Windhaven - Страница 67

The Landsman was running his thumb along the edge of the knife. He had cut himself, but he did not seem to notice. A tiny drop of blood spotted the white silk of his fine shirt. His mouth twitched. In the sudden stillness that followed her words, Maris felt faint and tired. She had done all she could. She had said all that she could say. She waited.

Evan’s arm went around her, and in the corner of her eye she saw Coll’s bruised lips twist into a slight smile, and abruptly Maris felt almost good again. Whatever happened, she had done her best. She felt as if she had just returned from a long, long flight; her limbs ached and trembled, and she was damp and chilled through to the bone, but she remembered the sky and the lift of her wings, and that was enough. She was satisfied.

“Terms,” the Landsman said. His tone was poisonous.

He rose from his throne, the blood-smeared knife in his hand. “I will give you terms,” he said. He pointed the knife at Evan. “Take the old man and cut off his hands,” he ordered. “Then cast him out and let him heal himself. That ought to be a sight to see.” He laughed, and his hand moved sideways, so the knife was pointing at Coll. “The singer loses one hand and a tongue.” The knife shifted again. “As to you,” he said, when the blade pointed at Maris, “since you like the color black, I will give you your fill of it. I will put you in a cell without a window or a light, where it is black day and night, and you will stay there until you have forgotten what sunlight was. Do you like those terms, flyer? Do you?”

Maris felt the tears in her eyes, but she would not let them fall. “I am sorry for your people,” she said softly. “They did nothing to deserve you.”

“Take them,” the Landsman said, “and do as I have ordered!”

The landsguard looked at each other. One took a hesitant step forward, and stopped when he saw he was alone.

“What are you waiting for?” the Landsman shrieked. “Seize them!”

“Sir,” said a tall, dignified woman in the uniform of a high officer, “I beg you to reconsider. We cannot maim a singer, or imprison Maris of Lesser Amberly. It would be the end of us. The flyers would destroy us all.”

The Landsman stared at her, then pointed with his knife. “You are under arrest as well, traitor. You will have the cell next to hers, if you like her so well.” To the other landsguard, he said, “Take them.”

No one moved.

“Traitors,” he muttered, “I am surrounded by traitors. You will all die, all of you.” His eyes found Maris. “And you, you will be the first. I will do it myself.”

Maris was achingly aware of the knife in his hand, the dull bronze length of it, the smear of blood along the blade. She felt Evan tense beside her. The Landsman smiled and walked toward them.

“Stop him,” said the tall woman he had tried to arrest. Her voice was weary but firm. At once the Landsman was surrounded. A burly bear of a man held his arms, and a slim young woman took the knife from his grasp as easily and fluidly as if she had pulled it from a sheath. “I’m sorry,” said the woman who had taken charge.

“Let me go!” he demanded. “I am Landsman here!”

“No,” she answered, “no. Sir, I fear you are very sick.”

The grim, ancient keep had never seen such festivity.

The gray walls were decked with bright banners and colored lanterns, and smells of food and wine, wood smoke and fireworks permeated the air. The gates had been opened wide to all. Landsguard still roamed the keep, but few were in uniform, and weapons were forgotten.

The gibbets had been torn down, the scaffolding altered to make a stage where jugglers, magicians, clowns, and singers performed for the passing crowds.

Within, doors were open and halls filled with merrymakers. Prisoners from the dungeons had been set free, and even the lowest riff-raff from the alleys of Port Thayos had been admitted to the party. In the great hall tables had been set up and covered with huge wheels of cheese, baskets of bread, and smoked, pickled, and fried fish of all kinds. The hearths still smelled of roasting pig and seacat, and puddles of beer and wine glistened on the flagstones.

Music and laughter were in the air; it was a celebration of a richness and size unknown on Thayos in living memory. And among the crowds of the people of Thayos moved figures dressed in black—not, by their faces, mourners: the flyers. These flyers, one-wing and flyer-born alike, along with the previously exiled singers, were the guests of honor, feted and toasted by all.

Maris wandered through the boisterous crowds, ready to cringe at any more recognition. The party had gone on too long. She was tired and feeling a little sick from too much food and drink, all tributes forced on her by admirers. She wanted only to find Evan and go home.

Someone spoke her name and, reluctantly, Maris turned. She saw the new Landsman of Thayos, dressed in a long, embroidered gown that did not suit her. She looked uncomfortable out of uniform.

Maris summoned a smile. “Yes, Landsman?”

The former landsguard officer grimaced. “I suppose I will get used to that title, but it still brings to mind someone very different. I haven’t seen much of you today—could I have a few minutes with you?”

“Yes, of course. As many as you wish. You saved my life.”

“That wasn’t so noble. Your actions took more courage than mine, and they weren’t self-serving. The story they will tell about me is that I carefully plotted and planned to depose the Landsman and take his job. That is not the truth, but what do singers care for truth?” Her voice was bitter. Maris looked at her in surprise.

They walked together through rooms filled with gamblers, drunks, and lovers until they found an empty chamber where they could sit and talk together.

Because the Landsman still was silent, Maris said, “Surely no one misses the old Landsman? I don’t think he was well-loved.”

The new Landsman frowned. “No, he will not be missed, and neither will I, when I am gone. But he was a good leader for many years until he became too frightened and began to think foolishly. I was sorry to have to do what I did, but I saw no other choice. This party, here, is my attempt to make the transition joyful, instead of fearful. To go into debt to make my people feel prosperous.”

“I think they appreciate the gesture,” Maris said. “Everyone seems very happy.”

“Yes, now, but their memories are short.” The Landsman moved slightly in her seat, as if to shake off the thought. The line between her eyes smoothed out, and her features took on a kindlier cast. “I didn’t mean to bore you with my personal worries. I drew you aside to tell you how respected you are in Thayos, and to tell you that I honor your attempts to keep peace between the flyers and the people of Thayos.”

Maris wondered if she was blushing. “Please,” she said. “Don’t. I… had the flyers in mind, and not the people of Thayos, to be honest.”

“That doesn’t matter. What you accomplished is what matters. You risked your life for it.”

“I did what I could,” Maris said. “But I didn’t achieve very much, after all. A truce, a temporary peace. The real problem, the conflicts between the flyer-born and the one-wings, and between the Landsmen and the flyers who work with them, is still there, and it will flare up again—” She broke off, realizing that the Landsman didn’t care, and didn’t want to know, that this happy ending was no true ending at all.

“There will be no more trouble for the flyers on Thayos,” the Landsman said. Maris realized that the woman had the useful ability to make a simple sentence sound like a proclamation of law. “We respect flyers here—and singers, too.”

“A wise choice,” Maris said. She grinned. “It never hurts to have the singers on your side.”

The Landsman went on as if she had not been interrupted. “And you, Maris, will always be welcome on Thayos, if ever you choose to return to visit us.”

“Visit?” Maris frowned, puzzled.

“I realize that, since you no longer fly, the journey by ship may be…”

“What are you talking about?”

The Landsman looked annoyed at all the interruptions. “I know that you are leaving Thayos for Seatooth soon, to make your home at the Woodwings Academy.”

“Who told you that?”

“The singer, Coll, I believe. Was it a secret?”

“Not a secret. Not a fact, either.” Maris sighed. “I was offered the job at Woodwings, but I have not accepted it.”

“If you stay on Thayos, of course we would all be pleased, and the hospitality of this… my… keep will always be extended to you.” The Landsman rose, obviously concluding her formal recognition of Maris, and Maris, too, stood, and they spoke a few moments longer of inconsequential things. Maris hardly paid attention. Her thoughts were in turmoil again about a subject she had determined was resolved. Did Coll think he could make something come true by speaking of it as fact? She would have to talk to him.

But when she found him a few minutes later in the outer yard, near the gate, he was not alone. Bari was with him, and S’Rella—and S’Rella was carrying her wings.

Maris hurried to join them. “S’Rella—you’re not leaving?”

S’Rella grasped her hands. “I must. The Landsman wants a message flown to Deeth. I offered to take it—I have to get home, and I would have to fly south in another day or two anyway. There was no need for Jem or Sahn to go so far when I can take it just as well. I just sent Evan to look for you, to tell you I was leaving. But it needn’t be a sad farewell, you know—we’ll see each other soon at Woodwings.”