Windhaven

"Excuse me," Maris said, taking Riesa by the forearm and giving her a squeeze for reassurance. "We'll talk more later." She hurried to where Val stood, his dark eyes sweeping the room, one hand resting on the hilt of his ornate knife in a pose that was half nervousness and half challenge.

"A small party," he said noncommittally when Maris and S'Rella joined him.

"It's early," Maris replied. "Give it time. Come, let's get you a drink and a bit of food." She gestured to the far wall, where a lavish table had once again been spread with spiced eggs, fruit, cheese, bread, various shellfish, sweetmeats, and pastries. "The seacat is the main course, but we'll be waiting hours for that," she concluded.

Val took in the seacat on the spit and the table covered with other edibles. "I see the flyers are eating simply once again," he said. But he let himself be led across the room, where he ate two spiced eggs and a wedge of cheese before pausing to pour a goblet of wine.

Around them the party went on; Val had attracted no particular attention. But Maris did not know if that was because the others had accepted him, or simply failed to recognize him.

The three of them stood quietly for a few moments, S'Rella talking to Val in a low voice while he sipped at his wine and nibbled some more cheese, Maris quaffing her ale and watching the front door a bit apprehensively each time it opened. It had grown dark outside, and the lodge was rilling up rapidly. A dozen Shotaners she knew only vaguely swept in all at once, still in their red uniforms, followed by a half-dozen Easterners she knew not at all. One of them climbed atop Riesa's ale casks; a companion tossed him up a guitar, and he began to sing flyers' songs in a passably mellow voice. Beneath him the crowd grew dense, and listeners began to shout up requests.

Maris, still glancing at the door whenever it opened, drifted a bit closer to Val and S'Rella, and tried to listen to them above the music.

Then the music stopped.

In mid-song, suddenly singer and guitar both grew silent, and the silence flowed across the room, as conversations ceased and all eyes turned curiously to the man perched atop the ale keg. In less than a minute, everyone in the lodge was looking at him.

And he was looking across the room at Val.

Val turned in his direction and raised his wine glass. "Greetings, Loren," he called, in his maddeningly flat tones. "I toast your fine singing." He drained his wine and set the glass aside.

Someone, taking Val's words for a veiled insult, snickered. Others took the toast in earnest, and raised their own glasses. The singer just sat and stared, his face darkening, and most of the flyers watched him, baffled, waiting for him to resume.

"Do the ballad of Aron and Jeni," someone called out.

The guitarist shook his head. "No," he said, "I've got a more appropriate song." He played a few opening bars and began to sing a song unfamiliar to Maris.

Val turned to her. "Don't you recognize it?" he said.

"It's popular in Eastern. They call it the ballad of Ari and One-Wing." He poured himself more wine and raised the glass again in mocking tribute to the singer.

With a sinking feeling, Maris realized that she had heard the song before, years past, and what was worse had enjoyed it. It was a rousing, dramatic story of betrayal and revenge, with One-Wing the villain and the flyers the heroes.

S'Rella was biting her lip in anger, barely holding back her tears. She started forward impulsively, but Val restrained her with a hand on her arm and shook his head. Maris could only stand helplessly, listening to the cruel words, so very different from those of her own song, the one Coll had composed for her. She wished he were here now, to compose a song in answer to this. Singers had a strange power, even amateurs like the Easterner across the room.

When he was finished, everyone knew.

He tossed his guitar down to a friend, and jumped down after it. "I'll be singing on the beach, if anyone cares to hear," he said. Then he took his instrument and left, followed by all of the Easterners who had arrived with him and a good many others. The lodge was suddenly half-empty again.

"Loren was a neighbor," Val said. "From North Arren, just across the bay. I haven't seen him in years."

The Shotaners were talking softly among themselves, one or two of them giving Val, Maris, and S'Rella pointed looks from time to time. All of them left together.

"You haven't introduced me to your flyer friends," Val said to S'Rella. "Come." He took her hand and led her forcefully to where four men were clustered in a tight circle. Maris had no choice but to follow. "I'm Val of South Arren," he said loudly. "This is S'Rella. Fine flying weather today, wasn't it?"

One of the four, a huge, dark man with a massive jaw, frowned at him. "I admire your courage, One-Wing," he rumbled, "but nothing else about you. I knew Ari, though not well. Do you want me to make polite conversation with you?"