The Gazels

Chapter 22

Rinaldo was in high spirits, excited by every aspect of the journey. When he was presented with his mount, however, he seemed less than pleased. The horse Dan had found for him was almost as small and shaggy as the local ponies. The rust-brown gelding had a scrawny neck and a loose, hanging lower lip, but the slope of his shoulders and the sturdy bone beneath the knee promised an easy gait. Damion knew enough of the mountain breeds to have confidence in the animal’s ability to carry a large man over rough terrain and to thrive on poor forage. This horse was a practical choice, if less than beautiful.

Dan had also obtained warm, serviceable clothing, trousers, jacket, and riding cloak of mixed sheep and chervine wool for extra water repellence. Neither the garments nor the boots were new; the pants were stained, and the leather was worn to softness that would minimize blisters.

Damion caught a flash of quickly masked disappointment in his brother’s face. It was gone in an instant, as if it had never been, a faint tightening of eyes and mouth, a glace at Dan. Damion opened his mouth to explain that such clothing and such a horse were the best that could be had and would be far more comfortable than anything new or flashy. He stopped himself. What was he doing, making excuses for Dan? Surely, Rinaldo could see the true quality of these things, and when they were settled in Thendara, more elaborate garb, suitable for a Carmen Lord, could readily be ordered.

11

Several days later, the party set off from Nevarsin, traveling at an easy pace. As a peace offering to Dan, Damion suggested that they break their return journey at Syrtis, Dan’s ancestral home.

“There’s no need to hurry back.” Damion did not need to add that it might be a long time before he had another opportunity to escape the city and the weight of his new duties.

“I would appreciate that,” Dan replied. “Since my father’s death, I have had few opportunities to oversee the estate. My coridom manages well enough, but it is still my responsibility to examine the accounts and ascertain for myself that all is in order. It—” and here a shade of emotion crept into his voice, “—it will be good to be home again.”

Rinaldo responded with easy-going cheerfulness to the change in plans. Damion supposed that his brother had traveled so little in the world that any new place must be a pleasure. Despite his disappointment at being given worn clothing and an ugly mount, Rinaldo was a pleasant traveling companion. Damion never heard him utter a syllable of complaint.

Syrtis lay half a mile off the road to Edelweiss, where Javanne and her family had once lived. The manor was situated at the end of a valley, leading downward to the lake country around Mariposa. Grass grew lush along the road. Mice and rabbithorns scurried away at their approach. Cattle grazed in the fields, lazily swishing away flies. One of the Guardsmen, a fine baritone, began an old ballad from the Kilghard Hills.

As they traveled through a little village, Dan was instantly recognized and welcomed. Drawing near the main house, the party passed orchards of apple, pear, and ambernuts. The trees looked well-pruned and healthy, laden with fruit.

“It will be a good harvest,” Damion commented.

Dan, who had been riding silently at his side, turned to Damion with an expression of bittersweet contentment. “Yes.” But I will not be here to see it.

“Perhaps . . .” Damion hesitated, his boyhood diffidence rising once more, “perhaps you could return this fall.”

Dark eyes hardened. And leave you to the wolves?

Dani, I will not be alone. I have Rinaldo now.

Dan looked away, his power barriers tight. Damion kept silent with an effort.

Seeing the house, it was impossible for Damion not to remember his first visit to Syrtis, so many years and so many sorrows ago . . . At the time, he had not realized how poor Dan’s family was. One wing of the house had fallen into such disrepair that it was not safe for human habitation. Now the house sat like a jewel amid its gardens. The old moat had been drained, ditched, and turned into plots of vegetables and pot-herbs. Rosalys and star-lilies glowed like bits of sun-touched colored glass. Bees hung in the air. Damion took a deep breath, drinking in the fragrances of flowers and rich earth. A layer of tension slipped from his shoulders.

A stone barn, with its snug roof and new siding, led to a paddock in which several horses stood dozing in the sun. Beyond it lay a mews, and Damion remembered the splendid hawks bred and trained by Dan’s father. Old Dom Felix had been hawkmaster to Danvan Carmen.

The thought came to Damion, Dani’s brother and my own father died together. ‘The two Rafaels,’ they were called.

Past and present overlapped in his vision. There, down the path that led to an apple orchard, now so old the trees in all likelihood no longer bore fruit, he and Dan had exchanged vows as liege and paxman, had bound themselves with honor.

Our lives were woven together even before our hearts knew one another.

Was that about to change?

The coridom, a wiry middle-aged man, welcomed them. He seemed neither surprised nor distressed not to have had advance warning of the visit, nor was his manner obsequious. He held himself like a man who took pride in his work. From the ease of his manner and his clear respect for Dan, they understood one another. There would be no last-minute repairs or beautification; what they saw was how the estate was run every day.

Dan took his father’s suite, Damion and Rinaldo were given the two best guest rooms, and the Guardsmen were housed in a snug outbuilding. The rooms were in the oldest part of the house, walled in dark gray stone but refurbished with wooden paneling and carpets. Damion suspected the tapestry in his room had been a gift from Dyan Ardais. The furniture was most likely original, so darkened with age and polish that the wood appeared black. With the shutters thrown wide in the warm twilight, the air quickly became fresh.

At Dan’s insistence, the coridom joined them for dinner. The meal was simple but nourishing: a stew of shell beans and vegetables from the garden, made savory with herbs and dusted with finely grated cheese, several freshly-baked round country loaves called barrabrack, and bowls of deep purple brambleberries and clotted cream. Damion ate slowly, savoring every bite.

Through the meal, Dan chatted with his steward. Damion found himself drawn into the litany of stories, the daily events and routines of country living. No wonder Dan spoke of home with longing. Such a place was an oasis, a refuge, a restorer.

With the swift fall of night, the temperature dropped enough to make a small fire delightful. The coridom excused himself, saying he had more business to attend to, and left the three guests to enjoy glasses of firi before the dancing flames.

Rinaldo had been quiet through the meal, often glancing between Dan and the coridom. He swirled the pale amber liqueur in his glass and looked thoughtfully at Damion.

“Now that we have comfort as well as leisure and need not attend to the menial labors of the trail,” Rinaldo said to Damion, “perhaps you will tell me more about yourself.”

“What can I say? You told me you were well informed about my life.”

“I am, indeed, but only about such things as any man may know. I would become acquainted with you as a man—a brother—and not merely a figure of political importance and common gossip.”

A brother in more than name . . . Damion thought with an astonishing sense of joy. At the same time, the part of his mind that had become accustomed to rumor and insinuation wondered exactly what sort of gossip Rinaldo had heard, cloistered away in a monastery all these years.

Common gossip . . . Dan had flinched visibly at the last comment. From his expression, Reg

is knew that Dan was certain it had been aimed at him, at them both.

“Is there any particular gossip you wish to ask me about?” Damion asked carefully.

Rinaldo looked uncomfortable. “I hardly know what to believe. Envy may have caused others to spread malicious lies about you.”

“Power attracts some and stirs resentment in others. We live in a world of many sorts of people. But in my experience, true friends accept that we need not think—or feel—or conduct our private affairs—alike. We each do our best with what we have been given by birth and inclination. Do you not agree?” Damion was acutely aware of Dan, sitting so still, measuring Rinaldo’s reactions.

“A man can hardly be held responsible for the shape of his features or whether he is naturally talented in music or gardening,” Rinaldo said.

“Or giving sermons, for that matter. But this is why we have the guidance of those older and wiser, that we may endeavor to improve ourselves by discipline, study, and prayer.”

“By your leave, my lords,” Dan said, setting down his glass and rising. “I must make an early start tomorrow if I am to inspect the boundaries.”

“By all means.” Damion smiled in encouragement, but Dan would not meet his eyes. “It has been a long day, and tomorrow will be tiring for you while we laze about. You must get what rest you can. I will sit with my brother a while longer.”

Wishing them both a good night and assuring them that they had only to ask for whatever they might desire, Dan withdrew. Rinaldo acknowledged his departure with a tight-lipped smile. When the door closed and the sitting room once more fell silent, he turned to Damion.

“Your paxman does not like me, I fear. But then, it is only reasonable that he should not.”

“Why might that be?”

“What man in his position would care for anyone with the power to displace him in your affections? I cannot help but think that it displeased him greatly to be sent on errands for my sake like a common servant.”

Damion gave a little, dismissive laugh. “Dan is not like that at all.”

“You are amazingly unworldly for a man raised and educated in the midst of a political hotbed, my brother. I see you are the kind of person who wishes to think the best of everyone.” Rinaldo grew grave as he continued, “Beware that you do not come to regret your trusting disposition.”

Damion sat back, for a moment speechless. He was as dismayed by his brother’s comment as by his misgivings about Dan.

“I am no courtier, to couch unpleasant truths in flowery language,” Rinaldo said. “I speak simply, as I think. You have been too sheltered from the realities of life. That is, if you truly believe what you say, and I have no reason to believe otherwise. You are too open, too innocent.”

Damion wanted to laugh. He had been called many things since coming into his majority and accepting the responsibilities of Heir to his Domain. Open and innocent were not among them.

“I have had much time in which to study the ways of men,” Rinaldo went on, his tone shifting now to conciliation. “I tell you plainly that all men are indeed like that. Your Dan is no exception. Did you see the clothing he got for me?” His voice took on a sullen edge. “It was poor stuff, hardly suitable for a servant. Bah! His actions have betrayed him.”

“There was no intent to slight you,” Damion hurried to explain. Perhaps Rinaldo felt like an interloper, unsure of his welcome, needing tangible proof. Damion did not want to accuse Rinaldo of ingratitude, but at the same time, he could not ignore the insult to Dan. “After all, Nevarsin is a small town. This was the best available at such short notice. When we arrive in Thendara, we will have fine clothing made to your own measure.”