Anne and Louis stepped cautiously out of the castle of Never-Was and into a different place altogether. It was dusk on a lonely hilltop, and when they turned back to the castle, they saw only a heap of moss-colored stones. Anne could see the castle if she concentrated, standing in a different layer of light, but that was all. The sky was every shade of lavender and plum and heliotrope, and the first stars had come out in unaccustomed places. The wind lifted her hair. There was certainly no lost city in view, nor any glimpse of the sea. There was nothing but the two of them, and it felt to Anne like standing on the edge of the world.
“You’d think that our fine korrigan-queen would offer her guests beds before flinging them into the wild,” muttered Louis.
“She promised her help, and we are here. There must be a reason,” said Anne. “Where are we?”
A cold wind tangled her hair, and Louis, without speaking, drew off his short cloak and put it over her. He had acquired a scabbard and sword-belt after the feasting, so he need not carry his sword. But nothing else had they been given, no clothes, no food. Anne’s teeth were starting to chatter.
She peered stubbornly down the stony brow of the hill and said, “That is smoke, I think. Can you smell it?”
Louis breathed and frowned. “Yes.”
“Perhaps whoever built that fire is friendly.”
“Or perhaps not,” Louis rejoined.
“But we can’t stay here. I think we must brave it.”
He looked dubious. “How far can you walk?”
She considered. “I do not think I can go far.” She ached badly from walking and running in the castle of Never-Was.
He nodded. “All right. Come on, one step, then another. I dare not try to carry you down this ridge in the dark.”
Anne never forgot the climb down from that hilltop. It was nigh impossible with her tired limbs trembling and the light failing fast. It was as well that Louis had been a soldier and a commander of soldiers, for the cheer in his voice never wavered as they picked their way cautiously. Toward the end, Louis simply placed each of her wavering feet in turn onto the proper rocks, and finally they reached the abyssal black beneath the trees.
Anne discovered to her chagrin that she could go no farther at all.
But there was firelight between the trees. She summoned her last reserves, leaned on Louis’s unwavering arm, and made her way toward it. Finally they found themselves in a tidy yard with a woodpile and the smell of a byre. It seemed like a human place. But the stars overhead made constellations that Anne didn’t know.
Anne whispered, “If there are dangers in there, I cannot run away.”
“No, indeed,” said Louis, calmly. “But you wouldn’t need to. I have my sword.” With a hand on his sword-hilt, he roared, “Ho there, the house!” This was called in a voice calculated to reach charging cavalry upon the battlefield.
Anne stood stiff, listening.
Suddenly an old man in a leather apron came to the door and called, “Who’s there?” He did not look like a korrigan.
“A knight,” said Louis, haughtily. “And this lady, who is weary.” He walked forward and Anne dropped back a pace on the side of his shield-arm, to free him if he must use his sword.
But only the old man awaited them, white hair to his shoulders and a strong-boned face. Anne began to relax. “Come in and eat, lady, if you are weary,” the old man said hospitably. “I cannot recall when I last had a guest.”
“You are kind,” Anne said.
His face expressed only a gentle—even detached—interest. “Come in at once, daughter, and do not mind the rain. It falls always upon my roof, though the night is clear.”
They crossed the threshold, and indeed, once within, they heard the rain whisper, though it had been dry outside.
The old man’s house was smaller than a tradesman’s—which would have had workshops attached, and quarters for apprentices and journeymen—but it was finer than any villein’s hovel, even a prosperous one. Its floor was of flagstone, perfectly smooth, and the inside was all paneled wood, with tapestries to keep the warmth. The hearth gleamed and smelled of fat meat, and the table was scrubbed. He had chairs, which a peasant would not own. A sword hung on the wall.
The old man bustled in, smiling gently. “My lady is not here,” he said. “She will return at dawn. But I can contrive in the meantime—yes—yes. Sit you down, Madame, and there is cider—I shall draw it. Then supper.”
Anne sat. The chairs were cushioned and the cider was sweet, fresh as though the harvest had been mere days ago.
Warily, Louis said, “Who are you, Monsieur?” He had not sat down, and was keeping the sword on the wall in the corner of his eye.
The old man wrinkled his brow. “I was—I hardly remember,” he said apologetically. “I came here a long time ago.” The faded eyes sharpened. “I am a man and not a korrigan, though. And even here, it is only the monstrous that violate the laws of hospitality.”
Louis nodded slowly. “Very well.”
