"Eleal?” Gim said, “tell me about the festival.” He was smiling wistfully. Sister Ahn had drifted off to sleep where she sat, head down, a small huddle of threadbare blue cloth. T'lin had stretched out on the grass, soaking up sunshine.
"Well!” Eleal pondered. “It would take me all day to tell you everything. It always begins on Thighday evening, with a service in the temple. That's not in the city, it's outside. The next day there's the dedication. Then all the athletes go off on the circuit and the artistic events begin."
"Circuit of what?"
"Sussvale. It takes four days. They stay at Thogwalby, and Filoby, and Jogby. Every day the last few are disqualified and lots just drop out."
Gim's blue eyes widened. “Why?"
"Exhaustion, of course! Sussland's always hot as an oven. At Thogwalby they honor Garward. At Filoby they have another dedication, to lilah. She's goddess of athletes. They spend the night in the sacred grove there.” She sniggered. “One year there was a thunderstorm and they all caught colds! Next day they march to Jogby."
"What do they do there?"
"Lick their blisters."
"I mean what god do they worship?” Gim said crossly.
Eleal could not recall ever hearing of a temple at Jogby. “None! You don't have to go round by Jogby to get to Suss, so I've never been there. I suspect it's just a ploy to keep them out of the way. By the time the brawn gets back to Suss, we artists've usually got most of the individual performances out of the way, and a lot of the plays, too. The end is on Headday, of course. The roses are awarded and the winners parade into the temple to thank Tion, and all the cripples and invalids are brought in and the god performs a miracle ... What are you grinning about?"
Gim scrambled to his feet and went sauntering off as if to admire the view. Eleal went after him.
"What's the matter?"
He grinned sheepishly. “Nothing."
"Tell me! I told you about the festival!"
He was turning pink. “Oh, I was just wondering if Holy Tion looks anything like ... like Dad's statue of Kirb'l."
"He doesn't look at all! Don't you even know that? There's no image of Tion in the temple. No mortal artist could do justice to the lord of beauty."
"Oh. Dad's carving...” Gim squirmed.
"I'm sure it comes very close!"
His milky complexion reddened perceptibly. “Little monster!"
"That's what T'lin meant by the gold rose. There's one yellow rose given out, and the winner of that stands before the altar and represents Tion. He hands out the red roses."
Gim glowered. “I know that!"
"I am sure you will win the gold rose!"
She had thought that his face was red, but it had been barely pink compared with what it now turned. Scarlet spread from the roots of his hair to the collar of his smock. His misty mustache became fairer in contrast. She was fascinated. She couldn't recall ever managing to provoke such an all-encompassing blush, like a stormy sunset all over the sky.
"Go jump off a mountain!” Gim spun on his heel.
She hobbled after him. “But it's a very great honor to portray a god, and in your case you would be entering as a likeness of your father's carving. Perhaps the god is telling us that he wants your father brought here to make—"
Gim spun around furiously. “Go away and stop pestering me, little girl!"
Oo! “But I am drawn to your beauty as stenchbugs to honey—"
"Stenchbugs get stamped on!"
"But beauty should be recognized and all women—"
"What's the argument?” asked T'lin Dragontrader, strolling over to them. He had stripped down to a smock and baggy Joalian breeches, both colored like a flock of rainbow birds. His sword dangled at his belt. The little gold ring glinted in his earlobe.
"Nothing!” Gim barked.
"I was just explaining about the gold rose."
"Ah.” T'lin shrugged. “Myself, I don't think good looks are anything to brag about. But they're nothing to be ashamed of, either, and you'll grow out of them soon enough. Don't let this little queen bee get under your skin, lad. How well can you play that lyre of yours?"
"I'll show you!” Gim said, eager for a distraction.
"I'm no judge."
"I am,” Eleal said.
T'lin folded red-hairy arms. “You keep out of this, pest. Can you twang a note or two well enough to enter? Not win, necessarily, just reasonably enter?"
"Think so."
"Good. Then you'll do that. You can be our scout at the festival."
Gim frowned. “The festival is to honor the—"
"Then why are there reapers there? Your god told you to rescue this half-size bellyache, didn't he?"
Both men looked down at Eleal while she tried to think of a witty alternative to kicking Dragontrader's shins.
"I'm suggesting your responsibilities aren't over yet,” T'lin said. “We've got her here, you and me, and we've got to try to keep her alive. Or do you put your trust in Sister Ahn's swords-manship?"
Gim smiled. “No, sir."
"Ah, the old bag's awake, we can be on our way. Let's see you saddle up, Wrangler. Come, Jewel of the...."
Eleal spun around to see why T'lin was staring. She saw smoke. Something big was burning in Sussland.
38
"PIOL POET WAS PLANNING TO WRITE A DRAMA CALLED the Zoruatiad, about the siege of Ruat,” Eleal explained, “so of course that year we went there to let him look over the place. He never did write it, though. Once this was all Ruatland, and Ruat was a fair and mighty city. There was a bridge there in those days. Then came the Lemodland War. Ruatia fought for the Thargians, but the Joalians won, at least hereabouts, and Trathor Battlemaster razed the city and threw down the bridge. They made Sussby into the new capital, on their side of the river, but there's still only the two bridges, at Rotby and Lameby. So Sussby grew up to became Suss, Ruatwater became Susswat—"
"Do you ever stop talking?” Gim asked.
"Not when faced with such an abundance of ignorance in need of instruction.” That was a quote from last year's comedy, and quite witty under the circumstance, Eleal decided. She would forgive him, then. Besides, he had smiled enough to take the sting out of his words and Gim Wrangler's smile would melt a statue of the Maiden. His face was scorched by the sun already and so coated with road dust that his eyebrows and mustache had vanished altogether. The latter looked much better when it wasn't visible.
T'lin was in the lead. Behind him Sister Ahn lolled in Blaze's saddle like a bag of cordroot. Even if she was as unconscious as she looked, she was well strapped on. The youngsters were bringing up the rear. They had gained enough control over their mounts now that they could ride side by side and converse.
The descent of Susslope had been easier than Eleal had expected, following the steepest route to avoid trees and then down avalanche cuts. Those in turn had led to a sizable river, which had soon entered a cultivated valley, and since then it had been all dirt road and dust and sweat. She had forgotten just how hot Sussvale was, or else the quick descent had given her no time to adjust. She had stripped down to breechclout and smock. Her legs were getting burned. So were Gim's, because he was wearing no more than she was.
Dragons did poorly in heat, and T'lin was holding them to a gentle zaib. On either hand sun blazed on lurid green paddy fields, where brown-chested men in wide straw hats would straighten from their work to inspect the travelers, and sometimes return their waves. Eleal suspected the water round their legs would be as warm as a hot bath. Some crop she should recognize and didn't was flowering in acres of pale pink, scenting the air like custard. Once in a while the road passed through orchards of the great dark bellfruit trees, and the black shade was a blessing. Sometimes, too, watchcats would yowl from the little farms as the four dragons ran by.