Bless him, he didn't try to comfort me or talk me out of crying, he just held me close until the storm passed. When my tears were spent I lay still in his arms, heart to heart, and I could feel his beating against mine strong and steady.
Only then did he speak, and his heart and his voice were light.
"Lanen, my true Lady, I shall never cease to be astounded by the depths of you. So young as you are, not even old enough yet to fly, and each day I learn more of your great soul." He moved a little away from me so that he could see my eyes, which was very brave of him. I once caught sight of myself in a mirror after I had been crying—I have seen some women who only look more beautiful when they cry, but my eyes go bright red and puffy and my nose runs. Bless him, he kissed me anyway.
"Dear heart, if you believed that we would soon accomplish all that Shikrar hopes we might one day achieve, I might be pleased at your enthusiasm but I would be seeking some way of telling you that it was unlikely. At the very best, I would assume that we have long years of work ahead Of us, my dearling, of searching and learning in the knowledge that all may come to nothing in the end despite our best efforts. Sometimes so great a thing can only be faced if it is known before we start that it is impossible. Only then are we free to know that we cannot do worse than fail."
"I wish I knew why I feel so awful about it," I murmured.
He stroked my hair. "I cannot know, dearling, but I begin tohave a sense of you. I know how deeply the tale of the Lost affects you. Have Shikrar's words made you feel responsible for them?"
A few last tears leaked out and I nodded. "Yes, they have. I do feel responsible for them," I muttered. "And what if I can't do anything? What if we make no difference to them at all, after all that has happened, all we have been through?"
"Kadreshi," he said gently, "we of the Kantri have believed it to be impossible for years thick as autumn leaves, but every year we try again to speak with our distant kin. If it is impossible we have nothing to lose." His voice grew soft and low, the words barely loud enough to reach my ears, and beyond us not even a whisper escaped. "The weight of the world is not on your shoulders, my Lanen, nor is the fate of the Lost in your hands. If we are to attempt to help them, we must do so out of concern for our fellow creatures in this world, not for glory or because you think Shikrar believes you to be some heroine in a bard's tale." Varien smiled at me, melting my heart. "He does not, and he would be dis-tressed to think you took his words so. I know him well, and| like me I am certain he hopes that a fresh mind might bring a new insight—that in looking at the problem from so different an angle, from the point of view of the Gedri rather than of the Kantri, perhaps something will arise in your mind that would never have occurred to us. That is all, my dear one. He does not expect the two of us to work miracles for him. But he always hopes for one."
He gazed long at me and I was drawn in and comforted by the ageless depths of the emerald eyes that filled my vision. "Once you know that a tiling is impossible, my heart, and that in all likelihood you cannot do anything about it at all, you are suddenly free to think of it differently than you would if you had any hope in the matter. If a thing obviously cannot be done, it becomes a game, a mystery, a challenge, to think of a way around the impossible part." He grinned at me. "You have, this moment, already mourned your failure—our failure—to help the Lost. The Kantri have tried foi five thousand years and accomplished nothing at all. Therefore we have nothing to lose, for we cannot make matters worse or do less than has been done before." I could almost see the flame behind his eyes as he added, "The only truly unforgivable thing is not to try."
"Then in the name of the Winds and the Lady, let us begin!" I cried, all ablaze to be up and doing.
He grinned at me. "Even as we are? I admire your spirit, my heart, but I fear that even you might find the winter air frosty on bare skin." He ran his hand over the nearest bit of bare skin he could reach and I began to regret that I had taught him what "tickle" meant. For all my enthusiasm I couldn't help but laugh.
Joy lit his face like the morning sun as he drew me closer in his arms. "We will leave soon enough, but for now, kadreshi, let us see what love can make possible at this very moment."
I laughed again, from pure delight. It was still so strange and new to be desired.
"Varien Kantriakor, I swear you are getting addicted to this. I thought the Kantri only mated a few times in their lives!"
He stopped kissing various bits of me just long enough to say, "Behold, another of the joys of being human!"
And yet we managed to be dressed and ready by the time Jamie sent for us. It's amazing what you can do when you put your mind to it.
It was a heavy, cold, grey morning, cloudy with the kind of damp cold that gets in your bones. I knew I would only be watching as Jamie instructed Varien, and I had hunted out every warm garment I possessed, leggings under my skirts and a tight woolen shirt under my heavy linen shirt under a long-sleeved wool tunic under a hooded sheepskin cloak. I looked half again my normal size but I was warm. Varien was also dressed in woolen tunic and leggings, but he refused to wear a coat. "I shall be warm enough, I trow, an Master Jameth hath his way," he said.
"He will," I replied. "But for pity's sake don't call him Master Jameth this morning. Jamie hates that name and you really don't want your swordmaster mad at you."
I saw Varien take a breath and I knew he was going to ask why. 'Trust me," I said. "Come, Jamie's waiting in the courtyard."
Jamie was trying out the pell he'd set up, a tall thick log braced upright in the middle of the courtyard. It was a lovely Might and one that brought back a hundred memories, though the light here was considerably better.
Jamie had taught me what little I knew of fighting over a number of years and, as my stepfather Hadron opposed such knowledge for his daughter, we had been forced to practice In the feed storeroom in the dead of night. I remembered every move of Jamie's, though, and the patterns made my own muscles twitch in response. Jamie made it look like a dance. Forehand low, backhand high, forehand high, back-hand low, head strike, then again, and again, until the mus-cles knew where to go without having to be told—then vary the pattern, practicing, building strength and endurance— then learning to parry, which took me forever—then the first tentative matches against Jamie, against a thinking target, when patterns disappeared and you had to rely on reflexes and parrying badly got me a thump with the flat of his sword and a cry of "This isn't an exercise, girl, you're fighting for your life!"
I sighed, watching him finish the pattern and straighten up. He was right, I just didn't have the speed. If I paid attention I should survive a brief skirmish, but in a pitched battle with a half-decent swordsman I'd lose every time. The worst of it was that when my opponent got me upper hand I kept wanting to drop the sword and start swinging my fists, which is deeply stupid and a good way to get yourself killed. I used to think he was terribly disappointed in me, but his heartfelt words the night before had gone deep to heal, and my lack of ability didn't hurt nearly so much as it used to.
To my surprise I heard Jamie calling my name. I walked slowly over to him, picking my way carefully over the cold stone cobbles, and gazed at Jamie out of my woolly nest. "What did you want?" I asked contentedly.
'To find out if you can still fight," he said briskly, moving swiftly behind me and twitching my hood off. "Just because you'll never make a living at it doesn't mean you don't have to defend yourself. Come out of there and take up a sword." I don't know if it was the cold or the practice, but Jamie looked ten years younger and his eyes were sparkling.