Sword of Ice and Other Tales of Valdemar v(-100 Page 6

  He filled one plate and shyly pushed it toward Sunrun-ner. "Please . . . won't you join me? There's more than enough, and Tullin brought an extra plate."

  She reached for it, smiling her thanks. From his vantage point in the bushes, Tullin blinked his eyes in amusement. Things were going splendidly.

  "Move over!" Coulsie hissed, sliding into place beside Tullin. Tsamar and Shonu eeled through the bushes behind her.

  "Anything happening?" Shonu whispered though whispers were not necessary. The hertasi language sounded like a series of hisses and snorts to the untrained human ear, and blended in with the rustle of the leaves in the wind.

  "They're sharing food," Tullin said with satisfaction. "And they're talking, too, about things other than hunting and metalsmithing. It's going splendidly."

  Shonu snorted softly. "Splendidly? He misses her signals completely! Look, there, how she hoods her eyes and how her hand signals 'come closer' each time she says something to him. He sits there, nostrils dilated, ready for her, frozen like a statue, afraid to move. This isn't 'splendid,' Tullin. Perhaps we should ..." A long, clawed hand reached out and wrapped itself around Shonu's snout.

  "I remember the last time you had a good idea," Tullin said with ironic humor. "We spent three weeks trying to explain the situation to the Hawkbrothers and getting them all settled down again. Bluethorn didn't speak to me for five days. I don't think we need any suggestions about Ironrose and Sunrunner."

  "But . . . but just look at them. At that pace, our children's children will be having children before those two do more than say 'good morning.' Those two need help."

  "I remember how well Icefalcon and Eventree fared with your help."

  Shonu closed his mouth with a snap. Tullin blinked his amusement and turned back to watch the two in the pool.

  "But it all grew back," Shonu protested in vain.

  Tullin entered the smithy, blinking contentedly in the early morning sunlight. Ironrose was already there, stoking the fires of the forge. He tasted the air out of habit, noting that the smith was in a good mood this morning. Gliding over to the worktable, he examined the sketches that Ironrose had left. Today they'd begin on the new bow fittings for Tallbush. He eyed the design critically. They'd need a fairly flexible blend; one that could take a lot of stress . . . probably one of the eastern Blend Eight ingots. As he turned back toward the ingot storeroom, a scrap of parchment on the floor caught his eye. He bent and picked it up.

  It was a drawing of a rose, caught at the earliest flush of bloom; a graceful spiral of stem and petals reaching upward like a promise. He studied it speculatively for a long moment, then tucked it into his tool pouch. He hefted an ingot of Blend Eight and then, on a sudden impulse, added a quarter-ingot of Blend Two to his load.

  "Where are the drawings?" Ironrose frowned, pawing through the nominally organized litter on his worktable.

  Tullin blinked innocently. "I set them down there, on the corner of your worktable next to the other project. It's still there. Perhaps you picked it up and put it somewhere else?"

  Ironrose moved aside the metal bar of Blend Eight. "Not under them. I promised him the fittings would be finished in the next two days," he fretted. "I can't imagine what I've done with them."

  "Why don't you work on your love token for Sunrunner while I look for them," Tullin suggested.

  "Love token?"

  Tullin pointed to the scrap of paper with the rose, lying pinned by the quarter ingot of Blend Two. "A fitting symbol; a gift more enduring than the feather, a thing of inner grace and beauty with a strong outer form. Like yourself, or like the hunter."

  Ironrose stared in astonishment. "Really, she's not . . ." he began.

  ". . . interested in you? Your eyes fail to see what hertasi eyes see—how the hunter laughs with you as she does with no other; how her eyes follow you sadly when you leave. Human eyes may not note, but the hertasi do. Offer the token. It will not be refused." He leaned back, resting his weight on his tail, a casual pose belied by the interest in his wide eyes.

  Ironrose hesitated. "If you think I am wrong, make the rose anyway. If she refuses it as a love token, say that it was only made as a gift.

  "You have nothing to lose," he added, closing in for the verbal kill. "If nothing else, she'll probably give you a return gift of a marshbuck quarter."

  Ironrose weighed the ingot in his large hand. Tullin blinked mildly and picked up a lightweight hammer from the workbench, silently offering it to the smith. Ironrose scowled and took the hammer and turned back to the forge, grumbling, the design for the rose in his hand.

  As soon as the smith's head bent over the design, Tullin darted for the back door.

  Coulsie flicked her tailtip in satisfaction as she took the day's kill from Sunrunner. Tullin slithered in the doorway behind Sunrunner, carrying two arrowheads for the hunter's bow. He nodded and touched muzzles with his mate, then handed the arrowheads to Sunrunner.

  "I see you've had good hunting," he said. "Here are the three arrowheads you asked for—and two more, as a gift."

  Sunrunner took them, bewildered but pleased. "For me? A gift?"

  Tullin nodded knowingly. "I think Ironrose is very interested in you. He would like to offer you a courtship token, I think, but he is too afraid you will reject him— as the others have. So I bring these to you for him, though I know he would rather send his heart. He is afraid of love, but would welcome your friendship."

  Coulsie hissed at him, shocked at his boldness. Tullin blinked one eye at her, his claws flexing with repressed mischief.

  "Ironrose surprises me," Coulsie murmured in the hertasi tongue. "It is a good move, but one I thought he was too shy to make."

  "I didn't say he SENT the two extra arrowheads, now did I?" Tullin said straight-faced. "Nor did I say that he made them. I said that they were a gift—and so they are. I made them for her myself."

  Coulsie flicked her tongue over her muzzle thoughtfully. The Hawkbrothers relied on the truthfulness of the hertasi folk, and while Tullin hadn't lied, he hadn't told the full truth, either.

  "Tullin . . ." she murmured.

  "Trust me," Tullin whispered. "I have a plan."

  "Move over, Coulsie! I can't see!" Tullin prodded. "You're blocking the view!"

  She looked at him speculatively. "Is Ironrose coming?"

  He nodded, wiggling to a comfortable position next to her.

  "And—?"

  "He finished the token. It took me a long tune to talk him into bringing it with him. I came ahead to check on things here and make sure that everything was prepared."

  "Shonu's got dinner for two set up. H'shama and Huli have the kitchen relay ready and Tsamar is cooling the ashdown tea over in the stream."

  "Good. Good," Tullin said with satisfaction. "There's Ironrose now. He's slow tonight."

  Coulsie looked sympathetically at the tall form of the smith. "More awkward than usual, and stiffer in his movements—if that's possible," she noted as the smith began undressing. "Look how carefully he folds his clothes, taking his time. This was a hard decision for him. He looks scared."

  Tullin wiggled, rubbing shoulders with her. "No more scared than I was when I danced my courting dance for you. But I had tasted your scent and knew what the answer would be. Poor taste-blind Hawkbrother only has what his eyes and his heart tell him. The eyes and the heart are notorious liars. Not like the tongue. You cannot lie to the tongue." He slithered down from his perch. "I don't see the love token he made," Tullin sniffed critically.

  "The rose?" Coulsie said.

  "Yes. It's not in his clothes either," Tullin said, rocking back on his heels. "He must have been afraid to bring it after all. I'll have to fix the oversight. Start the food and drinks; I'll be back in a moment!" he whispered as he slid through the leafy undergrowth.

  The hunter toyed with the lacings of the smith's apron she had bartered a moon's hunting for. Tallbush had managed to keep it a secret; he was certain Ironrose would like it very much. Sh
e was not so sure, considering the circumstances her heart told her it should be given in.

  Well. If he didn't seem receptive to a courting gesture, then it wasn't really one at all. Just a gift to a skilled artisan to thank him for his work. Nothing more. Easy to explain away.

  Sunrunner smoothed down the outfit Coulsie had prepared for her. It seemed entirely too soft, and it fit the contours of her upper body perfectly. Below that, it draped like a hawk's tail when she walked.

  At least it wasn't in some shocking color like a festival costume. It was a comfortable warm gray, speckled and smooth-seamed. The most confounding thing about it, she'd realized after it was on, was that it had lacings oh the back that she couldn't reach herself. How odd.

  Ironrose cursed himself for his ineptitude. If only he was more romantic, like his brethren, he wouldn't feel like he was stumbling naked into a thornbush. He'd made the rose, thinking of her the whole time, crafting the petals with his most beloved tools. He had cooled it with his own breath, felt its heat radiating to his lips, and imagined Sunrunner's kiss. When he had polished it, he'd imagined Sunrunner's body, smoothed under his hands. And he had imagined her smile.

  But now, he was as nervous as he had ever been in his life. He had mustered enough bravery to come here and meet her, but he didn't have the courage to go any further than that.

  Then she appeared. He looked longingly at her, drowning in her hint of a smile, wishing that he could say or do something.

  "Sunrunner. Good evening. Please. Join me."

  She looked for all the world like a gray falcon flying along the ground as she came closer. When she slowed her walk, her clothing billowed around her legs like a falcon spreading its tail to land. She was grace itself in his eyes.

  She gingerly laid down a pack and pulled back a few strands of hair from her eyes. "I wanted to thank you for the arrowheads. And for everything. I hope you like this."

  "A ... gift? For me?"

  Her face flushed red. She nodded, then looked away.

  Oh, stars above, she . . . how could I have missed this opportunity? I'll look like a fool, and she won't know that I. ...

  A small, taloned hand reached out and gently touched the smith's elbow. He turned. On a towel by the pool lay the iron rose, gleaming softly in the starlight.

  Babysitter

  by Josepha Sherman

  Josephs Sherman is a fantasy writer and folklorist whose latest novels are the historical fantasies The Shattered Oath and Forging the Runes. Her latest folklore book is entitled Trickster Tales.

  Thunder shook the earth and lightning seemed to shred the sky apart, and Leryn, crammed into this barely dry little cave in the middle of the gods-only-knew-where, thought wryly:

  Of course. Why should my luck change now?

  The whole expedition had been a farce from the start; he acknowledged that now with flawless hindsight. He was a city man, curse it, a settled gem merchant with a settled business. What in the name of all the powers had possessed him to up and leave it? To start over as a wandering merchant? (Elenya, lost Elenya—No!) Bad enough to go traveling among the more-or-less civilized peoples. But why had he ever been mad enough to come up here, to this cold, rocky, godsforsaken wilderness north of Lake Evendim? (Elenya, his mind insisted, his dear one, and the panicky flight from a grief that would not let him rest—No! He would not think of that!) Had he actually expected to start a profitable enough trade with the scattered little hunting parties, their furs for his pretty gems?

  Furs, ha! What did he know of furs? Of course he'd failed! The locals had, as the saying went, seen him coming. And no one had thought to warn him about the bandits who called the wilderness home.

  Leryn shivered. Of his troop, only he remained alive, and that only because he'd been lucky enough to outrun those bandits.

  Lucky. He was alive, yes—but thoroughly lost in the wilderness with nothing more than his belt knife and the clothes on his back. Yes, and with a storm like the end of the world raging all about him.

  And did you want to live? a voice deep within his mind wondered. Wouldn't it have been better to die at once and rejoin Elenya!

  "No," Leryn said aloud, then laughed without humor.

  What difference did it make? He'd probably wind up dead anyhow, more slowly, of starvation or cold.

  At least the horrendous storm seemed finally to be wearing itself out. A few more rumbles, one last flash of light, a final burst of rain, then . . . silence.

  Almost too stiff to move, Leryn uncurled out of his cramped shelter, stretching complaining muscles. And for all the burden of chill fear within him, he stood looking about for a moment, almost in wonder. Gods, it was beautiful out here, even in the middle of all his trouble, he had to admit that: rocks and sturdy northern forest all clean-washed and glittering in the first rays of sunlight breaking through the dissipating clouds. The air was so clear and cold it made him cough.

  Eh, well, all this nature worship was fine, but it wasn't helping his plight a bit. He had a goodly way till sundown, judging from what he could see of the sun, and Leryn shrugged in wry bravado. If he headed due south, he must, eventually, come out on the shores of Lake Evendim, and from there, eventually, if he followed the lake along eastward, maybe some friendly settlement.

  And if he didn't, well, at least moving was better than standing around waiting to die!

  But Leryn hadn't gotten very far before he let out a startled yelp and dove in the prickly shelter of a thicket. What was that? Something large, tawny-gold ... a gryphon? Had he actually seen a gryphon? Leryn freely admitted he knew next to nothing about the magical, intelligent beings, other than what probably fantastic stories the locals had told him. All he could remember right now was that gryphons were definitely carnivorous!

  But the gryphon ahead of him wasn't moving in the slightest, and after a wary moment, Leryn struggled out of hiding. And, much to his surprise, he heard himself gasp aloud in pity.

  What a beautiful creature this was, all lovely, graceful sleekness—or rather, what a beautiful creature it had been.

  The poor beast must have been caught in the storm. Either the lightning struck it, or the winds dashed it to the ground.

  But why would such an experienced flyer (judging from its enormous wings) have taken such risks? Leryn saw the carcass of a deer still clutched in the gryphon's claws, and realized with a shock that it—she? The gryphon was slender enough to be a she—she, then, could only have been bringing food to her offspring. But where was her mate? Didn't gryphons mate for life?

  Ah well, there wasn't anything he could do. Even if he could, by some wild chance, find where she'd hidden her young, there wasn't any way he could help them. Leryn shook his head (his own loss, his Elenya, and the child who had died with her—No!) and turned brusquely away. But then he turned again and hesitantly approached the dead gryphon.

  "I hate to rob you, but I need this more than you."

  His belt knife wasn't the best tool for the job, but at last, wincing at the messiness of the whole process (remembering days at home, when servants bought and butchered and served his meat to him), Leryn managed to cut off a good hunk of venison. What could he wrap it in? Leaves, yes, nice broad leaves like these ... there. It made a squishy package, slung over his back like this, but at least he wasn't going to starve right away.

  Feeling a bit foolish, Leryn saluted the gryphon. "Thank you. You've given me life."

  He headed on, picking his careful way through a tangle of rocks.

  But then something wriggled away from him. Some-

  thing screamed in alarm, a Jong, shrill skree of fright that shot right through Leryn's head.

  "What in the name of—"

  The terrified screaming broke off abruptly at the sound of his voice. A bright-eyed, curved-beaked little head poking up out of the rocks. "A gryphon!" A gryphon cub, rather, or pup or—or whatever the babies were called. "You belonged to that poor creature, didn't you?" Leryn murmured, and the baby stared. "Poor l
ittle one, you can't possibly understand that she's dead."

  The baby trilled softly, such a quick, inquisitive little sound that Leryn smiled in spite of himself. "You've never seen a human before, have you? No, you're probably far too young for that. Probably never even left the nest before—before this."

  The gryphon trilled again, impatiently this time. I'm hungry I the sound seemed to say. I'm hungry and lonely, and what are you going to do about it?

  What, indeed?

  You shouldn't feed it, Leryn warned himself. You'll only be postponing the inevitable.

  But the baby trilled yet again, wriggling out of the rocks. Leryn froze, enchanted. What a funny, chubby, furry little thing! It was about the size of a hunting hound—though no hound ever bore those silly little downy wings or that spotted, striped, yellow-brown-tan baby fuzz. The gryphon must be very young, indeed, because it was still just a touch unsteady on its too-big-for-its-body paws.

  Damn. / can't just walk away. "Uh, well, I do have some meat," Leryn told the baby. "I only hope you can eat solid food."

  Gryphons didn't nurse their young, did they? No, not when even the babies sported those sharp, curved beaks! Leryn unwrapped the slice of venison, and the baby let out its ear-splitting scream.

  "Hey, stop that! I'm moving as fast as I can!" Using his belt knife, Leryn cut off a tiny sliver of meat, wondering aloud, "I hope you don't need your food regurgitated, the way birds feed their chicks. There are limits."

  Judging from the way the little gryphon practically tore the sliver of meat from his hand, that wasn't going to be a problem. It paused only long enough to gulp down the fragment, then started to scream again.

  "Hey, hey, I told you, I'm cutting it up as fast as I can!"

  That didn't stop the ear-splitting complaint. Leryn tapped the baby gently on the beak with the tip of his knife, and the astonished gryphon fell silent, staring at him in innocent wonder. The man winced.