To Green Angel Tower Part 2 Part 4

"What?" Simon stared at her as though she had asked him to show her how to fly.

Miriamele gave him a scornful glance, then got up and walked to her saddlebag. From the bottom she drew out a short sword in a tooled scabbard. "I had Freosel make it for me before we left. He cut it down from a man's sword." Her disdainful look gave way to a wry, strangely self-mocking grin. "I said I wanted it to protect my virtue when we marched on Nabban." She looked hard at Simon. "So teach me."

"You want me to show you how to use a sword," he said slowly.

"Of course. And in turn, I will show you how to use a bow." She raised her chin slightly. "I can hit a cow at a great deal more than a few paces-not that I have," she said hurriedly. "But old Sir Fluiren taught me how to shoot a bow when I was a little girl. He thought it was amusing."

Simon was nonplussed. "So you are going to shoot squirrels for the dinner pot?"

Her expression turned cool again. "I didn't bring the bow for hunting, Simon-the sword, either. We are going somewhere dangerous. A young woman traveling these days would be a fool to go unarmed."

Her calm explanation made him suddenly cold. "But you won't tell me where."

"Tomorrow morning. Now come-we're wasting time." She picked up the sword and drew it from the scabbard, letting the leather slide to the wet ground. Her eyes were bright, challenging.

Simon stared. "First, you don't treat your scabbard that way." He picked it up and handed it to her. "Put the blade away, then buckle on the sword belt."

Miriamele scowled. "I already know how to buckle a belt."

"First things first," Simon said calmly. "Do you want to learn or not?"

The morning pa.s.sed, and Simon's irritation at having to teach swordsmans.h.i.+p to a girl pa.s.sed with it. Miriamele was fiercely eager to learn. She asked question after question, many of which Simon had no answer to, no matter how much he wracked his memory for all the things Haestan, Sludig, and Camaris had tried to teach him. It was hard to admit to her that he, a knight, did not know something, but after a few short but unpleasant exchanges he swallowed his pride and said frankly that he did not know why a sword's hilt only stuck out on two sides and not all around, it just did. Miriamele seemed happier with that answer than she had been with his previous attempts at mystification, and the rest of the lesson pa.s.sed more swiftly and pleasantly.

Miriamele was surprisingly strong for her size, although when Simon thought about what she had been through his surprise was less. She was quick as well, with good balance, although she tended to lean too far forward, a habit that could quickly prove fatal in an actual fight, since almost any opponent would be larger than she was and have a longer reach. All in all, he was impressed. He sensed that he would quickly run out of new things to tell her, and then it would just be practice and more practice. He was more than a little glad they were sparring with long sticks instead of blades; she had managed during the course of the morning to give him a few nasty swipes.

After they took a long pause for water and a rest, they changed places: Miriamele instructed Simon in the care of the bow, paying special attention to keeping the bowstring warm and dry. He smiled at his own impatience. As Miriamele had been unwilling to sit through his explanations of swordsmans.h.i.+p-much of it taken in whole cloth from Camaris' teachings to him-he himself was itching to show her what he Could do with a bow in his hand. But she was having none of it, and so the remainder of the afternoon was spent learning the proper draw. By the time shadows grew long, Simon's fingers were red and raw. He would have to think of some way to acquire finger-leathers like Miriamele's if he was going to be shooting in earnest.

They made a meal for themselves with bread and an onion and a little jerked meat, then saddled the horses.

"Your horse needs a name," Simon told her as he fastened Homefinder's belly strap. "Camaris says your horse is part of you, but it's also one of G.o.d's creatures."

"I'll think about it," she said.

They looked one last time around the camp to make sure they had left no trace of their presence-they had buried the fire ashes and raked the bent gra.s.s with a long branch-then rode out into the disappearing day.

"There's the old forest," Simon said, pleased. He squinted against the first dawn light. "That dark line, there."

"I see it." She headed her horse off the road, aiming due north. "We will go as far toward it as we can today instead of stopping-I am going to break my own rule and ride in daylight. I'll feel safer when we're there."

"We aren't going back to Sesuad'ra?" Simon asked.

"No. We're going to Aldheorte-for a while."

"We're going to the forest? Why?"

Miriamele was looking straight ahead. She had thrown her hood back, and the sun was in her hair. "Because my uncle may send people after me. They won't be able to find us if we're in the woods."

Simon remembered all too well his experiences in the great forest. Very few of them had been pleasant. "But it takes forever to travel through there."

"We won't be in the woods long. Just enough to be sure that no one finds us."

Simon shrugged. He had no idea where exactly she wanted to go, or why, but she had obviously been planning.

They rode on toward the distant line of the forest.

They reached the outskirts of the Aldheorte late in the afternoon. The sun had sunk toward the horizon; the gra.s.sy hills were painted with slanting light.

Simon supposed they would stop and make camp in the thin vegetation of the forest's outer edge-after all, they had now been riding steadily since the evening before, almost a day straight, with only a few short naps stolen along the way-but Miriamele was determined to get well in, safe from accidental discovery. They rode through the increasingly close-leaning trees until riding was no longer practical, then led the horses another quarter of a league. When the princess at last found a site that was to her liking, the forest was in the last glow of twilight ; beneath the thick tree canopy the world was all muted shades of blue.

Simon dismounted and hurriedly started a fire. When that was crackling healthily, they made camp. Miriamele had picked the site in part because of a small streamlet that trickled nearby. As she searched for the makings of a meal, he walked the horses over to the water to drink.

Simon, after a full day spent almost entirely in the saddle, found himself strangely wakeful, as though he had forgotten what sleep was. After he and Miriamele had fed themselves, they sat beside the fire and talked about everyday matters, although more by Miriamele's choice than Simon's. He had other things on his mind, and thought it strange that she should so earnestly discuss Josua and Vorzheva's coming child and ask for more stories about the battle with Fengbald when there were so many questions still unanswered about their present journey. At last, frustrated, he held up his hand.

"Enough of this. You said you would tell me where we are going, Miriamele."

She looked into the flames for a while before speaking. "That's true, Simon. I have not been fair, I suppose, to bring you so far on trust alone. But I didn't ask you to come with me."

He was hurt, but tried not to show it. "I'm here, though. So tell me-where are we going?"

She took a deep breath, then let it out. "To Erkynland."

He nodded. "I guessed that. It wasn't hard, listening to you at the Raed. But where in Erkynland? And what are we going to do there?"

"We're going to the Hayholt." She looked at him intently, as if daring him to disagree.

Aedon have mercy on us, Simon thought. Out loud, he said: "To get Bright-Nail?" Although it was madness even to consider it, there was a certain excitement to the thought. He-with help, admittedly-had found and secured Thorn, hadn't he? Perhaps if he brought back Bright-Nail as well, he would be ... He didn't even dare to think the words, but a sudden picture came to him-he, Simon, a sort of knight-of-knights, one who could even court princesses.... Simon thought. Out loud, he said: "To get Bright-Nail?" Although it was madness even to consider it, there was a certain excitement to the thought. He-with help, admittedly-had found and secured Thorn, hadn't he? Perhaps if he brought back Bright-Nail as well, he would be ... He didn't even dare to think the words, but a sudden picture came to him-he, Simon, a sort of knight-of-knights, one who could even court princesses....

He pushed the picture back into the depths. There was no such thing, not really. And he and Miriamele would never come back from such a foolhardy venture in any case. "To try to save Bright-Nail?" he asked again.

Miriamele was still looking at him intently. "Perhaps."

"Perhaps?" He scowled. "What does that mean?"

"I said I would tell you where we were going," she responded. "I didn't say I would tell you everything in my head."

Simon irritatedly picked up a stick and broke it in half, then dumped the pieces into the firepit. "'S b.l.o.o.d.y Tree, Miriamele," he growled, "why are you doing this? You said I was your friend, but then you treat me like a child."

"I am not treating you like a child," she said hotly. "You insisted on coming with me. Good. But my errand is my own, whether I am going to get the sword or heading back to the castle to get a pair of shoes that I left behind by mistake."

Simon was still angry, but he couldn't suppress a bark of laughter. "You probably are are going back for shoes or a dress or something. That would be just my luck-to get killed by the Erkynguard in the middle of a war for trying to steal shoes." going back for shoes or a dress or something. That would be just my luck-to get killed by the Erkynguard in the middle of a war for trying to steal shoes."

A little of Miriamele's annoyance had dissipated. "You probably stole enough things and got away with it when you were living at the Hayholt. It will only be fair."

"Stole? Me?"

"From the kitchens, constantly. You told me yourself, although I knew it already. And who was it who stole the s.e.xton's shovel and put it in the gauntlet of that armor in the Lesser Hall, so that it looked like Sir Whoever was going out to dig a privy pit?"

Surprised she had remembered, Simon let out a quiet, pleased chortle. "Jeremias did that with me."

"You dragged him into it, you mean. Jeremias would never have done something like that without you."

"How did you know about that?"

Miriamele gave him a disgusted look. "I told you, you idiot, I followed you around for weeks."

"You did, didn't you." Simon was impressed. "What else did you see me do?"

"Mostly sneak off and sit around mooning when you were supposed to be working," she snapped. "No wonder Rachel had to pinch your ears blue."

Offended, Simon straightened his back. "I only sneaked off to have some time to myself. You don't know what it's like living in the servants' quarters."

Miriamele looked at him. Her expression was suddenly serious, even sad. "You're right. But you don't know what it was like being me, either. There certainly wasn't much chance to be off by myself."

"Maybe," Simon said stubbornly. "But I'll bet the food was better in your part of the Hayholt."

"It was the same food," she shot back. "We just ate it with clean hands." She looked pointedly at his ash-blackened fingers.

Simon laughed aloud. "Ah! So the difference between a scullion and a princess is clean hands. I hate to disappoint you, Miriamele, but after spending a day up to my elbows in the was.h.i.+ng tub, my hands were very clean."

She looked at him mockingly. "So then I suppose there is no difference between the two at all."

"I don't know." Simon grew suddenly uncomfortable with the discussion; it was moving into painful territory. "I don't know, Miriamele."

Sensing that something had changed, she fell silent.

Insects were creaking musically all around, and the shadowy trees loomed like eavesdroppers. It was strange to be in the forest again, Simon thought. He had grown used to the vast distances to be seen from atop Sesuad'ra and the unending openness of the High Thrithing. After that, Aldheorte seemed confining. Still, a castle was confining, too, but it was the best defense against enemies. Perhaps Miriamele was right: for a while, anyway, the forest might be the best place for them.

"I'm going to sleep," she said suddenly. She stood up and walked to the spot where she had unrolled her bed. Simon noted that she had placed his bedroll on the far side of the campfire from her own.

"If you wish." He couldn't tell if she was mad at him again. Perhaps she'd just run short of things to say. He felt like that around her sometimes, once all the talk of small things was finished. The big things were too hard to speak of, too embarra.s.sing ... and too frightening. "I think I'll sit here for a while."

Miriamele rolled herself in her cloak and lay back. Simon watched her through the s.h.i.+mmer of the fire. One of the horses made a soft, contented-sounding noise.

"Miriamele?"

"Yes?"

"I meant what I said the night we left. I will be your protector, even if you don't tell me exactly what I'm protecting you from." from."

"I know, Simon. Thank you."

There was another gap of silence. After a while, Simon heard a thin sound, quietly melodious. He had a moment of apprehension before he realized it was Miriamele humming softly to herself.

"What song is that?"

She stirred and turned toward him. "What?"

"What song is that you were humming?"

She smiled. "I didn't know I was humming. It's been running through my head all this evening. It's one my mother used to sing to me when I was little. I think it's a Hernystiri song that came from my grandmother, but the words are Westerling."

Simon stood and walked to his bedroll. "Would you sing it?"

Miriamele hesitated. "I don't know. I'm tired, and I'm not sure I can remember the words. Anyway, it's a sad song."

He lay down and pulled his cloak over him, abruptly s.h.i.+vering. The night was growing cold. The wind lightly rattled the leaves. "I don't care if you get the words right. It would just be nice to have a song."

"Very well. I'll try." She thought for a moment, then began to sing. Her voice was husky but sweet.

"In Cathyn Dair there lived a maid, "

she began. Although she sang quietly, the slow melody ran all through the darkened forest clearing.

"In Cathyn Dair, by Silversea, The fairest girl, was ever born And I loved her and she loved me.

"By Silversea the wind is cold The gra.s.s is long, the stones are old And hearts are bought, and love is sold sold And time and time the same tale told In cruel Cathyn Dair.

"We met when autumn moon was high In Cathyn Dair, by Silversea, In silver dress and golden shoon She danced and gave her smile to me."When winter's ice was on the roof In Cathyn Dair, by Silversea, We sang beside the fiery hearth She smiled and gave her lips to me.

"By Silversea the wind is cold The gra.s.s is long, the stones are old And hearts are bought, and love is sold And time and time the same tale told In cruel Cathyn Dair.

"When spring was dreaming in the fields In Cathyn Dair, by Silversea, In Mircha's shrine where candles burned She stood and pledged her troth to me.

"When summer burned upon the hills In Cathyn Dair, by Silversea, The banns were posted in the town But she came not to marry me.

"By Silversea the wind is cold The gra.s.s is long, the stones are old And hearts are bought, and love is sold And time and time the same tale told In cruel Cathyn Dair.

"When Autumn's moon had come again In Cathyn Dair, by Silversea, I saw her dance in silver dress The man she danced for was not me.

"When winter showed its cruel claws In Cathyn Dair, by Silversea, I walked out from the city walls No more will that place torment me."By Silversea the wind is cold The gra.s.s is long, the stones are old And hearts are bought, and love is sold And time and time the same tale told In cruel Cathyn Dair ... "

"That's a pretty song," Simon said when she had finished. "A sad song." The haunting tune still floated through his head; he understood why Miriamele had been humming it all unawares.

"My mother used to sing it to me in the garden at Meremund. She always sang. Everyone said she had the prettiest voice they'd ever heard."

There was silence for a while. Both Simon and Miriamele lay wrapped in their cloaks, nursing their secret thoughts.

"I never knew my mother," Simon said at last. "She died when I was born. I never knew either of my parents."