‘What happened to him?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Perhaps he is happy somewhere, perhaps he is dead.’
‘You have lived an interesting life,’ she said.
‘How old are you?’ he asked her.
‘Seventeen.’
‘Kidnapped by raiders, and taken away into the forest. There are some in years to come who will hear of this tale and say, “You have lived an interesting life.” What will you say to them?’
Keeva smiled. ‘I shall agree – and they will envy me.’
He laughed then, the sound full of good-humour. ‘I like you, Keeva,’ he said. Then, he added wood to the fire, stretched out and covered himself with a blanket.
‘I like you too, Grey Man,’ she said.
He did not answer, and she saw that he was already asleep.
She looked at his face in the firelight. It was strong – the face of a fighter – and yet she could detect no cruelty there.
Keeva slept, and woke with the dawn. The Grey Man was already up. He was sitting by the stream and splashing water to his face. Then, using his hunting knife, he shaved away the black and silver stubble from his chin and cheeks. ‘Did you sleep well?’ he asked, as he returned to the fire.
‘Yes,’ she told him. ‘No dreams. It was wonderful.’ He looked so much younger without the stubble, a man perhaps in his late thirties. She wondered momentarily how old he was. Forty-five? Fifty-five? Surely not older.
‘We should be at your settlement by noon,’ he said.
Keeva shivered, remembering the murdered women. There is nothing there for me. I was staying with my brother and his wife. They are both dead, the farmhouse burned.’
‘What will you do?’
‘Go back to Carlis and seek work.’
‘Are you trained in some craft or skill?’
‘No, but I can learn.’
‘I can offer you employment at my home,’ he said.
‘I will not be your mistress, Grey Man,’ she told him.
He smiled broadly. ‘Have I asked you to be my mistress?’
‘No, but why else are you offering to take me to your palace?’
‘Do you think so little of yourself?’ he countered. ‘You are intelligent and brave. I also think you are trustworthy and would be loyal. I have one hundred and thirty servants at my home, administering often to more than fifty guests. You would clean rooms, prepare beds for those guests, and help in the kitchens. For this I will pay you two silvers a month. You will have your own room and one day a week free of all duties. Think on it.’
‘I accept,’ she said.
‘Then let it be so.’
‘Why do you have so many guests?’
‘My home – my palace, as you call it – houses several libraries, an infirmary and a museum. Scholars come from all over Kydor to study there. There is also a separate centre in the South Tower for students and physicians to analyse medicinal herbs and their uses, and three further halls have been set aside for the treatment of the sick.’
Keeva remained silent for a while, then she looked into his eyes. ‘I am sorry,’ she said.
‘Why would you apologize? You are an attractive young woman, and I can understand why you would fear unwelcome advances. You do not know me. Why should I be trusted?’
‘I trust you,’ she told him. ‘Can I ask you a question?’
‘Of course.’
‘If you have a palace why are your clothes so old, and why do you ride out alone to protect your lands? Think of all you could lose.’
‘Lose?’ he asked.
‘All your wealth.’
‘Wealth is a small thing, Keeva, tiny like a grain of sand. It seems large only to those who do not possess it. You talk of my palace. It is not mine. I built it, I live within it. Yet one day I will die and the palace will have another owner. Then he will die. And so it goes on. A man owns nothing but his life. He holds items briefly in his hand. If they are made of metal or stone they will surely outlive him and be owned by someone else for a short time. If they are cloth he will – with luck – outlive them. Look around you, at the trees and the hills. According to Kydor law, they are mine. You think the trees care that they are mine? Or the hills? The same hills that were bathed in sunlight when my earliest ancestor walked the earth. The same hills that will still be covered in grass when the last man turns to dust.’