about the great followhounds of Galvamand in the old days, that ran with the horses and guarded the gates. “Nowadays all it is is cats. Cats everywhere,” he said, spitting aside. “No meat for dogs any more, see. It stands to reason. It was meat they were themselves, those dogs, in the siege years.”
“Maybe it’s just as well you have no followhounds just now,” she said. “They’d be anxious about the contents of our wagon.”
I said, “The Waylord asks if you will be pleased to come into the house. He would come himself but it’s hard for him to walk far.” I wanted so badly to welcome her rightly, nobly, generously, as the Lords of Manva welcomed strangers to their houses.
“With pleasure,” she said, “but first—”
“Leave the horses to me,” said Gudit. “I’ll put ’em both in the loose box and then be off for a bit of hay from Bossti down the way there.”
“There’s a truss of hay and a barrel of oats in the wagon,” Gry said, going to show him, but he brushed her off—“Na na na, nobody brings their own feed to the Waylord’s house. Come along here, then, old lady.”
“She’s Star,” said Gry, “and he’s Branty.” At their names both horses looked round at her, and the mare 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
“Maybe it’s just as well you have no followhounds just now,” she said. “They’d be anxious about the contents of our wagon.”
I said, “The Waylord asks if you will be pleased to come into the house. He would come himself but it’s hard for him to walk far.” I wanted so badly to welcome her rightly, nobly, generously, as the Lords of Manva welcomed strangers to their houses.
“With pleasure,” she said, “but first—”
“Leave the horses to me,” said Gudit. “I’ll put ’em both in the loose box and then be off for a bit of hay from Bossti down the way there.”
“There’s a truss of hay and a barrel of oats in the wagon,” Gry said, going to show him, but he brushed her off—“Na na na, nobody brings their own feed to the Waylord’s house. Come along here, then, old lady.”
“She’s Star,” said Gry, “and he’s Branty.” At their names both horses looked round at her, and the mare 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
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