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CHAPTER 4

      THE KITCHEN glowed with sun. The fire was leaping and making the ovens hot, and everywhere the yeast was working.

      Ware was stirring milky batter in a wooden tub. Baker was bent over a floured board and kneading a mound of dough as big as a pumpkin. Hearth was glazing rolls, her sleeves rolled back on her plump arms. There was a heavenly smell of baking. It was the best time of the day.

      The stranger was asleep in Ware's bed, covered with Ware's quilt. She had wakened early in the day, eaten bread and milk, and gone to sleep again.

      Ware kept glancing at her as he worked. She looked better than yesterday, he thought. She had told them only her name, which was Steel, and that she was a messenger. She'd said nothing of how she came to be in their forest in such a state, and Ware, who had lived in this isolated village ever since he could remember, was alive with curiosity about her. What had her travels been like, what sort of messages had she carried, and for whom?

      Thinking longingly of the places she must have visited, he to his aunt, "We used to live in Kingsport, didn't we?"

      "Yes, long ago." Hearth put aside the tray of rolls and wrapped a cloth around her hand. She opened the door to the brick oven, and heat gushed out, lifting the soft greying hair around her face, making her all pink. Out came the logs of bread, hot and crusty: one, two, three . . . fourteen in all, one for each family in the village, plus four more for Mother Weaver, who had three children. Popping the rolls into the oven, she closed it quickly to seal in the heat, and began turning the hot loaves on their sides to cool.

      Ware dipped flour from the tall crock that stood on the table and added it to the spongy batter of yeast, milk, and flour in tub. "It's beautiful there, isn't it — in the capital, I mean."

      Hearth said calmly, "We're better off here."

      "Well, I wish I could see it at least. Tell me again what it was like."

      "You've heard that story before, my dear, but if you want it again . . ." Hearth said patiently. She began glazing a second tray of rolls. "Kingsport was built long ago by FirstKing — a wide city of white stone that overlooks a rushing river. Beyond the river to the east are the mountains that separate us from Berachan, and to the west and south are broad farms and meadows. In the spring the fields are deep with flowers that are as yellow as marmalade."

      "And you grew up there."

      "Yes, your Uncle Baker, your mother, and I. Our ma died when we were little, but our dad looked after us well. He was a baker, and as we grew up, we learned his trade. Dad's big ovens made hundreds of loaves every day. And he was not even the only baker — the capital has a great many people in it."

      "It seems strange that the men there would be bakers and not soldiers," Ware murmured.

      She nodded. "Things were different then. We never went to war, and the men worked side-by-side with their women, farming and keeping the shops. Times were good. We were a wealthy country."

      "Tell about my father."

      "Across the square from us was a blacksmith's shop. The son of that family was called Taller, and he was a good young man, handsome and clever. Just the sort of young man you're growing to be." Hearth added, giving Ware an affectionate look. "We all played together when we were children, and when we grew up, he and Sister were married — you've worked that dough enough. Let it rise now."

      Ware covered the tub with a clean cloth and went to sit beside Baker. Together they separated the warm dough and began rolling it into long coils, wrapping the coils into compact loaves, greasing the tops with butter. "My father was a blacksmith . . ." Ware prompted softly.

      "Yes, but a gentle man, for all he was so strong. The winter after you were born, he used to take you into the shop with him every day, just to have you by him. You'd lie there in your little basket staring at the fire, with your eyes all shining."

      "I don't remember."

      "No, you were too little. You were only beginning to walk when the city was taken." For the first time, her hands became idle. "That was a terrible time. People murdered in the streets, the king stabbed to death on the very steps of the castle — killed by his own cousin, who wanted to be king in his place."

      Hearth was now lost in her recollections. "At first it was exciting. I ran across the square to your mother and found her all alone. Taller had gone to the gates to help defend the city.

      "Then someone brought word that the attackers had broken through, and your father was dead. Your mother was frantic. Said it couldn't be — wanted to go out and find him. But by then there was fighting everywhere, so I bundled you up, and we ran back to the bakery — with her still crying and wild."

      Her voice grew thick with memory. "The soldiers were setting fire to the houses as they crossed the city, and the square was like twilight from the smoke. Everyone was running . . . I saw an old woman — one of our neighbors — lying dead in front of her own house. People were shouting that the king had been killed, and I was afraid of what would happen to us."

      Ware nodded eagerly, fascinated by this tale of his unremembered childhood. It was only a story to him, and it didn't touch his emotions. But Hearth was re-living that day, and the memory of it filled her voice. "When we got home we found our Dad, dead on the floor with Baker beside him, all covered with blood. The poor boy had taken such a blow on the head that he didn't know who or where he was." Baker, hearing his name, looked up at Hearth and smiled. Her eyes lingered on his empty face and the long scar across his brow, and she fell silent.

      "Go on. What happened then?" Ware prodded.

      "The city was on fire, and terrible things were going on everywhere. I left poor Dad where he lay on the floor before the ovens, and took you and your mother and Baker into the cellar. We heard shouting and screaming outside all day, but nobody came into the house, and they never found us. That night, Sister and I agreed that we had to leave the city, so we crept away, going north to the farthest village and the darkest forest we could find. To a place with no soldiers, where the quarrels of kings couldn't touch us."

      She sighed. "And the very next winter, my dear sister, your mother, died of fever. Or of grief, maybe. You and Baker were all I had left."

      In the silence that followed, Baker continued buttering the loaves of dough and setting them aside.

      Finally, Hearth wiped her wet cheeks with the corner of her apron and went back to her work. "That was a long time ago, my dear, but the memory is sharp as ever — how they killed our Dad, and your good young father. And made poor Baker what he is now. That's why I don't love Kingsport. Here, at least, we're out of the reach of kings."

      "But King Hawk wasn't killed! He's alive, in exile, and someday he'll reclaim his kingdom and make it safe again." The sudden words startled them all. It was the woman in the bed — Steel. How long had she been awake?

      Hearth's mouth closed in a firm line. "Makes no difference who's king."

      Steel's yellow eyes were shining. "But you said yourself there were good times when Hawk ruled."

      "Maybe so, but when kings quarrel, it's poor folk like us that do the dying."

      Steel's brilliant gaze met the older woman's stubborn, sad one. "King Hawk never made war. It's only since the Usurper came to power that we've kept fighting year after year. It's Dur who's devouring Avianne."

      Before Hearth could answer, a boy burst into the room filling it with nervous excitement. "Ware, c-come out an' see the soldiers in the f-forest!" It was Hasty, Mother Weaver's half-grown son.

      "The what?" A sudden movement of Hearth's hand sent a spray of flour across the table.

      "S-soldiers. All in uniforms! I saw 'em!"

      Hearth ran to the door. "Go home, Hasty. And don't go near those men again — don't even let them see you!"

      "But —"

      Her eyes flashed. "Do as I tell you!"

      The boy seemed to shrink in size. "A-all right. I'll —"

      Beyond the open door, a voice shouted, "He went in here!" And an instant later, four armed men stormed into the room. "Look," the leader barked, "I knew he'd lead us to other men."

      He drew his sword. "Don't move, any of you. We're the Impressment! You men — get over there against the wall. You've just had the honor of joining King Dur's army."

      Two of the soldiers grabbed Ware, one on each arm, and flung him roughly against the wall. When Hasty would have ducked out the door, a third soldier caught him and cuffed him so hard that the boy's nose began to bleed. Meanwhile, the leader continued to shout orders. "Flicker, have you got the rope? Cobb: tie their hands and hobble them. Tick, you go guard the door, so they can't run off."

      Tick, the soldier who had struck Hasty, tied the frightened boy's arms behind him and shoved him into a corner. Then he went to the door and stood at attention as the other two held Ware and began looping the rope around his body.

      Hearth ran to the leader and caught at his arm. "Please!" she cried, "They're only —"

      But with hardly a glance, the man pushed her away so forcibly that she stumbled back against the table, knocking over the crock of flour.

      Only Baker was calm amidst the excitement. As he stared at the soldiers, a strange, wakeful look, came into his eyes and he raised the heavy ball of dough from the table beside him and hurled it directly into the leader's face.

      Chaos ensued. While the leader was clawing the sticky dough from his eyes, Baker caught up the poker from the hearth and swung it in a smooth arc that caught Flicker on the side of the head and sent him bleeding to the floor. Then he ran at the burley Cobb, who was still trying to tie Ware's hands.

      As Cobb turned to defend himself, Ware shouted, "Uncle Baker, watch out!" and grabbed Cobb to keep him from drawing his sword. But the warning came too late: Tick sprang forward and caught Baker by the shirt, spun the old man around and cut his throat in one smooth, practiced gesture.

      Hearth screamed and ran to Baker as he fell. Tick raised his sword and advanced toward Ware, who was still struggling with Cobb.

      Seeing all this, Steel leaped from the bed. Catching up her long night-dress in one hand, she ran to the fallen Flicker, jerked his sword from its scabbard, and sprang forward to block Tick's path.

      Tick lunged at her with a snarl, extending his sword in a murderous thrust. But though she was little more than half the soldier's size, Steel was more than his match with a weapon. She danced aside, and in the instant when he was at full extension, she brought her blade down on his shoulder, cleanly breaking his arm. "You'll kill nobody else today!"

      All this took place in the moments it took the leader of the guards to claw the dough from his face. When he could see again, Flicker was unconscious on the floor, Tick was cursing his broken arm and bleeding profusely from his wound, and Ware was knocking Cobb senseless.

      The man looked from Steel's sword to Ware, who was panting and glaring, to Hearth, bent over Baker's lifeless body. Then he turned and bolted out the open door shouting for reinforcements. Tick followed on his heels.

      Steel ran to Hearth. "Your poor brother — is he alive?"

      Shaking her head, Hearth said through her tears, "He's gone, and he never spoke my name. In all these years, he never knew where he was — never even knew himself."

      "Terrible! Evil men of an evil master," Steel said bitterly. "But — it's death to defy the impressment, and they'll be back at any minute. We must run for it while we can. "

      Straightening, she turned to Ware, "Are there any clothes here that will fit me?"

      When he didn't answer, she repeated sharply, "Clothes! And shoes. I can't run in bare feet."

      Ware pointed to a chest in the corner of the room. "Look in there."

      Then he knelt beside Hearth and took her hand. "This is a terrible thing, dear, but I think she's right. We must all go at once. Even Hasty."

      "I can't, Ware — I can't leave Baker like this."

      Steel, meanwhile, was untying Hasty and setting him to loading all the bread into a pillow case. Then she dived into the chest and came up with boots and an old shirt and trousers that had once belonged to Ware. Hauling them on, she strode across the room, saying, "Come on. They're on their way back right now to set the house afire and kill us as we come out."

      Looking at her, Ware thought the blazing light in her eyes was enough to set the place aflame without help from a torch. He turned back to Hearth. "We'll take Uncle's body with us. I'll carry him."

      The older woman gave a little shudder. "No," she said shortly, "I must do with Baker as I did with Dad — leave the dead for the sake of the living."

      She leaned over and kissed the silent, scarred face. "Goodbye, my dear."

      Then she got up, saying briskly, "Bring the quilts off all the beds. It will be cold tonight."

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