Disciple, Part I: For Want of a Piglet Page 3

  A trustworthy servant and a trustworthy secretary. “Sir Anders must be worthy too.”

  Both men looked at Sir Anders’ back when I said that, and hesitated. It was Ilya who said, “Sir Anders earned his place on the Prince’s Guard at the jousting tournament. He rode beside m’lord at Ansehen, in the charge against the centaurs. In the saddle, true, he’s a worthy knight.”

  “I saw enough of what they did to knights, in the surgery with Master Parselev,” I said. As I thought of my teacher, I stumbled back across the question from that morning in the Chapel. “You expected the Elect to come with you.”

  Neither of them wanted to answer that. “I don’t think anybody expected you,” Boristan said. “A young girl like you? On a hunt? Folk would talk. No surprise he told you to keep quiet.”

  “I doubt it’s a hunt.” My voice dropped further. “Why did Sir Kiefan set a watch overnight? The Guard had their own watch, and surely that’s enough. Do they set watches on hunts?”

  Ilya answered. “To guard against wolves and bears. M’lord said it was to set the habit.”

  “Have you ever hunted lamia? Does one watch for them?”

  “They’re looking,” Boristan murmured.

  I glanced up, right into Sir Kiefan’s eyes. A hot blush on my cheeks, I tugged on Pal’s reins until he sidled away from Ther Boristan’s horse.

  I said nothing and let Pal trail a little behind the group until we stopped to eat at noon. Trail biscuit in hand, I walked while the horses drank from the trough at another cistern. Though today was better than yesterday, it was more an achy shuffle than a walk.

  The valley spread out behind us, now clearly lower and gentler than the hills we’d been riding up and down all morning. Mount Woden still towered in the distance, its flanks dark with forest, its peak naked stone. On the road ahead of us, forested hills climbed fast and ascended into the cloudbank shrouding the Eispitzen mountains.

  “Were you gossiping?” Sir Kiefan stood a few feet away, chewing on his trail biscuit as he watched me.

  I was struck dumb for a heartbeat, under those chilly grey eyes. “Appreciating Ther Boristan’s art, m’lord. Then Ilya told us about hunts.”

  A nod. “Ilya’s served on several hunts with us.”

  “He said you set watches, on hunts, against wolves and bears.”

  The prince stepped closer. “True enough. And oat fields crawl with wolves and bears, as everyone knows.”

  “It did seem odd, m’lord.”

  “What does the Elect’s apprentice know of setting watches?” he asked, drawing closer still. I looked away from his stern eyes, swallowing. The biscuit crumbled in my grip.

  “How long have you been apprenticed?”

  “Two years, m’lord.”

  “Where were you born?”

  “In Wodenberg. On Engl Street.”

  I could smell horses and leather on him. A bit of sweat from hoisting buckets of water. The prince said, “Your parents are un-Blessed.”

  For that, I braved his eyes to be sure he saw my honesty. “My father and mother both swore to Saint Aleksandr, m’lord.”

  “And they raised a girl who won’t keep quiet and keep her nose to herself.”

  “A timid physician is of little use, Master Parselev taught me.”

  A moment passed. I held my eyes on his, mostly. The scar tissue around the foremost nubs of his Blessing kept drawing me upward — silvery, raised spider-legs as if there’d been more that didn’t quite surface. He took a step back. “We’ll reach Vorspitz today. Can you hold your peace until tonight?”

  “I’ll burst for all my questions, m’lord,” I replied.

  Sir Kiefan was walking away, but he turned on his heel to say, “That would be curious to see, I think,” and then kept going.

  Chapter 3

  The promise of answers helped me hold my peace through the day’s ride and then dinner at Baron Eismann’s own table in his keep’s great hall. His wife and daughter served us themselves, with gracious smiles and no questions why I was counted among this hunting party. Little was said at all, in truth, until the Baroness took a steaming charger of apple strudel from a servant outside the hall and carried it to the table. I regretted eating so much of the venison pie, but was determined to have some of the strudel once the scent hit me.

  “I’ve given you my two best huntsmen,” Baron Eismann began, as he leaned on the table with both elbows. Sir Kiefan had declined to take the baron’s seat at the head of his own table in his own hall, and Eismann had insisted that the prince sit at his right. “They’ve been as high as any man who’s gone up Himmelbaum and Starknadel and lived to tell of it. Move quick, don’t hunt, and the lamia may let you pass.”

  Bjorn and Ulf Waldgrun — cousins — had joined us for dinner and, after polite introductions, sat silently. Sir Kiefan had presented me as “his physician” and they’d given me a moment’s measurement. From archers Blessed with hawk’s eyes, that was something. Whatever color their eyes had been, they were golden now and crowded out the whites so their pupils could gape wide in dim light. Archers blinked rarely, letting a near-transparent inner eyelid do the job most often. Both were ten years and more my elder, Ulf seemingly sewn from grizzled leather by Father Duty’s strong hands. Bjorn, the younger of them, smiled more but all about him was spare and sober.

  Baron Eismann paused as his wife poured mugs of spiced, Arceal tea; I picked mine up as soon as she finished, wanting a taste of the exotic brew. Black tea was pricy enough, and Master Parselev rarely opened his box of spiced leaf.

  “What knowledge can I give you as well, m’lord?” the baron asked.

  “Do you see many Suevi in Vorspitz?” Sir Kiefan asked in reply. “Arceal merchants?”

  It wasn’t what Eismann expected, by how he frowned and stroked his grey-shot beard. “Here? It’s a hard day’s ride to Knapptal. And your grandfather saw to it that the pass is well watched, m’lord. How could Suevi reach Vorspitz?”

  The Empire of Arcea had conquered Suevia, the land below Wodenberg’s broad mountain valley, in the days when Kiefan’s grandfather ruled. Arcea had been content to let Suevia and Wodenberg continue trading as neighbors for near fifty years. Then, over the summer, they’d sent an army of Suevi and kir-forged Arceal monsters to our southern border.

  “Whatever smuggling there may be is of no consequence now,” Sir Kiefan said, leaning toward the baron on one elbow. “The secrecy of this mission is of utmost importance. Must I watch my back all the way up the mountain? Through the pass? Arcea must not know we’ve tried for an alliance with Caercoed.”

  We were going through the Eispitzen? I’d caught a glimpse of the mountains in the afternoon, when the cloudbank lifted. Trees were barely turning for autumn here, but above was ice and snow. I managed to swallow the bit of strudel in my mouth, but suddenly didn’t want any more.

  Eismann, after leaning back and frowning, said, “There are a few Suevi who come this far. The King knows of them — they bring news from the Queen’s kin. One brought a warning a week ago, and has already gone back.”

  “The word of their army massing at Temitte?” Kiefan grimaced. “Their harriers were bold enough to raid within an afternoon’s ride of Mount Woden. Next year will be hard.”

  Temitte was the nearest Suevi city to our southern border.

  I looked at the portion of strudel on my trencher, my stomach sinking under dread. The golden apples and pastry, cloaked in honey, glistened, trying to tempt me. While I considered one more bite, a warm head laid itself on my thigh. I sat at the end of the bench, and one of the baron’s hunting hounds looked up at me with sad brown eyes. He licked his greying chops and stared longingly at my portion of strudel.

  Across from me, Bjorn whispered, “Old Ritter’s always glad to help, if you’re full.”

  Tearing off a piece of the pastry, I gave it to Old Ritter and he hurried off. At the other end of the table, Sir Kiefan said, “Tell me what you know of the land beyond the mountains.”

>   Eismann took another sip of his tea. “If any of us have reached Caercoed, they have not returned. Better to ask the Englic or the Suevi what they know of it.” The baron’s eyes fell squarely on me, the only Engl at the table.

  “I was born in Wodenberg, m’lord,” I said. “My father was never a sailor, nor any of his kin.”

  “A hunting party found the remains of a group lost years before,” the baron went on. “They’d reached the far side of the pass and glimpsed a vast, green land. The archer saw smoke from villages in the distance. Then they were caught in a blizzard for days. Their food ran out as they struggled to cross back. Lamia finished them off, but did not touch the book the Ther had written in.”

  “A green land in winter?” Sir Anders broke his silence.

  “The party went late in the Warm Moon.”

  Summer. Early, but full summer. Mother have mercy.

  “The pass over Starknadel is the lowest in Wodenberg,” Baron Eismann said, “but the snows never thaw. The pass is never easy — and the Grain Moon has begun in earnest. To be plain, m’lord, you should not go that way. South, over the smugglers’ trails, then turn north in Suevia through one of their lower passes, and you might still beat the winter if you ride hard.”

  Kiefan hadn’t eaten much of his strudel either, but the baron’s daughter refilled his mug. Old Ritter laid his head on my thigh again, and let me scratch his soft ears.

  “Whatever risk Starknadel offers, there’s no chance of capture by Arcea,” Kiefan replied. “No chance I’ll be used as a hostage against my father.”

  “There’s wisdom in that, m’lord, but sending you both?” The Baron included Sir Anders, on his left, with a glance.

  Sir Anders? My brows crept together.

  “The saints were clear. If there’s to be an alliance, there’s to be a marriage, and I am the heir. All they named to this party are here, in obedience. If the mountain keeps me, my eldest nephew has time to earn the job.” That with a sidelong look.

  “Your nephews are fine boys, m’lord, but we’d rather have you for king.”

  In the silence that followed, the wind rose and fell outside the baron’s manor house. The heavy, split logs held without creaking, sound and warm. Far off, though, a clear high note lingered after the wind. Was it a woman’s voice? A child’s? A second joined it, a slightly lower note. Then a third, weaving up and down. A shiver tickled my spine.

  The baron took no notice, nor did half the table. “They say it’s a land of amazons,” Sir Anders said.

  Ther Boristan had stopped eating when the distant singing began. “Like Saint Woden’s disciples?”

  “In their own way. Twin saints rule there, twin women, and the men call cooking and diaper-changing a good day’s work,” Anders replied.

  Boristan laughed, but hushed himself. “It must be a strange land. Where do the stories come from?”

  “Merchants who’ve been to Temitte and seen traders from Caercoed. Strange, perhaps, but surely a land ruled by women could not be unpleasant.”

  “Their men must do more than cook, if they’ve held their southern passes against Arcea,” Sir Kiefan said, and drained his tea again. “Hardly a day’s work, changing diapers.”

  Anders chuckled. “Said by one who’s never been handed a little sister to watch. I thanked the Father the day I was claimed for a stableboy.”

  Old Ritter whimpered, having been so patient, and I paid him with a bigger piece of strudel. The keening voices still rose and fell in the distance, drowned out by the occasional gust of wind. Ther Boristan finally asked, “Who could be out singing at night, m’lord?”

  Baron Eismann seemed surprised. “That’s the lamia, Ther.”

  I was given the smallest of the guest rooms as my own, and the men shared the others. My boots had hardly been off in two days, and when I sat on the mattress and unlaced them it took some two-handed wiggling to get them loose and then some peeling for the wool socks. The floor was chilly under bare feet, but no worse than my dormitory room at the Order. The baron’s daughter had said she’d return with a hot water bladder for my bed.

  I got up to shut my door. Glancing down the hall — I was at the end — I saw her, lamp in hand, leaning against the wall opposite Sir Anders. They spoke too quietly to hear, but she laughed at something he said and played at sassing back with one fist on her generous hip. He laughed in return.

  Anders shifted to put his hand to the wall beside her and lean on it. She turned her nose away, haughty, but spoiled the effect with a smile. He caught her chin with two fingers and turned her back for a kiss.

  I felt a blush rise on my face. I pushed the door shut but couldn’t help lingering with one eye at the shrinking crack.

  The baron’s daughter stepped around him and he turned, leaned against the wall where she’d been. She took a few steps, looked back, and then kept walking. After a few moments, Sir Anders followed.

  I never did get that hot water bladder.

  I slept in my woolen cote and tried to pretend it was a proper shift but it barely reached the middle of my thighs. My feet were cold all night. Next morning, it was back into the rest of the boy clothes. The too-big hose still sagged and the garters for my wool stockings at home would’ve fixed that but no, men had to do things their own way. Run them all the way to your waist and lace them together with your braies — or, I had found out, men could string them separately so they didn’t drop everything when they only needed to pee.

  The things you learn on the road.

  Not being built for that sort of convenience, I assembled a clean set of clothes while sitting on the straw mattress and dressed. I pulled the heavier, looser surcote on over my cote, fussing with the long sleeves to get them all evenly settled together. There’d been time before dinner, thankfully, for me to comb out my hair and re-braid it. Wrapping the braid around my head again, I picked up my wooden hairpin and secured braid to braid at the base of my skull.

  The baroness fed us as much breakfast as we would eat. The seven of us — now that we had two woodsmen and left behind the Prince’s Guard to reinforce the baron’s soldiers — sat around the kitchen table and cleaned out bowls of oatmeal, apples, fried potatoes, eggs, whatever she gave us. Old Ritter wanted to know if I needed help. I didn’t.

  M’lady was so kind in calling me Physician Carpenter and overlooking my table manners that my throat choked shut when she slipped me a packet of horehound lozenges. The Baroness smiled at my thanks and promised to pray the Mother watch over us.

  Afterwards, there was last-minute packing to see to — fresh provisions from the kitchen, and new gear that Bjorn and Ulf brought. Instead of our horses, we met two shaggy ponies in front of the stables. The larger of them, Acorn, could look me in the eye if he held his head high enough. Puck didn’t care to try. The stable master caught Sir Anders checking the ponies’ hooves and took offense, setting off an argument until Baron Eismann and Sir Kiefan arrived to break it up.

  Bjorn managed the packing of the baggage and the messenger bags he handed out. I already had the medicine bag that Master Parselev had given me, though I’d hardly used it yet. Bjorn gave me a couple trail biscuits tied in a kerchief to keep with the bandages and charms — “For emergencies,” he said — and a small water skin on a baldric. The little eating knife on my belt was not sufficient, apparently, and he changed it for a double-edged blade as long as my hand.

  “What could I do with a dagger?” I asked. Aside from slice myself open.

  “You never know what you’ll need,” Bjorn said.

  There were thrummed mittens and wool gloves and a snug cap to be packed in my bag, too. Overnight, the maids had stitched fur linings into our hoods and our cloaks. They gave me three extra cloak pins. There had been a hint of frost before the sun rose, but it wasn’t cold enough to endure the sunshine. Not cold enough for all this new gear, or for the heavy blanket rolls the men added to the ponies’ loads on top of coils of rope and oilskin tarps, the cuts of smoked meat and sacks of
oats. There was some debate over how much the ponies would need and how much we’d eat. And how long we’d be out there.

  Sir Kiefan and Anders had traded their mail suits for lighter, boiled-leather breastplates worn over their surcotes. We had swords and bows, spare quivers and daggers, shovels and an iron-bound pry-bar that could bash a man’s head in.

  We were ready for trouble in the unknown. Expecting it, maybe. Beyond the baron’s stockaded keep, the Eispitzen were free of clouds for now. Though the sun rose behind them, their brilliant white snow carried the morning light. Forests ascended from below, black in the mountains’ shadow, but the trees couldn’t climb far against the creeping blanket of winter that lived on the slopes and descended every year.

  And the saints had sent us to cross through it.

  “You won’t be saddle-sore tonight,” Sir Anders said, catching up to me after a short trip behind a tree. The road was one wagon wide and the cleared shoulders only a few feet more than that, so it was a quick diversion even with a pony trailing him. Anders led Puck, who had declined to have his reins tied to Acorn so Ilya could lead both ponies.

  “No, but this is nearly as steep as River Road.”

  And had been all morning. We walked in half-shade under trees dotted with yellow leaves, the first thoughts of autumn. I had slowly fallen near the back of our party, but Ulf still brought up the rear. Or so I thought; he was only there half the times that I looked. Neither woodsman seemed worried, as yet, so the lamia could not be close by. The Felsherz ran quick and foamy from pool to pool and each had a clot of fishers’ cottages on its shores. Shepherds’ folds, too. We were not so deep in the forest, yet.

  “You and Elect Parselev were at the quartermaster’s pavilion the evening we laid camp at Ansehen, weren’t you?”

  I blinked, pulled from my musings. On cue, that memory passed through my mind. “Yes. An extra wagon of hay and oats turned up at the infirmary instead of our sleeping tents. Master wanted to show me the proper channels to go through with the quartermaster’s staff.”