Who was this arrogant shrew, coming in to play judge and jury without so much as a by your leave? That her accusations were in some sense true was beside the point. I stood expressionless under her harangue, soon as isolated as Sorgrad as everyone edged away. She was someone with enough power, both by magic and custom, to do exactly what she wanted. That made her extremely dangerous. Not that that was going to bother ’Gren. He came sauntering around the hearth to stand beside me, a mocking smile on his face as he bowed to the woman. He said something that halted her in mid-tirade and brought all her lackeys up short. Again, I caught a disquieting glimpse of that rearmost hood turned toward me.
“Don’t make them mad, ’Gren,” I warned. We needed to get something besides our necks out of this unwelcome turn of events. I began searching my mind for options.
“You will quit this place now, at once.” The bitch was back to Tormalin, her sweeping gaze encompassing us all.
She pointed dramatically to the doorway, still open to the night. “No fess will give shelter to such deceivers!” She had a flair for the dramatic to rival Niello, I thought contemptuously. She also had a fine-braided leather belt around her trim waist, a little purse, a knife and a few other oddments tied to it, hanging against her unadorned gray gown. Someone must be raising that color of goat exclusively for Sheltya use.
“Kovar en ria—” one of the younger girls spoke up without thinking, blushed scarlet and hid her face in her hands. The Sheltya woman stared incredulously around to see who had dared to voice an objection. She took a deep breath, a withering look in her eyes.
Before she could speak, Taegan stepped forward. “Kovar al tures,” he said firmly to Sorgrad. “Ilk marist en firath.” His voice cracked a little and he looked beseechingly at Cullam.
“Sikkar,” the old man confirmed. This time it was his turn to drown the woman’s protests, shouting her down with an unexpected authority. Disquiet ran rife around the room.
“What are they saying?” I demanded of ’Gren.
“The bitch wants to put us out into the night,” he said, eyes bright. “Taegan is claiming right of travel truce and old Cullam’s backing him.”
“May I say something?” Usara’s mild request was so unexpected it silenced everyone. “Please will you translate for me, Sorgrad? First, if Cullam is in any way able to vouch for the truth of my words, I would be very grateful for him to do so.” The mage folded his hands together, looking about as dangerous as a milk-fed pup but with unmistakable authority in his bearing. “It is true that I am a wizard as well as a student of history. I have the ring of a scholar of Col, though I do not wear it at present. Yes, I am a mage of Hadrumal, but I did not believe that would be an offense of itself against your customs, as long as I wielded no magic within your territory. Nor did I believe it was wrong for Sorgrad to come here. As I understood the tale, he was banished from his home, not from the whole of the mountains in perpetuity.”
He paused for breath and Sorgrad rapidly translated for those unable to follow the wizard’s own speech. When Sorgrad finished, there was a tense moment until Cullam nodded.
“Sikkarl turat en tergeva,” the old Sheltya said curtly.
Usara nodded as one equal to another. “I came to learn what I could of your history and your wisdom. The misunderstandings between lowlands and mountains are longstanding and many arise from ignorance. Knowledge can salve that ignorance and perhaps enable us all to live and work in harmony. As for magic—”
“Silence!” the woman shouted harshly. “You will not speak of such things on pain of death!”
That grabbed everyone’s attention and I slid a hand inside my sleeve to check the knife I kept sheathed there. All my other weapons were up in the room where I had been sleeping, so if I only had one throw it had better be a good one.
Usara’s unruffled calm made a mockery of the woman’s flushed and angry face. He looked briefly at Cullam, at Sorgrad and then turned to Taegan. “I apologize that we have inadvertently trespassed on your hospitality and your good will. We meant no offense. Rather than bring further discord to your house, we will collect our belongings and leave at once. Please accept my most sincere regrets.”
He bowed and made for the stairs. Sorgrad was relaying Usara’s words to Taegan loud enough for everyone to hear, and from the time he was taking about it adding some amends of his own. Taegen’s reply was understandably curt but not outright hostile. Sorgrad bowed deeply and followed Usara.
“Come on,” I said to ’Gren. “Let’s get our kit and clear out. Time to cut our losses and draw again.”
He followed me to the stairwell door where I looked over my shoulder before going up. The Sheltya woman was in the midst of a nervous knot of women and girls, composure restored as she played the gracious lady answering their hesitant questions. Her male companion stood a little awkwardly by the younger men, none of whom seemed to have much to say for themselves. Cullam stayed next to Taegan, exchanging remarks in low voices and directing carefully neutral glances at the woman. The remaining Sheltya were still standing by the door, motionless apart from the breeze plucking at the hems of their cloaks. The one at the back turned a hooded head toward me again and this time I caught a flash of green eyes from within the shadow.
An inexplicable disquiet gnawed at me. These eyes were not the clear green of the Folk, echoing summer leaves, but had the cold pallor of the winter ocean. Why did that worry me so much? Sudden fear sent me fleeing up the stairs like a child seeking the sanctuary of blankets to shut out the night’s terrors. I stumbled on the uneven risers of the steps.
“Slow down!” ’Gren exclaimed, his own boots scraping on the stairs as they spiraled up through the thickness of the wall. “What’s the hurry?”
I paused, breathing heavily. “I—” I found I had no answer. “Why can’t you cursed people build an even flight of steps!”
“Because uneven stairs trip up anyone trying to attack in the dark, why do you think?” ’Gren’s literal-minded approach to life didn’t miss a breath.
“What?” I stared at him.
“Different pattern in every rekin,” he explained readily. “Go up and down them every day, and you never notice. Try being a stranger sneaking up in the dark and you’ll go flat on your nose!”
“And I thought it was just you two who were paranoid.” The thrill of dread had evaporated, leaving me feeling small and foolish. “I’ll meet you back here.”
Going up the next set of stairs, I reached the female floor of the rekin and passed through the smaller rooms set aside for married women until I reached the broad dormitory for girls and guests. I unlocked the little chest set at the end of my allocated bed and took out my kit-bag with a little regret. I’d been looking forward to finding out more about the finely worked Mountain Man locks that were traded the length and breadth of old Empire.
I shed my skirts without any compunction. Since we were already as welcome as a mangy dog, the household could be scandalized by me in my breeches. I wasn’t about to go out into the dusk with only thin wool between the biting insects and me. I also swapped soft shoes for my usual boots, checking the daggers sheathed in the seams and the darts in my belt-pouch. I didn’t trust that loud-mouthed virago down there not to try something to finish us off once we were beyond the shelter of the fess. I wasn’t done with her either, I decided, loosening the dagger beneath my shirt sleeve and unbuttoning the cuff so I could palm the blade in an instant.
’Gren’s double knock on the outer door set me stuffing the rest of my belongings anyhow into my bag. I hurried back to the stairway and found all three of them waiting for me.
“We will make our departure with dignity and courtesy,” Usara said firmly. “I do not wish to cause any more upset.”