CY 579, Planting 1 (Starday)
Over the weeks, Askyrja's days were busy and she found that throwing herself into her work with a fury helped the time pass quickly, and heal old wounds. There was a simple pleasure in those duties, although it was not particularly exciting.
Her efforts rolled through the whole business like an unstoppable wave. All the floors were swept and mopped, every window washed and even the brass fittings were polished. She acquired potted wildflowers from somewhere in the Market so that the front office acquired not only a clean, orderly charm but even a pleasant smell, changed the rushes of the floors, cleaned the oil lamps, and even got new quills – at a comfortable discount from a certain map-maker.
Before long, her hard work was even being assisted. Clean drapes were found for the windows and nice mats for the front door and behind the counter so that Orvil's had a little comfort on the planks. The small grate was scoured of ash and a little fire kept burning there on chilly days for her and Orvil. Bill began to make a real effort to spit chaw juice only in the spittoon or outside – and while his aim was not perfect his intentions were good. Albrecht even put up another set of shelves to help organize the counter space, though he installed it so high that she had to stretch to reach it, and it seemed to her that some of the men wanted the books from that shelf more often than was strictly necessary.
With Askyrja cooking some days and advising others, the quality and variety of their meals had also greatly improved and their morale with it. The lads were happier, more cheerful and and moreso when Orvil released a little bonus from the delinquent collections. The revitalization of Walder's Wains had been noticed and their business seemed to grow by the day.
Orvil, despite his aches and pains, was ecstatic. Everything seemed better by leaps and bounds and not least that the place looked more and more every day like a proper, respectable business. 'A clean coster is a clean investment,' he sometimes opined and if anyone knew exactly what he meant by that they never said.
It was a strange sort of life, working in an office, but she was adapting to paperwork, balancing accounts, and doing the footwork on checking loads and returns that Orvil was growing too old for. Delinquent punters were surprised to her replacing Orvil on collections and were suddenly more eager to fulfill their obligations. Some of them were in less placid areas of the city and when he couldn't go along because of his lumbago one of the others would escort her. Even Albrecht seemed to take a softer view on her: one day he went with her to the Temple of Zilchus to deliver a bill, although she had no idea why visiting a temple should require such an escort. 'You?' she said with a little smile.
'Orvil didn't want anything to happen to you,' Albrecht said in gruff explanation.
'Oh,' she nodded. 'Orvil did not. That was very thoughtful of him.'
Things were becoming almost routine. Slowly, her fears and worries were falling behind her. She was, against all her expectations, actually becoming happy.
It happened a day before St. Cuthbert's Day, on the third day of the month of Planting.
It was a quiet morning. A few visitors had dropped by about one shipment or another, but so far the day had been uneventful and Askyrja had contented herself as best she could by flipping through the old ledger and wondering about the contents of each load and what they might have been for. She had an excellent memory, though it was a mass of details to take in.
The door opened and the little bell that she'd repaired over the door dinged – she'd found the clapper in the grate. 'Hello, Kordac,' Askyrja said, smiling at the broad-backed Flan as he came in; he'd been west of the city for a week on a grand circuit through Mol and Korbin. He immediately doffed his hat and dropped his eyes nervously, muttering a greeting. 'How was it out west?' she asked solicitously, but he only stammered something else incomprehensible.
She smiled again, determined not to let his skittishness obliterate the conversation. 'Do you have your numbers with you?' she asked, tapping the ledger. 'I need to make the entries.' She leaned across the counter, still smiling. 'You know, you can just talk to me, Kordac. I talk to many people here, and I promise I have bitten none of them,' she said with a wry smile.
'N-no – I mean – h-here's me books, Askyrja, lass,' he stammered, sliding a chalked slate to her.
She took the slate, then snatched for his hand – but he yanked it away with a nervous chuckle, so that she sprawled half across the counter. 'You escape today, friend Kordac,' she teased as he hurried past her into the hallway to the warehouse, 'but one day you will shake my hand!'
'Don't torture poor Kordac, he's just a bit bashful,' Orvil's voice creaked as he tottered in from the hallway; his joints seemed to be giving him trouble again.
Askyrja helped him to the stool and put another half-log in the grate to warm the room. 'I do not mean to vex him, but I have been here some time and he should come out of his shell and be less afraid of women,' she replied, clapping the soot from her hands. 'It would be better for him. And how are you feeling?' she asked, giving Orvil a concerned look.
'Oh… a little stiff this morning, if I'm honest,' Orvil said, rubbing his back.
She let out a little cluck of disapproval and hurried around the counter, propping him against it and using her heels to rub and massage his sore spine. 'Oof! That's a strong – pair of hands – you've got there, lass,' Orvil grunted, leaning heavily on the table. 'Are you – ach! – a healer or a killer?'
She snorted. 'I am neither. You should put a little more wood in the fire and set your bed closer to the firegrate in your room,' Askyrja chided, as she'd done before. 'And you know that you do not need to be here; I can manage the front in the mornings, as you have said.'
'Well – oof! – that might be, lass – ' he stretched and waved her off ' – but I can't abandon you to it every day. What if something came up?'
'I have a host of stout men at my back,' she smirked, though she knew Terrence and sometimes Ninfel were the only ones constantly around. 'And it is a wet spring,' she went on with standard Northerner tact, 'and you are old – also as you say yourself – and a wet spring means – '
' – a full graveyard; yes, yes, girl, you've said so before.' Askyrja was convinced that the wet weather brought fevers and illness. He patted her hand. 'Don't worry, I'll be all right,' he grunted, stretching again and adjusting his vest and jerkin. 'You run along and check the loads.'
'Done,' she replied proudly. 'Colson and Merrim left an hour ago, and Albrecht is almost ready for Cienega Valley.' She frowned. 'I think I would like to see that place. They say wine flows like water there.'
Orvil chuckled. 'Good! And so it does but I'm not about to send you off into the wilds of the Viscounty, lass. It's far too dangerous, even with a minder.'
'It is so dangerous there?' she asked, eyebrow raised. Frankly, the entire viscounty seemed very tame. She'd actually toyed with the idea of borrowing a horse and riding out to see the countryside. The city was… well enough, but cramped, with people everywhere. She missed the feel of free breeze on her face and empty land to see and admire. A soft pang in her heart made her think of the wild places of Rhizia she'd loved so much.
'It's the middle of the Viscounty but I've heard of strangers and even bandits and whatnot. It's no place for a young lady.'
'Well… there is no sign of Bill yet, but I do not know if he returns today or not. Would you like some tea? I can get you a cup of tumeric and ginger for your joints.' She'd obtained a little of each from a herbalist in town and it was physic for such pains, reducing swelling and healing the soft tissues.
'Well, if it's no bother,' Orvil said slowly but hopefully.
'I'll be back as soon as the water boils,' she promised.
As she went down the alley to the kitchen she could see from the windows that the day might be brightening with grey skies breaking for sun, though it looked like it would turn again later in the week. Terrence tugged his cap in recognition as he walked past on the way to the east warehouse; she smiled and waved as she slipped into the kitchen.
The fire took a few minutes to ready, so she put a pot of porridge on for everyone, adding sugar and some goatsmilk from a bladder she'd hung in the small cold pit. Then she cut and buttered some thick slices of bread that she put on a platter. The porridge she put on a mat on the table when it began to bubble. The kettle was soon singing and she stirred dried herbs into a dark tea with milk and sugar again, which was how Orvil liked it.
She spooned some porridge into a bowl, grabbed a slice of bread and the tea and was coming back down the hallway humming to herself, when she heard Orvil talking to someone in the front office.
Curious, she paused. It felt rude to barge in with food when he was discussing business, but something deeper – an unexplainable instinct or premonition – stayed her hand, so that she put the tray down on the counter in the hall and cracked the door open, peeking through.
There was a tall, broadshouldered man standing in the office, talking with Orvil. He wore a long wolfhide cloak over a dark green tunic loose sky-blue trews. The sides of the man's head were shaven, leaving a wide, starched braided plait running down over his skull. His right eye was covered with a blue tattoo of a star and his blond beard shot with grey. He had a scar that ran across the bridge of his nose down to his upper lip and he bore a big broadsword on his hip.
Askyrja's breath caught in her chest. She could not make out his accent or even his words, but that man was a Suel – and not some Verboboncian Suel offshoot, but a real Suel, from Thillonria!
A cold feeling shot down her spine as dread descended on her.
Who was he? What jarldom? How had he come here?
Why was he here?
What in Hel was a Rhizian doing here?
Her mind lit up with panic and she began to pant. No. No. This was nothing. No, it – it was too far – too soon – no one could have sailed so far in so short a time. She was only terrifying herself.
– but what if they'd send a message? Her back broke out in sweat and she felt her hands go cold. It had been over a month since she'd escaped. Could a carrier pigeon or a raven fly that distance, in that time? It was certainly possible. Who would receive such notes? What would happen next?
They would use whoever was nearest, she realized. There were probably Thillonrians everywhere on Oerth and her father had agents outside Rhizia, not to mention Rhizians abroad, too. Would they answer the call to search for her? And if there were a reward, anyone might be interested in her. Her heart thudded as she frantically thought back over the last few days: had someone paid her too much attention? Looked at her too long, or too intently? She began to imagine threatening looks in every past gaze, leering stares as men slunk away to report her.
In an instant, her entire world had upended and shrunk down to the clothing on her back, the dagger at her belt and the purse of money she kept hidden under her skirts. Her mind flashed through the contents of her room, finding nothing of critical importance there – some clothes, a comb a few things, nothing that was worth her life.
But this was foolishness. The likelihood that a letter from faraway Rhizia ordering her capture or murder had come here of all places was absurdly small. They would contact big cities in other places, like Greyhawk City, or Radigast City, or somewhere in the Great Kingdom. They would have no idea she was even here!
– unless her father had obtained another sorcerer, who would have used magic to find her. And once they knew right where she was –
Suddenly the Suel stopped speaking and looked directly at the crack she was peering through.
Askyrja flung herself back from the door.
That burst of action seemed to give her pause. Maybe this was silly. Her people were great sailors and travelled all over the seas of east Oerth. Surely another Rhizian might simply chance to come this far westward, sooner or later?
But she found that she was still backing off, until her behind bumped into the rear wall of the hallway. 'Sorry!' she blurted in surprise, then clapped a hand over her mouth – far too late. That had certainly been heard. She quickly backed along the wall towards the door to the west warehouse and slipped out, shutting the door softly behind her.
Then she turned and fled.
The west warehouse was cool this time of year, the wet winds filling it with chill air and puddles here and there; its drainage had never been perfect. She splashed through one, running into the warehouse's high aisles, past some carts and ducked down with her back against a row of racks of baled wool. She peered over her shoulder through the gap between the bales at the door.
Her every sense of calm was utterly shattered, her mind thrown back to those weeks of flight from Granrud to Soull, each moment a symphony of panic and fright. Oh gods, they've found me. He's found me! her mind shrieked.
The door to the back hallway burst open and the Suel man came through with Orvil trotting along behind. 'Well, yes… as you can see,' Orvil was puffing, 'we have lots of storage. All kinds of transport,' he said, gesturing at the warehouse interior. 'What was it exactly you needed?'
But the Suel man did not seem interested; instead he was peering into the dark warehouse. 'Yes,' he said absently in his thick accent as his eyes roamed.
'We don't usually let anyone back here,' Orvil protested. 'Now, since you said you needed to see the cartage I don't mind, but it's a bit odd – '
Suddenly the Suel man strode towards the carts, heading Askyrka's way.
A jolt of panic shot through her like a lightning bolt and she quietly crouch-walked into the shadows behind the same empty wine tuns she'd been checking with Albrecht not half an hour before. Oh gods! Please, no! she thought as she peeked out from between two barrels.
The Suel man reached the wool and looked around, eyes narrowed. 'Now, just a minute here – !' Orvil was saying, but he only circled around the wool bales, heading her way.
Cursing under her breath, she slunk left around the wine barrels and behind a stack of crates. She looked around frantically but there was nowhere to go – the exits were up front and so were the big gates. She was trapped and out of cover.
The Suel came closer, following her trail like a bloodhound. Her heart was hammering in her chest. There was nowhere left to go – a moment more and he would have her –
Suddenly, there was a scuffing boot sound and Albrecht was standing above her, stepping in between the Suel and the crates Askyrja was hiding behind, thumbs tucked into his belt. His brows already furrowed. 'This ain't allowed,' he told the Suel. 'You're not supposed to be back here.'
'I was… looking at your warehouse,' the Suel man said in an accent that instantly resonated in her very soul, making a strange, desperately homesick part of her want to run to him and beg for his help; she shook it off.
'None of this is your business, mate,' Albrecht grunted, his scowl deepening. 'And I don't even know what the hells you're doing back here – Orvil, who is this? He ain't supposed to be here.'
'Says he's looking for some ironworks to be carted to his ship,' Orvil said. 'He's going upriver, he says, though he'll have to wait if he wants good wind. He needs two carts and strong oxen.'
Suel made to move past Albrecht, but the Oeridian just stepped in front of him. 'Well, that might be, but he isn't supposed to be back here, and he's got no business being back here.' He pointed at the door back to the office. The Suel's lip curled back in the beginnings of a threatening snarl but Albrecht just crossed his big arms. 'You want to make trouble? You'll get a lot more back, chum; the Gate Watch is just over that way. Won't take them but a minute to get here and that's if there isn't a patrol passing by right now.' He raised an eyebrow. 'Still want to make a fuss?'
Askyrja watched, hidden, as the Suel scowled at Albrecht, then gave the place a last lingering look as he turned to address Orvil. Albrecht glanced at Askyrja; she silently put a finger to her lips and shook her head.
The Suel bowed to Orvil, wearing a patently false smile. 'I would not break your laws,' he said. 'I will go. Perhaps we will do business another day.'
'Perhaps so,' Orvil nodded, still looking ruffled. 'I'll see you out.'
Orvil led him back towards the front office, the Suel still searching, though subtly. Then they were gone.
Albrecht frowned at her as she shakily stood, staring after them. 'Askyrja,' he said, 'what in hell is going on? Who was that man? He talked like you. Do you know him? Is he from your land?'
'I – I do not know him, but I think he was Rhizian,' she said quietly, still peering towards the front office. 'I… I think he was looking for me, Albrecht.'
Albrecht shook his head. 'Askyrja, what sort of games are these? What is all this? Are you in some sort of trouble? Is this about you running from home? What did you do there, anyway?'
She looked up at him, a lump of guilt suddenly forming in her stomach. 'N-nothing,' she lied. 'My – my father, he – '
Albrecht's scowl seemed deeper, if that were even possible. 'You didn't bring trouble here, did you?' he said scornfully.
Askyrja gasped. 'N-no – Albrecht – I swear I would never – '
'He had a sword. Is he dangerous?' Albrecht went on unabated. 'And now he's going to be loitering around here – what, to try and hurt you? Or us? Are we going to need the Watch to keep an eye out now?'
'I – I do not – he – ' she stammered. 'Albrecht, I swear to you, I have never seen him before. I did not ask him here – he – he just – '
'Okay, let me make this simple,' Albrecht grunted. 'Why is he looking for you?'
She hesitated just a moment too long, went to speak, then stopped with her mouth hanging open.
'Yeah. So there's a reason after all. If there weren't, you could have said easy enough,' he scorned. 'So. You're wanted, then – for something. Well at least you didn't try to lie to me.'
'I don't know about all this,' Albrecht grumped. 'We didn't ask for it and it ain't none of our affair. Can't believe as you'd bring danger to our door after all we did for you.'
She reeled back as if she'd been struck. 'Albrecht. You know I would never – I would not – ' But she stood uncertainly, her arms trembling, mouth open but nothing coming out. There was nothing she could say.
'I – I,' she whispered, but the enormity of it was suddenly piling on her and she lowered her eyes as shame burned through her veins. She tucked her arms in, holding her sides. 'Albrecht – I swear I did not think anyone would ever find me here. My home – the place where I am wanted – is so far away. I did not think anyone would ever come looking here. Please – you must believe me. I would never knowingly put any of you at risk.' She looked up with tear-filled eyes.
'Sorry don't help us none,' Albrecht grunted, scowling. 'Times are tough enough and now we have this to worry about too? Enough of this.' He waved a hand and started for the office.
'Albrecht! Wait! Please – ' She raced after him, catching him easily. 'Please. I am sorry. I am so sorry!' From her morning's buoyant spirit, she felt cold and desolate.
He stopped. 'Oh, I see – you want me to forgive you? Or just not tell everyone what's going on?'
The burning shame became a cold spike, right through her heart. 'Albrecht, I – I would never make trouble for the Coster!' Askyrja begged. 'Please believe me! I swear – ' but she couldn't finish her sentence. If this man was here searching for her, for the reasons she thought, then she had brought trouble there, to these people that had helped her for no early reason she knew. Guilt and shame washed over her, hot and cold at the same time.
Then her hands fell by her sides and a bolt of pure conviction sprang down her spine. 'I must go,' she said abruptly, making off for the hallway with long, quick strides.
'Wait! Where are you going?' Albrecht called after her.
But now Askyrja was running.
Lifting her skirts she took the stairs two at a time, bolting up to the second floor as tears streamed from her eyes. It was not fair, not right! - but she did not know what else to do. This man was looking for her, and there was only one reason that he should be. Or was there? She didn't know – but she could not take the chance, not for her and not for them who had been so kind to her. She would vanish. They would never find her here, and so perhaps they would not hurt Colson and Orvil and the others.
She jammed her key in the lock and burst through the door. The bed had nothing, but she fetched her old pack from its hook and jammed a few items into it – her brush, a set of smallclothes, a blouse and spare socks. Then she tore at the drawstrings of her conventional Verboncian dress until she could wrench it off like a butterfly emerging from its case, feeling strangely free and alive. She dug her old deerskin breeches out of her dresser and slid them on, and her stout jerkin over top of them. She belted on her side-pack and attached her knife to it, then dug through the discarded dress until she found her money-purse. She hefted it; she'd added to it over the past month though not as much as she'd hoped. She hung the cord round her neck and tucked it safely into her shirt. Then she snatched up her coat and cloak and hurtled into the hall.
She sprinted downstairs and, after peering through the hallway to the main office, ran for the door and shot through, slamming it behind her.
'Askyrja!' Orvil exclaimed as she suddenly appeared. They stared at each other wide-eyed. 'Askyrja, what's going on? Who was that man? Is he here for – ' but she only shook her head, and hurried for the front door.
'Askyrja, wait!' Orvil cried, chasing her round the counter and catching her there as she waited, head bowed. He took her hands. 'No no no,' he said quickly, 'now – please. Just wait a moment. What happened? Who was that?'
She looked up, biting back her tears. 'I do not know. But – he was here searching for me and I – I do not know why but I think – I think my father – ' And suddenly she was in Orvil's arms, crying weakly. 'I am sorry. I did not mean to endanger you, or anyone here. I – I did not think they would ever find me!' she said, voice breaking.
'Easy now – easy,' Orvil told her, patting her back and stroking her hair fondly. 'Look, just – don't do anything rash, all right? We'll figure this out – and the lads are all behind you, you know that.'
She looked up. 'But Albrecht said – '
'You never mind him! I'll set him right!' Orvil said fiercely, almost in a growl of his own. 'What did he say to you? By the gods I'll have him hopping!'
But she gently pulled free and shook her head. 'No. Albrecht was right – I cannot stay. I am a danger to you. If he returns, I do not know what will happen. What if he attacks someone? What if one of you was harmed protecting me? I cannot take that chance.'
Orvil's mouth turned down and he squinted away a tear. 'Askyrja, don't do this. What if – what if it's fine? Maybe it's something else! Just – stay here. We can keep you safe – '
But she was already shaking her head, clutching her hands to her temples. 'Oh, Orvil!' she cried miserably. 'You cannot! They are dangerous! And if it is what I fear, he will not be the last. I lied to you,' she said heavily. 'I am not… just from Rhizia. My – my father – he – '
'I know,' Orvil said soothingly. 'Colson told me about it; not to worry, he's told no one else and your secret's safe with me and him, I swear it. But running out into the wilds, girl, this isn't wise.
She shook her head. 'If you know who he is, then you know staying is less wise. They would kill me and all who stand between me and them. You are good, good men… but you are not warriors. I was wrong ever to come here and now I must go. Orvil, I must do this. It is the only choice. They will chase me and leave you alone.' she said sadly. She looked him in the eyes, entreating. 'You must let me go.' He looked down wordlessly.
Suddenly she grabbed his hands. 'And – if they come, if they do – promise me,' she said, looking deep into his eyes. 'Swear that you will tell them everything they wish to know, even the way I went. Do whatever they say. Please! They are terrible men and they will stop at nothing! Do you hear me? Nothing! Swear! Swear to me!' she said with a sudden and surprising ferocity.
Orvil looked taken aback but shook his head. 'I… can't make such a promise. You're one of the good ones. And I'll have you know that Walder's Wains – ' to her surprise he didn't perform the sign ' – doesn't abandon… good employees.'
She smiled, then laughed, then sniffed back tears. 'You are a silly old man, did you know this?'
Orvil laughed. 'And you are an impudent young girl! I should fire you. But – ' his throat caught, and he coughed ' – it was nice to have known you, at least for a while. Go with Cuthbert, and may the blessed saint guide all your steps.' He hesitated. 'But – what should I tell Colson?'
She sighed and touched a hand to her brow. Damn all. 'Where is he now?'
'Somewheres north of the river, towards Raymend. He'll be back tomorrow,' Orvil said hopefully.
Her eyebrows knit in pain, but she shook her head. 'I cannot wait. There is too much risk – but wait.' She slipped behind the counter and got paper and Orvil's quill. She dipped it and wrote quickly, glancing often towards the front door, then folded the sheet and handed it to him. 'Give him this.'
'Of course,' said Orvil.
'Thankyou,' she said, looking down. A sudden impulse struck her. 'And, can you give him this also, from me?' She leaned down and kissed Orvil on the cheek. 'I am very grateful for all he has done. Please tell him so.'
Orvil flushed red. 'Well, I'll tell him so… but I won't be giving him that. But – wait. Don't use the front.' He peered out the glass, scanning the street. 'In fact… you can't walk out of here, not if you plan to hide in the city, You can't get in except by the East Gate and if there's someone watching it you'll be spotted for sure. Same for the North Gate into the Inner City – you'd never get through there without being seen.' He thought. 'I can get you into a cart – there's some Furyondy cloth for the Dawn Quarter and no one would dare follow us into there. The Elves – they're a bit shrewd, you see. Perceptive. They watch and they'd know summat was up. '
Her skin crawled with anxiety at the thought, but it was a good plan. 'It's going on dark and by the time we're there there'll be a little twilight, too. We hop you out right in the middle of the Elvish village and you'll never be seen. But we have to hurry before he comes back with more lads. Come on!' And with surprising speed he hurled a worn travel cloak around his shouders and hurried into the back alley in a bandy-legged trot.
She followed along, peering over her shoulder – how had she ever stopped doing that? – as they came to a wagon stacked with bales of cloth. 'In you get,' he said and she helped him move some of the bales around and pile two light ones on top so that they made a narrow little archway she could slither into. The open space in front he covered with a bundle, leaving a little gap for her to see and breathe. 'You okay in there?'
'Yes,' she said. 'Thankyou, Orvil. Thankyou for everything.'
His jaw twitched again and he shook his head. 'I hate people leaving. I hate it with all my soul, right from when my children left to see the world. But it has to be.' He shook his head again. 'No tears now. Just we see you're safe.' He reached into the gap and ruffled her hair, then got down with a grunt and went to get an ox.
Minutes later, they were plodding along on the back lane out of the Coster House as it passed two buildings; they were moving faster than usual and she suspected he'd picked one of the younger ones, maybe Bluebell or Cowslip. She looked back through her little window towards the Coster House and watched miserably as her new life receded in her view through the spitting rain, letting a few tears run silently down her cheeks as she cursed the strange Suel man.
They turned onto the road just east and headed south to the River Road. 'My bet is he's watching the front of the building,' Orvil hissed, leaning back over the cart's bed. 'Less he's got more people about. You hush and I'll keep watch.'
They rumbled south to the River Road, took a right, and trundled along westward toward the East Gate. As they did, they passed the corner of the main avenue that they usually used, and she clapped a hand over her mouth to hold in an exclamation of shock.
There was a scattering of businesses and buildings there, including a small food stall that sold roast sausages dipped in butter and charred fish on sticks.
And there, lurking around the corner of the stall, was the Suel man.
He was leaning casually against the wall just out of the rain from the northwest, arms folded and seeming at his ease but she could tell he was watching Walder's front office like a hawk. He didn't notice as they drove past behind him: they were just another nameless, hooded merchant and his cart rolling along the old River Road on a wet spring day.
She watching him from her hiding place, then jolted as he turned to look towards the cart; but it was only a reflexive glance and immediately he was back watching the Coster, unable to spot her in Orvil's little blind. She breathed easier and took a moment to study him, noting his worn elkhide boots, just like hers. Then, he eased off the corner and strolled slowly north in the direction of Walder's. She watched him unil the corner cut him off from view, simultaneously filled with fear and the strange longing to talk to someone – anyone – from home.
They headed along the River Road towards the East Gate for a while, Orvil urging the ox along. Then 'Askyrja! Askyrja?' he hissed, leaning back over the cart's bed. 'Are you all right?'
'Yes,' she said back in a loud whisper.
'Did you see him?'
'Yes!'
'Didn't recognize me with the cloak and hood on,' Orvil chuckled. 'We fooled him!' They slowed and Askyrja realized they were in the line for the Gate. 'Keep quiet,' Orvil's reedy voice came, more quietly now. 'I'll get us through.'
Askyrja tensed and she realized that they must already be in line for the Gate. She vividly recalled Sir Hostein's probing, using that magic of his god whenever they passed through and he was on duty. She'd gotten used to it – the shock of the magic that first time had been overwhelming but repeated exposure had done her some changes. But could he sense people? No, she did not think he could do that: he had needed to see her to do his magics on her.
Then there was the muffled sound of barking – the dogs! They would sense her presence whether she were under a bale of cloth or not; they would smell her out almost immediately. And neither could she emerge from the cloth; she would be seen and they would be arrested for sure, and draw all kinds of attention. There was nothing nothing to do now except hope! Oh gods, she thought frantically, please don't smell me! Please don't bark! I'm not a threat; I only want to get away from a bad man! Shh! Shh! She covered her head and squeezed her eyes shut, praying furiously.
The line must have been short for moments later she realized they were at the front of the line; she could hear Orvil talking to the Watch soldiers. She waited for the inevitable howl of alarm but… by whatever miracle… there was nothing. The dogs were silent: she heard a yelp or two and then nothing. Moments later to her utter amazement they simply started rolling again! They were through! Freyr be thanked! she thought in amazement. Her prayers had worked!
They went along past the inner Gate and into the Outer City, then through the North Gate into the Inner City. They went along for some time, the cart's gentle rocking and quiet squeals lulling her unexpectedly to sleep.
Then someone rustled one of the bales and she heard Orvil say 'All right, girl, I think it's safe to come out now.'
She rubbed her eyes and cautiously pushed away the bag that had shielded her and peeked out, blinking in the dimming light. It was darker, with hazy shadows pooling all around; Orvil must have taken a roundabout way.
Tentatively she stuck her head out, then climbed out and hopped down.
She was in the Dawn Quarter; she'd seen it often enough from the outside. It was not forbidden; it made up less than a tenth of Verbobonc but it had its own existence, its own life separate and distinct. The air was thick and heavy with the scents of growing things and the light breeze stirred the leaves of the high trees. Only here in all the city did great oaks, red-brown roanwoods and mighty ipps grow free and tall, their canopies higher than the walls, rivalling the towers of Castle Greyfist, their thick trunks like sentinels watching over the quiet lanes. The ipps' wide leaves fluttered, their branches almost seeming to beckon to the growing dusk.
She stood at one of the crossroads within the Dawn Quarter; the roads ran north, south and west. A dead phost tree stood at the north side, its soft, eerie glow spilling over the cobblestones, casting long wavering shadows. Footpaths ran from the road into the brush of chokecherry, briar and hawthorn.
Though she saw no one, it felt like a hundred eyes were on her and instinctively she tucked her cloak protectively around her as if to shield herself from unseen gazes. The spitting rain crackled the new buds and the leaves of the ipps far above them; they seemed to lose their leaves only rarely and regrow them quickly. More Alfar magic, she supposed.
Orvil's silhouette appeared out of the gloom, his hood drawn low. 'I guess this is… it, Askyrja,' he said softly.
She came to him and nodded, her lips pressed tight. 'I cannot repay you for all you have done.'
'You've already repaid us with everything you did, girl.' Orvil smiled, though his eyes were sad and his voice thickened with emotion. 'And we were glad to know you. And helping you out was what Walder – ' this time he did genuflect in their way ' – would have wanted.'
Askyrja nodded, and swallowed hard against the lump forming in her throat, then suddenly wrapped her arms around him, clinging to him as if she could absorb all the kindness he had given her again. 'I never had a father, Orvil… but if I did you are the one I would want.'
Orvil's arms tightened around her with his wiry strength. Tears slid down his creased old face unchecked. 'I'd be damned lucky to have a daughter like you.' They held each other in the pale light of the phost tree.
'This is like a spike in my old heart, Askyrja,' he said finally, voice shaking. 'But you musn't linger. If we were followed – well, my eyes aren't as good as they used to be.' He looked at her, gaze filled with a quiet intensity. 'I expect you're due for great things, Askyrja of the Suel. We'll listen for them. Here.' He pressed a small but heavy pouch into her hands.
'I cannot accept this,' she started to protest but he shook his head and closed her fingers around it, lifting them to give them a soft kiss. 'You can, my dear,' he said, patting her. 'A last gift.'
She shook her, wiping her eyes again. 'I will repay you someday, Orvil.'
'You'll repay me by living. You don't forget us, all right?'
She smiled back. 'I cannot, Orvil of Verbobonc. I will never forget you, my first real friends.'
'Go,' he said simply, though his brows were knit and he wiped at his eyes. 'Hurry now. Escape, and be safe.'
Slowly she began to walk away from him, the Coster and the last home she'd known. The air was wet and chill now; she could smell snow in the breeze. She stopped at the edge of the light from the phost tree, her hair glowing in the phosphorescent light, and turned to look at him one last time.
Orvil was turned away, leaning on the cart with his hand pressed to his eyes, sobbing silently.
Without another word she wiped her eyes, turned away, and melted into the shadows of the quarter.