THE LAST THREE ninedays of the drive passed peacefully, or, at least, without anyone trying to kill Silas and Lainie. But neither was anyone aside from Paslund, the bosses who had stood up for them, and a few of the Bentwood Gulch and Thornwood men particularly civil to them. Mrs. Bington refused to let Lainie go back to work at the grub wagon. When the hands grumbled about the bland stews and beans and the tough biscuits, Mrs. Bington glared at them and said, “It’s better than having some wizard tryin’ to poison you,” and the complaining stopped.
Eventually, Lainie gave up trying to return to her duties at the grub wagon and spent the rest of the drive riding with Silas, helping with the herding and keeping his night watch shift with him. Even without anyone actively trying to kill them, she wondered if she really could live with this silent, sullen rejection the rest of her life. She and Silas didn’t talk any more about where to go after the drive; they seemed to have reached an unspoken agreement to let it wait until after they saw Mrs. Horden. But more and more often, Lainie found her mind returning to the question in spite of her efforts to not think about it.
Five months after the Windy Valley herd departed from home, the northern herd reached the Gap. The southern herd, fifteen thousand head, had already arrived. As they approached the broad, grassy valley that stretched several leagues north, west, and south from the mouth of the Gap, the odor of cattle droppings was so thick in the air that even Lainie, who’d grown up among cattle, was nearly knocked out of her saddle by it.
“Do you ever get used to it?” Silas asked, his voice muffled by the bandana covering his nose and mouth.
Lainie tried to fan the smell away from her face; her own bandana was sadly inadequate. “I guess you don’t.”
The valley at the Gap was well-watered by numerous mountain streams and by the Gap River, which here, at the beginning of its mighty journey to the western sea, was a clear, fast-running mountain creek. Broad, sturdy wooden bridges allowed cattle and men to cross the river without fouling the water. The grass in the valley was unnaturally lush, even considering the abundant water and fertilization. Though she kept her mage senses deeply buried, Lainie could feel the magical power that hung thick in the air. “Lots of mages here,” she murmured to Silas as they helped bring the herd in to the grazing grounds.
“There’ll probably be a hundred or more working at the market. Some of them are keeping the grass growing.”
“To keep the cattle fed. I know about that.”
“Also,” Silas pointed to a distant cluster of wooden buildings near the entrance to the pass, “that smallest building over there, that’s the mage hunter way station. I’ve dropped off prisoners there to be taken through the Gap.”
Lainie looked at him in alarm. “Hunters?”
“The men there won’t be expecting a couple of renegades to show up right on the doorstep of the way station. Anyhow, the drive is more work than most rogues are interested in, and between you suppressing your power and my shield blending in with the rest of the magic around here, I doubt they’ll have any idea we’re here. I’m more worried about the mages at the market noticing us. But I still wanted you to know, so you can be on the lookout. Make sure you keep your power hidden –”
“I am.”
“And your mage ring on the other finger.”
“It is.” She showed him her left hand. “You’ve only reminded me about a hundred times in the last month.”
He gave her a quick grin. “And lay low and keep out of sight till we can get our pay and get out of here.”
“I will if you will.” She grinned back at him. Even with all those mages around, she couldn’t feel too worried, not when she was finally seeing for herself the Gap and the big cattle market.
The day after they arrived at the Gap, the hands worked from sunup to sunset to separate the cattle back into individual co-op herds. The next day, they made one final count of the herds. Both days, Landstrom and the other co-op managers stomped around with their noteboards and papers, swearing and sweating. The work required all the hands to communicate freely with each other, so the other hands had no choice but to break their silence of the last three ninedays and speak to Silas and Lainie. Before long, the hard work seemed to wear down the barriers between them, and a few of the hands even started talking and joking with Silas just like before. The amount of work was mind-boggling and body-wearying, but to Lainie it seemed almost majestic – the hard-working hands and the cattle that together were the source of the wealth that allowed the Wildings settlers to live in peace and freedom.
The day following the count, the livestock inspections began. The buyers from Granadaia had set up office in big tents pitched on the great market ground next to the road leading up into the Gap, and now their inspectors worked their way through the herds, taking notes of the number and quality of the cattle and sheep. Silas and Lainie stayed busy with chores well away from the main action of the inspections, but Lainie still watched as much as she could, as interested in the inspections as she was in keeping a sharp eye out for trouble.
Most of the buyers and inspectors were mages, identifiable by the mage rings they wore on the forefinger of their strong hands; the rest were favored Plains. Despite the heat, dirt, and stink, they were all dressed up in fancy, expensive clothing. Many of them wore elegantly-tailored suits, but at least as many were decked out in greenfoot clothes, fancifully styled and decorated versions of the work clothes worn by cowhands along with high-heeled boots with tooling that had probably taken longer to work than the cow that had provided the leather had lived and oversized hats with extravagantly curved brims.
Even from a distance, Lainie couldn’t miss the mages’ disdain for the Wildings folk they were dealing with, that showed clear as day in their haughty looks and barely polite speech. The mages’ Plain employees were every bit as snooty as their bosses. For their part, out of sight and hearing of the Granadaians, the drive hands mercilessly mocked their cultured accents, elegant, arrogant manners, and fancy clothes. The Plain employees, being considered nothing less than traitors to their own kind, came in for at least as much scorn as the mages did.
Despite the dislike and contempt that simmered, barely concealed, beneath the surface, open fights rarely broke out. But the second morning of the inspections, while Silas and Lainie were bringing in a calf that had been born on the trail for branding, angry shouting caught Lainie’s attention. Her stomach clenched with nerves at how close the argument was, and she looked up from wrestling the calf to see what was going on.
A mage in a brightly-embroidered yellow greenfoot suit was standing face-to-face with a burly drive hand. A shimmer of power surrounded the mage. “You’ll show respect for your betters, Plain!”
“You ain’t my better, not with that stupid suit and them soft hands!” the hand retorted.
“You have no idea what I can do to you!” The mage raised a hand to begin shaping an attack.
An irrational fear seized Lainie that if the mage lashed out with magic so close to her and Silas, they would surely be discovered. She swallowed hard, praying that a fight wouldn’t break out.
“What’s going on here?” a Wildings man said as he approached the arguing men. Sunlight glinted on a silver badge on his shirt; he was one of the dozen or so sheriffs and deputies helping to keep the peace at the market.
At the same time, a man in close-fitting black also appeared. The knot in Lainie’s stomach twisted even tighter. She glanced at Silas; though he was keeping his head turned and his eyes fixed on the recalcitrant calf, he looked as nervous as she felt. Those mages in black were Mage Council enforcers. Silas hadn’t needed to tell her to stay clear of them.
“Mr. Zarendias,” the enforcer said. “Mind yourself.” Though the words and voice were calm and polite, the iron threat behind them was clear.
After a brief hesitation, the angry mage let his show of power fade. With a final poisonous look at each other, he and the drive hand backed away and went about their business. Lainie let go the breath she’d been holding, and the tension drained out of her body. She looked at Silas again; a sweat that she didn’t think was entirely due to the heat beaded his face. The calf chose that moment to try to make a break for it, and without a word, they went back to their task. That had been as close to a Mage Council enforcer as she ever hoped to come. With any luck, they would get through the rest of the market without seeing so much as one more black stitch of enforcer clothing.
After the inspections were finished, the bidding began. Chaos reigned as buyers and co-op managers hurried among the herds and back and forth between the buyers’ tents, looking worried and hassled and scribbling notes on the sheets of paper nailed to their noteboards. Before long, reports began to make their way through the drive crews that two of the mage families represented at the market were trying to buy up as many of the cattle as possible. Rumors as to why ran wild; some people said those families planned to begin shipping beef and cattle to the Islands, while others speculated that they had been contracted to supply warring armies in the foreign lands with meat and leather. Lainie thought it was more likely that they just wanted to take control of the beef market in Granadaia, but that explanation wasn’t nearly as interesting. Whatever the reasons behind the attempt to corner the market, the result was a growing excitement among the drive crews over the rising prices, which would mean big bonuses for everyone.
While the mage families’ representatives battled to out-bid each other for cattle, an informal market sprang up on the fringes of the market grounds. With promises to Silas to keep her head down and her power buried, Lainie ventured over to sell the stingergrass she had collected and dried along the trail. At first, she was almost too nervous to speak to her Granadaian customers, but she soon realized that as far as they were concerned, she was just another Wildings woman selling herbs. They barely even looked at her, just at her wares, and spoke only to bargain on prices. Still, she kept her hat pulled down low, which also served the more innocent purpose of keeping the sun out of her face, and likewise spoke as little as possible, and kept her power buried as deep inside her as she could.
The few other women with the northern herd were also at the market, including Mrs. Bington, who was selling cakes and embroideries. Lainie had never really even met the other women, and they all kept their distance from her. She was a little worried they would say something about her to the mages, but, much as they disliked her, no one wanted to risk drawing undue attention from the Granadaian mages, and no one said anything about her at all.
More women had come with the southern herd, since the route it traveled wasn’t as long, and a number of them were also at the market, selling herbs, knitted shawls and scarves, embroidered handkerchiefs, and other items they had made during the drive. Lainie kept her distance from them as well, but on the second day, on seeing Lainie alone, several of them beckoned her over to share their table, which had proved to be popular with buyers. There was slender, dark-haired Flania Gralen, the wife of a cowhand, who had her year-old son with her; Melna Bordine, a golden-haired girl close to Lainie’s age, who also worked as a cook and was married to a drive hand; and the Misses Gormund, Tarla and Nan, two spinster sisters in their thirties, who told the others to just call them by their given names. They owned a grub wagon and were engaged to a pair of brothers who had a ranch near Canyon View, just south of the Roughs.
“And what’s your name, dear?” Tarla asked.
“Lainie,” Lainie answered. Her given name wasn’t entirely rare, but the name “Vendine” had managed to get around despite all the name-slip charms, and she didn’t want to connect herself to any rumors the women might have heard or deal with the complications of using a false name. To her relief, the other women didn’t prod her for her family name. The Wildings was a place where people could make a fresh start in life, as many times as they needed to, and if someone didn’t want to share their full name it was only common courtesy to not keep asking.
As they sold their wares and shared their lunch, the five of them swapped tales of the drive and exchanged useful bits of information. After being around mostly men for so long, except for the disapproving presence of Mrs. Bington, Lainie enjoyed the friendly female company. As well, she felt safer blending into a group instead of standing out alone here at the market grounds with so many mages around. She wondered if the women would still be so friendly if they knew she was a wizard. She liked to think so; the last month of the drive, discouraging as it had been, and the first few days at the market had shown her that a few Plains could get over their fear and dislike of mages, or, at least, of mages they knew personally.
The auction drew to a climax, and all the talk among the drive crews was of the expected record-high payouts and the big celebration and dance that would mark the conclusion of the market. Merchants, saloon keepers, and house ladies from the nearby towns had already started arriving at the valley below the Gap to offer their wares and services to the celebrating drive workers.
Among the women at the market, the talk turned to the dresses they would be wearing to the dance. Lainie listened with a combination of envy and interest. Back home in Bitterbush Springs, she had gone to town dances and ranch dances as often as she could; she liked the music, and she liked to dance though she didn’t think she was very good at it. But she hadn’t owned a dress since she was a child, not being a skilled enough seamstress to sew one herself and not having a mother, aunt, grandmother, or older sister to help her. And it wouldn’t have been worth the money to pay a seamstress to make one or to buy one ready-made for the few times she would have worn it. On occasion, she had borrowed a dress to wear to a dance, but mostly she just wore her usual pants and shirt, and most times she hadn’t been the only girl dressed that way.
“You are going to the dance, aren’t you, Lainie?” Melna asked. “What are you going to wear?”
Lainie looked down at her worn and dirty brown canvas pants and green plaid shirt. “I don’t have any dresses, so I’ll just clean up what I’ve got and wear that.” She tried to sound like she didn’t mind. Wearing men’s clothes didn’t make her less of a woman, any more than a love of beauty made a man less of a man. Still, it would have been nice to have something pretty to put on.
The four women exchanged significant glances. “Well, now,” Tarla said. “That won’t do at all. We’ll have to think of something, won’t we, girls?”
They all enthusiastically agreed, and Lainie warmed inside at their friendliness. Maybe they wouldn’t be so friendly if they knew the truth about her, but, for now, she wouldn’t let anything stop her from enjoying their company and looking forward to the celebration.
* * *
THE AUCTION CAME to an end, the sales agreements were signed, and the money – cash only; the cattlemen’s co-ops didn’t accept letters of credit – changed hands. The wool was loaded into light, narrow transport carts and hauled up into the Gap right away, followed by the several hundred sheep that had been sold. The cowhands spent that same day separating the sold cattle into herds of one thousand head, and the next morning the first couple of herds were driven up the road and into the pass. The first autumn snows could hit the higher reaches of the Gap in less than a month, so there was no time to waste in getting the stock through the pass. Some of the hands who would be taking the herds to Granadaia had also worked the long drive; others, who specialized in making the trip through the Gap, had been waiting at the market. All of them would be paid handsomely for the difficult, dangerous duty.
That same day brought the events the drive crews had been looking forward to for months – pay day and the big dance. After the morning chores, Lainie and Silas got in line with the rest of the Windy Valley crew at the grub wagon serving table, where Landstrom sat surrounded by ledgers and cash boxes. Armed sheriffs and deputies patrolled the camps; guns were forbidden in the pay line. The hands were smiling widely as they walked away from the table, counting their pay; the cattle had sold for upwards of ten gildings and twenty per head, and, as hoped, the bonuses were fat this year.
As Silas and Lainie waited in the sticky heat, Silas worked out the numbers under his breath and on his fingers. “It’s going to be more than enough for… whatever we decide to do,” he said.
Lainie suspected that he hadn’t completely given up on his idea of going overseas. She had her own ideas; they could stake out or buy a spread of their own, somewhere remote where mage hunters would be less likely to find them, and become hard-working and respected members of the local community. When their neighbors found out they were mages, they would have already won their friendship and acceptance, and the local folks would see that mages weren’t so bad. That would be far better than going to the other side of the world and leaving behind her Pa and everything she knew forever.
But this wasn’t the time or place to start that discussion again. “Don’t forget the forty gildings I got for my stingergrass,” she said. She still couldn’t believe those Granadaian folks would pay that much for common grass, even if it was good for seasoning food and clearing stuffed noses.
“That’s yours,” Silas said. He winked at her. “Pin money.”
Lainie laughed. Forty pennies was pin money; forty gildings was two or three months’ wages for most folk. The smell of beef roasting in the firepits near the market grounds wafted over, brown and spicy and appetizing. “We’re going to the dance tonight, right?” she asked.
“Do you want to?”
“I sure do. I’m not much of a dancer and I haven’t got anything special to wear, but it’ll still be fun.”
“Wouldn’t miss it, then,” Silas said. “And you always look fine to me.”
Finally they got to the front of the line. Mr. Landstrom, red-faced and sweating in the sun, counted out one hundred and twenty-five gildings for Silas, five months’ pay, and then one hundred and forty for Lainie.
“That’s only four months’ pay,” Lainie said.
“Mrs. Bington tells me you haven’t been doing your job this last month.”
“But –” The unfairness of that left Lainie fumbling for words. “But she wouldn’t let me work at the grub wagon! I tried, but she didn’t want me around. And anyhow, I’ve still been helping with the herd.”
“Seems to me you owe my wife another thirty-five gildings,” Silas said.
“She hasn’t been doing the job I hired her to do. Now move along, there’s still a lot of people waiting behind you.”
“I worked hard!” Lainie protested. “And we saved the herd!”
“Go on,” someone behind them said. “Just be glad of what you got. We’re tired of waiting!” Others grumbled as well, and an unpleasant feeling crept up Lainie’s back. This could turn ugly; she suddenly understood why guns weren’t allowed in the pay lines.
Silas didn’t budge. “We’ve got bonuses coming, too.”
“You lied to me when I hired you,” Landstrom said.
“Lied?” At the steely tone in Silas’s voice, the grumbling behind them died away.
“You told me you weren’t a wizard.”
“As I recall it, Landstrom, you said you’d heard a rumor that Miss Lainie had run off with a wizard, then you decided on your own, based on my appearance, that it wasn’t true.”
“And then you said it wasn’t true.”
“No, I said, ‘You know how it is with rumors.’ Meaning that sometimes they aren’t true and sometimes they are.”
From somewhere behind them came a snort of laughter; it sounded to Lainie like Paslund. Landstrom’s face went even redder. “I don’t pay bonuses to lying sheep-knocking bastard hells-damned wizards. Mr. Brin Coltor’s man isn’t here for you to hide behind now; you’re lucky I paid you one copper bit. I should have let the boys hang you when we found out what you were. Now take what I gave you and get out of my sight.”
Lainie drew breath to tell Landstrom exactly what she thought of lying, cheating co-op managers, and Silas clenched his fists and went very still. Though Lainie had her mage senses tucked safely away, she felt a tingle of magic in her nerves. In the bright sunlight, she could see a faint blue glow around Silas’s left hand, and the ground trembled slightly beneath her.
“Come on, Landstrom,” Paslund said. “You know what they did for the herd.”
“Yeah, better not piss him off any more,” someone else behind them added nervously.
Lainie held her breath. Surely Silas wouldn’t attack Landstrom. Not with all those lawmen around, and the Mage Council enforcers as well.
Whether because of the enforcers or just because he didn’t want to cause any trouble, Silas slowly uncurled his fists, and the magical tension faded away. “Come on, darlin’,” he said. “It isn’t worth trying to argue with someone like him.” He put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her with him as he stalked away from the table.
Lainie’s anger and humiliation boiled inside her. Maybe she was a fool for thinking it would ever be possible for mages to be treated like regular folks in the Wildings. Maybe there was no point in even trying. She and Silas could die helping the Plains, and they wouldn’t care. She hated to admit it, but it wasn’t so hard after all to see why Silas was tempted to turn his back on protecting them and take her away somewhere safe. And damned if she wouldn’t be tempted to let him, if the Wildings wasn’t her home and she wasn’t determined not to let them run her out.
“Lainie! There you are!”
The familiar voice jolted Lainie out of her seething thoughts. Melna Bordine, the blonde woman from the marketplace, ran up to her and grabbed her arm. “Come back for her later,” she said to Silas. “Us ladies are getting ready for the dance!”
Before either Lainie or Silas could say anything, Melna dragged Lainie away and led her to a large tent near the southern herd camps. The tent was filled with women chatting excitedly as they changed into their dance finery and fixed their hair. Flania Gralen was there, as were Nan and Tarla. A woman with wet hair and a towel draped around her underclothes emerged from a curtained-off corner.
“I haven’t got anything to change into,” Lainie said to Melna, “but I would surely like a bath.”
“Go on.” Melna pushed her into the concealed corner, which held a metal tub, a chair with more towels piled on it, and a small stove where a kettle of water was keeping hot. Lainie scooped a little hot water into the bath to freshen it, stripped down, and climbed in. As she basked in the lovely warmth of the bath, her anger at Landstrom melted away. Tomorrow it might matter that people hated her and Silas and that they hadn’t been paid all the money they were owed, but tonight she would have fun.
She scrubbed down and washed her hair, then got out and dried off with one of the towels. As she reached for her clothes, wishing she had some clean things to put on, Melna stepped around the curtain and pushed a bundle of white cotton trimmed with lace into her arms. “You’re about Mrs. Gralen’s size. She said you can wear these.”
“But –”
“Go on!” Flania called out from beyond the curtain. “You can bring them back tomorrow.”
Lainie inspected the pile of fabric, and found lace-trimmed drawers and chemise, along with white stockings crocheted from fine thread, with ribbon garters to hold them up. The stockings were more suited for wearing with a dress, but it would be nice to have clean underclothes, at least. Lainie put on the drawers and chemise and stepped out of the bathing corner, carrying her clothes with her, so that the next woman waiting could have her turn for a bath.
Before she could start dressing, Melna handed her a long petticoat with a boned lace-up bodice. “Here, you can wear this too.”
“But I don’t have a dress,” Lainie said.
“I’ve got one for you,” Flania said from the other side of the tent, where Nan was doing up her hair in fancy braids.
At the prospect of having something nice to wear, Lainie felt a new spark of excitement for the dance. Eagerly, she pulled on the stockings and then the petticoat. “I’ve never bothered with stays,” she said as she fumbled with the lacing on the bodice. “I haven’t got enough of a figure to make it worth the trouble.”
“You got plenty, you just need to arrange it right,” Melna said. “We’ll just push everything in and up – like so – and lace you up good and tight –” She tugged the laces so hard Lainie gasped “– and there you go.”
Lainie looked down at herself. Her breasts swelled up above the petticoat bodice and lace-trimmed chemise, looking three times bigger than they were. Or maybe they really were that big and her usual camisoles and men’s shirts just didn’t make the most of them.
“Here.” Flania, her hair finished, came over to Lainie with her arms full of fabric. She held up the dress, a pale, creamy yellow printed all over with a delicate pattern of blue flowers. The scooped neckline and elbow-length sleeves were trimmed with white lace. Lainie caught her breath at how pretty it was.
“This should fit,” Flania said. “I wore it before I took pregnant with my little boy, so it’s a little small for me now. I brought it to trade or sell or in case someone needed a dress this size, and it’s a good thing I did. We might just need to take the hem up a bit.”
Flania eased the dress over Lainie’s head and helped her work her arms into the sleeves, then did the buttons up the back of the bodice. Lainie looked down again. The dress fit like a dream, the gathered skirt falling full and graceful over her hips from the close-fitting bodice. The very top of her new cleavage peeked out above the lace at the neckline. The dress was a little long; Tarla hitched up her skirts, knelt on the ground, and got busy pinning up the hem to the right length. While Tarla took up the hem with quick, neat stitches, Nan brushed out Lainie’s hair and arranged it a few different ways before settling on a single high braid wound into a crown at the top of her head.
“That looks perfect,” Melna said as Nan pulled out a few wavy tendrils of hair to fall around Lainie’s face and neck. “You say your man’s never seen you in a gown and stays before?”
“Never,” Lainie said.
“Well, he’s in for a treat,” Flania said. “Don’t you think so, ladies?”
“He surely is!” Melna said, and Tarla and Nan agreed as well.
When Tarla was finished with the hem, Flania offered Lainie a pair of low-heeled blue calfskin shoes. A brief thundershower had blown up while Lainie was getting dressed, so she would probably have to replace the shoes with her boots so they wouldn’t get muddy. But, for the moment, they completed her outfit perfectly. Lainie collected her discarded clothes, to take them back to her and Silas’s tent, then she, Flania, and Melna went outside to find their husbands.
Silas and a number of other men were waiting near the tent, passing around a bottle. If the other men knew they were sharing drink with a rumored wizard, they didn’t seem to care. On second thought, Lainie decided they were already too drunk to care or even notice. Silas had washed and put on clean clothes, and had even shaved, something that only happened once a nineday, if that often.
He was in mid-pull from the bottle when he caught sight of her. He froze, then lowered the bottle and handed it off without looking to see who he was giving it to or if they took it.
Lainie brushed her hands over her skirt, suddenly feeling shy and embarrassed, like a little girl caught playing dress-up in her mother’s clothes. “One of the girls had an extra dress she let me borrow. You like it?”
His eyes dropped to her neckline and stayed there, and her cheeks grew warm. He tried to say something, but it came out as kind of a croak. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Yeah. I like it. You look pretty. I mean, you always look pretty, darlin’, but you look… real pretty.”
“You think so?”
He tore his stare away from her cleavage. With an elegant gesture that could only have come from the highest mage society in Granadaia, he took her hand in his and kissed it. “You are the loveliest sight ever to have graced these eyes, my lady.”
Her face burned hotter. She looked down, feeling silly and out of place, dressing up in fancy clothes and being spoken to in such fancy words. “Don’t make fun.”
He pulled her into a hard embrace. “I’m not making fun. Oh, gods, Lainie, you’re so beautiful.”
Relief that he wasn’t laughing at her and delight at his words left her so completely flustered that she didn’t know what to say. “And you look handsome,” she finally managed.
He grinned. “As compared to how I usually look?”
“No, I mean, you always – you know what I mean.”
He laughed and kissed her, then offered his arm to her like a gentleman offering his arm to a lady. “Shall we?”
She took his arm and smiled up at him. “Yes.”