giants, they seemed to him, ready to bite and claw. The guard led him through the doors and out into the corridor. Shouting followed them and echoed through the keep.
"Is he really the king's uncle?" Innowen asked his guard. The soldier only grimaced and said nothing.
Whisperstone was a maze. One corridor turned into another. They went up, down, and under stairways. They met no other servants, and all but a handful of soldiers were looking for the Witch and Vashni. The oppressive silence unsettled him. He found himself thinking of the girl with the pipe again and of her music.
Ahead, a door eased open. Innowen recognized the servant who had met them earlier. "Oh, you're here, are you?" Taelyn said. "Well, good." He waved a hand impatiently at the guard. "Go back to your business," he said. "This young man is in my care now. Go on, I say." The guard departed, silent as ever.
The servant beckoned Innowen into the room. A rush of pleasant warmth swept over him. A fire crackled in the fireplace, and oil lamps burned in each of the four corners. A sweet scent wafted on the air; he couldn't tell its source, but he inhaled deeply.
"Over there," Taelyn said, "is a basin where you may wash." He indicated a low pedestal near the fire where a bowl and pitcher rested. "And here," he continued, leading him to a small table, "are fruits and strip-meats to eat and fresh water to drink. Your guardian is in the next room." Innowen followed him through a narrow archway into another chamber, "Your bed is also here."
He had never seen such finery on a bed before. The idea of stretching his body upon it, weary as he was, almost appalled him. It was too fine! Only a single candle lit this room, but it was enough to tell the quality of the rich spread and the lush pillows, and the thick carpets that surrounded it all.
Drushen slept quietly on another bed on the shadowed side of the room. Innowen crept toward him, ran a hand over the beautiful quilt that covered his old friend, and sat down gently beside him.
The dim candlelight glimmered on the flecks of gray in Drushen's beard and dark hair. The old man's lids were pale and blue-veined. His face, though, had been washed and the filth combed out of his hair.
"Did you do this?" he asked over his shoulder.
Taelyn let go a too-loud sigh. "I couldn't very well have him soiling Minarik's sheets, and there was no one else to do it this time of night." He sighed again. "Or morning, I should say. Now, if you have no other needs, I'll wish you pleasant dreams and seek my own rest."
"Wait," Innowen called softly. "My thanks for all you've done. I will remember you to Lord Minarik."
That brought a chuckle. "Remember me to him? As if he could damn well run this household without me! You have much to learn, young man."
Innowen frowned at such rudeness, but reminded himself that he was a guest in someone else's house. "Then, I'll bid goodnight to Minarik's very important servant," he said with mock-courtesy.
Taelyn looked at him for a moment, then grinned, as if he actually appreciated Innowen's daring. "Servant?" he said, lifting an eyebrow as he pulled away the neck of his chiton to expose a narrow collar of black leather. "You honor a poor slave." Then he was through the archway and gone. In the other room, the door closed gently.
When Taelyn was gone, Innowen gazed down at Drushen and brushed his fingers over the old man's brow. The skin was cool and soft, a wondrous contrast to the woodcutter's rough features, the sharp bone lines, the traceries around his eyes and mouth. He sought Drushen's hand beneath the quilt and squeezed it. Get well, he wished. Don't leave me alone.
He rose from the bedside, went into the other room, and washed his body. When he was clean again, he took a fruit from the table and drank water. The air was warm, too warm. The only window was in the bedchamber, and the shutters were closed. Would Drushen get cold if he opened it? Perhaps he could risk just a crack. He
"Is he really the king's uncle?" Innowen asked his guard. The soldier only grimaced and said nothing.
Whisperstone was a maze. One corridor turned into another. They went up, down, and under stairways. They met no other servants, and all but a handful of soldiers were looking for the Witch and Vashni. The oppressive silence unsettled him. He found himself thinking of the girl with the pipe again and of her music.
Ahead, a door eased open. Innowen recognized the servant who had met them earlier. "Oh, you're here, are you?" Taelyn said. "Well, good." He waved a hand impatiently at the guard. "Go back to your business," he said. "This young man is in my care now. Go on, I say." The guard departed, silent as ever.
The servant beckoned Innowen into the room. A rush of pleasant warmth swept over him. A fire crackled in the fireplace, and oil lamps burned in each of the four corners. A sweet scent wafted on the air; he couldn't tell its source, but he inhaled deeply.
"Over there," Taelyn said, "is a basin where you may wash." He indicated a low pedestal near the fire where a bowl and pitcher rested. "And here," he continued, leading him to a small table, "are fruits and strip-meats to eat and fresh water to drink. Your guardian is in the next room." Innowen followed him through a narrow archway into another chamber, "Your bed is also here."
He had never seen such finery on a bed before. The idea of stretching his body upon it, weary as he was, almost appalled him. It was too fine! Only a single candle lit this room, but it was enough to tell the quality of the rich spread and the lush pillows, and the thick carpets that surrounded it all.
Drushen slept quietly on another bed on the shadowed side of the room. Innowen crept toward him, ran a hand over the beautiful quilt that covered his old friend, and sat down gently beside him.
The dim candlelight glimmered on the flecks of gray in Drushen's beard and dark hair. The old man's lids were pale and blue-veined. His face, though, had been washed and the filth combed out of his hair.
"Did you do this?" he asked over his shoulder.
Taelyn let go a too-loud sigh. "I couldn't very well have him soiling Minarik's sheets, and there was no one else to do it this time of night." He sighed again. "Or morning, I should say. Now, if you have no other needs, I'll wish you pleasant dreams and seek my own rest."
"Wait," Innowen called softly. "My thanks for all you've done. I will remember you to Lord Minarik."
That brought a chuckle. "Remember me to him? As if he could damn well run this household without me! You have much to learn, young man."
Innowen frowned at such rudeness, but reminded himself that he was a guest in someone else's house. "Then, I'll bid goodnight to Minarik's very important servant," he said with mock-courtesy.
Taelyn looked at him for a moment, then grinned, as if he actually appreciated Innowen's daring. "Servant?" he said, lifting an eyebrow as he pulled away the neck of his chiton to expose a narrow collar of black leather. "You honor a poor slave." Then he was through the archway and gone. In the other room, the door closed gently.
When Taelyn was gone, Innowen gazed down at Drushen and brushed his fingers over the old man's brow. The skin was cool and soft, a wondrous contrast to the woodcutter's rough features, the sharp bone lines, the traceries around his eyes and mouth. He sought Drushen's hand beneath the quilt and squeezed it. Get well, he wished. Don't leave me alone.
He rose from the bedside, went into the other room, and washed his body. When he was clean again, he took a fruit from the table and drank water. The air was warm, too warm. The only window was in the bedchamber, and the shutters were closed. Would Drushen get cold if he opened it? Perhaps he could risk just a crack. He
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