Beyond the Burning Lands by John Christopher Page B

and more from my brother’s presence and he, listening to the priest, seemed not to mind. The winter wore on, with blizzards and biting cold that froze the snow in the streets into ridges which the polymufs could not shift. It seemed that it would last forever, continuing day after bitter day.
    Then in a night the weather changed. I awoke to rain drumming against my window. It fell all morning, carried on a wind from the west that seemed almost warm after the northeasterlies we had endured, and long after it had stopped water dripped from the eaves as the last of the icicles melted.
    Within days the trees were budding. The small green spears had a look of impatience to them, of bursting out from restraint. I felt the same urge to be free of things that bound me. I found Peter alone, without the priest, and said:
    â€œWe must talk about the summer’s campaign.”
    He shook his head. “There will be none.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œShe hated war, as you know.”
    â€œShe was a Christian. You are not.”
    â€œBut I will not lead out the army in the year in which she died. Next year, perhaps.”
    I saw he would not budge. But it was unendurable to contemplate a summer penned in the city with this grieving man. I had hoped the fighting would work a change in both of us. If it was not to be I must find some other way. I said:
    â€œThe embassy still goes north, across the Burning Lands?”
    He said indifferently: “I suppose so.”
    â€œI asked you once before for permission to go with it. I make the same request now.”
    â€œYou are anxious to leave me, Luke.”
    â€œI must do something!”
    He did not respond immediately. I thought he was going to refuse and prepared to argue for it. But he said:
    â€œIf you are so eager for it, then go.”
    â€œMay Edmund go with me?”
    I did not need to add, if he wishes. I knew what his feelings would be. My brother turned away to the window. It was raining once more, a gray rain thick with ash from the Burning Lands. He said:
    â€œTake whom you like. See Greene about it.”
    â€¢Â Â â€¢Â Â â€¢
    Dwarftown lay across the river, toward Eastgate. None of the houses there were tall but they were solidly built and brightly painted, and decorated with much gleaming brass. Nearly all had window boxes and when I arrived, on a Sunday morning, I found Rudi attending to his. He was putting out hyacinths which he had grown indoors during the winter. They were in full bloom—blue and pink and white.
    He greeted me and took me indoors. The rooms were low of ceiling and I had to watch for my head. There were a number of cabinets and sideboards bedecked with china and brass ornaments, many warm-colored cushions lying about, and the walls themselves were painted in differing hues. In the room to which I was taken two of red faced two of yellow, and the ceiling beams were a deep blue.
    Rudi showed me to a chair which I guessed was kept for human visitors: it stood higher from the ground than the rest and was generally bigger. Very much bigger—I felt lost in it. I told him I had come to see his son, Hans, and he sent a polymuf maid to call him. Although not high the houses were extensive and I knew Rudi’s rambled back over a considerable area. It was several minutes before the son came.
    Like Rudi he was tall for a dwarf. Had he been born of human parents a tolerant Seer might have passed him at the Showing. He bowed gravely to me and stood watching in silence from just inside the door. I am dark of complexion and hair but he was far more so, a swarthy lad with a curly beard springing. His face was broad but the eyes did not have the relaxed, even sleepy look one expected of his kind; they were alert and watchful.
    I said: “Hans, your father has told me that you would like to go on campaign with the army. As a servant, of course, with the baggage train.”
    â€œYes, Captain.”
    â€œI promised