Windhaven - Страница 28

“Well,” Maris said, “you might as well come in, unless you feel like flying back tonight. They’ll have to meet you sometime.”

S’Rella nodded, still a bit timorous, and they started up the pebbled incline toward the lodge.

It was a small two-room building built of soft, weathered white rock. The main room, well-lit and overheated by a roaring fire, was noisy, crowded, and unappealing after the clean solitude of the open air. The faces of the flyers seemed to blur together as Maris looked around in search of special friends, S’Rella standing nervously behind her. They hung the wings on hooks along the walls, and began to fight their way across the room.

A heavy-set, middle-aged man with a full beard was pouring some liquid into the huge, fragrant stewpot hung over the fire, and roaring insults at someone demanding nourishment. Something about him drew Maris’ eyes back after they had passed over him, and with a strange little shock she recognized the overweight cook. When had Garth grown so old and fat?

She started toward him when thin arms went around her from behind, hugging her fiercely, and she caught the faint whisper of a flowery scent.

“Shalli!” she said, turning. She noticed the rounded stomach. “I didn’t expect to see you here—heard you were preg—”

Shalli stopped her lips with a finger. “Hush. I get enough of that from Corm. And I tell him that our little flyer has to learn about flying from the very beginning. But I am careful, truly. I took the flight slow and easy. I couldn’t miss this! Corm wanted me to take a boat. Can you imagine?” Shalli’s beautiful, mobile face went from one comic expression to another as she spoke.

“You’re not going to compete?”

“Oh, no. It wouldn’t be fair, me with the extra ballast!” She patted the small mound and laughed. “I’m to judge. And I’ve promised Corm that after this I’ll stay home and be a good little mother ’til the baby comes, unless there’s an emergency.”

Maris felt a pang of guilt, knowing that the “emergencies” Shalli had to fly were caused by her own absence from Amberly. But after the competition, she swore to herself, she’d stay home and tend to her duties.

“Shalli, I’d like you to meet a friend of mine,” Maris said. S’Rella was hanging back shyly, so Maris pulled her gently forward. “This is S’Rella, our most promising student. She flew here from Woodwings with me today, her longest flight so far.”

“Ooh.” Shalli arched her brows.

“S’Rella, this is Shalli. From Lesser Amberly, like me. She used to fly guard on me, when I was just learning how to use the wings.”

They exchanged polite greetings. Then Shalli, giving S’Rella a measuring look, said, “Good luck in the competitions. You’d better not beat Corm, though. I think I’d go mad if he was around the house every day for a year.”

Shalli smiled, but S’Rella seemed to take the jest in earnest. “I don’t want to hurt anyone,” she said, “but someone has to lose. I want to win as much as any flyer.”

“Mmm, well, it’s not quite the same,” Shalli murmured. “But I was only joking, child. You wouldn’t want to challenge Corm, really. You wouldn’t have a very good chance.” She glanced across the room. “Excuse me, please—I see that Corm has found a cushion for me, and now I suppose I must go and sit on it if I’m not to hurt his feelings. I’ll talk to you later, Maris. S’Rella, it was nice to meet you.”

They watched her moving easily through the crowded room, away from them.

“Would I?” S’Rella asked, her tone troubled.

“Would you what?”

“Have a chance against Corm.”

Maris looked at her unhappily, not knowing what to say. “He’s very good,” she managed finally. “He’s been flying for almost twenty years now, and he’s won prizes in lots of these competitions. No, you’re probably not his match. But that’s no disgrace, S’Rella.”

“Which one is he?” S’Rella said, frowning.

“Over by Shalli—see—the dark-haired one in black and gray.”

“He’s handsome,” S’Rella said.

Maris laughed. “Ah, yes. Half the land-bound girls on Amberly were in love with him when he was younger. They were all heartbroken when he and Shalli wed.”

That drew a small smile back to S’Rella’s face. “On my home island, all the boys used to dream about S’Landra, our flyer. Were you in love with Corm too?”

“Never. I knew him too well.”

“MARIS!” The bellow rang from the rafters, attracting attention all over the lodge. Garth was yelling at her from across the room, gesturing her closer.

She grinned. “Come,” she said, pulling S’Rella after her through the press, nodding polite hellos at old acquaintances as she went.

Garth crushed her in a formidable hug when she reached him, then pushed her back to look at her. “You look tired, Maris,” he told her. “Flying too much.”

“And you,” she said, “have been eating too much.” She jabbed a finger into his stomach where it hung over his belt. “What’s this? Are you and Shalli going to give birth together?”

Garth snorted with laughter. “Ah,” he growled, “my sister’s fault. She brews her own ale, you know. Got a right little business going. I have to help her out, of course, buy a little now and again.”

“You’re probably her best customer,” Maris said. “When did you grow the beard?”

“Oh, a month ago, two, something like that. I haven’t seen you in a half-year, it seems.”

Maris nodded. “Dorrel was fretting over you the last time we were at the Eyrie together. Something about a date to get drunk, and you didn’t make it.”

He frowned. “Ah,” he said, “yes, I know all about it. Dorrel goes on endlessly. I was ill, that’s all, no great mystery.” He turned back to the fire and gave his stew a stir. “There’ll be food soon. Hungry? I made this myself, Southern style, with lots of spices and wine.”

Maris turned. “You hear that, S’Rella? You’ll get some decent food, it sounds like.” She ushered the girl forward to face Garth. “S’Rella’s a Woodwinger, and one of the best. She’ll be taking some poor soul’s wings this year. S’Rella, this is Garth of Skulny, one of our hosts here and an old friend.”

“Not that old,” Garth protested. He smiled at S’Rella. “Why, you’re as beautiful as Maris used to be, before she got thin and tired. Do you fly as well?”

“I try to,” S’Rella said.

“Modest, too,” he said. “Well, Skulny knows how to treat flyers, even fledglings. Anything you want, you tell me about it. Are you hungry? This will be ready soon. In fact, maybe you can help me with the spices. I’m not really from Southern, you know, maybe I didn’t get it right.” He took her by the hand and drew her closer to the fire, then forced a spoonful of stew at her. “Here, try this, tell me what you think.”

As S’Rella tasted, Garth glanced at Maris and pointed. “Look, you’re wanted,” he said. Dorrel was standing in the doorway, still holding his folded wings, shouting to her above the din of the party. “Go on,” Garth said gruffly. “I’ll keep S’Rella occupied. I’m the host, after all.” He pushed her toward the door.

Maris smiled at him, then began to work her way back across the floor, which had grown even more crowded. Dorrel, after hanging up his wings, met her. He threw his arms around her and kissed her briefly. Maris found herself trembling as she leaned against him.

When they broke apart, there was concern in his eyes. “What’s wrong?” he said. “You were shaking.” He looked at her hard. “And you look worn out, exhausted.”

Maris forced a smile. “Garth said the same thing. No, really, I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. I know you too well, love.” He put his hands on her shoulders, his gentle, familiar hands. “Really. Can’t you tell me?”

Maris sighed. She did feel tired, she realized suddenly. “I guess I don’t know myself,” she muttered. “I haven’t been sleeping well this past month. Nightmares.”

Dorrel put an arm around her and led her through the press of flyers to a wide wooden table against the wall, covered with wines, liquors, and food. “What kind of nightmares?” he asked. He poured them each glasses of rich red wine, and carved out two wedges of a white, crumbly cheese.

“Only one. Falling. I fall through still air, hit the water, and die.” She bit off a mouthful of cheese and washed it down with a gulp of the wine. “Good,” she said, smiling.

“Should be,” Dorrel replied. “It’s from Amberly. But you can’t really be worried about this dream, can you? I didn’t think you were superstitious.“ ‘ “No,” Maris said, “that’s not it at all. I can’t explain. It just—bothers me. And that’s not all.” She hesitated.

Dorrel watched her face, waiting.

“This competition,” Maris said. “There could be trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“Remember when I saw you at Eyrie? I mentioned that one of the students from Airhome had taken ship for Woodwings?”

“Yes,” Dorrel said. He sipped at his own wine. “What of it?”

“He’s on Skulny now, and he’s going to challenge, and it isn’t just any student. It’s Val.” Dorrel’s face was blank. “Val?”

“One-Wing,” Maris said quietly. He frowned. “One-Wing,” he repeated. “Well, I understand why you’re upset. I would never have expected him to try again. Does he expect to be welcomed?”

“No,” Maris said. “He knows better. And his opinion of flyers is no better than their opinion of him.”

Dorrel shrugged. “Well, it will be unpleasant, but it needn’t ruin the competition,” he said. “He’ll be easy enough to ignore, and I don’t imagine we have to worry about him winning again. No one has lost a relative lately.”