Amber out of Quayth

2

Rich color was here, not in draped lengths of material, but laid out on tables. Here was worked amber in such quantity as Ysmay would not have believed existed.

Nor was it all the honey amber. It ranged through subtle shades, each laid on a backing to enhance it—pale, near to white, bright yellow of butter, reddish, bluish, greenish. And it was wrought into necklaces, armlets, bow-guards, girdles, set into the hilts of swords and knives, in rings, in circlets for the head. There were larger pieces which were bowls or goblets, or small figures of gods and demons—Facing that display the party from Uppsdale came to a halt, staring as fieldworkers might do if suddenly transported to the feast hall of a lord.

“Welcome, Lord, Ladies.” Hylle bowed, not in the obeisant greeting of a merchant, but as though he dealt equal to equal. He clapped his hands and two of his hooded men shambled out to put stools to the middle table. Another brought a tray of cups with a greeting drink.

Ysmay saw the uncertainty of her brother. He was jealous of his rank, claimed due reverence from a shield-less man. Still he accepted a cup, drank to Hylle, and the women did likewise.

The drink was spicy rather than sweet and Ysmay held it in her mouth, trying to guess the mixture of herbs in its making. But with all her learning she could not be sure. Still holding the cup she sat content to look about.

There must be more than a High Lord’s hold ransom in value here and she wondered at the folly—or courage—of a man venturing overland with this in such unsettled times. Folly? She looked at Hylle. No folly in his face, only courage and something else, an assurance close to arrogance.

“Riches, Merchant.” She had missed the first of Gyrerd’s speech. “Too rich for us here. We have felt the hard hand of the invader too heavily to make good customers.”

“War is harsh.” Hylle’s voice was low but deep. “It spares no man, even the victors. And in the time of war, trade is deeply wounded. It has been many years since Quayth’s amber has been shown in any market place. So to water trade that it may sprout and grow, prices are lower—even for such as this—” He caught up a necklace of many pendants.

Ysmay heard a sigh from Annet. Her own hunger awoke also. Yet—there was something—She pressed her hand once again on Gunnora’s charm and, as she did so, she felt sudden distaste for what she saw, perhaps because there was so much of it. Heaped so together its beauty seemed belittled, diminished.

“Quayth?” Gyrerd made of that name a question.

“To the north, my lord. As you know amber is found on the shore of the sea in certain places, or along streams. The ignorant say it is the casting of dragons, but that is not so. Rather is it a hardened gum exuded from trees thousands of seasons dead. In Quayth there must once have been a mighty forest of such trees, for amber is easily found—easily I say in comparison to other places.

“Also you see here the fruit of many years of collection when because of the war it could not be offered generally for sale. So that this is more than would be in one place in the natural order of things.”

He replaced the necklace and picked up a broad pendant wrought into a shape Ysmay could not clearly see.

“Now here you have a talisman of Thunder Shield, an older piece. See you the difference?” He held it closer to an armlet. “The older it is, the longer exposed to the air and handling, the more amber takes on a deeper and richer coloring.”

He put back the armlet but continued to hold the pendant. There was a slight change in his expression. It seemed to Ysmay that he was looking with a searching intensity at Gyrerd, and then to Annet. Finally those dark eyes, whose color she could not name, were turned in her direction, as if to draw from her, even against her will an answer to some unknown question.

“Quayth seems to be well favored,” Gyrerd said. “Better by far than Uppsdale in our grandfather’s time.”

Hylle’s eyes swung from Ysmay. She had been uncomfortable, wondering what there was about her to catch and hold his attention.

“Uppsdale, my lord?” Hylle’s tone invited an explanation.

“There was a rock cut which yielded some amber, enough to make life smoother,” Gyrerd replied. “But later a fall of rock, such a slide as no man could dig through, sealed it. If any remains there it is useless as if it lay at the bottom of the sea.”

“A sad loss, my lord,” nodded Hylle.

Annet rose from her stool, wandered from table to table. Now and then she put forth a finger to touch a necklace, a skillfully wrought circlet of amber flowers and leaves for the hair. But Ysmay stayed where she was, watching Hylle from beneath lowered lids. She knew that he was as aware of her as she of him.

There was a heady excitement in this centering upon a man. Yet he was only a merchant.

At last they left and, when they were out of the booth, Ysmay drew a deep breath. One of the hooded servants was detaching a burned torch from its standard to replace it. His hands were covered with gloves which was strange, for those were only worn by commoners in the coldest weather. But strangest of all was the fact that each finger and thumb tip was provided with a hooked claw extending for a noticeable distance, as if to resemble those of a beast of prey. Ysmay could not conceive of any reason to so embellish a hand covering. Dalesmen had many superstitions. Protective amulets were common, was there not one such about her neck? Suppose these strangers wore as protective magic the claws of some animal? With this answer her mind was more at ease.

But she could not forget how Hylle had stared at her. She discovered that her answering excitement lingered. So that she held his face in mind and tried also to picture the Quayth from which he had come and what his life must be there.

Vaguely she heard Annet prattle of the necklace. And then came a single sentence which awoke her abruptly from her dream.

“But my lord, remains there nothing then of the amber found at Uppsdale? Surely your grandfather did not barter it all!”

“It went during the lean years, sweetling. I remember that my mother had an amulet left once—”

Ysmay’s hand was to her breast in protection. Annet had taken all else, and that she had had to yield. But Gunnora’s charm was hers! And she would fight for it.

“But is it true that the place where it came from could not be reopened—” Annet persisted.

“Too true. My father, when it was sure war would come, needed treasure for weapons. He brought in a man used to the iron mines of the South Ridges, paying well for his opinion. But the fellow swore no skill could shift that rock fall.”

Ysmay felt small relief. At least Annet did not ask more about remaining amber. She excused herself and went to her pallet.

But not to sleep easily. When she did it was with her hand closed protectively about Gunnora’s amulet. She dreamed, but when she awoke she could not remember those dreams, though she carried into waking the feeling they had been important.

The Lady of Marchpoint and Dairine came in the morning, excited over Hylle’s wares. Again they had hard money to lay out. And seeing Annet’s mouth droop, Gyrerd hacked one of the silver rings from his sword belt.

“If he lays his prices low to gain a market,” he said, “get you a fairing. More than this I cannot do.”

Annet said her thanks quickly. Experience had taught her how far her demands might go.

So, somewhat against her will, Ysmay returned to Hylle’s booth. This time his hooded servants were not visible. But within the door, on a stool, squatted a woman of strange aspect.

She was thick of body, her round head seeming to rest directly on her shoulders, as if she possessed no neck. Like the hooded men, she was dressed in a robe of drab hue but hers was patterned over with symbols in thick black-and-white yarn.

Her girdle was of the same black and white mingled together. Now her fat hands rested on her knees, palms up as if she waited for alms, and she stared into them. She might have been holding a scroll from which she read.

Strings of coarse yellow hair hung from under a veil fastened with braiding. Her face was broad, with a straggling of hairs on the upper lip and along the paunchy jaw.

If she had been left as guardian of the booth, she was a poor one, for she did not look up as the ladies approached, but continued to stare absorbedly at her empty hands. Only when Ysmay passed her, did she raise her eyes.

“Fortunes, fair ladies.” Her voice was in contrast to her lumpish, toadlike body, being soft and singsong.

“A reading of pins on the Stone of Esinore, or, if you fancy, the foretelling of what the Elder Gods have written on your hands.”

Annet shook her head impatiently. At another time she might have been tempted. Now she had silver and a chance to spend it to the best of her bargaining powers. Nor was Ysmay ready to listen. That there were true seeresses, no one doubted. But she did not think this repulsive hag was one.

“Trust that which you wear, Lady—” For the first time the woman looked directly at her. The soft voice was very low, plainly meant for her alone.

And Ysmay found herself, against her will, listening.

Hylle came out of the shadows.

“Ninque seems to have a message for you, Lady. She is a true seeress, esteemed in Quayth.”

This was not Quayth, Ysmay thought. Seeress or no, I do not want to listen to her. Yet she sat on the stool Hylle produced, to find herself eye to eye with the woman.

“Your hand upon mine, Lady, so that I may read what lies there.”

Ysmay’s hand half moved to obey. Then she jerked back, her disgust for the woman overriding whatever spell the other cast. The woman showed no emotion, only her eyes continued to hold Ysmay’s.

“You have more than you believe, Lady. You are one for far faring and deeds beyond the women’s bowers. You—no, I cannot read clearly. There is that under your touch now—bring it forth!”

Her soft, insinuating voice was a bark of order. Before she thought Ysmay pulled at the cord, drawing out Gunnora’s amulet. And behind her she heard a hiss of indrawn breath.

“Amber.” Again the seeress’ voice was singsong. “Amber in your hand always, Lady. It is your fate and your fortune. Follow where it leads and you shall have your heart’s full desire.”

Ysmay stood up. She jerked from her belt purse a single copper coin and dropped it into those hands, forcing herself to give the conventional thanks for foreseeing, though the words choked her.

“A good fortune, Lady,” Hylle stepped between her and the woman. “That bit you wear—it is very old—”

She sensed he would like to examine it, but she had no intention of letting it out of her hands.

“It is Gunnora’s talisman. I had it from my mother.”

“A sign of power for any woman.” He nodded. “Oddly enough I do not have its like here. But let me show you a thing which is very rare—” He put two fingers to her hanging sleeve. And it was as if the world suddenly narrowed to the two of them alone.

He picked up a box of fragrant pinsal wood, slid off its lid. Within was a cylinder of amber, a small pillar of golden light. Caught within it for the centuries was a winged creature of rainbow beauty.

Ysmay had seen in her own amulet small seeds, which was meet for a talisman of Gunnora’s, the harvest goddess of fertile fields and fertile woman. But this piece was marked with no random pattern of seeds. It was as if the creature had been fixed by intelligent purpose.

So beautiful it was that she gasped. Hylle put it into the hands she had involuntarily stretched forth and she turned it around and around, studying it from all angles. Ysmay could not be sure whether the creature within was a small bird or a large insect, for it was new to her, perhaps something which had long gone from the living world.

“What is it?”

Hylle shook his head. “Who knows? Yet once it lived. One finds such in amber from time to time. Still this is unusual.”

“Sister—what have you?” Annet crowded in. “Ah, that is indeed a thing to look upon! Yet—one cannot wear it—”

Hylle smiled. “Just so. It is a wall ornament only.”

“Take it,” Ysmay held it out. “It is too precious to finger lightly.” At that moment she coveted the flying thing greatly.

“Precious, yes. But there are other things. Lady, Would you trade your amulet for this?”

He had stood the cylinder on the flattened palm of his hand, balanced it before her eyes to tempt her. But the moment of weakness was gone.

“No,” she replied evenly.

Hylle nodded. “And you are very right, Lady. There is a virtue in such amulets as yours.”

“What amulet, sister?” Annet crowded closer. “Where got you any amulet of price?”

“Gunnora’s charm which was my mother’s.” Reluctantly Ysmay opened her hand to show it.

“Amber! And Gunnora’s! But you are no wedded wife with a right to Gunnora’s protection!” Annet’s pretty face showed for an instant what really lay behind it. She was no whole friend, nor half friend, but really revealed herself as—unfriend.

“It was my mother’s and is mine.” Ysmay pushed the charm back under the edge of her bodice. Then she spoke to Hylle.

“For your courtesy in showing me this treasure, Master Trader, I give thanks.”

He bowed as if she were the favorite daughter of a High Lord. But she was already turning out of the booth, uncertain of where to go or what to do. She was sure that Annet would now work upon Gyrerd to take her only treasure from her.

Yet Annet, upon her return to their tent, said nothing of the amulet. Rather she was displaying with open joy a bracelet of butter amber, its bright yellow contrasting with clasp and hinge of bronze. That she had purchased it with her single piece of silver she took as a tribute to her bargaining skill. And Ysmay hoped she was now fully satisfied.

However, she steeled herself to be on guard when they met for their evening meal. Gyrerd admired the bracelet and Ysmay waited tensely for Annet to introduce the subject of the amulet. Instead it was her brother who at last brushed aside the continued exclamations of his wife and turned to Ysmay, eyeing her as if moved by curiosity.

“We may have had more than one stroke of luck from Hylle’s booth,” he began.

“The amber mine!” Annet broke in. “My dear lord, does he know of a way that it can be worked again?”

“He thinks so.”

“Ah, lucky, lucky day! Lucky chance that brought us to this fair!”

“Perhaps lucky, perhaps not so.” He kept a sober face. “The mine, if it still holds aught, is not sealed to the Hold.”

Annet’s face grew sharp. “How so?” she demanded.

“It was settled upon Ysmay for a marriage portion.”

“What fool—” Annet shrilled.

For the first tune Gyrerd turned a frowning face upon her. “It was sealed to my mother. There were still hopes then that it might be worked and my father wished her secure against want. The dowry she brought rebuilt the north tower for the protection of the Dale. When she died, it was sealed to Ysmay.”

“But the Dale is war-poor, it is now needed for the good of all!”

“True. But there is a way all may be satisfied. I have had talk with this Hylle. He is no common merchant, not only because of his wealth, but because he is lord in Quayth, of blood not unequal to our own. For some reason he has taken a fancy to Ysmay. If we betroth her to him, he will return half the amount of any amber he takes from the mine, using his own methods to open it again. See, girl?” He nodded to Ysmay. “You will get you a lord with greater riches than most hereabouts can claim, a hold where you carry the keys, and a full life for a woman. This is such a chance as you shall not find twice.”

She knew that was true. And yet—what did she know of Hylle, save that he held her thoughts as no other man had done? What did she know of his northern hold? Where would he lead if she gave her consent? On the other side of the shield was the knowledge that, if she refused, Annet would surely make life a torment, nor would Gyrerd be pleased with her.

Looking from right to left, then right again, she thought she had little choice.

Quayth could not offer her worse than Uppsdale, were she to say yes. And there was hope it would offer better. After all, most marriages in the Dales were made so, between strangers. Few girls knew the men they went to bed with on their marriage night.

“I shall agree, if matters are as he has told you,” she said slowly.

“Dear sister.” Annet beamed on her. “What joy! You shall have better faring than this dame of Marchpoint buys to dress her cow-faced daughter! And such a wedding feast as all the Dales shall remember! My lord,” she said to Gyrerd, “give you free-handed that your sister may go to her bridal as becomes one of high name.”

“First we shall have the betrothal,” he said, but in his voice also was an eager note. “Ah, sister, perhaps you have brought the best of fortune to Uppsdale!”

But Ysmay wondered. Perhaps she had been too quick to give her word. And now there was no drawing back.