and shook from it a generous measure of grain. The team came to it eagerly, whiffling and snorting as they lipped it from the dry grass. Ki replaced the bogus salt sack, covering it again with the leaky one. That was one concession Rhesus had made to her: if she must haul a load of mock merchandise, at least let it be one that was useful to her. The team would not suffer in this crossing.

The horses moved off, cropping the dry grasses that sprouted sparse on the gentle slope. Ki settled into the rhythm of her solitary evenings, kindling a small fire in the wind-shelter of her wagon, putting on her blackened kettle to boil, parceling out food from her supplies. She brewed her tea, letting it steam itself to blackness before she drank. It coursed scalding down her throat until she could almost feel it splashing into the deep pit of her empty stomach. It made her conscious of the hollow hunger inside her. She set down the earthen mug, reached to stir the stewing soup with the meat knife.

Sigmund stamped and shied. Sigurd snorted and struck out with his front hooves. Ki leaped up as the horses jigged nervously away from the wagon. Her tea overturned as she spun about. She went down swiftly as the shadow from the dark struck her full-force.

The back of her head bounced off the hard earth, scattering sparks of light before her eyes. She fought back blindly, wildly, against the shape of a man she could hardly see. She kicked up from her position, keeping him from pinning her against the earth. She rolled up onto her knees, but even as she rose a rough shove on her shoulder flung her to the ground again. She tucked her shoulder as she hit, rolled nearly into her fire, and came up staggering on her feet. The man rushed at her. At the last possible moment Ki sidestepped the shape that hurtled down on her, flinging out a clenched fist and stiff arm at throat level. He gave a surprised croak of pain. His own momentum betrayed him when Ki’s flying body struck him from behind. He rebounded from the tail of her wagon, sending them both sprawling into the dirt. Ki rolled free of his clutching hands. Heedless of burns, she seized her steaming kettle from the fire and swung it in a splashing arc. The scalding liquid fell on his chest, and the kettle itself connected with his jaw with a satisfying smack. The man went down, hissing in pain. Ki dropped the kettle to snatch up the meat knife. One of her knees hit the center of his chest as she leapt to straddle him, placing the bare blade against the soft base of his throat. He gave one jerk, then lay back quietly when the keen edge sliced shallowly into his skin. He let his arms drop back to the dirt, hands open.

There was a moment when they held their positions, both gasping in raw, cold air. The horses had halted their flight. The light of the fire made shadows and planes of the unkempt face of the man Ki held. With her boots on, they had been of a height, but if the man had been fleshed out he would have had a full stone’s weight over her. He was not. He was thin as an orphaned calf. He had eyes dark as a beast’s and dark, curling hair in which leaves and bits of moss were tangled. It gave him a wild and predatory look. His open mouth, gasping for air, revealed even white teeth. He stared up at Ki, and his eyes were those of a trapped animal, pools of anger and fear. For a moment, as Ki straddled him, she almost wished he had been able to overcome her – a quick and simple way to end it. The stray thought shocked and disquieted her. She made more sure her hold upon him, settling her weight heavily on his chest. Her free hand patted about his waist. He flinched at the touch, then went limp and still under her again. If he carried a knife it was not there. He lay quietly beneath her weight, his eyes alert but his body suddenly docile. His hands splayed upward on the ground, in token of surrender. She stared down at him fiercely, green eyes narrow. He returned her searching look. His bearded lips parted suddenly in a grin. He laughed up at her.

‘Well?’ she demanded of him angrily.

‘Well, yourself.’ He grinned feebly and visibly relaxed. ‘You have yourself in a fine fix. If you were going to kill me you would have done it by now. And if you aren’t going to kill me, just what are you going to do?’ He chuckled, but it changed abruptly into a racking cough. Ki felt a twinge of pity for him, but she did not let it show.

She leaned her face a littler closer to his. ‘I would not be so sure, were I in your position, that it was too late for me to kill you. The knife and the throat are still convenient to one another.’

He was silent beneath her again, striving to get his breath. When finally his lungs had stopped heaving he spoke calmly.

‘I only wanted one of your horses. I meant no harm to your person. When you set your cup down I knew that you had seen me and that I would not get one without a fight. So I attacked, knowing that my chance lay in a quick victory over you. But things did not go as I planned.’

He coughed again, and Ki became aware of the painful thinness of the man and the fever-brightness that lit the dark eyes. But she hardened herself, saying, ‘To take one horse from me in this place is to take my life. It’s like saying you intended to cut off only one of my legs. What great need can you have that forces you to thievery?’

He seemed to consider his reply. ‘A man on foot cannot get through the pass. It is too far to walk in the wind and snow; I have not the proper gear. I have tried it three times, and failed. But on horse, I could get through.’

‘So your first thought, naturally, was to steal a horse,’ Ki coldly concluded. ‘Sometimes one in need asks first, instead of taking action. If you had come peacefully into the circle of my fire and asked me for help in getting over the pass, do you think I would have refused you?’

‘Twice I have tried that way. And twice folk with wagons have given me aid to the foot of the deep snows, only to turn back their wagons and return to the Inn of the Sisters. A wagon cannot get through. I have begged, each time, for the use of a horse, but it was always refused me. Theft is all that is left to me.’

‘You could return to the Inn, wait out the winter. Or go farther south to Carrier’s Pass and cross there.’ Ki did not like the tone of this conversation. She felt ridiculous talking to someone while she perched on his chest. And his strange attitude was contagious. Ki, too, had begun to regard his attack as impersonal, a thing to be excused, like a stranger’s jostle in a crowd.

‘The Denes do not welcome me. They say I paid them in bad coin. How was I to know? Think you that if I had any money left, good or bad, I would be living off small rabbits and wild greens? You must know how Denes are. Their love of dumb beasts is great; their tolerance for sentient creatures who do not conform to their way is small. My life would pay for my small debts. I cannot go back.’

‘You still have not said why you must cross,’ Ki persisted stubbornly.

A shadow passed over his face. The trapped beast peered from his eyes. He glared as if her question were of the greatest impertinence. Ki stared back at him. She did, after all, have the upper hand. She wished to know all the facts before she decided what to do with him. His scowl deepened with her continued silence. Then slowly it faded from his face. He made a gesture that might have been a shrug. ‘What does it matter who knows, then? I need money. My family lives over the mountains. I have relatives that have helped me in these small matters before. And so, I go to them again.’

Ki scowled. It seemed an implausible tale to her. To take such a risk just to … then the man beneath her coughed again, and she found that she had involuntarily moved the blade to keep from cutting him. She tightened her lips, frowning in disgust at herself. Slowly she rose. Even more slowly, she made a show of sheathing her knife. He watched her closely. He made no move to rise but remained as still as if her weight still pinned him.

Ki deliberately turned her back to him but kept her ears tuned to any sudden movement. She picked up the spilled kettle, frowned at the food that remained in it, and set it back on the fire. He still did not move as she drew water from her cask and added it to the kettle. She glanced over at him in annoyance. His ridiculous posture, flat on his back, hands spread upwards on the ground, disarmed her completely. She wanted nothing to do with this man. She would banish him from her campfire, eliminate him from her worries. She watched the slow rise and fall of the ragged tunic over his bony chest.

‘You will ride with me,’ she instructed him at last. ‘Like yourself, I must get over the pass. As we both must cross, we may as well do so together. Now, get up and take some food. You are no more than a bundle of sticks.’

‘And broken sticks at that,’ he readily agreed. With a grunt and a sigh, he drew his body together and rose to his feet. He ran his hands over his ribs. ‘Or at least cracked sticks. Your weight is no joke to a man who has been fasting as I have.’ He grinned at her and scratched his scraggly locks. He shook his head, then combed his fingers through his dark hair, removing the leaves and scraps of moss it had gathered during their struggle.

Ki frowned at him. She could not comprehend the jesting tone he took. It had been long since anyone had dared to joke with her. She could not be comfortable with his good humor. She had just thwarted his thieving attempts, beaten him down, and held a knife to his throat. And now he smiled at her, a crooked smile. What did she expect him to do? Anything but that.

She took more food from her supplies, never quite taking her eyes off him. She recreated the stew in the kettle. He watched her. She looked at him, and his grin grew wider.

‘You have no intentions of trying to bind me? Have you no fear that I will somehow overpower you and make off with one of your horses?’

Ki shrugged, shaking a scanty measure of tea into the pot and returning it to the hot stones by the fire’s edge. ‘The horses are already quite spooked tonight. As you see, I do not picket them. Should you wish to steal one, you must first catch him. Overpower me, kill me – that task is still before you. With my blood-smell on your hands it would be nigh to impossible to catch one of them. No, you have no interest in stealing now. Your only hope of getting over the pass lies in your doing as I say.’

Ki glanced down at her mug of hot tea. She had just poured it. Regretfully, she handed it to him across the fire and rummaged in the dish chest for a second mug. He was silent as she filled it, silent as she sipped. He held his mug in both palms, letting the hot tea within it warm his thin hands. Ki sipped, watching the stranger over the rim of her mug. She smiled behind her tea. So, now she put him at a loss, feeling as if he did not know how to behave. Childish! She sneered at herself as a bubble of triumph rose in her.

The stew came to a bubble, and Ki filled two bowls with it. She passed him a bowl, letting him juggle the hot tea and hot stew as he tried to find a place to settle himself. She seated herself back against a wheel and began to eat. For a time he remained standing, holding mug and bowl as if they were strange artifacts of an unknown use. His eyes on her, he sank finally to the ground. When she looked up, he was setting down his mug and taking up his spoon. He ate with an attitude of great thoroughness, as if he wished to be sure of every morsel. When he had finished, he set the plate aside. He moved to her fire, picked up the teapot slowly, looking at Ki uncertainly. She pretended not to notice his stare. He refilled his mug.

They sipped tea, eyeing one another, not speaking. There was nothing to say. But there was everything to say, Ki reflected, uneasy and tinged with anger within. Exasperation crept over her. Damn him, this was her fire and her wagon. How could he make her feel uneasy at it, as if she had no right here, not even the right to question the ridiculous and offensive way he had intruded himself into her life?

‘I’m Ki.’ It came out almost as an accusation.

‘I’m Vandien,’ he rejoined. He smiled and sipped his tea. The shadows of the fire on his face showed Ki how he might have looked were he washed and fed and dressed decently. It was not a bad way for a man to look. Muscle clung compactly to bone on his body. He was scarcely taller than Ki and only a bit wider through the shoulders. A much-worn leather tunic covered the chest and torso that narrowed down to his hips. His leggings were leather also, worn thin and patched.