The Seekers Of Fire Part 10

Excerpts from Introduction to Mierenthia, Fiftieth Edition, Year of the Master 680: Our Government's job is not only to make laws. Mierenthia's resources are allocated, justly and wisely, every year by our Government. Our Government consists of two Councils: the Council of Sovereigns and the Council of the Master. The Council of Sovereigns is comprised of the High Lords and Ladies of all twenty n.o.ble Houses, together with other wise n.o.bles and esteemed common citizens. The Council of the Master is comprised of a hundred and twenty of the Bers, our protectors, lifegivers, and Blessed Stewards of the Master. It is the Council of Sovereigns' task to make suggestions, and the Council of the Master's task to make decisions.

A letter from Nelita, Daughter of Lisa and Karel, House Fredelbert, Year of the Master 703: Mother, I am writing to let you know that lady Kaitlyn of Fredelbert has accepted my application to become her maid. Please, do not disapprove. I know that you have heard terrible things about the lot of a servant, that you consider it a profession for delinquent types who do not care to go to school, and that you will fear for my wellbeing. You might have even been right, were this another House. However, rest a.s.sured that the average Fredelbert maid is better educated and leads a better life than a Clerks' Guild apprentice. I know, you would say that if I had but waited a few more years, I would have become a Mistress Clerk. But what for, I ask you? A Mistress Clerk, just as any Mistress or Master Crafter, is still accountable to Mentors. She is still whipped every thirty days and still lives on what fire is allocated to commoners in commoners' neighborhoods.

House Fredelbert (like every n.o.ble House, in case you didn't know) has Prayer for the n.o.bles and Confession for the servants every thirty days, but Fredelbert's dedicated Mentor is so nice and lenient that servants are almost never whipped. The Fredelbert n.o.bles, too, are nice; they rarely, if ever, beat servants or withhold payment. Yes, Mother, it is true that a servant (of a n.o.ble House or of anyone else) is more dependent on her employer and more vulnerable than a person with a city job. But if the employer is nice, what is the problem? The servant of a n.o.ble House, especially, might have a much better lot in life than many other people. And the firea"they have so much fire ...

Kiss Father from me. I trust that you will both forgive me.

Linden

Day 78 of the Fourth Quarter, Year of the Master 705 The first thing Linden realized when she woke up was that once again she was late for Mister Podd's Mathematics lesson. It was not a realization that warranted opening her eyes. She pressed her back to the wall and covered her face with the blankets, sleepily thinking that he might forgive her early-morning neglect of formulae that she had anyway learned by herself long ago. Especially when she told him that her new pulley system worked perfectly. For eight days now it had been hauling shopping bags along the outer wall to old Mister and Mistress Clerk's top-floor apartment, with only one insignificant accident concerning old Gara's window.

The second realization was about the nature of walls. Hers was not supposed to be so warm in the morning, and no walls she knew about breathed. Her eyes still half-closed, Linden awakened just enough to remember that she had indeed slept in an unfamiliar place.

Her muscles tensed, and a moment later she leaped in the direction of her uninvited bed partner and reached for his neck, ready to squeeze at the slightest counter movement. His reply was to incline his head with a mildly surprised expression, his cheek gently brus.h.i.+ng her hand. She stared at him, then her fingers slowly relaxed and started stroking before her conscious mind could decide what to do. Then his ears perked and he licked her face, and suddenly Linden was fully awake and laughing, fondling the almost-grown-up puppy's ears amidst his happy barking.

There was a knock on the door, and Linden wrapped the covers around herself, which the dog seemed to accept as a challenge. With an enthusiastic growl, he bit a corner of a blanket just as she called the visitor to enter, and for a moment they played a pulling game, until he seemed to sense her distress. She managed to wrap the covers again just as two girls appeared in the doorway, the puppy lying alert beside her.

"Blake, you great monster, there you are!" the taller girl exclaimed, and Linden flinched in sympathy as the other one shoved an elbow into her companion's ribs. The force was such that the tall girl wavered and the chest she was carrying dropped to the floor. Its exquisite metal lid rattled as it jerked open and twisted. The girl flushed in a sharp shade of pink, which contrasted strongly with her chestnut-brown hair. The other girl seemed to shrink, wriggling her hands, her wide green eyes fixed on the chest.

"Please, forgive our clumsiness, my lady." The first girl's voice was choked, but her chin was lifted proudly, even if it took her some effort to not look at the chest and keep her own hands apart.

Suddenly Linden understood. Hers was not the only new position in House Qynnsent. Whatever these girls had been doing so far, this was their first day as maids to a new lady with an unknown temper, and they had just broken a valuable item in her presence before even introducing themselves.

She did not need more than a glance at the chest. The crafters.h.i.+p was exquisite, the edges delicately beveled, the white metal flowing into a glittering flower pattern on the sides and the lid. Linden did not even know if something like this could come from the same Furniture Factory as normal items. At least, there were not any similar items in the stores that she had visited so far. It probably cost the quarterly wages of both of her parentsa"and who knew how much these girls earned and if they would have to pay for the damage.

"Would you please close the door." After a second glance at the chest's twisted hinges Linden stood up, throwing the bed covers onto a pleasantly surprised Blake. In a moment a big ball of blankets, pale green sheets, and tan-and-black dog tumbled on the plush, dark-green carpet, and in another one silk and cotton were dragged all over the room. She stepped towards the girls, ignoring the mess and only slightly uncomfortable with the thinness of her laced nightgown. Well, they were women after all. She would look for clothes later, but right now there were more important things to do.

The shorter girl wore her blonde hair up, supported by pins, with only a few curls underlining the delicate shape of her face. Linden turned towards her.

"May I borrow a pin?"

With a quick glance at her colleague, the girl carefully withdrew a pin and handed it to Linden, not quite meeting her eyes. "As my lady wishes."

The tension was almost palpable, and Linden took a deep breath to control her rising anger. The expectation of servility from one person to another was not to be tolerated, even when, for a change, someone else was expected to be servile to her.

" 'My lady' has a name," she declared as she knelt beside the chest, "and wishes it used instead of being 'my lady'-ed. I am Linden. Lind is also all righta"Linde is, that is."

Perhaps the girls were already embarra.s.sed enough to not notice her own embarra.s.sment at muddling the common and n.o.ble p.r.o.nunciations of her name. She certainly hoped so.

After a momentary awkward pause, Linden smiled. "And who are you?"

She did not observe their faces while she listened to their replies, for she was curled on the floor with squinted eyes, a.n.a.lyzing the hinges from each possible angle. One of them had scratched the surface of one of the chest's sides, but if she inserted the pin right here and then moved that little plate to the left, the tiny scratch would be hidden.

The other hinge was more obstinate. She bit her lip and worked unsuccessfully on it until her eyes started tearing from the constant focusing, and the tall eighteen-year-old Clare suddenly knelt beside her, immediately followed by the blonde fourteen-year-old Felice. Clare silently pressed a finger to a spot where Linden pointed, glaring at it as if in a challenge, and Felice spoke in a shy and quiet voice.

"Please, my ladya"" She swallowed. "Please, Lind, have the other pins, too, and don't worry if you break them."

As if brute force and breaking pins would do. Installing this particular pin as a support for the hinge, on the other hand ... She used a second pin to clear the way, having first made sure that the maids did not leave the rest of the pins where the dog could reach them and hurt himself. Then, finally, the first pin clicked into place. Linden closed and opened the chest several times to make sure that the repair was flawless, then sighed and pushed it away from herself.

"You really fixed it!" Clare whispered, flus.h.i.+ng again, and Felice smiled, looking slightly less shrunken. "Thank you, my ladya"Lind."

The maids were hers now. Linden smiled, feeling as weary as if she had won a fight.

Then, as she staggered up from the floor, she realized that winning the Qynnsent maids was not the sole reason for her weariness. Her right leg, slightly swollen and bandaged, throbbed painfully, and there was a certain lightness in her head.

"I am all right." She refused Clare's supporting hand, but treading the distance between the chest and the bed took twice as much as it had before, and she fell heavily on what was left of the sheets. Blake climbed beside her, his wet nose nudging her shoulder, whimpering as if he felt her aches. She patted his head, and even the small movement seemed to significantly diminish her strength.

At least last night's fever is gone, she thought absentmindedly, as Clare arranged pillows and blankets around her, the maid's lips pursed in a worried way.

Last night. Some defensive mechanism in Linden's mind must have been triggered, for so far her consciousness had refused to dwell on last night's events. Now, the thoughts swarmed in an almost chaotic fas.h.i.+on, and Blake whimpered again as she shut her eyes tightly against the image of her mom and dad.

They were not dead, they could not be. Definitely not, and she would stop thinking about it before she had found a way to know. She traced a finger along one of Blake's paws, instead, trying to muse on how exactly a human mind employed memory selection. A moment later she chased that thought away, too. She was afraid of it. A part of her had yet to perceive that she had become a lady instead of Mentors' prey, and she was not ready to a.n.a.lyze minds so soon after her own mind's recent deeds. Neither was she ready to think about last night alone.

Linden opened her eyes again with difficulty.

"Clare, can you please deliver a note to lord Rianor?"

"I am afraid that right now she cannot, dear," replied a voice that was not Clare's, and Nan materialized from behind the girl, an anxious Felice at her heels. Felice placed a tray on the nightstand, and Nan sat on Linden's bedside, measuring the pulse of her hand.

"And calm down now. I have a note that he left for you, as well as news. And I see that he left that ever-hungry beast to keep you company, too."

The ever-hungry beast in question raised his muzzle from Linden's shoulder and lolled his tongue, eying the tray and the old woman expectantly. She sighed.

"All right, you. Off you go with Clare and Felice. Girls, first go tell Mira that the fitting is postponed and that I will talk to her later, then feed Blake and have the rest of the time for yourselves. Stay close, though, I will ring for you later."

"But if lady Lind needs us ..." Clare was flus.h.i.+ng again, and Nan raised an eyebrow as she shooed her towards the door.

"I a.s.sure you that I am perfectly able to take care of lady Lind myself, but if for some strange reason she needs you, I'll ring for you in the middle of your break. Go get some rest, girl."

"Lady Linde can take care of herself," Linden murmured, but she was glad of the old woman's presence. She smelled of herbs and food and home, and she smoothed Linden's hair before she lifted her plump self from the bed and went to lock the door after the maids.

"First things first," she said as she settled heavily on the bed again. "Your parents are alive and well."

Linden took a few deep breaths before she could trust her voice. "How do you know?"

Nan shook her head. "As questioning as your lord, I see. Better that way, I suppose, for both of you. Here's your proof, dear."

She handed Linden a piece of paper, and the girl concentrated on keeping her fingers steady as she unfolded it. "We love you." This handwriting was absolutely illegible and absolutely her dad's, while a sentence at the bottom twisted in her mom's beautiful letters, saying that they were going to forward Linden's personal items as soon as they could.

"We are waiting for more information, but so far the Mentors have done nothing to no one," Nan continued as Linden carefully put the paper on the nightstand, not trusting her fingers any more. She felt light and unreal and wondered at her lack of relief or any reaction at all. Then Nan's arms were around her, and remained there all the time while Linden's body shook and silent tears crept down her face, was.h.i.+ng away more fear and heartache than she had believed suppressed.

When it was over Nan seemed to know better than discuss it. She grabbed a slice of toasted bread from the tray and spread a fruity mixture on it.

"You would eat nothing last night, but it is high time, Lind dear. Look at yourself, you're almost transparent, you should put some meat on those bones."

"I should not." Linden gave the normal response meant for well-meaning neighbors, then asked for Rianor's note. "Why would he go anywhere," she murmured as she unfolded the new piece of paper. "He was hurt ..."

"I've taken care of him, don't you worry," Nan replied after a brief measuring look. "He is all right," she added more firmly as Linden's hands started trembling again while her eyes stared unseeingly somewhere in the air. "Eat now, all will be well."

Rianor's note said that he would be gone for a few days, but she should make herself comfortable and ask Nan for anything she needed. She was free to explore Qynnsent, but in no way was she to leave the House's territory, and she should try to not worry until he came back. Also, since Blake had decided to stay with her when Rianor would not take him with himself, she might want to investigate the dog's First Counselor potential.

Linden smiled and finally started drifting to sleep.

Nan

Day 78 of the Fourth Quarter, Year of the Master 705 Nan watched the sleeping girl with barely concealed curiosity. Then the old nurse gently took the note and what was left of the toast from her young charge's hands, and hesitated before she put both on the nightstand. She shook her head. Another in her place would probably have read the note already. Then again, Rianor would not have trusted another with an unsealed message. She would very much appreciate a clue as to why exactly he had risked getting himself into an impossible mess with this girl, but never would she pry into their communication.

She brushed a lock of hair from Linden's cheek and stroked the smooth skin. Most bruises should fade away in a few days, and the more stubborn ones they could hide with make-up. The leg should be better with some more good sleep, and the exhaustion was more in the girl's mind than physical, anyway.

The girl should be fine now. Nan fingered her hair. Yes, dark blonde with a silvery tint would go perfectly with the dark-green dress she was having made for her, and with the silver-colored belt and scarf. Dark-green and silvera"the official Qynnsent colors, for a new Qynnsent lady. Mira the Mistress Seamstress was almost ready, having worked since dawn, and Nan wished Clare and Felice had prepared their lady for a fitting, as they had been instructed, instead of doing Master knew what. Well, they were good girls; they would learn. Linden was a good girl, too. Nan would not forget how she had stood up for her against lord Desmond, without knowing either of them. She must have also done something to Clare and Felice, for they seemed to already love her.

Nan pushed herself up from the bed and lifted the chest that contained the unfinished dress. She would bring it back to Mira before she went down to the kitchen to check on the cooks' lunch needs, and hopefully it could be finished without detailed measures. Then she would send Linden's maids back here; they could call her when the girl awakened.

Nan glanced again at the sleeping figure. She was beautiful, with her finely sculptured face, long lashes, and nicely shaped b.r.e.a.s.t.s; albeit too thin if Nan would have a say. Rianor would like her, and judging her character by how she had behaved so far, he might as well like her a lot.

He'd better. If the boy would walk on the Edge just to find himself a girl, it'd better be for something more pertinent than his Science nonsense.

Rianor

Day 78 of the Fourth Quarter, Year of the Master 705 Rianor clenched a fist, then breathed deeply and forced himself to stretch his fingers, before he took the reins of Star and Beauty. Desmond cast him a brief questioning glance, but recognized his lord's temper and did not argue. Slowly, Rianor pulled, and Beauty jerked back, the reins grating through Rianor's gloves over last night's bruises. He bit back a curse, then stroked the silky muzzle.

"It is all right, Beauty." For a moment she looked as if she would flinch away from his touch, but then inclined her head to be pet more comfortably. "I will not let anyone hurt my beautiful girl."

Star snorted indignantly at that, then nibbled the sleeve of Rianor's neatly pressed frock coat. He reached to pat her neck, while Beauty ignored his coat but snuffed his hair, forcing Desmond to finally execute his own version of snorting.

"Do you really want to enter the Fireheart smelling like a horse?"

"No. But I will if I have to." Rianor glared at his First Counselor, then tried to subdue his fury. Desmond had not hired the servant who had hit Beauty. Rianor had, and it was his responsibility to make amends.

"You go ahead," he said with forced calmness. "I will come shortly after."

"As you wish. I will take care of the donations. But you need to make the apprentice request in person."

"I certainly will." This was the reason he had come at all. He would not be here today if it were only for the accursed taxes. "Donations," the Bers called them. n.o.ble Houses were only too happy to donate fifty percent of their income every year, for most definitely it would be improper to tax them like commoners. Even if the commoners were only taxed thirty percent. Rianor pulled Star and Beauty's reins forward. d.a.m.n the social order.

A moment later, a single look from him sent a Fireheart stable boy scurrying away to clear his path, and he had to concede that the social order did have its advantages. It even gave him the right to punish his servants. It was not a right he generally approved of, but he would undoubtedly exercise it this time if he found the horse-abusive b.a.s.t.a.r.d. The man had fled before taking care of the carriage, and Rianor did not have time to chase him. As the day progressed, numerous lords and ladies would crowd the Fireheart and demand Bers' attention. Rianor could barely afford the time he was now giving the horses.

He clutched the reins with new anger. It might be customary for horses and other animals to be beaten, but not Qynnsent animals. Not Rianor's animals, or any others if he could prevent it. And he would beat himself before he ever again hired, or allowed to be hired, a person not personally tested by himself or by someone he trusted. He had learned just how much the recommendation of the Stablers' Guild was worth, and he did not think the other guilds were to be better trusted, either.

Rianor led Beauty and Star into stalls and groomed them himself, while they nibbled at the neatly arranged hay, a braver stable boy watching him with a wide-eyed expression.

"Lucky horses, m'lord," the boy ventured just as Rianor turned to leave, then flinched at the lord's responding glare. "Just I ain't seen lords care for their animals, m'lorda"Ia"I justa"" The boy's tongue seemed tied now, probably because Rianor kept watching him, saying nothing. It was not fair on Rianor's part, for Rianor's problems were not the boy's fault. The lord doubted the boy would have uttered his next words under normal circ.u.mstances. "I just thought all lords were stupid, m'lord, but you're not!"

Rianor laughed despite his temper, and the boy smiled shyly, an apple appearing in his hands as if from thin air. It disappeared even faster, Beauty and Star eying expectantly the boy's pocket for more as they swallowed. Then they proceeded to nudge his shoulders, and the boy pet them, the lord entirely forgotten, the smile solely for his new four-legged friends. What was the boy, an Apprentice Stabler? Perhaps he hoped to be, in the future; he was still too young. He was a rare one, for certain. He jumped as Rianor tapped his shoulder.

"You realize that sharing your highly esteemed opinion of lords with anybody else would earn you, in the best case, a beating?"

The smile froze and the boy cringed, his body pressing back to Beauty's stall fences. She snorted, and he embraced her neck from below, huddling into her as if for protection. He had certainly been beaten before, maybe often. Fireheart servant treatment was rumored to be worse than what occurred in the less pleasant Houses. Rianor sighed and moved closer.

"People have died for less than that," he said softly. "Never a.s.sume that only because someone seems to share some of your values, he is your friend or will not betray you."

Fear flashed in the boy's expression, then he suddenly hissed "So I'm as stupid as those lords!" and held Rianor's eyes, even though his knuckles were white on Beauty's mane. It was commendable. Few people ever attempted to match the Qynnsent lord's steely stare.

"You most certainly are, in some aspects." Rianor waited for him to break the eye contact. "But I value others more." He carefully detached a badge from his coat and reached over. "This bears the Qynnsent crest. People have other means to know who the High Lord is, so I do not need it. You, as a new servant with the unenviable task of giving your resignation notice to the Fireheart's Head Stabler, do. The white girl who seems so protective of you is Beauty, the bay with the white on the forehead is Star. I need a horse servant, and my Stable Master will need a new apprentice in a few years. We are going back tomorrow or the next day, and I want your old duties dealt with. What is your name?"

"Parr, m'lord," his new horse servant whispered, and Rianor did not wait to watch as the boy's face was overwhelmed with emotions.

"Do find me if your old master turns out to be obstinate, Parr," he called over his shoulder, then strode out of the stables.

Rianor

Day 78 of the Fourth Quarter, Year of the Master 705 Rianor decided to compensate for the time in the stables by taking a shortcut through a Fireheart backstreet, which served to worsen his mood even further. He had not expected the stroll to be pleasant. Still, jumping up overturned barrels while navigating around stinking trash heaps was not an activity he enjoyed immensely. An eventful night with just two hours of sleep, and his broken ribs announcing themselves at every sharp movement, did not help, either.