The woman's screams pursued him for some way, until the advancing thunder drowned them out. He hoped that the storm would discourage pursuit, until he was back at Tirabot and had explained everything to Lord Gerik, who should be able to explain them to the woman.
Elderdrake had the feeling that with the ghost paint all over him he had frightened the woman even more than he would have otherwise. Now, if he could just talk Shumeen into loaning him another Istaran tower's worth of copper pieces, he ought to be able to at least pay for the laundry.
Thunder tore at his battered ears. It would have torn more fiercely, if he had been able to hear it more clearly. Than a fat drop of rain struck his nose, and another trickled down one singed ear.
Elderdrake stopped to put on the stolen garments-or wrap them around him, at least, for he seemed to have stolen mostly the bed linens. He managed a semblance of garb by using his belt and the rags of his old clothes to tie the bedding on to himself.
Then he strode on, as the air turned to water and the ground to mud. He realized that he would reach Tirabot Manor as wet as if he had not stopped to clothe himself, and he might look just as ridiculous.
But if fear of looking ridiculous had ever stopped or even slowed a kender, the race would long since have died out.
The supper Ellysta had arranged was simple enough: stew, light cakes, and wine. But the stew and wine had traces of herbs Gerik had never encountered, and doubted were from the castle kitchen. The cakes were plainly not of the cook's baking, and Gerik swore that he would hire whoever had baked them to prepare his parents' home-coming banquet, even should they prove to be hobgoblins!
"They looted the cottage quite enough to please themselves," Ellysta said, in answer to his question about the herbs. "But they did not break all the pots and vials. Shumeen snatched up a few before we left."
The old tales spoke of wine used as the base for magical potions to enslave men, but Gerik did not feel enslaved. He was not entirely sober, either, after the third cup of the herb-altered wine, but he was seeing the woman who was at the same time his guest and his host with clear eyes.
She had to be only a handful of years older than he, if that much. Even a few days free from want, war, and fear had taken the hunted animal look from her blue eyes and the gauntness from her face.
The visible wounds on her hands and face were healing under Serafina's deft touch and abundant potions; all the rest were hidden under one of Serafina's borrowed gowns. It was rather too large for Ellysta, and had not been designed to display the wearer's figure even when it fit.
Altogether, Gerik found himself enjoying Ellysta's company, with no sense of further obligation or fear of consequences. If this came from the wine, it was the most pleasant sensation he had won from the grape since he first tasted it as a boy.
He could spend half his evenings for a year like this, if they were all as agreeable.
Ellysta added details of her adventures, over the last of the wine in the jug. Some of Gerik's comfort departed, because he sensed she was holding things back. At last he held up a hand.
"Ellysta, you are telling me either too much or too little," he said. "Either too much for your peace mind, or too little for mine."
"I am not a spy for the kingpriest," she said, without indignation, real or forced. She might have been saying that the jug was empty.
"I was not even thinking that!" Gerik wondered how to put his next thought into words. "The-those who healed you-told me enough."
Ellysta closed her eyes. She also bit her lip. Before tears could trickle down her cheeks, she turned away.
Gerik wanted to brush a hand across her cheek or her hair. By Branchala, he wished he dared to take her in his arms and hold her while she wept, to tell her that with him she did not need to pretend to more courage than she had!
He reached for the napkin to shake the crumbs off it and hand it to her to wipe her eyes. She reached for it at the same moment. Their fingers brushed against one another. He felt her hand tremble, but she did not draw it back. After a moment, he decided to also leave his hand where it was.
They sat there for what seemed enough time for all three moons to go through their phases. In truth, it could not have been more than a few minutes, because a wine stain on the tablecloth was still damp when Ellysta moved her fingers on to Gerik's hand, then past his wrist and up his arm.
At the elbow, she stopped. She was trembling, her breath came short, and also Gerik's sleeves were tight above the elbow and loose below. That last brought a smile to both their faces, but Ellysta's faded at once.
Gerik was indeed no innocent in the matter of women, but was careful never to say so, knowing that few women liked to hear it. It often sounded more like boasting than a promise. Therefore, he knew something about when a garment becomes an obstacle. But now he found that he was far from experienced enough to know what he should do now, here, with Ellysta. He doubted that Paladine himself would know.
Gerik also resolved that although he was not a god, with eons before him, he would wait at least all through this night rather than give Ellysta a moment's unease. The honor of Tirabot Manor, and his own, demanded nothing else.
At last Ellysta reached out with her other hand, and moved it up Gerik's other arm. She tightened her grip, with a strength that surprised Gerik. A sudden picture in his mind made him laugh.
She almost glared.
"What's so funny?" she demanded.
"I remember a song, where the lady grips both the man's arms so that her friend can strike him down from behind."
"Not very honorable."
"No, but the man had treated the lady most shamefully."
"Then you have nothing to fear," Ellysta said. She pulled herself to her feet. Gerik thought she swayed for a moment, then she stepped around the table.
She did not sway as she stood there for another week's-long moment. Instead, she took three deep breaths. Then she stepped forward, into Gerik's arms.
"If I can be afraid of you, then I am too fear-ridden to go on living," she breathed. "Hold me."
Gerik began his embrace as gently as if he had been picking up a week-old chick. Ellysta quickly tightened hers. Indeed, she seemed almost angry until he replied with a firmer embrace of his own.
Elderdrake decided to make his way into the manor house through a window, rather than a door. Windows were less likely to be guarded by those who would ask questions or even halt him.
He wanted to tell Gerik and Shumeen at once about what he had seen and learned. But more than that, he first wanted to wash the grime off himself and put on at least one garment that didn't look like a stolen, sodden, filthy rag.
The luck that had walked with the kender so far tonight now deserted him. The only open window he could see happened to be Ellysta's. So he climbed to that.
Then his half-deafened ears did not let him hear the sounds from within the chamber, even when the thunder was not crashing and rolling. Finally, as he gathered himself for a leap into the chamber, a flash of lightning close by dazzled him. He did not see what the people within were about, and how little they would care to have visitors flying in through the window.
This time Elderdrake landed on his feet. It did not help much, because a scream battered one ear and a savage oath battered the other.
He found himself confronted by Gerik and Ellysta, both rather less clad than he himself. Each of them had snatched up a garment, although Elderdrake wanted to laugh when he saw that Gerik had snatched up Ellysta's shift and Ellysta held Gerik's shirt.
It did not make him want to laugh, however, to see the point of Gerik's sword a finger's length from his nose, and a dagger in Ellysta's free hand.