Magic in Ithkar by Andre Norton & Robert Adams (ed.)

Author:Andre Norton & Robert Adams (ed.) [Norton, Andre & Adams, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy
ISBN: 9780812547405
Publisher: T. Doherty Associates
Published: 1985-04-01T07:00:00+00:00

Qazia and a Ferret-Fetch

Judith Sampson

Qazia seldom had a slack moment in her duties as tavern-mistress of the Joyous Goblet, but on this night she took time to gaze about her dark-beamed, torchlit, smoky-cornered tavern, thinking with quiet satisfaction, My family has run this place well for a hundred years. We have better served the pilgrims than the priests in the temple not too far away.

Caravanners wrestled with the tavern goblet-wenches or brawled among themselves with goad-knives. A sprinkling of omen-rovers hawked love-drafts, juggled gyro-balls, or cast plot-lines from the hands of any who wished to know their fate. The tavern’s beam-dancer collected lovesick stares and ration-silvers in equal amounts, while the man with the trained lixus made it beg for tidbit-coppers.

Her glance suddenly riveted upon a man seated in an alcove. He reposed with the powerful ease of a skilled warrior, but wore the garb of a song-weaver, resting his battered but well-crafted song-loom in the curve of his left arm.

As she made her way to the alcove, she saw that his golden eyes had the fixed stare of blindness, and where his skin was unscarred, it was deeply browned. His garments and boots, grayed nondescript by constant travel, almost concealed his refined, durable form that moved like a jessed jerfalcon.

Qazia tried to sit noiseless on the bench beside him, but his head tilted in her direction and he swung the song-loom into his lap. In a soft, unruffled voice he asked, “Who sits with Hoel?”

“Your tavern-mistress. Have a goblet?”

“My thanks, but excellent as your vintages are, they are not what I wish tonight. I await your pleasure to weave a song.”

Although certain he had never been in the Joyous Goblet before, Qazia only said, “Now’s fine. I’ll quiet this mob.” Rising to her full height, she set lean, muscular hands on her hips, whistled like a lixus screech, and the uproar ceased. Her blue-black hair and green eyes caught gold torch highlights as she announced:

“Give ear to song-weaver Hoel!”

Even the beam-dancer stopped her gyrations as Hoel felt his way to an open space where he could best be heard. Tucking the song-loom under his left arm, he ran his fingers over weft and warp in an opening tonal thread. In the fading hiss of that musical sword-blow, Hoel’s voice burgeoned forth the first set of verses.

Qazia watched as her tavern crowd savored the adventures of “Ryddeg’s Son,” who escaped the lesser enemies of his house, earned knighthood, and tried to attack the wizard-thane, Chond of Grimkeep.

But Ryddeg’s son proved easy prey for Chond. Song-loom thread-chords punctuated the air like spellstabs as Hoel chanted of the young knight’s capture, imprisonment, and torture by Chond’s sorcery.

Caravanners wept into their goblets, and the goblet-wenches joined in. Hoel’s blind face lost some of its mask-calm, darkening as he conveyed the despair of his trapped hero.

An uneasy rustle of movement among the omen-rovers, coupled with the odd glances they threw at Hoel, brought Qazia out of her enjoyment, but she had no idea why Hoel’s ballad had upset them.

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