'And this is the whole of anyone's knowledge, Illyra,' Cappen ended. 'Help me. I pray you, help me get back my love!'
She was long quiet. Finally she said, in a near whisper, 'It could be a worse matter than I'd care to peer into, let alone enter.'
'Or it could not,' Cappen urged.
She gave him a quasi-defiant stare. 'My mother's people reckon it unlucky to do any service for a Shavakh - a person not of their tribe - without recompense. Pledges don't count.'
Cappen scowled. 'Well, I could go to a pawnshop and - But no, time may be worth more than rubies. From the depths of unhappiness, his grin broke forth. 'Poems also are valuable, right? You S'danzo have your ballads and love ditties. Let me indite a poem, Illyra, that shall be yours alone.' Her expression quickened. 'Truly?'
'Truly. Let me think ... Aye, we'll begin thus.' And, venturing to take her hands in his, Cappen murmured:
'My lady comes to me like break of day. I dream in darkness if it chance she tarries, Until the banner other brightness harries The hosts of Shadowland from off the way-'
She jerked free and cried, 'No! You scoundrel, that has to be something you did for Danlis - or for some earlier woman you wanted in your bed -'
'But it isn't finished,' he argued. 'I'll complete it for you, Illyra.'
Anger left her. She shook her head, clicked her tongue, and sighed. 'No matter. You're incurably yourself. And I ... am only halfS'danzo. I'll attempt your spell.'
'By every love goddess I ever heard of,' he promised unsteadily, 'you shall indeed have your own poem after this is over.'
'Be still,' she ordered. 'Fend off anybody who comes near.'
He faced about and drew his sword. The slim, straight blade was hardly needed, for no other enterprise had site within several yards of hei-s, and as wide a stretch of paving lay between him and the fringes of the crowd. Still, to grasp the hilt gave him a sense of finally making progress. He had felt helpless for the first' hours, hopeless, as if his dear had actually died instead of - of what? Behind him he heard cards riffled, dice cast, words softly wailed.
All at once Illyra strangled a shriek. He whirled about and saw how the blood had left her olive countenance, turning it grey. She hugged herself and shuddered.
'What's wrong?' he blurted in fresh terror.
She did not look at him. 'Go away,' she said in a thin voice. 'Forget you ever knew that woman.'
'But - but what -'
'Go away, I told you! Leave me alone!'
Then somehow she relented enough to let forth: 'I don't know. I dare not know. I'm just a little half-breed girl who has a few cantrips and a tricksy second sight, and - and I saw that this business goes outside of space and time, and a power beyond any magic is there - Enas Yorl could tell more, but he himself -' Her courage broke. 'Go away!' she screamed. 'Before I shout for Dubro and his hammer!'
'I beg your pardon,' Cappen Varra said, and made haste to obey.
He retreated into the twisting streets of the Maze. They were narrow; most of the mean buildings around him were high; gloom already filled the quarter. It was as if he had stumbled into the same night where Danlis had gone ... Danlis, creature of sun and horizons... If she lived, did she remember their last time together as he remembered it, a dream dreamed centuries ago?
Having the day free, she had wanted to explore the countryside north of town. Cappen had objected on three counts. The first he did not mention; that it would require a good deal of effort, and he would get dusty and sweaty and saddle sore. She despised men who were not at least as vigorous as she was, unless they compensated by being venerable and learned.
The second he hinted at. Sleazy though most of Sanctuary was, he knew places within it where a man and a woman could enjoy themselves, comfortably, privately - his apartment, for instance. She smiled her negation. Her family belonged to the old aristocracy ofRanke, not the newly rich, and she had been raised in its austere tradition. Albeit her father had fallen on evil times and she had been forced to take service, she kept her pride, and proudly would she yield her maidenhead to her bridegroom. Thus far she had answered Cappen's ardent declarations with the admission that she liked him and enjoyed his company and wished he would change the subject. (Buxom Lady Rosanda seemed as if she might be more approachable, but there he was careful to maintain a cheerful correctness.) He did believe she was getting beyond simple enjoyment, for her patrician reserve seemed less each time they saw each other. Yet she could not altogether have forgotten that he was merely the bastard of a minor nobleman in a remote country, himself disinherited and a footloose minstrel.
His third objection he dared say forth. While the hinterland was comparatively safe, Molin Torchholder would be furious did he learn that a woman of his household had gone escorted by a single armed man, and he no professional fighter. Molin would probably have been justified, too. Danlis smiled again and said, 'I could ask a guardsman off duty to come along. But you have interesting friends, Cappen. Perhaps a warrior is among them?'
As a matter of fact, he knew any number, but doubted she would care to meet them - with a single exception. Luckily, Jamie the Red had no prior commitment, and agreed to join the party. Cappen told the kitchen staff to pack a picnic hamper for four.
Jamie's girls stayed behind; this was not their sort of outing, and sun might harm their complexions. Cappen thought it a bit ungracious of the Northerner never to share them. That put him, Cappen, to considerable expense in the Street of Red Lanterns, since he could scarcely keep a paramour of his own while wooing Danlis. Otherwise he was fond of Jamie. They had met after Rosanda, chancing to hear the minstrel sing, had invited him to perform at the mansion, and then invited him back, and presently Cappen was living in the Jeweller's Quarter. Jamie had an apartment near by.
Three horses and a pack mule clopped out of Sanctuary in the new-born morning, to a jingle of harness bells. That merriment found no echo in Cappen's head; he had been drinking past midnight, and in no case enjoyed rising before noon. Passive, he listened to Jamie: '- Aye, milady, they're mountaineers where I hail from, poor folk but free folk. Some might call us barbarians, but that might be unwise in our hearing. For we've tales, songs, laws, ways, gods as old as any in the world, and as good. We lack much of your Southern lore, but how much of ours do you ken? Not that I boast, please understand. I've seen wonders in my wanderings. But I do say we've a few wonders of our own at home.'
'I'd like to hear of them,' Danlis responded. 'We know almost nothing about your country in the Empire - hardly more than mentions in the chronicles of Venafer and Mattathan, or the Natural History of Kahayavesh. How do you happen to come here?'
'Oh-ah, I'm a younger son of our king, and I thought I'd see a bit of the world before settling down. Not that I packed any wealth along to speak of. But what with one thing and another, hiring out hither and yon for this or that, I get by.' Jamie paused. 'You, uh, you've far more to tell, milady. You're from the crown city of the Empire, and you've got book learning, and at the same time you come out to see for yourself what land and rocks and plants and animals are like.'
Cappen decided he had better get into the conversation. Not that Jamie would undercut a friend, nor Danlis be unduly attracted by a wild highlander. Neverthless -