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Quinn glared at her door, wishing ten kinds of plagues on whoever was pounding on it. It had been raining for two days, and her foot throbbed. If it was going to be like this every time it rained... well, she was ready to set out for the drier climate of the southwest plains, just to escape the ache.
And check out the Terrans. Reports trickled into the Motherhouse: their ship, as big as a village, had landed in a field, where the green-skinned people on board had promptly slaughtered all the villagers, or taken them hostage, or as slaves, or had destroyed their crops, eaten their babies... Quinn sighed. The bulk of what they heard was garbage, but she worried that false news created a risk of destabilizing their peaceful land. Green people? Really?
With no volition on her part, her thoughts flashed to Kiril, now gone for over two nine-days. He certainly wasn’t green.
She hauled herself from her desk and hobbled to the door.
The messenger kid had to catch his fist to keep from hitting her, he’d been pounding so diligently. “Sorry, Sister. Visitor for you,” he blurted.
“Who?”
“Dunno. But he’s got these giant animals. And he rode one.” The kid’s eyes were popping; words tripped in his mouth as he spilled his news.
“Take a breath, Aaron. A horse?”
“Like in the Bards’ tales? Honest?”
Quinn smiled; the boy’s excitement was a pleasant contrast to the gray afternoon. “We’ll see. Thanks, I’ll be right down.”
Aaron gone, heading for the stairs at breakneck speed in his eagerness to get back to the strange man and even stranger beasts, Quinn smoothed her tunic, rolled her shoulders to remove the kinks brought on by hunching over an elaborate glyph she’d been studying, reluctantly crammed her feet into sandals – the right one specially made to avoid pressure from the deformation caused by her injury – and followed the boy.
As she half ran, half limped across the green, she spotted Arwen on the porch of the dining hall talking to a tall man with his back to her. A man she’d known all her life.
“Ifram!” she called when she was still thirty paces or more away. The rain and mist ate her voice, but enough got through that he turned. Based on his expression, he wasn’t best pleased to see her.
Arwen opened the door as Quinn arrived on the porch. If she noticed the cool greeting between the siblings, she didn’t comment. Ifram appeared to have fallen under the same spell as Quinn and every other current or former apprentice when facing the council chair; he followed her meekly into the dining hall.
Over cakes and caff, the reason for this completely unprecedented visit came out. “Mom and Dad heard tell of your foot. They insisted I bring Butter. To help you get around.”
“Butter?” Quinn repeated. He didn’t inquire about the foot or its prognosis. She’d begun to doubt he’d ever forgive her for the loss of his first child, despite the evidence. He didn’t trust Weavers and probably subscribed to the green-Terran rumors.
Ifram slurped his caff, partly masking an expression of mild exasperation. “You remember Butter. Gentlest horse in the stable. Damned waste, bringing her up to you, if you ask me, but our parents are right distressed with you getting hurt.”
Quinn had long finished her first mug of caff; she poured another before she spoke. “So, let me get this straight. You came all the way to the Motherhouse to bring me a horse? Because the folks are worried I’m crippled? How did they hear about the accident, anyway?”
“Some Healer passed through a couple of nine-days ago. I told ’em you’d manage just fine, you always do, but...” Ifram gave a helpless shrug. “You know them. They get an idea in their heads, and that’s what’ll happen. Told me to teach you to ride her.”
“Ride?” Quinn felt her stomach take residence somewhere near her knees. “You think I’m going to get up on one of those... Ifram, they’re huge.”
“Used to be you were fearless.”
Quinn snorted.
“Tell me more about the horse,” Arwen demanded. “Will she be suitable for agricultural work? Until Quinn decides to travel, she’s unlikely to need the transport.”
Ifram nodded. “Butter’s a sweetie, the first we caught. Trained to cart and plow. Dad’s been working the leather to make saddles, like for the little kids on donkeys, when he has free time from sandals and boots.”
“How long are you staying, If?” Quinn asked. She’d never dreamed of seeing anyone from her family at the Motherhouse. She found she liked it and was impatient to show Ifram around.
His mouth twitched at the childhood nickname. “Hope to head home tomorrow, if you can spare a place to sleep tonight. I’ll show you the basics of riding her this afternoon.”
In the rain. She flexed the toes of her right foot, wishing the ache would go away.
“Quinn will arrange a room in the guest lodge,” Arwen said. “How many horses are in Colgate now?”
“Six, ma’am. It’s been a busy summer. We hope to start trading for ’em soon. They’re rare in the Midland.”
“Unheard of, more like,” Quinn muttered.
“And you’re bringing them across the hills?” Arwen said. “I’m very curious about that. There’s no difficulty crossing into Borgonne?”
“Can’t say we even knew that land had a name, until Quinn here turned up. No, ma’am, going back and forth’s no problem. It’s catching ’em that’s tasked us. Easiest to cut out foals. Hundreds of horses live on that plain, but they run in packs. When they stampede, you don’t want to be underfoot.”
“But the hills.” Arwen was insistent. “Quinn said occasional nausea. No one ever gets confused or lost?”
The cross-examination puzzled Ifram; he frowned. “No. We just go and come back. It’s a lark. The village lads have been doing it forever. The horses only came recently.” He launched into an account of the faltering economy caused by the new north-south road to the west of them.
“Here’s a funny thing, though,” he concluded. “We most never see anyone over that side of the hills. But we sent a party, two men and three lads, a few nine-days ago, and they ran into another group, a man and his children, boy and girl. Said they came after horses, same as us. So they got to talking, and the dad and kids didn’t believe anyone could cross the hills, and the upshot was the family agreed to come visit Colgate. But... well, they were going along just fine, and then ours looked back and the others were gone.”
Arwen sat up straighter, her eyes intent on Ifram. Quinn waited, barely breathing.
“Now, they worried, and they retraced their steps, hoping to find ’em. There they were, sitting on this rise near the path into the hills. Puzzled, like they weren’t sure how they got there. They’d just been going along after our lot, and before they knew it they found themselves right where they started. Dunno what to make of that.” Ifram shook his head.
“I do,” Quinn muttered under her breath. “Come with me, brother,” she said, rising. “Are the horses at the stables in the village?”
“Said they’d be fed and cared for there. Is that right?” He stood, suspicion in his eyes.
“Yes, assuming their needs are similar to donkeys. We take care of our livestock.”
“Well, then.” Ifram nodded to Arwen, who remained seated. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”
“And you. Perhaps I’ll see you at dinner.”
“Yes’m.”
Quinn limped to the door, her brother on her heels. She grinned to herself. They had a solution. To Borgonne, to Colgate’s poverty. The trade route suddenly became feasible. Under their control.
Poor Gauvain, she thought irreverently as she led her brother to the guest lodge.
~~
“THERE ARE A COUPLE of possible scenarios,” Arwen said later to the convened council in the conference room, “depending on whether our ancestors were trying to keep people out or in. One way or another, though, we can cross to Borgonne, but they can’t come to the Midland without the protection of a Weaver or Mage. And since the spells are lost in time, no one is in a position to reinstate or remove the confusion spell. At this point, knowing the spells are multiple and entangled, a person would have to be mad to overlay them. So we control the southern route into Borgonne.”
“We can establish a depot in Colgate and get them to do the same on the other side,” Quinn said. “It will mean we lose access to horses, though.”
“Encourage your brother to bring across as many as they can this summer,” Arwen told Quinn. “But we’ve lived without horses for hundreds of years, so while I agree it would be nice to have them, and it’s a potential revenue stream for Colgate, if they have to make do with breeding their existing stock, they’ll survive.”
“Can you think of a way to test this?” That was Daren, ever cautious.
Arwen shook her head. “The spells seem to know who comes from where. Maybe it’s based on point of origin.”
“Then we take it on trust that Borgonne won’t be able to use the southern route to send their people in to overrun us?” Cynth asked
“Do you trust the spells on the hills?” Deadly serious, Arwen deferred to Quinn. “Are they stable and consistent? You’ve experienced them.”
She’d given this a great deal of thought, so she had her answer ready. “The spells are different. There’s something vaguely malevolent about the northern hills, but I didn’t get any such feeling in the south. Also, I’ve been in the northern hills three times, and not once did I see a familiar landmark.” She shivered. “The boys who took me across told me they knew the route well. There are trail markers.
“So at the moment, the only risk I can see is that their Mages presumably could lead parties across the southern hills. But no full-fledged Mage is going to occupy his time that way. And after the attack on the large party in the north, they wouldn’t risk a large group with only non-Mages with some Entrée for protection.”
“And you trust your brother?”
Her mouth quirked. “Usually we don’t get along, but he didn’t make that tale up. Ifram has next to no imagination.”
Daren spoke slowly, considering his words. “When Ezra was last here, he drew a distinction between stability and stagnation. I’ve been thinking about this. From what I hear, he may well be right. We need some kind of infusion into our culture. Whether it’s horses or some other exchange, I don’t know. But we’ve stopped growing, and I distrust that.”
His words met silence.
“Bryar and I talked about this some,” Fergus said. “Ezra believes it’s inevitable. Our way of life is going. Now we have unprecedented reports of violence, these crazy rumors about the Terrans... If we’re facing change, it would be better to have some control of it. To keep it fair for everyone.”
“To pave the way to newfound prosperity,” Cynth mused. “Can you imagine winter if everyone had glass windows?”
Quinn’s mind went to the darkness of buildings throughout the Midland with their shutters and oiled hides blocking out winter’s storms.
Arwen let the silence hang for a minute, then said, “Are we agreed?”
A round of nods answered her, although no one seemed too happy. The implications, Quinn thought. This is bigger than we’ve ever had to deal with, bigger even than the first party of Borgonnians last spring.
Arwen slapped the table. “Then we have a solution. And I can’t wait to tell Gauvain.”
~~
QUINN NEXT ENCOUNTERED Gauvain that night in the dining hall, where he shared a table, if not a relaxing meal, with Arwen. Not for the first time she wondered about the history between those two. Something was going on between them, something more than his sudden appearance at the Motherhouse as the last remnant of what could only be described as a force of Borgonnians risking the hills to raid the Midland.
The meat in tonight’s mutton stew was mostly tender, the stew itself tantalizing in its blend of flavors. Rather like the two she sat with. She’d be more comfortable at another table, given the vibes between them, but Ifram was in the village and Arwen had not so subtly signaled for her to join them. This was business, and she was the witness.
Sustainer help them all if Arwen ever discovered Gauvain’s role in Kiril’s escape.
Arwen had finished half her stew before she slapped her spoon onto the table and said, “What are you doing here? The truth, this time.”
Gauvain rested his spoon in his bowl with practiced elegance, looking for all the world like a man whose servant botched pouring the wine. “Dining, my dear,” he said. “Obviously.”
Quinn and Arwen exchanged glances. Years of practice told Quinn that they were both thinking about the other trade route, through the southern hills, although she also suspected a longing on Arwen’s part to get her hands on the black-clad man across from her, whether to wring his neck or for some other purpose she wasn’t sure.
Arwen turned her level stare to Gauvain and waited. Quinn suppressed a grin to see him struggle not to squirm.
“We required both a contingent with Auric sensibilities and strong bearers to carry foodstuffs back across the hills,” he said. “As was made plain from our last venture into your land.”
“I’m pleased to hear you acknowledge it as ours.” Arwen cut straight to the chase. “Because you had more in mind than asking for our aid. You certainly didn’t need Cedric to pack food.”
“No.” Gauvain stopped, a flash of remorse crossing his face. “He was a fool, but he didn’t deserve to die. I regret that. I gather the man Kiril is now missing. Another regret, that I had no opportunity to study him further.”
“He’s not a specimen,” Arwen snapped. Kiril was still a sore point.
Quinn ate her stew and waited, letting Arwen lead the conversation.
“The rest of your people – did they make it home?” Arwen asked. “Does the confusion spell work that far from the origin?”
He raised a practiced eyebrow. “You surprise me. You haven’t been tracking them?”
“Oh, stop playing games.” Arwen’s frustration – not solely with Gauvain, Quinn thought, but with the whole state of affairs embroiling the Motherhouse – showed in her tone. “We know one or two did, but most lacked sufficient Entrée to allow us to track at such a distance. I’ve wondered if the others are wandering around in the hills – or even if they’re still alive. This isn’t a usual or straightforward situation.”
“No, it isn’t. I fear I have nothing more to report, however. Two of my apprentices have arrived at the tower, one of them Reed, but the third...”
Quinn speculated that admitting he didn’t know was as difficult for him as the potential loss of one of his apprentices.
“Understand this.” Arwen’s voice assured she retained command of the conversation; Gauvain appeared to be holding onto his composure by the thinnest thread. “We will aid Borgonne in any way we can. But we will not allow the Midland to come to harm. I respect your power, Gauvain. But Ezra and I, and at least two others, are your equals. It’s glaringly obvious that you are the only Mage available to risk the crossing. You’ve neglected to train apprentices, probably for fear of being rivaled. And now we wield more combined power than you. Because I respect you, I will give you fair warning. Do not try to subjugate us. In fact, I think it would be in your best interests if you prepared to go home, you and your remaining band. Emptyhanded, because there is no other option.”
Arwen had scored; Gauvain’s face took on the hard mask Quinn remembered from times during their crossing of the hills when his right to dictate events was challenged. “Be careful, Arwen,” he said. “You might push me too far.”
Arwen picked up her spoon and finished another bite of the stew. When she answered, her tone was nonchalant. “I have no wish to push you. I want you to understand your position here, and ours. We stand ready to assist, within our means. But that is where it ends.”
Rising, Gauvain scraped his chair over the rough flagstone surface of the dining hall. “I will consider this.” With that, he turned his back on them and started to walk away.
“Gauvain.”
From where she sat, she could see the way he flashed annoyance before schooling himself to his usual smooth demeanor.
“There is one more thing,” Arwen said. “Please sit down.” When he didn’t move, she glanced around the emptying hall and said, “It would be better.”
Gauvain glared at Quinn. He might resent her presence, but he returned to the table.
Arwen leaned forward, as if to further assure confidentiality. “The matter we discussed when you were here last. Has it been attended to?”
Quinn saw him swallow. Quinn remembered his help in spiriting Kiril away and felt something approaching sympathy.
“It has,” he said stiffly.
“We noticed rain in Borgonne over the last couple of nine-days, so I accept your assurance. Thank you.”
Quinn held her breath; from Arwen’s intonation, she almost expected her to add a standard schoolroom dismissal: You may go now. Instead, she said, “Meet me in my workroom tomorrow morning. We have one last item to discuss. I believe it to be one that will intrigue you.”
Gauvain was still for a moment, as if wondering whether to push for details then and there. Instead, he rose and left them, leaving his bowl for them to take to the hatch. Bad manners, but perhaps justified.
“Poor man. He had no rebuttal,” Quinn whispered.
“Let’s hope he has the self-control not to cause trouble before he leaves.”
The women finished their dinner in silence. A strange, wistful look settled on Arwen’s face, gone in a flash. Once again Quinn wondered what had transpired in the past between her and Gauvain.
~~
THE NEXT MORNING, ONLY Quinn and Daren attended Arwen’s presentation to Gauvain. With them arrayed on stools around her work table, she gave a brief history, then said, “As it now seems our people have been crossing into Borgonne for generations, we’re prepared to exploit this ability. So that’s the state of things. With your cooperation, we can institute trade between Borgonne and the Midland.”
Daren added. “It’s a fair offer.”
“With you controlling the route.” Gauvain’s mood had been sour from the moment he entered the workroom. Not looking forward to the trip home, Quinn speculated.
“Naturally,” Arwen said. “You can’t tell me you didn’t come here with a plan to subdue us in some way. We never would have tolerated that, Gauvain, as surely you realize. But we are prepared to develop the trade route. Which could be useful, should the need arise again.” Arwen’s voice was like honey.
Gauvain’s mood, in contrast, grew even more vinegary.
“We all stand to benefit.” Quinn thought of Colgate, the need throughout that quarter of the Midland for an infusion of prosperity, and of the magnificent, mild animal awaiting her at the stables in the village. “You have much to offer, as do we.”
“But it won’t work if there’s any hint of aggression or hostility,” Arwen added. “And in the meantime, I suggest you go home. Tell your people. Ready a storage depot in the south. If you give us a timeframe, we can arrange to meet at the end of the trail through the hills. I’m told it’s uninhabited, so you may need to establish a settlement.”
“And a road,” Quinn added.
“There’s a lot to do,” Daren said. “And with patchy communication.”
Gauvain stood, his eyes revealing nothing. “Our preparations to return home are almost complete. I trust you have no objection to my meeting with Amalie? I must be sure she is content remaining here, as she may not get another chance to cross the hills.”
“Amalie’s training is progressing well,” Arwen said. “She bids fair to be an excellent Healer. If she so chooses, she’ll be able to cross on her own in a few years. She’s strong in Entrée.”
“Humph.” Gauvain strode to the door and pushed it open. “Expect our departure two days hence.”
“Coordinate with the kitchen, the Healers’ workrooms, and the storerooms for supplies. Let me know if there are any glitches.” Arwen exited the room on Gauvain’s heels. Quinn almost giggled at the feeling that Arwen was driving Gauvain ahead of her... not true, of course, but that was the visual impression.
“And that’s that,” Daren said. “How are you, Quinn? Foot better?” His hand covered hers.
She shrugged as she stood, allowing him to help her up. “Probably as good as it’ll ever be. I’m fine. You heard about Butter? She’s changed everything. She means freedom, speed—”
He laughed. “And for you, a way to get to the Terran’s ship.” He hugged her tight, then waved her through the door. “You’re transparent sometimes, you know. Meet me tonight?”
“I’d like that.”
Loving Daren might be grounding. Right now, Quinn’s excitement threatened to swamp her. She’d live the life of a Scribe. A true Weaver. She’d go to the Terran settlement. Add their knowledge to the store in the Aura. She’d never expected to want to leave the Motherhouse; perhaps there had never been a strong enough lure.
But first she would learn to ride Butter confidently and care for her. Ifram, who had stayed over an extra day, was waiting for her.
Almost involuntarily, as she stepped from the Centra, she looked off to her right, where the trail to Stanstead began. She’d see Dal on her way west; she wondered who else. Willow and Joss were far to the south, Bryar and Tai could be anywhere by now. And Kiril? Would he have stayed with Bryar or struck out on his own?
And did she care?
Maybe. But now, little mattered beyond hobbling to the village and learning how to ride her new horse.