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Topiara - Chapter 27
The farmyard was clear of debris and populated by happily chirping angchois, pecking the scattered grain from the dirt. Likewise, the farmhouse had a weather-beaten yet clean look about it, with a line of gaily-colored flowers lining the low stoop base. The sound of the ponies' hooves coming to a halt in the farmyard brought both old people from their tasks, the old man from the barn and the old woman from the depths of the house.
Lyara and Jilan dismounted easily and slowly, so as not to startle or frighten the aged couple. "We are wondering if you would be willing to stable our ponies here. We're willing to pay you very handsomely for your trouble..."
The old man peered out at the young couple, his silvery eyes dimmed by a thin film of white. "Now why'd we wan' t'do sumthin' like tha' fer?" A sentiment echoed verbatim by his wife, who added with a trembling voice, "An' whoo are ye anyway?"
Jilan bowed, offering the very best of aristocratic re spect. "We are informed that Vinzen helped himself to . . ."
"If ye're part o' tha' lot, ye can take a shor' trip to 'ell, tha's wha' ye can do," the old man retorted, brandishing his fist feebly.
"No, no," Lyara tempered, waving her hand as if to dispel the accusations. "We're here to give Vinzen what he deserves." She smiled a wicked smile and raised her brows inquiringly. "You would like to get title of your island back, wouldn't you?"
The old man and woman glanced at each other in open surprise. "Ye're takin' on Vinzen in his own den?" the woman asked in amazement. "Ye've a death wish then?"
"No," Jilan replied with easy confidence. "Just a sound plan and talented friends."
The old man came forward, gnarled hand outstretched. "The name's Boyn, the wife's Jaina."
Jaina nodded with a smile as Jilan took the hand and shook it firmly. "Come in t' house an' share a mug o' bitters wi' us then," Jaina motioned with relief and pleasure on her wrinkled fea tures.
Jilan glanced at Lyara, who nodded assent. "We'd be honored," he said grandly and motioned for Lyara to lead the way. "My name is Jilan Torbishahn, and this is Lyara Chivan."
The interior of the house had the same clean, used look about it as the exterior did. The cloth covering the bare table was worn yet brightly clean, as were the floors. The chairs were rough yet sturdy as Lyara and Jilan took the seats indicated.
"Surely ye not be jus' two on this quest?" Boyn asked in honest curiosity. "How many else go wi' ye?"
"Perhaps," Lyara responded quickly, interrupting Jilan's answer with a hand placed gently on his arm, "it might be better for you if you knew little or nothing about our plans -- for your own safety," she added at the quick cloud of suspicion that passed over her face. "If we're successful, it may be that those who survive may come looking for confederates." She smiled her thanks for the small mug of cool liquid as she took it from the tray Jaina held out.
Boyn shook his head, still smiling. "It don' matter none, and be none o' our affair, Jaina. If it be they do wha' they plans, all the better for we'n." He sobered. "But, if 'ye fail?"
Jilan stretched out his hand for the mug Jaina held for him now. "The ponies are sound, valuable animals. You can take them and sell them for enough to keep you and your wife comfortable for many years to come." He sipped from the mug, then raised his brows in surprised pleasure and toasted Jaina silently, complimenting her on the unexpected excellent quality of her bitters. Lyara finished hers with a thirsty swallow and set the mug down on the table with a contented smile.
"If it be aid to 'ye, Vinzen's jus' back from his raidin'. Them's rode past 'ere was twen'y 'r so, good, stout rascals all." Boyn's expression was serious. "On 't isle, only 't gods know how many. He be stretchin' out 'is reach, bringin' in new rascals 'n' trainin' 'em."
Lyara thanked him for his information. "We'll be leaving now, so nobody can make a connection between us and those ponies. With the luck of the Wolf, we'll be back for them within the week."
Jilan drained his mug and set it down on the table in satisfaction. "And thank you for your hospitality. It was much appreciated."
Jaina blushed happily. "It not be offen fine folk like ye'selves be comin' by. It do me good 't know tha' me bitters be pleasin' to 'ye."
Boyn held out his hand to Jilan. "We'll be lookin' for 'ye this time next. We'll share more than bitters then, an' 'ye can be tellin' us'n all th' tale."
"Agreed."
"Do you trust them?" Jilan asked softly when they were far enough down the dirt so that the aged couple that watched their departure from the steps of the house couldn't overhear them.
Lyara shrugged. "We haven't really got any choice in the matter. Either they'll take care of the ponies and have them for us when we come away or they'll take them right on into the nearest village and sell them, or else they'll find the nearest agent of Vinzen and inform on us and pocket a fine reward as well as the profit from the ponies."
"Nice to know you're an optimist," Jilan jibed gently, finding her words less than settling.
"Just a realist, Jilan," Lyara stated calmly, looking him eye to eye. "At this point, optimism is not an option. We are out-armed and out-manned. We have the element of surprise, and we could lose that in an instant. Being realistic and facing the odds squarely may be the only way we'll prepare ourselves to succeed."
oOoOo
"There," Sharin pointed to a low clump of dark green leaves. "That's darathom. We'll need at least four more clumps that size or larger. Wait!" she barked as Farranby pulled out a long and razor-sharp dagger to cut the main stem. He looked up at her in surprise. "Watch me. We need the roots too. First you take the base of the leaves like this," she demonstrated patiently, "and push it into the ground. Now pull slowly." The plant slowly emerged in her hand roots and all.
"I thought the leaves were all you needed to put everybody to sleep," Farranby commented, sheathing the dagger and turning to hunt for another clump.
"But the roots can be made into a cleansing and numbing compress for wounds," Sharin announced with a grunt, yet another large mass of darathom in her hand. She knocked the roots against her trouser leg to dislodge some of the clinging dirt. "Might as well collect properly. We might need the roots, you know."
Farranby staggered back as the herb in his hand finally let go its grasp on the land with unexpected haste. "That's one more. How much more?"
Sharin had moved closer to the water, and then bent with an excited shout. "Chamfer! Gods, this is great!" She straight ened and looked back at Farranby after eyeing the pile of plants she'd already pulled. "We need two more. You get them, while I get some of this!."
She hunched down and patiently began picking the needle-like leaves from the water with a practiced hand. Both hands were nearly full when she felt Farranby come up behind her. "What are you picking now?"
"Chamfer," she replied, standing up again with a sigh and opening her hands to show him her find. "You need chamfer for seasoning in just about everything, and it isn't easy to find. I've heard they'd pay two pieces of specie for what I've got here in Tandri."
Farranby shook his head. "I remember the cook at Master Dilan's residence once complaining about the prices of some spice. But two pieces for this little bit?"
"If we survive this, I'll have to remember this spot," Sharin began, and then her eyes widened. "Farranby!" she gasped, grabbing at his arm.
"Gods!" he growled, dropping into a crouch with his dagger out and extended.
"No, silly," Sharin shook her head and scampered up the bank toward a scrubby bush. "Give me your dagger! This stuff will hide the flavor of the darathom leaves and make the men think they're getting a real treat."
Farranby scowled down at her as he handed her the blade. "Don't do that again!" he grumbled. "I thought we'd been found out."
"Look, Farranby, siliman bark!" Sharin refused to be daunted by the angry tone in his voice. "Tell me you wouldn't consider mulled wine with siliman a treat on a cold night. It could mean the difference!"
Farranby had to drop the scowl in favor of an indulgent smile. His daughter had been much the same, and he'd never been able to stay angry at Herista for very long either. "Sounds like a plan," he had to agree, for mulled wine was a treat indeed, especially when prepared by an excellent cook.
Suddenly he heard water splashing quietly offshore, just beyond the far trees. "Sharin," he whispered urgently and, grabbing the girl around the waist with one hand and putting the other over her mouth to prevent her squeak of surprise from giving their position away, dragged her into the siliman bushes and pushed her into a crouch next to him. It was none too soon, for only moments later a very small raft with two men poling came sliding into view. Sharin's eyes widened, and she became very still. Farranby watched the men search the banks carefully, grateful that they were neither trackers nor mystics, but a pair of mercenary swords patrolling the shoreline. Sharp-eyed they might be normally, but Lyara's precautions in hiding the little boat were complete. Seeing no signs of intruders, the raft continued on its slow passage until it moved out of sight past the next stand of trees.
Farranby let out his breath, unaware that he'd been hol ding it. Sharin sagged into a sitting position next to him. "We could've been caught," she whispered. "They could have seen those." She pointed to the pile of uprooted plants laying in plain view on the sand.
"Thank the gods they didn't," he responded in a tone so sharp that Sharin glanced over at him in alarm as he seated himself next to her. "We'd better not forget how close we are. I was careless." The thought that he had endangered Sharin, however inadvertently, made him shudder inside.
"You saved us," Sharin disagreed gently, shaking his arm for emphasis. "If you hadn't heard them coming, they would've found us."
Farranby looked down at her, guiltily amazed at the look of open admiration and gratitude in her face. He gave the girl a quick, gruff hug before he could have the chance to think better of it, and then started to stand. "Let's get away from here. We don't know how often they come by here."
Sharin watched him with a puzzled look on her face as he moved away from her quickly and stooped to gather the darathom and chamfer into a leather bag. So many times he reminded her of her father with his actions and expressions. I wonder if he has a daughter like me, she thought briefly, then rose to finish gathering the siliman bark she had wanted so badly.
Lyara had figured the day correctly. The afternoon sun was sinking low in the sky by the time she and Jilan approached the campfire. Farranby had been hunting in the afternoon, and another hare was skinned and spitted over the tiny fire. Sharin had found more of the tubers, and this time there were four thin sticks poking through the ashes. Farranby had cleaned the pelt and laid it across a rock to dry, then poked about in Jilan's pack to find the notebook. He now sat with the book open in his lap, charcoal in hand, sketching a plan of the island fortress.
"Nice to know you found what you needed," Jilan remarked dryly, making Lyara paused in her steps to shove at his arm in remonstrance.
"We need this tonight," Farranby refused to be made to feel guilty. "Lyara needs to know where to put me off so I can be ready to move when the time comes."
"He's just tired," Lyara explained in amusement. "He's a spoiled aristocrat, you see. Hates to walk rather than ride."
Jilan turned on his heels in mock anger, and Lyara flashed an exaggerated, toothy smile at him in further jest. Unable to keep up the facade, Jilan allowed a smile to light his features again. "We did good. How about you two?"
"Sharin thinks she's got just the thing to make our island friends accept the doctored wine without a whimper," Farranby announced, pointing at where the younger girl tended the siz zling meat. "Mulled wine with siliman."
"Mmmmm," Jilan rolled his eyes. He looked across the fire, where Lyara had seated herself next to Farranby to look over his shoulder at the book. "Lyara," he called, getting her attention, "remind me not to drink the mulled wine. I might just forget. It's one of my favorites!"
"I'll make you some later," Sharin promised quietly, looking up from her cooking, "when we have a good reason to celebrate."
"It's a deal!" Jilan agreed amiably, rising to obey a terse motion from Lyara to join her and Farranby. Sharin smiled at him shyly and turned back to the hare.
"The estate itself is walled," Farranby began, using the charcoal to draw a line around what was already on the paper. "There are -- or were -- about twenty cottages scattered between the wall and the shoreline. There's only one way past the wall, here." His finger pointed to a gap in the line he had just drawn. "If things haven't changed much, the safest place to leave me off is here. There's no beach, just rocks."
"How deep is the water there?" Lyara peered closely at the makeshift map.
"At high tide there might be five feet of water over the rocks. But I've seen a fair number of small craft have their bottoms ripped out trying to get close."
Lyara looked up at him. "Can you swim?"
Farranby's eyebrows shot high onto his forehead. "I suppose I could, if the waves aren't too rough."
"If the water isn't any deeper than that, I'll have to put you off almost twenty yards from shore." She looked around the campsite in the gathering dark. "We can take out a dried branch from one of these trees. You can hang onto it and let the waves carry you over the rocks and onto the shore. Its the best I can do," she added apologetically.
"All right then," Farranby continued, returning his atten tion to the drawing in his lap. "The men not busy guarding the grounds will be here, in this building. When you two join up, they'll assign you bunks in there."
"What about the mystics?" Jilan asked without looking up from the drawing.
"Despite his using them at every turn, Vinzen hates mys tics," Farranby smiled. "He refuses to keep them at the estate unless he's planning something major. He keeps them positioned in the villages and towns mostly, where they can do the most good. Imbido is the exception." Farranby spat out the name.
"Imbido?" Lyara and Jilan repeated the name together, both as a question.
"Imbido is a regular advisor to Vinzen, helps him plan his strategy." Farranby's distaste for the mystic was blatant. "It was his raiding plan that I survived. If he's on the island, he's mine." The older man's voice was cold and hard.
"Will he be able to warn Vinzen about us?" Sharin asked in a small voice, moving closer to the other three.
"Imbido is a drunk," Farranby sneered, "but a very talent ed one. If he's still as he was, he'll be little problem for us. But," and he looked directly at Sharin, "he likes to take advantage of the servants and cooks. Be careful of him. If he touches you, he'll be able to read your intent and will certain ly give warning."
"Don't worry," Sharin said quietly, with more steel in her voice than any of them had heard before. "He won't have a chance to speak a word, if he should happen to find something out."
"We've got everything set now except the actual deed," Jilan announced, his voice sober. "How do we signal Farranby to let him know its safe for him to come in?"
"And that all the men are asleep?" Sharin added.
"First things first," Lyara put up a hand to slow down the conversation. "Farranby, how long before you think Sharin's little treat would be acceptable?"
"Oh," Farranby rocked back thoughtfully. "Vinzen's men were always ready to celebrate. If she can be in place a day or so to prove her talent, there shouldn't be much question when she offers to 'reward' her newfound companions. The second night?"
"Just give me a chance to work on the meal, and I'll have them trusting me," Sharin commented confidently.
"Good girl," Jilan smiled up at her companionably, and Sharin actually smiled back.
"Girl," Farranby murmured, his eyes resting on Lyara. "Mmmmmm."
"What? What?" Jilan caught the older man's hesitation.
"Girl," Farranby repeated, poking a finger at Lyara. "The men might be suspicious of a girl offering her services as mercenary. Vinzen has been hunting you already, remember? A new girl suddenly joining his force might remind him of the fact." The more he spoke, the more Farranby became certain that would be the case.
Lyara sat forward, resting her chin in her hands and staring into the fire. She was silent for a long time, with both men waiting for her response silently. When she straight ened, it was with a wicked little grin. "And if I don't look like a girl?"
Jilan scowled. "What are you talking about?"
"This." Lyara's dagger flashed in the firelight once, and the braided hair that had hung down her back was suddenly loose in her hand. With barely a glance she tossed the braid into the flames and turned to Farranby. "How good are you at cutting a lad's hair?"
Farranby studied the change with a discerning eye, and then nodded. "It might work," he offered.
"If I wrap myself tighter here," Lyara pointed to her chest, "so that I don't have much of a girl's figure, and have hair shorter than even a Guide wears, I should be able to pass for a lad."
Farranby nodded with more assurance. "All right. That's solved. Now, this is where I'll try to hide and wait for your signal," His finger poked at the drawing again. "Vinzen has a superstition that there has to be a flag-prayer flying everyday, from this point on the wall if things haven't changed. When you are ready for me, just break down the pole. I'll be watching."
"And then?" Jilan's voice broke a long moment of silence.
"Then we fetch Sharin from the kitchens and do what we set out to do," Lyara answered grimly, "and may all the gods of the land aid our cause."
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