just my own man, but to have a holding. I am not like Urre, who was born to
a hall and drinks and wenches now to forget what ill tricks fortune plays.
“Who my father was"—he shrugged—"I never heard my mother say. That he was of no common
blood, that I knew, though in later years she drudged in a merchant’s house before
the coming of the invaders for bread to our mouths and clothing for our backs. When
I was yet a boy I knew that the only way I might rise was through this"—he touched
the hilt of his sword. “The merchant guild welcomed no nameless man, but for a sword
and a bow there is always a ready market. So I set about learning the skills of war
as thoroughly as any man might. Then came the invasion, and I went from Lord to Lord,
becoming at last Marshal of Forces. Yet always before me hung the thought that in
such a time of upheaval, with the old families being killed out, this was my chance.
“Now there are masterless men in plenty, too restless after years of killing to settle
back behind any plow. Some will turn outlaw readily, but with a half dozen of such
at my back I can take a dale which lies vacant of rule, such as this Nordendale. The
people there need a leader, I am depriving none of lawful inheritance, but will keep
the peace and defend it against outlaws—for there will be many such now. There are
men here, passing through Grimmerdale, willing to be hired for such a purpose. Enough
so I can pick and choose at will.”
He paused and she read in his face that this indeed wasthe great moving wish of his life. When he did not continue she asked a question:
“I can see how a determined man can do this thing. But how will it concern me in any
way?”
He looked to her straightly. She did not understand the full meaning of what she saw
in his eyes.
“I think we are greatly alike, lady. So much so that we could walk the same road,
to profit of both. No, I do not ask an answer now. Tomorrow"—he got to his feet stretching—"no,
today, I shall speak to those men I have marked. If they are willing to take liege
oath to me, we shall ride to Lethendale, where you may shelter as you wish for a space.
It is not far—”
“By horse,” she answered in relief, “perhaps two days west.”
“Good enough. Then, having left you there, I shall go to Nordendale—and straightway
that shall cease to be masterless. Give me, say, threescore days, and I shall come
riding again to Lethendale. Then you shall give me your answer as to whether our roads
join or no.”
“You forget,” her hands pressed upon her belly, “I am no maid, nor widow, and yet
I carry—”
“Have you not Gunnora’s promise upon the subject? The child will be wholly yours.
One welcome holds for you both.”
She studied his face, determined to make sure if he meant that. What she read there—she
caught her breath, her hands rising to her breast, pressing hard upon the talisman.
“Come as you promise to Lethendale,” she said in a low voice. “You shall be welcome
and have your answer in good seeming.”
Changeling
L ITHENDALE, though no fortress for defense, rather an abiding place for the Dames who gave refuge
to all, still held something of grim darkness in this early spring. Snow lay in ragged,
mid-edged patches upon the ground, and the courtyards showed a gloss of damp upon
worn stones. A chill wind moaned and cried at every window to the west, plucked at
steamy panes with fingers just too weak to wrench a way within.
Hertha’s forehead pressed against one of those thick panes. She leaned over the wide
sill as if she could gain relief from the pains which rent her fiercely. The life
she bore within her body might be a warrior, one who ruthlessly would tear her in
twain, so eager was it ready to battle all the world.
She was not alone. There was the woman who now and then came to walk beside her and
steady her. To Hertha that other was a faceless
a hall and drinks and wenches now to forget what ill tricks fortune plays.
“Who my father was"—he shrugged—"I never heard my mother say. That he was of no common
blood, that I knew, though in later years she drudged in a merchant’s house before
the coming of the invaders for bread to our mouths and clothing for our backs. When
I was yet a boy I knew that the only way I might rise was through this"—he touched
the hilt of his sword. “The merchant guild welcomed no nameless man, but for a sword
and a bow there is always a ready market. So I set about learning the skills of war
as thoroughly as any man might. Then came the invasion, and I went from Lord to Lord,
becoming at last Marshal of Forces. Yet always before me hung the thought that in
such a time of upheaval, with the old families being killed out, this was my chance.
“Now there are masterless men in plenty, too restless after years of killing to settle
back behind any plow. Some will turn outlaw readily, but with a half dozen of such
at my back I can take a dale which lies vacant of rule, such as this Nordendale. The
people there need a leader, I am depriving none of lawful inheritance, but will keep
the peace and defend it against outlaws—for there will be many such now. There are
men here, passing through Grimmerdale, willing to be hired for such a purpose. Enough
so I can pick and choose at will.”
He paused and she read in his face that this indeed wasthe great moving wish of his life. When he did not continue she asked a question:
“I can see how a determined man can do this thing. But how will it concern me in any
way?”
He looked to her straightly. She did not understand the full meaning of what she saw
in his eyes.
“I think we are greatly alike, lady. So much so that we could walk the same road,
to profit of both. No, I do not ask an answer now. Tomorrow"—he got to his feet stretching—"no,
today, I shall speak to those men I have marked. If they are willing to take liege
oath to me, we shall ride to Lethendale, where you may shelter as you wish for a space.
It is not far—”
“By horse,” she answered in relief, “perhaps two days west.”
“Good enough. Then, having left you there, I shall go to Nordendale—and straightway
that shall cease to be masterless. Give me, say, threescore days, and I shall come
riding again to Lethendale. Then you shall give me your answer as to whether our roads
join or no.”
“You forget,” her hands pressed upon her belly, “I am no maid, nor widow, and yet
I carry—”
“Have you not Gunnora’s promise upon the subject? The child will be wholly yours.
One welcome holds for you both.”
She studied his face, determined to make sure if he meant that. What she read there—she
caught her breath, her hands rising to her breast, pressing hard upon the talisman.
“Come as you promise to Lethendale,” she said in a low voice. “You shall be welcome
and have your answer in good seeming.”
Changeling
L ITHENDALE, though no fortress for defense, rather an abiding place for the Dames who gave refuge
to all, still held something of grim darkness in this early spring. Snow lay in ragged,
mid-edged patches upon the ground, and the courtyards showed a gloss of damp upon
worn stones. A chill wind moaned and cried at every window to the west, plucked at
steamy panes with fingers just too weak to wrench a way within.
Hertha’s forehead pressed against one of those thick panes. She leaned over the wide
sill as if she could gain relief from the pains which rent her fiercely. The life
she bore within her body might be a warrior, one who ruthlessly would tear her in
twain, so eager was it ready to battle all the world.
She was not alone. There was the woman who now and then came to walk beside her and
steady her. To Hertha that other was a faceless
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