known if you were,” he said. “Look here, whoever
you are—if this is his lordship’s personal pool, then tell him it’s his dinner
I’m fishing for, and would he mind not sending his servants to startle me out
of nine years’ growth?”
“You don’t need that much,” she said, measuring his length
against her own. She was middling small for a woman in the north: he stood a
head-height above her. She was anything but cowed. “And who says I’m anyone’s
servant?”
“You’re from the castle, aren’t you? You’re not Lord Peridan,
and you’re not his mother either, from anything I’ve heard.”
“Oh,” she said, rich with irony, “I certainly am not that
delicate flower of womanhood. I came here from Suvilien, but I was never a
bondsman there, nor anywhere on this wide earth. I’m no one’s servant but my
own.”
“And the emperor’s,” Estarion said. It was a devil in him, a
stab of wickedness. She did not know who he was, that was clear to see. He was
not about to enlighten her.
“Not even the emperor’s,” she said. “He doesn’t own the
whole world, or even the most of it.”
“What is there beyond the twofold empire? Wastes of sand or
wastes of ice—fine prizes for a lord who has everything.”
“The Realms of the Sun are great enough, but they’re no more
than a single continent on a single face of this wide and turning world.
There’s land beyond the desert, youngling, on the world’s bottom, and land
beyond the seas, both west and east.”
“And you’ve seen it?”
She paused to hook another fish. He was interested in spite
of himself; he hardly cared that she took her time in answering. “Some of it,”
she said at last, having freed the hook of its bright burden and cast again.
“The seas are wide, and some few of the ships upon them are brave enough to
sail out of sight of land. Or storm carries them, and they fetch up on isles no
man of our race has ever seen.”
“Are there people there? Or dragons?”
“People enough, who speak strange tongues, and reckon us
gods for that we sail on ships out of the sea. Dragons? Nothing so dull or so
common. Dragonels as big as hawks, yes. And fish with wings. And insects like
jewels, and furred beasts that sing like birds.”
“Stories,” said Estarion.
“Certainly,” she said. “But true enough for that.”
“But if they were true,” he said, “then wouldn’t the Sunborn
have conquered them?”
A shadow crossed her face, too brief almost to see. “If he
had known of them, he would have tried.”
“Someone will, you know. Eventually.”
“Or one of them will conquer us.”
“Not while I live,” said Estarion, forgetting his pretense.
But she did not seem to hear him. She was drawing in another fish, the largest
yet and by far the most determined to escape.
He lent a hand with the line. Together, hand over hand, they
brought the catch to shore.
“We’ll feed an army with this,” the stranger said.
“Not the one yonder,” said Estarion. “That would take a
whole boatload. But milord of Suvilien will have a dainty for his dinner.”
“He is a glutton,” she said.
It was hardly polite to say so, even if she had not been a
commoner. Estarion forbore to rebuke her. She would not have listened in any
case, and he had other matters to settle. “Do you have a name?” he asked her.
“Do you?”
“Estarion,” he said before he thought; and scowled. “You?”
She half shrugged, half smiled. “Many. Call me Sidani if you
like.”
Wanderer , that
meant. And maybe, a little, Exile . It
fit her well enough. “Sidani,” he said, marking her with it.
“Estarion,” she said, still half-smiling. “I knew someone by
that name once. His hair was as red as fire, and he had a temper to match. He
married a priestess in Asanion. Fine scandal that was, too.”
“That was the last Prince of Han-Gilen but three,” Estarion
said, “and he died young, and if you knew him, you must have known him in
you are—if this is his lordship’s personal pool, then tell him it’s his dinner
I’m fishing for, and would he mind not sending his servants to startle me out
of nine years’ growth?”
“You don’t need that much,” she said, measuring his length
against her own. She was middling small for a woman in the north: he stood a
head-height above her. She was anything but cowed. “And who says I’m anyone’s
servant?”
“You’re from the castle, aren’t you? You’re not Lord Peridan,
and you’re not his mother either, from anything I’ve heard.”
“Oh,” she said, rich with irony, “I certainly am not that
delicate flower of womanhood. I came here from Suvilien, but I was never a
bondsman there, nor anywhere on this wide earth. I’m no one’s servant but my
own.”
“And the emperor’s,” Estarion said. It was a devil in him, a
stab of wickedness. She did not know who he was, that was clear to see. He was
not about to enlighten her.
“Not even the emperor’s,” she said. “He doesn’t own the
whole world, or even the most of it.”
“What is there beyond the twofold empire? Wastes of sand or
wastes of ice—fine prizes for a lord who has everything.”
“The Realms of the Sun are great enough, but they’re no more
than a single continent on a single face of this wide and turning world.
There’s land beyond the desert, youngling, on the world’s bottom, and land
beyond the seas, both west and east.”
“And you’ve seen it?”
She paused to hook another fish. He was interested in spite
of himself; he hardly cared that she took her time in answering. “Some of it,”
she said at last, having freed the hook of its bright burden and cast again.
“The seas are wide, and some few of the ships upon them are brave enough to
sail out of sight of land. Or storm carries them, and they fetch up on isles no
man of our race has ever seen.”
“Are there people there? Or dragons?”
“People enough, who speak strange tongues, and reckon us
gods for that we sail on ships out of the sea. Dragons? Nothing so dull or so
common. Dragonels as big as hawks, yes. And fish with wings. And insects like
jewels, and furred beasts that sing like birds.”
“Stories,” said Estarion.
“Certainly,” she said. “But true enough for that.”
“But if they were true,” he said, “then wouldn’t the Sunborn
have conquered them?”
A shadow crossed her face, too brief almost to see. “If he
had known of them, he would have tried.”
“Someone will, you know. Eventually.”
“Or one of them will conquer us.”
“Not while I live,” said Estarion, forgetting his pretense.
But she did not seem to hear him. She was drawing in another fish, the largest
yet and by far the most determined to escape.
He lent a hand with the line. Together, hand over hand, they
brought the catch to shore.
“We’ll feed an army with this,” the stranger said.
“Not the one yonder,” said Estarion. “That would take a
whole boatload. But milord of Suvilien will have a dainty for his dinner.”
“He is a glutton,” she said.
It was hardly polite to say so, even if she had not been a
commoner. Estarion forbore to rebuke her. She would not have listened in any
case, and he had other matters to settle. “Do you have a name?” he asked her.
“Do you?”
“Estarion,” he said before he thought; and scowled. “You?”
She half shrugged, half smiled. “Many. Call me Sidani if you
like.”
Wanderer , that
meant. And maybe, a little, Exile . It
fit her well enough. “Sidani,” he said, marking her with it.
“Estarion,” she said, still half-smiling. “I knew someone by
that name once. His hair was as red as fire, and he had a temper to match. He
married a priestess in Asanion. Fine scandal that was, too.”
“That was the last Prince of Han-Gilen but three,” Estarion
said, “and he died young, and if you knew him, you must have known him in
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