The Windsingers. Megan Lindholm
chinked together. ‘You present me with a dilemma. You seem to say that you would hire me your team, if you could be sure of their safety. Have I understood you, or has the limitations of this poor Common corrupted the thoughts you seek to convey?’
‘Let us take that as a premise,’ the T’cherian hedged. ‘If I were willing to hire out to you these precious skeel, more companions to me than work animals, what could you offer me as a bond for their well-being while in your care?’
Vandien again jingled the pouch. ‘What, indeed? Coin will pay you when I return, but that is not what is needed now. A crasser man than I might offer you coin now, not understanding that a show of money is not always a show of good faith. But I perceive that what is needed is not mere monetary security, but a personal commitment. A hostage, if you will.’ Vandien paused and turned his eyes up to the sky. He posed silently. Then, with seeming reluctance, he slipped the crystal back into his sash. The mandibles of the T’cherian rattled lightly at this, but Vandien appeared not to notice. With tightly folded lips and a resigned expression, he unscrewed a ring from his left hand. It came free slowly, revealing a band of whitened skin. With a great sigh, he held it out for the T’cherian’s inspection.
The eye stalks bent to it briefly. It was an exceptionally plain ring. The single black stone did not sparkle, though the facets of the square cut gleamed dully. The band was of plain-silver. Vandien hefted its heaviness.
‘There is this,’ he said slowly. ‘Long has it been since it left my hand. But if you would have a token of my good intentions, I offer you this. From my mother’s father’s grandmother, it was passed to me.’ He paused again and took a deep breath to clear the huskiness from his voice. ‘Little enough is left to me to remind me of the heights from which my line has fallen. But this I retain, a reminder to myself of all we once were, and all I hope to be again. Never would I forsake it! Never! If I were to leave your team to you in good health, or die trying!’
Vandien’s fist closed convulsively over the ring. For an instant every muscle and tendon in his arm and hand stood out against his skin. He blinked his eyes rapidly. Then, gravely, he extended his hand, palm up, to Web Shell. The hand that held the ring trembled.
‘Return your ring to your hand,’ the T’cherian said solemnly. ‘Although we put no metal ornaments upon our shells, we understand the high regard you Humans have for them. This one means too much for you to part with it as a token in a marketplace.’
But Vandien’s hand remained outstretched. ‘Yet your team I must hire. I am convinced only they could perform the task for me. Please! This discussion only prolongs my anixety and discomfort!’
The T’cherian rattled his mandibles loudly. Vandien clenched his jaws and turned his eyes away. He had deliberately used the phrase ‘anxiety and discomfort,’ knowing well it was the standard Common translation of a T’cherian phrase that signified the mental and emotional upset that preceded severe physical damage.
‘No!’ the T’cherian cried out. Vandien felt it actually touch his hand with its pincers. ‘Take away this family token of yours, Human. Your willingness to offer it is enough! I will not require it of you! You may rent my team from me. Your display of integrity has touched me. I shall not ask advance coin of you.’
Vandien stared at the T’cherian, and quickly replaced his ring on his finger. He struck a new pose. Crossing his arms over his chest approximated a humbled T’cherian. ‘You overwhelm me, sir! I cannot accept this generosity. I see that those who do business with you must protect you from your own courtesy. I have little to offer you, but some token of mine you must keep. I demand that you ask something of me! Anything!’
‘Anything?’ the T’cherian repeated, as if in wonder.
Vandien leaped gladly into the trap. ‘Anything! I promise to entrust you with it.’
‘I hesitate to ask it.’
‘I demand that you ask it!’
‘Your crystal, Human. Entrust it to me as I entrust my team to you.’
A look of dismay crept over Vandien’s face. He clutched at the crystal hidden in his sash. His shoulders slumped as he let his hands fall to the sides of his body. ‘I told you to ask,’ he said, speaking so softly that the T’cherian swayed closer to hear. Vandien gave a soft laugh, and shook his head over his own simplicity. ‘Well is it said, “The courtesy of a T’cherian is matched only by his shrewdness.” I demanded that you ask, and you have. Never did I consider that this would be your request. My peace, my sanctuary from the insanity of this world. And yet…’ Vandien reached into his sash and slowly withdrew the grey-wrapped crystal. ‘I am a being of my word.’
He extended the wrapped crystal to the T’cherian, whose pincers instantly closed on it. Web Shell unwrapped it swiftly while Vandien marvelled at his dexterity. Quivering mandibles closed on the crystal. Slender cilia appeared and caressed the crystal, ascertaining its quality. The T’cherian’s eye stalks began to sag gently. Vandien smiled. It was an excellent crystal. An itinerant trader he met near Kelso had offered it in exchange for three measures of salt. Kelso had no T’cherian population. As trade goods, the crystals had value only to a T’cherian. None of the other sentient populations had any use for them. But no T’cherian believed that.
Quickly Vandien began to ask pertinent questions about what commands this team responded to. He made arrangements for the time and place of their return. The T’cherian gave dreamy replies. By the time Vandien picked up a slender prod and moved the team off, the T’cherian was swaying softly to the silent music of his own harmonious visions. His cilia vibrated around the crystal in his mandibles.
One of his small coins brought Vandien a large dark loaf at the pastry stall. He would have preferred the greenish T’cherian bread, but knew that he would travel farther on the grain one. The large flat feet of his team stirred up great poufs of dust as they moved down the street. After a few efforts at stirring them to greater speed, Vandien became resigned to a leisurely stroll. He slackened his pace and turned his thoughts to False Harbor. Even at this speed it was no more than four days away. He would be there in plenty of time to try.
And if he succeeded? Fear and hope swirled in him. He rubbed irritably at the scar on his face. It was stiff and numb under his fingers. Was it only vanity to wish it was gone? Was he a fool to believe Srolan? Yes, and yes, his fear nagged him. And that was why he had not told Ki what he’d been offered. Because his own eagerness shamed him. He hated to imagine how Ki would perceive it; Ki, for whose sake he had taken the scar. He brooded on it, trudging along behind the dawdling skeel.
And yet…his quick nature flipped his hopes uppermost…and yet imagine greeting Ki with a clear face, seeing her amazement and pleasure. One thing he was certain of had he mentioned it to her, she would have come with him to False Harbor. She would have abandoned her own tasks to help him haul up the Windsingers’ chest. And that, he decided, coming full circle in his own personal logic, was exactly why he hadn’t told her. It would be wrong to bend her will to his by such a guile. He would not suffer her guilt or pity. Whatever flowed between them must flow freely, or not at all. But if she came, of her own will, he would welcome her. Alone, success might be as fearsome a thing to meet as failure. He would appreciate his friend’s being there.
The mellow sunlight of autumn slanted yellow across the wagon trail. ‘Trail!’ Ki snorted to herself at granting it such a title. Twin dents in the sod of the forest ran off ahead of her. Small bushes grew in between the tracks, to brush the bottom of her freight wagon as she passed over them. White birches dripping golden leaves, interspersed with cotton wood and tangles of willow, edged the side of the track. The occasional Harp tree stood foreign and speechless in the still warmth of the afternoon. She breathed the mossy forest scents and leaned back lazily on the cuddy door. She was rich, for today, in both time and wealth.
She felt only a small pang of conscience at dawdling. It was not for the sake of her customer. She could