1
Old Friend
He was taller than I remembered. And bigger shouldered, so I thought my first impression was wrong, and somehow this was one of Thord's larger, older brothers.
"Hi Carmen," he said. And I recognized his voice and knew for certain this was Thord. My Thord. My friend. He brushed icicles from his arms and they shattered on the ground, tinkling like musical bells. "You sent for me."
"Thord," I said. It wasn't a question. I was saying his name because I wanted to be certain he was real. My voice echoed with curiosity. For he looked different: not just in size but in the way he carried himself, like he was extra tense, and there was one more thing. I couldn't put my finger on it.
He took a step ahead, and the light hit him fully.
"You have a beard!" I shouted.
He drew back a little from my outcry and the accusatory finger I was pointing at him. And then he let out a deep laugh. "Yes, yes, I have a beard."
"But you couldn't have grown a beard before if your life depended on it!" I said. "And it hasn't been that long since we last met." The last time I'd seen him, he'd been recovering from having a bear's heart inserted into his chest by my brother. Now he had a beard! It was not a scraggly beard like some madman. In fact, it looked trimmed. I stared at it.
"Let's just say I'm able to grow a beard now." He patted the hair on his chin." And, quickly. So there has been plenty of time for this accessory to grow properly. I just hope it isn't too startling for you."
I closed my mouth, realizing my jaw had been open in shock. "Uh. No. No. No." Well, that didn't sound convincing. "It looks good. It covers up your face."
"Did you mean that as an insult?" There was the slightest growl to his words. "My face wasn't that ugly!"
"No! No!" I slapped a hand over my mouth to stop any more stupid words from coming out, but I kept talking between my fingers. "The bear... the bear... I mean, the beard surprised me. That's all. Cheeky ol' Megan said there was something different about you, but she wouldn't tell me what it was. I guess this is it."
"I guess it is." He stood there without saying another thing and I, hand glued to my mouth, kept staring. Now I was noting other details about him, like... like his hair was white as a toga.
"Your hair is white," I blurted. "And your eyebrows. And your beard." I lowered my hand since it wasn't stopping my outbursts. "Did you dye it?"
"Dye it?" He frowned. "No. I would never do that. Wodenites don't dye their hair! It changed, that's all."
"Changed?" I squinted. There wasn't even the slightest hint of the dirty blond hair he'd had before. I'd always found it an attractive color. "How?"
"Listen," he growled. "I didn't fly all this way to talk about my hair. Or my beard. Or my eyebrows. I came because—" He stopped and looked up. "Oh, it's here. That was fast."
"What is here?" I said and looked skyward. "Oh."
For a large black shape seemed to separate itself from the night sky and landed several feet away from us. It was another black swan, but it was also clearly young. An empty saddle was strapped to its back. The black swan looked at me and at Thord and then shot a brief hiss in his direction.
"It doesn't seem to like you," I commented.
"You think?" he said. "When you sent me that spellbird, I sent another one to Maestru Beatrix saying that you would need a mount. I didn't think you'd be comfortable riding behind me for the entire journey."
That image of me clutching his waist dumbfounded my mind for a few moments. "No. I wouldn't have."
"Well, you don't have to be so sure about it! I'm not that horrible of a person." He didn't sound like he was joking.
"What I mean is..." I hesitated, not quite certain what would come out of my mouth next. There was an old saying in the Red Keep: Keep your boot in your mouth. It meant sometimes it was better to stick your boot in your mouth than speak another stupid word. I was tempted to take my boot off and jam it home, but then my mind untangled and came up with an excellent answer: "...it's great thinking on your part. Brilliant thinking! The distance is too far for one swan with two riders. Good work, Thord."
He smiled, and even in the darkness, I could see his eyes light up with joy.
I put out a hand and the swan came closer and then stopped just out of reach. It had a patch of white feathers on its forehead that looked like a crown, giving me the impression I was meeting swan royalty. I scrummaged through my food bag, looking for something it might eat. The dragons had given me a small satchel of oats; for breakfast, I assumed. I held a handful out to the swan and it lunged forward and snapped up the oats in a heartbeat and then snuggled up to me for more.
Snuggled me! As if it had known me since birth. It brushed its head gently across my hand, made a little crooning noise, and winked.
Winked!
I don't know if it was so smart that it understood the whole concept of winking. Or if there was something wrong with its eye.
"It's very intelligent," I said.
"How do you know?" he asked.
"It likes me."
He laughed, a rich deep laugh that I'd missed hearing. "That's a simple test. I guess I should take that as a compliment, too."
It took me several moments to figure out what he meant. "Oh. Yes. You are pretty smart for a Wodenite."
That got another chuckle out of him.
There was a familiar scent about the swan. Perhaps it had been close to Maestru Beatrix and smelled like her, but like most assassins, she didn't wear perfume. Extra scents made you easier to find. Only Banderius had been famous for dabbing himself with something he called the "scent of death," which had smelled better than it sounded. It hadn't stopped Brax from frying him, though, so it was useless.
Maybe the smell sticking to the swan was the odor of the swannery in the Red Keep. I'd spent so much time there in my lifetime, that the smell smelled like home. For a moment I longed to be back in that warm room with all those hatching eggs and brilliant and brave swans. And Maestru Arvid showing me how to feed them.
I shook my head. The past is a terrible master, as Maestru Alesius often said. One could get caught up in the past. And I had things to do in the present.
The swan's saddle was made of intricate, expensive leather. I searched the saddlebags and found a few more mixes for potions. And next to them was a paper wrapping that made my heart and stomach leap with joy.
I pulled out a sandwich from the wrap like I was pulling out a sword. "Aha!" I said. "Maestru Beatrix's famous rye and prosciutto sandwich!"
Thord was beside me in a few steps and, though the swan hissed, he asked, "Is there another one?"
I dug around and claimed a second sandwich wrapped in brown paper and handed it to him. "She somehow had time and the thought to do this. How wonderful!" I took a bite and chewed, enjoying the slight mustard taste. This was another memory from my childhood—Maestru Beatrix would often make these sandwiches and take me on picnics in the Red Keep's flower gardens when I was a child. I was going to make this sandwich last forever.