whuffed.
"And it would be well if you knew what else is in the wagon," Gry said, and there was something in her voice, though she spoke low and mild, that made even Gudit turn and listen to her.
"A cat," she said. "Another cat. But a big one. She's trustworthy, but not to be taken by surprise. Don't open the wagon door, please. Memer, shall I leave her here in the wagon or shall she come with me into the house?"
When you're lucky, press your luck. I wanted Desac to see the "circus" lion and be scared stiff. "If you wish to bring her..."
She studied me a moment.
"Best leave her here," she said with a smile. And thinking of Ista and Sosta screaming and screeching at the sight of a lion passing by in the corridor, I knew she was right.
She followed me through the courtyards around to the front entrance. On the threshold she stopped and murmured the invocation of the guest to the house-gods.
"Are your gods the same as ours?" I asked.
"The Uplands haven't much in the way of gods. But as a traveller I've learned to honor and ask blessing of any gods or spirits that will grant it."
I liked that.
"The Alds spit on our gods," I said.
"Sailors say it's unwise to spit into the wind," she said.
I had brought her the long way round, wanting her to see the reception hall and the great court and the wide hallways leading to the old university rooms and galleries and the inner courts. It was all bare, unfurnished, the statues broken, the tapestries stolen, the floors unswept. I was half proud for her to see it and half bitterly ashamed.
She walked through it with wide, keen eyes. There was a wariness in her. She was easy and open, but self-contained and on the alert, like a brave animal in a strange place.
I knocked at the carved door of the back gallery and the Waylord bade us enter. Desac had gone. The Waylord stood to greet the visitor. They bowed their heads formally as they spoke their names. "Be welcome to the house of my people," he said, and she, "My greeting to the House of Galva and it's people, and my honor to the gods and ancestors of the house."
When they looked up and at each other, I saw his eyes full of curiosity and interest, and hers shining with excitement.
"You've come a long way to bring your greeting," he said.
"To meet Sulter Galva the Waylord."
His face closed, like a book shutting.
"Ansul has no lords but the Alds," he said. "I am a person without importance."
Gry glanced at me as if for support, but I had none to give. She said to him, "Your pardon if I spoke amiss.
But may I tell you what brought us to Ansul, my husband Orrec Caspro and me?"
Now at that name, he looked as utterly amazed as she had when I said his title to her.
"Caspro is here?" he said—"Orrec Caspro?" He took a deep breath. He gathered himself and spoke in his stiffest, most formal tone: "The fame of the poet runs before him. He honors our city with his presence. Memer told me that a maker is to speak in the marketplace, but I did not know who it was."
"He will recite for the Gand of the Alds too," said Gry. "The Gand sent for my husband. But that's not why we came to Ansul."
The pause was a heavy one.
"We sought this house," Gry said. "And to this house your daughter brought me—though I didn't know she was it's daughter, and she didn't know I sought it."
He looked at me.
"Truth," I said. And because he still looked at me, distrustful, I said, "The gods have been with me all day. It is a day of Lero."
That carried weight with him. He rubbed his upper lip with the first knuckle of his left hand the way he does when he's thinking hard. Then suddenly he came to a decision, and the distrust was gone. "As you are brought in Lero's hands, the blessing of the house is yours," he said. "And all in it is yours. Will you sit down, Gry Barre?"
I saw that she watched the way he moved as he showed her to the claw-foot chair, that she saw his crippled hands as he lowered himself into the armchair. I perched on the high stool by
"And it would be well if you knew what else is in the wagon," Gry said, and there was something in her voice, though she spoke low and mild, that made even Gudit turn and listen to her.
"A cat," she said. "Another cat. But a big one. She's trustworthy, but not to be taken by surprise. Don't open the wagon door, please. Memer, shall I leave her here in the wagon or shall she come with me into the house?"
When you're lucky, press your luck. I wanted Desac to see the "circus" lion and be scared stiff. "If you wish to bring her..."
She studied me a moment.
"Best leave her here," she said with a smile. And thinking of Ista and Sosta screaming and screeching at the sight of a lion passing by in the corridor, I knew she was right.
She followed me through the courtyards around to the front entrance. On the threshold she stopped and murmured the invocation of the guest to the house-gods.
"Are your gods the same as ours?" I asked.
"The Uplands haven't much in the way of gods. But as a traveller I've learned to honor and ask blessing of any gods or spirits that will grant it."
I liked that.
"The Alds spit on our gods," I said.
"Sailors say it's unwise to spit into the wind," she said.
I had brought her the long way round, wanting her to see the reception hall and the great court and the wide hallways leading to the old university rooms and galleries and the inner courts. It was all bare, unfurnished, the statues broken, the tapestries stolen, the floors unswept. I was half proud for her to see it and half bitterly ashamed.
She walked through it with wide, keen eyes. There was a wariness in her. She was easy and open, but self-contained and on the alert, like a brave animal in a strange place.
I knocked at the carved door of the back gallery and the Waylord bade us enter. Desac had gone. The Waylord stood to greet the visitor. They bowed their heads formally as they spoke their names. "Be welcome to the house of my people," he said, and she, "My greeting to the House of Galva and it's people, and my honor to the gods and ancestors of the house."
When they looked up and at each other, I saw his eyes full of curiosity and interest, and hers shining with excitement.
"You've come a long way to bring your greeting," he said.
"To meet Sulter Galva the Waylord."
His face closed, like a book shutting.
"Ansul has no lords but the Alds," he said. "I am a person without importance."
Gry glanced at me as if for support, but I had none to give. She said to him, "Your pardon if I spoke amiss.
But may I tell you what brought us to Ansul, my husband Orrec Caspro and me?"
Now at that name, he looked as utterly amazed as she had when I said his title to her.
"Caspro is here?" he said—"Orrec Caspro?" He took a deep breath. He gathered himself and spoke in his stiffest, most formal tone: "The fame of the poet runs before him. He honors our city with his presence. Memer told me that a maker is to speak in the marketplace, but I did not know who it was."
"He will recite for the Gand of the Alds too," said Gry. "The Gand sent for my husband. But that's not why we came to Ansul."
The pause was a heavy one.
"We sought this house," Gry said. "And to this house your daughter brought me—though I didn't know she was it's daughter, and she didn't know I sought it."
He looked at me.
"Truth," I said. And because he still looked at me, distrustful, I said, "The gods have been with me all day. It is a day of Lero."
That carried weight with him. He rubbed his upper lip with the first knuckle of his left hand the way he does when he's thinking hard. Then suddenly he came to a decision, and the distrust was gone. "As you are brought in Lero's hands, the blessing of the house is yours," he said. "And all in it is yours. Will you sit down, Gry Barre?"
I saw that she watched the way he moved as he showed her to the claw-foot chair, that she saw his crippled hands as he lowered himself into the armchair. I perched on the high stool by
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