The Windsingers Series: The Complete 4-Book Collection. Megan Lindholm

      ‘Stir with a knife, you stir up trouble.’

      ‘Romni superstition!’ he snorted.

      ‘What more did she offer, Vandien, beside the money?’

      Slow color rose in his face and then faded. Idly he fingered the scar down his face. ‘Nothing of great import, I suppose.’ He stabbed a chunk of green stuff and put it in his mouth. Ki watched him expectantly, but he chewed and swallowed with no change of expression.

      ‘But what was it?’ Ki pressed. He wasn’t finding Rifa’s stupid joke amusing. Vandien usually bore a joke well, if he could not find a way to turn it back upon the instigator, and Ki could not fathom his injured attitude. She continued to fix him with a green-eyed stare as he ate three more mouthfuls. At last he spoke.

      ‘I did give her my word, you know. We touched hands on it.’

      ‘And what else?’ Ki demanded, sure there was more to it than this.

      ‘Isn’t that enough, dammit? I’ve seen you lay your life on the line to keep from breaking your word.’

      ‘But Rifa intended it as a joke, Vandien. I’m sure of it.’

      ‘Perhaps. But it was not a joke to the woman that made the offer, nor to me when I gave my word. Ki, what harm could come of us taking it on? Even if we failed like all the others, we would have …’

      ‘Made total fools of ourselves,’ Ki finished for him. ‘Look, I’ve a team to feed and a wagon to maintain. I can’t manage that on a room and board basis.’ Ki paused. ‘There’s more to it than that. I don’t take those kinds of jobs, Vandien. I haul freight. I sometimes buy, haul, and sell likely merchandise. But I don’t do salvage, especially when the ownership of the salvaged item is in dispute. Do you think the Windsingers would be thrilled to have that metal chest hauled up and examined? Do you think they like the idea of anyone even attempting it? A teamster has to keep the goodwill of those in power; or at least be unnoticed by them. I do very well at being unnoticed, Vandien. I don’t want to change that by hauling up some Windsinger relics and turning them over to a half-crazed crone who wants to prove that Windsingers are blasphemies against nature. By the Moon, Van! Remember, I’m a Romni! That makes me target enough!’

      Ki paused for breath. But Vandien was not looking at her. He had a half-scowl on his face that made crowsfeet at the corners of his dark eyes. Ki knew that when his face relaxed, those same lines would show white against his tanned skin. But there was no hope of that just now. He was listening to the drunken tinker’s litany from the next room.

      Ki wished they hadn’t gotten into this. But she couldn’t give in, couldn’t let him start taking on jobs for her without even consulting her, couldn’t let him drag her into things he didn’t know the depth of. Damn his impulsiveness. Her careful planning of each day’s travel frustrated him. He was ever willing to push on to the very edge of nightfall, hoping to find a ‘better place to camp.’ How many times had he teased her to try an unknown shortcut, only to meet with her stolid refusal. Well, let him sigh over her caution. Let him laugh and tease her about her wariness, calling it ‘bogey fears.’ He hadn’t grown up Romni, moving from place to place, living only by tolerance and chance. She spoke softly.

      ‘Vandien, my friend, the ill will of the Windsingers could follow us anywhere we might choose to go. It would not be a simple mistake, an “excuse me, please” and backing out of their territory. There are no limits to their influence. Once they had marked us we would never know a day of fair weather again. No one would hire me, nor buy goods from me.’

      Vandien had finally turned to face her, his eyes meeting hers. But the damn tinker was making so much noise that Ki had to raise her voice to be heard. Around her, T’cheria were beginning to scuttle from the room. They considered it an insult to be disturbed while they were feeding. Ki didn’t care what they thought. She would make Vandien understand her. It annoyed her that he was obviously half-listening to the noisy tinker. She took both his hands, raising her voice yet again. But the tinker’s voice still overrode hers.

      ‘And I say, burn them! Burn your crops in the field and scatter the sheared wool of your flocks. Let them whistle for a share! They want the best that your sweat and blood can bring them, and what do they give you? Only the rain and the gentle winds that are the right of any creature that walks the face of the world! Burn them in the fields, and let them sniff smoke and weave ash for their share! Keep only what you need for your own families. Let them suffer a winter of privation, such as the many you have known. Maybe then …’

      Vandien seemed awed by the man’s hysterical cant. Ki squeezed his hands and half-rose, shouting to make herself heard. ‘Only a fool would oppose the Windsingers! And I’m not a fool. Let someone else be a hero. I just want for us to go our quiet way, unnoticed by them. Vandien, there’s you and me and the team, and not much else I care for. But, dammit, I care for that a lot, and I’ll go a long way to protect it. Leave the Windsingers alone,’ she shouted at him, ‘and they’ll leave us to live in peace.’

      To her sudden chagrin, Ki found herself bellowing into a silenced common room. The T’cherian diners were gone. Angry faces, Human, Olo and Kerugi, clustered in the low doorway, staring at her. Her raised voice had not only reclaimed Vandien’s attention, but captured that of everyone else in the inn. The tinker was glaring at her, pale eyes peering around a hank of greasy hair. His wet mouth worked as he sputtered for words. Ki’s stomach fell away. He, and everyone else in the room, thought that she had risen in body and voice to oppose him. An Olo draped on its Kerugi’s shoulders twittered into the silence.

      A T’cherian in the corner dropped her serving tray and scuttled out a low door into the kitchen. Ki glanced after her, wondering at her haste. Vandien was struggling to his feet beside her. He jostled her roughly as he stooped and seized the edge of the sand table. With a heave he upended it, spilling sand and food in a cascade across the floor. His strong fingers closed on the shoulder of her blouse, tearing it, as he jerked her to the floor behind the table. The first missile hit the table with a solid thunk. Bits of broken pottery and splats of stew flew over the top.

      Vandien’s hand went to his hip and came up empty. Even if his rapier had been there instead of on its hook in Ki’s wagon, it would have been little protection against flying pottery. Their short belt knives were useful for bread and cheese but little else. As three mugs and a serving dish hit the table, she and Vandien ducked at the same moment, rapping their heads together.

      ‘Damn,’ muttered Ki, rocking back on her heels as she saw sparks of light. Several low cries of triumph came from the entryway. Whoever had thrown the mugs felt they had scored. Ki peered around the corner of the table. No one had ventured into the T’cherian room yet. They all preferred to throw from the shelter of the doorway. A metal pitcher arched toward her. Ki ducked back as it clanged against the front of the table. Her eyes flew to Vandien’s. ‘What are we going to do?’ she demanded angrily as she saw his grin. ‘They’ve gone crazy!’

      It was just like him to be merry at a moment like this. ‘I don’t know, but I promise never to stir with a knife again. What did you have planned, when you so aptly stirred them up?’

      ‘I was talking to you!’ In spite of herself, she felt her mouth twisting up into a wry grin to match his. ‘If you had been listening properly, I wouldn’t have had to shout.’