“Welcome, Lord, Ladies.” Hylle bowed, not in the obeisant greeting of a merchant, but as though he dealt equal to equal. He clapped his hands and two of his hooded men shambled out to put stools to the middle table. Another brought a tray of cups with a greeting drink.
Ysmay saw the uncertainty of her brother. He was jealous of his rank, claimed due reverence from a shield-less man. Still he accepted a cup, drank to Hylle, and the women did likewise.
The drink was spicy rather than sweet and Ysmay held it in her mouth, trying to guess the mixture of herbs in its making. But with all her learning she could not be sure. Still holding the cup she sat content to look about.
There must be more than a High Lord’s hold ransom in value here and she wondered at the folly—or courage—of a man venturing overland with this in such unsettled times. Folly? She looked at Hylle. No folly in his face, only courage and something else, an assurance close to arrogance.
“Riches, Merchant.” She had missed the first of Gyrerd’s speech. “Too rich for us here. We have felt the hard hand of the invader too heavily to make good customers.”
“War is harsh.” Hylle’s voice was low but deep. “It spares no man, even the victors. And in the time of war, trade is deeply wounded. It has been many years since Quayth’s amber has been shown in any market place. So to water trade that it may sprout and grow, prices are lower—even for such as this—” He caught up a necklace of many pendants.
Ysmay heard a sigh from Annet. Her own hunger awoke also. Yet—there was something—She pressed her hand once again on Gunnora’s charm and, as she did so, she felt sudden distaste for what she saw, perhaps because there was so much of it. Heaped so together its beauty seemed belittled, diminished.
“Quayth?” Gyrerd made of that name a question.
“To the north, my lord. As you know amber is found on the shore of the sea in certain places, or along streams. The ignorant say it is the casting of dragons, but that is not so. Rather is it a hardened gum exuded from trees thousands of seasons dead. In Quayth there must once have been a mighty forest of such trees, for amber is easily found—easily I say in comparison to other places.
“Also you see here the fruit of many years of collection when because of the war it could not be offered generally for sale. So that this is more than would be in one place in the natural order of things.”
He replaced the necklace and picked up a broad pendant wrought into a shape Ysmay could not clearly see.
“Now here you have a talisman of Thunder Shield, an older piece. See you the difference?” He held it closer to an armlet. “The older it is, the longer exposed to the air and handling, the more amber takes on a deeper and richer coloring.”
He put back the armlet but continued to hold the pendant. There was a slight change in his expression. It seemed to Ysmay that he was looking with a searching intensity at Gyrerd, and then to Annet. Finally those dark eyes, whose color she could not name, were turned in her direction, as if to draw from her, even against her will an answer to some unknown question.
“Quayth seems to be well favored,” Gyrerd said. “Better by far than Uppsdale in our grandfather’s time.”
Hylle’s eyes swung from Ysmay. She had been uncomfortable, wondering what there was about her to catch and hold his attention.
“Uppsdale, my lord?” Hylle’s tone invited an explanation.
“There was a rock cut which yielded some amber, enough to make life smoother,” Gyrerd replied. “But later a fall of rock, such a slide as no man could dig through, sealed it. If any remains there it is useless as if it lay at the bottom of the sea.”
“A sad loss, my lord,” nodded Hylle.
Annet rose from her stool, wandered from table to table. Now and then she put forth a finger to touch a necklace, a skillfully wrought circlet of amber flowers and leaves for the hair. But Ysmay stayed where she was, watching Hylle from beneath lowered lids. She knew that he was as aware of her as she of him.
There was a heady excitement in this centering upon a man. Yet he was only a merchant.
At last they left and, when they were out of the booth, Ysmay drew a deep breath. One of the hooded servants was detaching a burned torch from its standard to replace it. His hands were covered with gloves which was strange, for those were only worn by commoners in the coldest weather. But strangest of all was the fact that each finger and thumb tip was provided with a hooked claw extending for a noticeable distance, as if to resemble those of a beast of prey. Ysmay could not conceive of any reason to so embellish a hand covering. Dalesmen had many superstitions. Protective amulets were common, was there not one such about her neck? Suppose these strangers wore as protective magic the claws of some animal? With this answer her mind was more at ease.
But she could not forget how Hylle had stared at her. She discovered that her answering excitement lingered. So that she held his face in mind and tried also to picture the Quayth from which he had come and what his life must be there.
Vaguely she heard Annet prattle of the necklace. And then came a single sentence which awoke her abruptly from her dream.
“But my lord, remains there nothing then of the amber found at Uppsdale? Surely your grandfather did not barter it all!”
“It went during the lean years, sweetling. I remember that my mother had an amulet left once—”
Ysmay’s hand was to her breast in protection. Annet had taken all else, and that she had had to yield. But Gunnora’s charm was hers! And she would fight for it.
“But is it true that the place where it came from could not be reopened—” Annet persisted.
“Too true. My father, when it was sure war would come, needed treasure for weapons. He brought in a man used to the iron mines of the South Ridges, paying well for his opinion. But the fellow swore no skill could shift that rock fall.”
Ysmay felt small relief. At least Annet did not ask more about remaining amber. She excused herself and went to her pallet.
But not to sleep easily. When she did it was with her hand closed protectively about Gunnora’s amulet. She dreamed, but when she awoke she could not remember those dreams, though she carried into waking the feeling they had been important.
The Lady of Marchpoint and Dairine came in the morning, excited over Hylle’s wares. Again they had hard money to lay out. And seeing Annet’s mouth droop, Gyrerd hacked one of the silver rings from his sword belt.
“If he lays his prices low to gain a market,” he said, “get you a fairing. More than this I cannot do.”
Annet said her thanks quickly. Experience had taught her how far her demands might go.
So, somewhat against her will, Ysmay returned to Hylle’s booth. This time his hooded servants were not visible. But within the door, on a stool, squatted a woman of strange aspect.
She was thick of body, her round head seeming to rest directly on her shoulders, as if she possessed no neck. Like the hooded men, she was dressed in a robe of drab hue but hers was patterned over with symbols in thick black-and-white yarn.
Her girdle was of the same black and white mingled together. Now her fat hands rested on her knees, palms up as if she waited for alms, and she stared into them. She might have been holding a scroll from which she read.
Strings of coarse yellow hair hung from under a veil fastened with braiding. Her face was broad, with a straggling of hairs on the upper lip and along the paunchy jaw.
If she had been left as guardian of the booth, she was a poor one, for she did not look up as the ladies approached, but continued to stare absorbedly at her empty hands. Only when Ysmay passed her, did she raise her eyes.
“Fortunes, fair ladies.” Her voice was in contrast to her lumpish, toadlike body, being soft and singsong.
“A reading of pins on the Stone of Esinore, or, if you fancy, the foretelling of what the Elder Gods have written on your hands.”
Annet shook her head impatiently. At another time she might have been tempted. Now she had silver and a chance to spend it to the best of her bargaining powers. Nor was Ysmay ready to listen. That there were true seeresses, no one doubted. But she did not think this repulsive hag was one.