Magda went behind the curtaining blankets, and got out of her wet clothing, slipping into spare trousers and tunic. She was glad of the privacy of the blankets, less because of the rough-looking men at the far end-they could hardly have seen her in the dim shelter-than because of the other women. Had Lady Rohana been right about every detail of her clothing and gear?
A slight woman, with hair the exact color of new-minted copper bars, put her head around the blankets. She said, “I am Jaelle n’ha Melota, elected leader of this band. Are your feet frozen?” She bent down to look carefully at Magda’s feet and toes.
“No, I don’t think so,” Magda said, and Jaelle touched one foot with careful fingers. “No, you were lucky. I was going to say Camilla has some medicine for frostbite, if you need it, but I think even your cheeks are all right; you got out of the wind just in time. Put your stockings on, then, and come to the fire.”
Magda gathered up her wet clothes and hung them on the poles the women had rigged there for drying their own garments. On a small grille over a bed of coals, some small birds were roasting, and they had slung a hook and kettle, in which some kind of hot steaming soup was cooking. It smelled so good that Magda’s mouth watered.
Jaelle said, “May we know your name and Guild-house, sister?”
Magda gave her alias, and said she was from the Guild-house at Temora; she had purposely chosen the farthest city she knew, hoping that the distance would cover any small differences in dress and manners.
“What a night for travel! I do not think there will be so much as a bush-jumper stirring in these hills between here and Nevarsin,” Jaelle said. “Have you journeyed all the way from Temora? Surely your clothes are of Thendara make; that leatherwork and. embroidery is found mostly in the Venza hills.”
There was nothing to do but brazen it out. Magda said, “They are indeed; such warm clothing cannot be bought on the seacoast-it is like trying to buy fish in the Dry Towns. My patroness was generous in providing me with clothing for my journey, and well she might be, sending me into the Hellers at this season!”
“Will you share our meal?”
Prudence dictated having as little to do with the strange women as possible. Yet they seemed to take it so much for granted that it might cause comment and arouse suspicion. Besides, the food smelled too good, after days of powdered porridge, to refuse. She made the usual polite reply: “Gladly, if I may be allowed to contribute my share.”
Jaelle gave the expected answer, “It is not necessary, but will be welcome,” and Magda went to her saddlebags for some confectionery with which she had provided herself for just such an occasion. The woman who was cooking accepted the sweets with a little cry of pleasure. “These, too, are made in the Thendara valley. I have not tasted this sort for years, and I am afraid we shall all be shamefully greedy! Except for Jaelle, who hates sweets like a true Dry-Towner!”
“Shut your silly face,” said Jaelle, turning harshly on the cook, and the older woman bridled and looked sullen. Magda could see now that all the women were older than Jaelle, though most of them seemed young, except for Camilla. So young; and their elected leader. She is younger than I, I am sure! And beautiful. I don’t think I have ever seen any woman so beautiful! Jaelle, like the rest; wore the shapeless Amazon clothing: loose trousers, tunic; but this did not conceal the slender, feminine body, the delicate poise of the flame-colored head on her shoulders, the features delicate and pale, and so regular that they would have been almost ordinary, except for the eyes, which were very large and framed in thick dark lashes.
“You have met Camilla,” Jaelle said. “That is Sherna”-she pointed to the woman who was cooking their meal-“and that is Rayna, and that is Gwennis. And in a few minutes, we will have something to eat. Oh, and there are -two latrine closets in this shelter; we have taken this one”-she pointed-“for our own use, so that you need not go down among the men to…” She spoke, with complete insouciance, a word Magda had never, heard a Darkovan woman speak; she had seen it only in textbooks, for no man would have used it before her.