Land of the Burning Sands: The Griffin Mage Trilogy: Book Two Page 6

  The man was clever. And perceptive. And kind, with a depth of honest kindness Gereint had almost come to believe could not truly exist. At least, not for him. Gereint stared at his own face in the mirror and decided that Amnachudran had known exactly what he was doing.

  Gereint touched the unblemished skin of his cheek and went to get another piece of bread. And some thin-sliced beef to layer on it. The food did help. He felt more solid and grounded every moment. The clarity of his thoughts showed him how vague and blurred he had been earlier. He thought he might need all the acuity he could own, soon. He went back to the mirror, chewing.

  It was a lady’s mirror, as the graceful table and pretty curtains were clearly the appointments of a lady’s room. He wondered whose bed he had awoken in. And whose clothing had been provided for him. Someone big: The shirt was only a little too tight across the shoulders, the sleeves only a little too short. It was a good shirt. All the clothing was good. Better than anything Gereint had worn for a long time.

  There were boots. And cloth to bind around the geas rings so they would not chafe. Gereint put on the boots and went back again to the mirror. The man that looked back at him could have been any man. Could walk through any town and never collect a second glance, save for his size.

  Gereint went to find Amnachudran. It wasn’t difficult. A servant, clearly posted in the hallway to wait, led him down the hall. The servant wore good clothing. Brown and pale yellow. Livery, by the look of it. Yes, hadn’t Amnachudran said that his wife was nobly born? Gereint thoughtfully followed the man.

  Eben Amnachudran was waiting in a room that seemed both an office and a music room. A delicate, graceful ladies’ spinet stood in pride of place; a tall floor harp occupied one corner. But a desk cluttered with papers sat at the other end of the room, and books as well as scrolls of musical scores were shelved along the walls. Amnachudran stood by the desk, sorting the fine books he’d brought back from the desert. The collection was even more impressive spread out like that.

  A woman, not beautiful, but plump and comfortable, sat at the spinet. She was not facing the instrument, but one of her hands rested on the keys. She had struck a note: just one. The sound lingered in the air, clean and clear and beautiful.

  Amnachudran turned as Gereint came in. He did not speak. His wife—or so Gereint surmised—turned her head and smiled: a surprisingly warm, unconstrained smile.

  Gereint nodded to her, faced Amnachudran, and lifted one hand to sketch the brand that wasn’t there. “I know thanks are inadequate. But I do thank you, sir. Most earnestly.”

  Amnachudran looked uncomfortable. “You still bear the geas—”

  Gereint held up a hand to stop him. “You’ve made it possible for me to walk unrecognized anywhere among men. As long as I wear boots, no one will covet me or guess he ought to. No one will know I was condemned; no one will wonder what crime I committed. You’ve given me back a kind of privacy I never—” His voice failed. He did not let himself look away, but met the other man’s eyes and said quietly, “And you know you have. You meant to do this. Don’t make little of it. I would kiss your feet for what you have done. Willingly. Except you wouldn’t like it.”

  Amnachudran shook his head. “You saved my life. Should I not even have noticed?”

  “I’m geas bound,” Gereint reminded him.

  But Amnachudran surprised him again. “The geas can force a man to do a great many things, I’m sure. But it can’t force him to leap instantly into a river to drag out a drowning fool, when he hasn’t been ordered to do anything of the sort. Andreikan Warichteier spends three entire chapters detailing the uses and limitations of the geas.”

  “He gets most of it right,” Gereint admitted. “As one would expect from Warichteier. But you’d already saved my life.”

  Amnachudran replied patiently, “You didn’t value your life. I valued mine very much.”

  The woman’s mouth crooked. She leaned an elbow on the spinet, cupping her chin in her hand and regarding her husband with affection and humor.

  Gereint glanced at her, bowed his head respectfully.

  Amnachudran followed that glance. He said wryly, “You probably wondered why I had no men to help me. Why there was no one to meet me at the ford. It’s complicated—”

  “Not complicated in the least,” murmured the woman, raising her eyebrows.

  Amnachudran sighed. “Embarrassing, then.” He said to Gereint, “This is, as you have surmised, my lady wife, Emre Tanshan. One of those Tanshans, yes. She married down, when she agreed to marry me.”

  Lady Emre lifted an eyebrow.

  “What she is graciously not saying, among other things, is that I foolishly slipped away with just my friend, telling no one else, because I knew my wife would—quite reasonably—object to the whole venture.”

  “Just a few hours in and back out,” said Gereint. “How difficult could that be?”

  “Exactly.” Amnachudran hesitated, then said. “You even brought the books. That surprised me.”

  “By the time I needed to abandon them, I wasn’t thinking very clearly. But I’m glad they are safe.” It was Gereint’s turn to hesitate. He said slowly, watching the other man carefully, “You wouldn’t have done this”—again, he ran a thumb across his unmarked cheek—“if you meant to send me back to my old master. Nor even if you’d just meant to sell me. I’m extremely grateful. But I wonder whether you do in fact mean to keep me. Or—or whether you might free me after all. I don’t want to anger you, sir. I know I’m presuming on your kindness to me. I said I wouldn’t ask again. But I beg you will permit me to ask just once more whether you might—”

  It was Amnachudran’s turn to hold up a hand. He said in a crisp, firm tone, “I won’t sell you or give you away, whatever you tell me. I won’t let anyone take you from me, either. You are safe here. Do you understand?” His tone gentled. “I would like to free you, in fact. I think I owe you that, and besides… well. But I will ask you one more time: What did you do?”

  Gereint knew he shouldn’t have been surprised. But he was. He felt badly off balance. Nothing in this house seemed to follow ordinary paths; all the things he would ordinarily do or say seemed… impossible.

  He had never intended to answer that question. He had to answer it.

  He did not dare lie to Amnachudran. He did not even want to lie to him, exactly. He wanted to turn the question aside, somehow. He couldn’t do that, either.

  Gereint braced himself. Tried to make himself meet the other man’s eyes. Could not support the effort. He stared instead at the wall. Said, in his flattest tone, “When I was twenty, I married a lovely girl of good family. We were very happy. I thought we were. When I was twenty-three, I found her… with a man. A friend of mine, I thought. I picked up a chair, broke it to make a club. I meant to kill him. I swear I did not mean to kill her. I didn’t hit her with the club. I slapped her.” He stopped, glanced at Emre Tanshan. She did not look away, and after a moment Gereint bowed his head. “I knew my strength. I don’t claim otherwise. Maybe I did mean to kill her. She died. So did he.” He gazed down, then, at his hands. Closed them into fists. Opened them again. Made himself look up to meet Amnachudran’s eyes. He couldn’t read the other man’s expression. “It’s not a glamorous tale. Not exciting. It’s common and stupid and petty and ugly.”

  “And true.”

  “Yes.”

  “Usually they don’t bind a man under the geas for such an… impulsive crime.”

  Gereint nodded. “Her father was an important man. So was his. I told you I had powerful enemies. That part was true. My own father was dead; my cousins could not—didn’t care to—protect me.” He cut that off, didn’t explain that his cousin Gescheichan had been a rival for his wife, that he’d been young enough and stupid enough to find that amusing, until he’d found Gescheichan doing everything in his power to make sure Gereint was geas bound. None of his other cousins had tried to intercede. If his mother had been alive—if his sister had still been i
n Breidechboden and not far away in Abreichan—but no one had even tried to help him.

  He drew a deep breath. Looked again into his master’s face. Amnachudran’s expression was hard to read. So was his wife’s. Gereint said with some intensity, “It was nineteen years ago. When I was still young enough to believe a woman was worth dying for. Even then, I hope I wasn’t stupid enough to believe any woman was worth…” He touched his face. Traced the path of the iron. Repeated, “It was nineteen years ago.”

  “They’re still dead,” Lady Emre said quietly.

  Gereint dropped his hand. He didn’t look at the lady. But he said, “Yes, that’s true.” Then he drew a breath. Faced Amnachudran again. “I’m no longer that stupid boy. An impulsive crime, you said. It was that. I’m… about as far from impulsive, now, as any man you’ll ever meet. Sir. Master.” Promises about future behavior were pointless: Amnachudran was not a fool. Gereint said with low, passionate intensity, “You didn’t ask to be my judge. I know that. I just… fell into your hands. But you could free me. No one else can. No one else will. Please free me.”

  “In fact…” Amnachudran began, but then stopped. He looked at his wife. She raised her eyebrows, but said nothing. Amnachudran nodded as though she had spoken. He turned back to Gereint, frowning.

  Gereint bowed his head under that stern regard. He fought to clear all signs of recent emotion from his face. He was shaking; he couldn’t help that. He tried desperately to recapture a proper slave’s resignation—he would have done anything to be this man’s slave when he’d belonged to Perech Fellesteden. The worse thing, the very worst, would be for Amnachudran to decide that, after all, he was too much trouble to keep… He tried to think of something to say, anything, to prevent that. It was important to remember that Eben Amnachudran was more intelligent than he was…

  “Take off your boots,” Amnachudran ordered.

  For a long moment, Gereint did not believe he could have heard that command properly. The geas believed it, however. His body moved without conscious direction; he had his first boot off before he could actually believe the man had said those words. If Fellesteden had given that order—but if Amnachudran gave it, he meant to—he actually meant—Gereint fumbled off the second boot with clumsy hands and looked up, hardly breathing, in terror that he might have somehow misunderstood.

  But Amnachudran had a knife out and was beckoning for Gereint to put his foot up on the edge of a chair. He cut the first cord. Gereint thought he could feel the strands part. The entire geas trembled, poised on the edge of that knife.

  Then the other foot. The other cord. As quickly and easily as if it was any cord.

  The geas, defanged, settled quietly to the back of Gereint’s awareness to wait for a new master’s claim. Gereint stared down at his feet, at the plain silver rings, at the bits of cord scattered on the floor.

  Amnachudran went back behind his desk and put the knife away with fussy precision. His wife nodded in calm approval, rose to her feet, smiled at Gereint—he was far too stunned to smile back—and went out of the room.

  Gereint put his boots back on, hiding the rings. Then he stood up, turned, and deliberately dropped to his knees.

  Amnachudran looked up sharply.

  “Tell me to get up,” Gereint suggested.

  Amnachudran half smiled. “Stand up!” he commanded.

  “No,” said Gereint, and laughed. “I didn’t expect you to do it. I never for one moment thought you would do it! Ah!” He flung his head back in extravagant joy, lifting his hands. “Do you doubt you’ve repaid me for your life? Don’t doubt it!”

  Amnachudran did smile this time, but shook his head. “Gereint—”

  “You won’t regret it,” Gereint promised him. “Not by anything I do.”

  “I trust that I won’t. Please get up, as a kindness to me? Yes, thank you, much better,” he added, smiling, as Gereint climbed once more to his feet. “What will you do now? Head for Feierabiand by the fastest road?”

  “I suppose so. I hardly know.”

  “You need rest, more food, time to think. We have supper an hour after dusk. If you’re still here, I’d like to talk to you then, yes?”

  Gereint hadn’t expected this. He didn’t quite know what he’d expected. But he said, “If you wish me to stay, I’ll stay. Or if there’s something you want me to do, you can tell me now.”

  Amnachudran shook his head again. “I don’t think so. No. You need to, um, accustom yourself to the idea that you can choose your own course. No. Go for a walk. That’s a suggestion, not an order, yes? Do what you like. And if I see you at supper, good.”

  Gereint stared at him for a moment. “I have—it was—it’s been—” He stopped. Turned without another word, since coherence was clearly beyond him at the moment, and went out.

  He found a traveling pack in his room. A small hunting bow lay beside the pack, the kind meant for squirrels or birds. A dozen little arrows filled a small quiver. Gereint stood for a long moment, looking at the things. He didn’t wonder who had brought him a traveler’s kit: He knew it had been Amnachudran’s wife.

  He went quickly through the pack. A change of clothing, a blanket, a belt knife, cord. Travel food. A small bag of meal. A little oil. Flints. Candles. He laid a fingertip against one of the arrowheads and nodded. Squirrel and rabbit.

  At the bottom of the pack, he found the two books he’d brought away from Fellesteden’s house. Gereint looked at those for a long moment. Then he put everything back in the pack except the knife. He slid the knife’s sheath onto his belt, drew the knife, looked at it. Ran the tip of one finger down its length. Turned it over in his hand, trying the hilt. Touched its blade briefly to his lips.

  It was a good knife. Meant for nothing more dramatic than cutting meat or cord, slicing apples or green wood, but well made. Gereint gave it a little shove, pushing it toward the balance a fighting knife ought to have. To really alter it, he’d need tools and a forge. But he could do a little just by letting the knife know his preference.

  The frilly lady’s bed looked inviting. Gereint ignored it. Go for a walk, Amnachudran had said. He’d meant, Test your freedom. It was, of course, a perceptive suggestion. Gereint slung the pack over his shoulder, hung the little bow and quiver in their places, and walked out of the room. Down the hall. Down some stairs. It was a big house… down the largest hall he could find. He passed servants, who nodded. A pair of shaven-headed men-at-arms in livery, with swords at their hips, who also nodded politely but turned to watch as he passed. Cold ran down Gereint’s spine, prickled at the back of his neck. He forced himself not to look over his shoulder, and after a moment breathed again when he found that the men had not followed. He turned the corner and found the main door of the house in front of him. It led out into the courtyard, filled with people… hurrying about their business. Some of them glanced up at Gereint, a few with enough interest to make his skin prickle.

  But the courtyard gates were open. No one stopped Gereint from walking through them. In the light, with a clear mind, he could see how the road unrolled gently south and west through a pleasant patchwork of orchards and pastures.

  Gereint followed the road through the nearest orchard, nodding to the people he passed. He didn’t look back. He picked two apples—no one objected; one woman even looked up with a grin and a wave—splashed across a stream, put a gentle hill between him and the orchard, and turned across country, heading north. Glanced at the sun for his direction, turned east, and came back to the house from the northeast, where the quiet hills offered concealment. From this angle the house lay far below, a gracious presence at the heart of a gracious countryside. He found a decent rock to sit on and padded it with the blanket. He ate the apples and a strip of dried beef. Watched the house.

  There was no unusual bustle that he could see. People moved around, going about the ordinary business of the day. A shepherd and two dogs brought in a small flock of sheep; a boy chased and caught a goose; women carried baskets of apples in
from the orchard. No one hurried; no one seemed to feel any urgency about their chores. No one, as far as Gereint could tell, had followed him or tried to track him into the hills. There was no sign that the freedom Eben Amnachudran had offered had been any sort of deceit or trap.

  The sun slid across the sky. Gereint dozed. Woke. Read some of Berusent’s Historica. Dozed again. At dusk he finally stood up and stretched. Folded up the blanket and put it back in his pack, along with the book. Picked his way down the hill alongside the little stream, skirted the new pond with its raw-clay bank, and came back to the courtyard gates. The gates were standing open. He went through them.

  A man-at-arms posted by the gates moved in the dimness. Gereint stopped.

  The man-at-arms looked Gereint up and down. Said, expressionless, “The honored Amnachudran said he’s expecting you. I am to ask, do you wish the gates left open tonight?”

  Gereint stared back at him. “Not if your custom is to close them.”

  The man-at-arms shrugged. He said, “There’s a man to show you where to go.”

  There was in fact a servant woman, who looked Gereint up and down in quite a different manner than the man-at-arms had, smiling in appreciation of his height. Being looked at by a woman was an entirely different experience without the brand. The woman said cheerfully, “The family is dining in the little hall. I’ll take you there. May I take your pack? I’ll put it safe in your room…”

  Gereint let her take it.

  The little hall turned out to be a spacious room with a single table and long sideboard, appointed in rich wood and dark, quiet colors. The table was covered with dishes of sliced beef and bread, late carrots and early parsnips, beans with bits of crisp pork… Gereint’s mouth watered, despite the apples he’d eaten earlier.

  Amnachudran was at the head of the table. The “family” consisted of Amnachudran, Lady Emre, a dark-bearded man of about thirty—one of their sons, Gereint assumed—and, at least tonight, no one else. The family evidently served itself; there were no servants in the room. The son glanced up at Gereint with friendly curiosity; Gereint guessed his father hadn’t told him every detail of his recent adventures. Lady Emre smiled a welcome. Amnachudran himself smiled in welcome and what seemed relief. So the man had not been as confident of Gereint’s return as he’d seemed. That was, in a way, reassuring.