White Pagan, page 17
part #6 of Kestrel Harper Saga Series
Dhóri swore he had explained the risks, that she accepted them and wanted the ride. Rhyrdan had not had the opportunity to ask her for verification. Duties had called him away long enough for the pair to make their escape. Knowing no reason for Dhóri to lie, when Dhóri, like his father, was a truthful man, Rhyrdan chose to believe him.
What he did not trust was the look on Dhóri’s face, the change in his demeanor, every time he spoke of their guest, or to her. There was interest there that, as far as Rhyrdan could see, she did not share. It was an interest, however, that Rhyrdan had seen in Kavan. If his perception was accurate, such feelings were a very rare thing for Kavan and Rhyrdan did not think a rivalry between father and son would end well. Having just lost Wortham, Rhyrdan worried for Kavan should the situation turn troublesome.
Dhóri felt no such concern as he pointed out landmarks, giving his companion every tidbit of historical significance he had learned about his city. She did not seem particularly comfortable on the tall horse, suggesting she was not accustomed to riding, but she fared well enough at their slow pace through town. He was determined to do right by her, make an impression after noticing his father’s apparent lack of interest and determination to be elsewhere. Unaware that Kavan had returned that morning, he worried that his father was suffering a bout of madness or melancholia borne of whatever she had said to him and Wortham’s death before that. Dhóri felt it was his duty, therefore, to learn what he could, determine her motives for coming to Alberni, for remaining in their home, what her intentions and plans were for the future. If she meant to harm his father, Dhóri would see to it that she was not allowed to carry those intentions out.
He was intrigued by her. She was older than him, but in years he thought her nearer his age than his father’s. Elyri or not, what woman would be interested in a man so much older, even if that man was still in his prime? Unaware that she was married, for she wore no symbol of that match, Dhóri believed he stood a chance as a suitor. He could offer her little, but that would change if she proved interested in him, would change enough to make a future worth pursuing.
Raebhá, unaware of his interest, agreed to the ride for the opportunity of open sky and crisp air. The change in the leaves, from summer green to crimson and gold, told her it was autumn though to her the weather seemed mild and warm, pleasant enough that she had resisted the need for a cloak. Dhóri insisted, reminding her that she was recovering and should be careful with her health. Though she did not appreciate being coddled, she did accept that she would need her health when she chose to leave, and so she gave in to his persistence.
It was with that upcoming journey in mind that she asked questions about language, commerce, and custom, about geography and climate and the distance between Alberni and the nearest cities. She inquired about the unfamiliar ships in the harbor when Dhóri took her to see them, ships that might, perhaps, for the right price, be chartered to carry her home…once she determined where home was from where she stood. It was a price she could not pay, and if she offered the promise of goods for trade upon reaching home, there was no guarantee that, should she survive the journey, her brother or anyone else would be willing to honor her agreement.
As leery as dhóbhaen were of outsiders, that trip might turn into a waste of the sailors’ time, or turn hostile and possibly fatal.
dhóbhaen were not violent, but abandoning foreign sailors to the mercy of unfamiliar seas rather than provide them anything of worth was a distinct possibility.
Buildings two and sometimes three levels tall lined the streets, buildings of a fashion she did not recognize. There were unfamiliar animals, unfamiliar smells, clothing of such finery she was amazed that people chose to wear it as they went about their day-to-day affairs. Goods on display, visible in open windows and on carts in front of open doors, a variety of bread and cheeses, meats and vegetables, and sticky sweet treats not available at home. The supply was short, Dhóri claimed, due to years of poor harvest, but to Raebhá, the bounty she saw was an astounding thing.
There were tools and weapons and housewares similar and yet different than those she used. The sounds of life were the same, clanging metal, the squeals of animals awaiting sale or slaughter, the laughter of children and the calls of neighbors with greetings and insults differentiated by the tone of voice and expression on the face of the speakers. There was a noticeable difference between those laboring with their hands and the young man who rode beside her, to whom many bowed or otherwise gave reverence as they passed. When they rode by a man on a street corner, leaning on a crutch, one arm wrapped in dirty bandages, a leg missing from some accident, injury, or ailment, she stopped her horse to stare at him. He held out a wooden bowl, rattling it at passersby as if asking for something.
“Who is this man? What is he doing?”
“A beggar,” Dhóri replied with a note of indifference. “Possibly Association…although they aren’t active in Alberni.”
“Association? What is a beggar?”
“You know…the poor who cannot provide for themselves…who cannot work…seeking coin and food from any who will give it.”
“Has he no family to care for him?”
Seeing her dismay, he replied, “Likely not, or they may be unable to do so. You have no…?”
“We care for our disadvantaged. It is the way of things.”
That sounded like disdain and Dhóri huffed, “As do we. Alberni is unlike other cities in Enesfel. There are shelters to see to their needs, run by the gdhededhá, funded by the Faith and donations of others…like my father. But…” He sighed and fished in his vest pocket for what coins he carried. “The drought in the south and floods in the north are making times harder. Harvests have been poor. Many come to the places that still offer hope…Alberni, Levonne, Rhidam, until our streets overflow with them. Our resources are stretched. While he may be lame,” he leaned over, dropped the coins into the man’s bowl, and straightened in the saddle, “he may be better off than he appears. If he’s Association, he could be here on business. Out of respect for my family, the Association does not cause trouble here, but they are everywhere…spies, thieves, killers.”
He shook his head, wondering again about his father’s connections to such people. Kavan did not tolerate crime in Alberni, but those caught and arrested were rarely Association. Dhóri knew of them, but he had yet to meet anyone in Alberni who might be members of that elite group.
Surprised that an organized band of criminals could exist, could be allowed to exist, Raebhá nudged her horse to follow Dhóri, silent with her thoughts, her mount closer behind his now. Such a thing could not happen at home. Those left without families were taken in by another if they were too young, too old, or unfit to provide for their own needs. With the threat of kylldrenai ever-present, when the márbhyndhánis could read one’s thoughts and know the most secret of crimes, few dared to commit questionable acts.
Except to her and Ombhrís, someone had dared.
But these were not dhóbhaen…or Elyri as Kavan had called his people. These people could neither shield their thoughts nor read those of others. Could Kavan? Did he use the threat of it to rule, or did he give his subjects his trust and direct them without threat? She was curious to ask him at the end of the day, expecting him to have returned home by the time she and Dhóri arrived.
“Come…let me show you St. Maicel’s; you must see it.” He grinned, a wide, boyish look that brightened his face and made his eyes sparkle. The quaint but ornate náós was something that must be seen, Dhóri thought as he turned his horse down a side street, because it would wipe the darkness of crime and poverty from her thoughts. He did not want her to associate Alberni with darkness. He wanted her to like it here. Like it enough to stay.
***
As soon as Kavan stepped from the oratory Gate into the room, he knew Raebhá was not there. Not in the oratory, not in the manor, not within easy reach of his senses. He frowned, struggling with the panic that snapped at his chest, making it difficult to breathe. There was enough of her lingering in the air to set his nerves to tingling, enough of her scent to tickle his nose and awaken feelings he did not want to think about. They were inappropriate, but so long as he did not act on them, they were forgivable. He was only a man, after all.
He passed her room and hesitated, considering entering with his hand on the latch. But she was not there and if, by chance, her belongings still were, it would be embarrassing to be caught there, even if this was his home. Choosing not to invade her privacy, he descended to the first level, expecting to find Rhyrdan, Emeria, or Zelenka to inquire about their guest’s whereabouts, hoping he could do so without appearing desperate to find her.
At the bottom of the stairs in the entrance hall where he had left her earlier, he was greeted with the sound of scraping boots. Rhyrdan, with his back to him, bent at the waist as he worked to avoid carrying too much dust into the house; he looked enough like his father to cause Kavan to grip the railing and stop midstep, his heart seizing again.
This repeated distress would be his death. How much could his heart take before he stopped breathing or his heart ceased pounding?
Rhyrdan glanced at him and straightened with a welcoming smile. “You are home. Mother asked how many to expect for dinner. I could not give her a number…”
“Prince Lorant suffered a fall,” Kavan explained. “Nothing serious but Merrek and Arlana wanted my assurance that he is well.” He came down the final two steps, eyeing the door behind Rhyrdan and then both large windows directly to either side. “Where is…?” he began in as neutral of a tone as he could muster.
Rhyrdan noted what he had heard in the man’s voice before, an unexpected note of interest after a lifetime of solitude. At times, Rhyrdan had thought Kavan and his father were more a married couple than anyone else he knew. “She is with Dhóri, in the city. She wanted to be outdoors and Dhóri volunteered to show her Alberni.”
The bard’s frown deepened but he hid it with a turn of his head towards the dining hall door. Escorting her through Alberni should have been his responsibility as duke and her host, but a combination of factors had prevented him from fulfilling an obligation he had actively avoided. He was a negligent host, as Ártur had said. Of course she would want fresh air, and if she were to remain with them for an indeterminate amount of time, as Kavan hoped, she would need to learn her way about the city as well as learn customs he suspected were different from hers.
If he was indisposed or duty-bound to be away, then Dhóri was in his right as son and heir to fulfill such duties. It should not irritate Kavan to be displaced by his son; he should be proud of Dhóri for stepping up to the task and fulfilling his responsibilities. But Kavan’s words, when they came, expressed frustration and regret despite his effort to quash those emotions. “Good. She should learn our customs, our city…and it is not healthy to be confined.” Immediately feeling petty and foolish, he added. “I will be in…”
Where, he wondered, his words interrupted by a crash in the dining hall and Zelenka’s angry shout following hard upon to chastise whoever was behind the mistake. Petulantly, Kavan’s first response to his own question was to consider leaving again, without a word of his whereabouts or his plans, punishment for Raebhá not being here when he returned, for accepting the tour without him. Punishment for Dhóri’s acting on his behalf. Punishment to everyone purely for irritating him when it was no one’s fault but his own.
In the softer corners of his heart, he knew he would only be punishing himself. He would not chastise Zelenka or anyone else. He would not berate his son for fulfilling his role as heir to the estate. If Raebhá returned to find him gone again, he expected she would leave without a farewell, without a word or trace or the answers he needed.
“I’ll be in my study,” he concluded. “I’ve work to do and do not wish to be disturbed.” He took a few steps towards the corridor to his right, hesitated, and then added, “But I do wish to know when they return. Send word, if you will…and tell your mother that if I dine it will be late. If she will save a plate, I will be in her debt.”
Rhyrdan could not read Kavan’s thoughts, could not guess the nature of the turmoil in the man’s eyes, but he could read in Kavan’s body language that he was troubled and perplexed. Rhyrdan bowed, a slight gesture his father sometimes used, and said, “I shall do both.” Preventing Kavan from continuing he asked, “The prince?”
“Healthy, praise k’Ádhá. Yóáná tended him promptly, he suffers no more than a bump on his head.”
“Praise be,” Rhyrdan sighed with relief. With the recent shift in leadership, and plague and drought reaping the land of souls, the last thing Enesfel needed was to suffer the loss of the child prince.
Books, tablets, parchments, and scrolls were taken from the shelves in his study and placed on the mahogany desk where Kavan spent hours perusing them, alternating between them as his research pulled him deeper into the enigma of history. Some of the documents were originals, some were copies made by the scribes in the chellé, others were copies brought to him from across the Sovereignties, many sent by Asta and Kjell from Neth, others by Inquisitor Geli when his travels took him across the realms. Kavan kept several on hand until he had the chance to read them, study them, before passing them into the care of k’dedhá Khwílen and the scribes. Documents Kavan considered the most valuable were taken directly to the vault, where only three people had access to them.
Two, Kavan thought grimly, now that Wortham was gone.
Perhaps it would be wise to reveal those secrets to Rhyrdan as he had to Wortham.
Blank sheets of parchment, his favorite quills and styluses, and an ample supply of ink had also been set in place before he settled and began his hunt, seeking clues as to who Raebhá was, where she had come from, and how she had come to be in a place where no Gate existed. Rather than think about the quest as a means of helping her get home, as he realized more and more that he did not want her to leave, Kavan tailored his research around seeking the truth about where St. Kóráhm had come from.
Not in Ergothé or Clarys. That much Kavan knew. If Raebhá’s clues were accurate, the saint had been born somewhere far from the lands Kavan knew. Learning the truth, finding that land, those people, to set the record of Kóráhm’s life in order was a goal Kavan was far more comfortable pursuing.
The evening tolling of St. Kóráhm’s carillons, echoed by the pealing of St. Maicel’s throatier chimes on the opposite side of Alberni, went unmarked as hours passed, bringing the darkness with them. Barely noticing the time, not thinking about it, Kavan absently lit the oil lamp at the edge of his desk with his handlight and continued to read, making notes of morsels of knowledge that might be significant. Nor did he note or acknowledge the call of Zelenka’s dinner bell which was followed soon after by the clatter of horses’ hooves on the gravel outside the study window. Such noises were commonplace, expected, and not the sort of things to disrupt Kavan’s concentration when he was focused on study or music.
It was Dhóri’s boisterous, infectious laughter in the corridors outside of the room that lifted Kavan’s head from the pages, his son’s merriment and the sense of her that seeped through the cracks around the door and slipped over his skin like Káliel silk. He stiffened and sat straight in the high-backed chair, using willpower to remain where he was instead of rushing into the hall to greet her, using it to push the memories of the vision of her from that morning out of his thoughts. The desire to see her, speak with her, to apologize for his behavior was a temptation best resisted. She would be hungry, weary from her outing, and likely desire a bath and rest and a change of clothing.
Nothing Kavan wanted should interfere with that.
Judging by his son’s good humor and the sound of her voice, she enjoyed his company. Neither would welcome his intrusion.
Kavan threw his focus back into research, although now with less attention than before as his senses were half tuned to following her aura. Expecting Rhyrdan to interrupt with news of their return, as Kavan had asked of him, kept him from focusing as well.
The distraction would pass, he thought with annoyance, as soon as Rhyrdan brought him word.
But the flame of her in his home that shifted and moved in and out of the range of his perceptions ultimately forced him to acknowledge that focus was not going to be possible until he spoke with her, put his mind at ease that she was not angry. His mind would not settle until she put to rest the myriad of questions galloping through his head.
Wrestling with the demons of temptation and the effort to concentrate, he did not notice the soft rapping on the wooden door. When it pushed open with a creak, he jumped, scattering the books at his elbow, and then stared at the woman who entered wearing the same attire she had worn that morning.
“aeyrudgh…I did not mean to startle you…”
“No, it is…please, come in.” He retrieved the fallen tomes and arranged them on his desk as she closed the door. “Was your tour of Alberni informative? I apologize I was unable to accompany you.”
Apologize and regretted it, but there was nothing to be done.
“Duty called. I understand.” Her easy smile as she sat across the desk from him was a welcome sight. “The emergency has passed?”
“It has.”
Again, she smiled. “I’m pleased to hear it. Rhyrdan said you wished to know of my return. I wanted to tell you myself, and to apologize for whatever I said last evening that offended you.”
“Misunderstandings are to be expected.” Similarities in language or not, until they understood one another, there would be more such confusion. “I was not offended. I was shocked.” He leaned back in his chair, hands clasped before him to prevent nervous fidgeting as he ordered his thoughts, hoping she would have time to speak with him now and not assume that his hesitation was indicative of wanting her to leave. “k’elyryhánag. You know what it means?”
