it.
'Does he know you're coming, lass?' The boatman's bantering voice had turned compassionate.
'No.'
'Is he a relation?'
'In a manner of speaking. We - we were once betrothed,but unhappy circumstances caused us to part. It's been many years.'
'Oho! So that's the way of it. And now things've changed for the better and you're come to tell him the good news, eh? Well, Haydon the Sympath has no wife or regular doxy here. He keeps house for himself. So mayhap you're in luck.'
She said nothing, having no illusions about her upcoming reception. If Deveron had wanted her to join him in his exile, he would have found a way to get word to her long ago, although Tarn was far beyond windspeech range, even for persons as highly talented as the two of them. But he had not sent for her. She knew that he had escaped from Conrig Ironcrown's agents sixteen years earlier; but whether he lived or not had been a mystery that was solved only when the Source bespoke her and sent her on this improbable journey.
'Your man's done well for himself in the years spent away from home,' Momor was saying. He had stowed his pole in the boat and installed a sculling oar at the stern when the waters of the canal became deeper. 'Even the rich folk consult Haydon, since they know he keeps his mouth shut. Was he also a sympath in Tarn?'
'We call them shaman-healers. Dev-Haydon was one, and so am I.'
Her reply inspired a drawn-out account of bodily miseries suffered by the boatman and his family, along with requests for free medical advice that lasted untilthe punt finally drew up at anisolated dock. Two small craft were tied there - a wooden dinghy and a peculiar elongated skiff fashioned from sheets of some thin material resembling treebark. The house served by the dock stood alone on an island that was otherwise densely forested with strange tall trees having narrow trunks crowned with mops of feathery leaves. One of the dock-pilings was adorned with a large carving of an owl,hung about with garlands of snail-shells. Another bore a brass ship's bell on a bracket and a lantern with a guttering flame.
'The sympath's sign,' Momor said, indicating the nightbird's image. 'Both an invitation and a warning. Owls are rare in this part of the world, omens of wisdom because they see in the dark ... but also of sudden death because they swoop to kill on silent wings. Haydon's not to be trifled with, either.'
He sculled his punt up to the dock and tied the line to a cleat, then helped Induna to climb out. 'Will you want me to wait, mistress? I'll have to charge triple. My own bed's waiting.'
'No. You need not stay' She gave him his fee. 'Am I supposed to ring this bell?'
'I'd recommend it.' Momor gave a laugh without much humor in it, slipped the line, and glided briskly away. In a few moments he was lost to sight around a bend in the canal.
Induna studied the owl image for a moment. The bird had been Deveron's heraldic cognizance and this was certainly his house. Unlike most of the flimsy dwellings she had seen, it was well-constructed of squared logs, Tarnian-style, with a covered porch surrounding it. Its roof was slate slabs, steeply pitched to shed rain, and the chimney was of stone. The windows that faced the canal were not large. They had been fitted with storm-shutters and were curtained by what looked like straw matting. Slivers of lamplight penetrated them, casting golden quadrangles on the ground. The front door was made of iron-bound planks. If he wished, Haydon the Sympath could turn his house into a rather tight little fort.
And that's why you never sent word to me, Induna said to herself. Deveron had not wanted to risk her life, should Ironcrown's assassins hunt him down.
She stood irresolute for a few more minutes, quite certain that he knew she was there, not wanting to disturb the gentle jungle sounds with the brass bell's clangor. Finally, with thefolded cloak tucked under one arm and her fardel under the other, she walked down the dock
'Does he know you're coming, lass?' The boatman's bantering voice had turned compassionate.
'No.'
'Is he a relation?'
'In a manner of speaking. We - we were once betrothed,but unhappy circumstances caused us to part. It's been many years.'
'Oho! So that's the way of it. And now things've changed for the better and you're come to tell him the good news, eh? Well, Haydon the Sympath has no wife or regular doxy here. He keeps house for himself. So mayhap you're in luck.'
She said nothing, having no illusions about her upcoming reception. If Deveron had wanted her to join him in his exile, he would have found a way to get word to her long ago, although Tarn was far beyond windspeech range, even for persons as highly talented as the two of them. But he had not sent for her. She knew that he had escaped from Conrig Ironcrown's agents sixteen years earlier; but whether he lived or not had been a mystery that was solved only when the Source bespoke her and sent her on this improbable journey.
'Your man's done well for himself in the years spent away from home,' Momor was saying. He had stowed his pole in the boat and installed a sculling oar at the stern when the waters of the canal became deeper. 'Even the rich folk consult Haydon, since they know he keeps his mouth shut. Was he also a sympath in Tarn?'
'We call them shaman-healers. Dev-Haydon was one, and so am I.'
Her reply inspired a drawn-out account of bodily miseries suffered by the boatman and his family, along with requests for free medical advice that lasted untilthe punt finally drew up at anisolated dock. Two small craft were tied there - a wooden dinghy and a peculiar elongated skiff fashioned from sheets of some thin material resembling treebark. The house served by the dock stood alone on an island that was otherwise densely forested with strange tall trees having narrow trunks crowned with mops of feathery leaves. One of the dock-pilings was adorned with a large carving of an owl,hung about with garlands of snail-shells. Another bore a brass ship's bell on a bracket and a lantern with a guttering flame.
'The sympath's sign,' Momor said, indicating the nightbird's image. 'Both an invitation and a warning. Owls are rare in this part of the world, omens of wisdom because they see in the dark ... but also of sudden death because they swoop to kill on silent wings. Haydon's not to be trifled with, either.'
He sculled his punt up to the dock and tied the line to a cleat, then helped Induna to climb out. 'Will you want me to wait, mistress? I'll have to charge triple. My own bed's waiting.'
'No. You need not stay' She gave him his fee. 'Am I supposed to ring this bell?'
'I'd recommend it.' Momor gave a laugh without much humor in it, slipped the line, and glided briskly away. In a few moments he was lost to sight around a bend in the canal.
Induna studied the owl image for a moment. The bird had been Deveron's heraldic cognizance and this was certainly his house. Unlike most of the flimsy dwellings she had seen, it was well-constructed of squared logs, Tarnian-style, with a covered porch surrounding it. Its roof was slate slabs, steeply pitched to shed rain, and the chimney was of stone. The windows that faced the canal were not large. They had been fitted with storm-shutters and were curtained by what looked like straw matting. Slivers of lamplight penetrated them, casting golden quadrangles on the ground. The front door was made of iron-bound planks. If he wished, Haydon the Sympath could turn his house into a rather tight little fort.
And that's why you never sent word to me, Induna said to herself. Deveron had not wanted to risk her life, should Ironcrown's assassins hunt him down.
She stood irresolute for a few more minutes, quite certain that he knew she was there, not wanting to disturb the gentle jungle sounds with the brass bell's clangor. Finally, with thefolded cloak tucked under one arm and her fardel under the other, she walked down the dock
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