Free Come Twilight by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro Page A

teeth. “You are a faithful man, and for that I am grateful. I have seen proof of your loyalty. You need not call Heaven to witness it.” He pulled his hand out of the robe and patted the young woman, a lazy, sensual smile almost negating the severity of his scars. “This is not for you, woman. Go away until I call for you.”
    She lowered her head and departed, going toward the door that led to the inner rooms of the villa.
    Ruda straightened up and began in a formal voice, “This is Sanct’ Germain. He is traveling over the mountains with an armed escort and a servant. They have horses and mules and good tack, so it is not as if he is a criminal escaping. He says he has a letter from your half-brother—”
    “Which one?” the Gardingio asked sarcastically.
    “Primor Ioanus,” said Sanct’ Germain before Ruda could speak.
    “My men and I stayed at his monastery some days ago on our journey from Toletum, and he was good enough to provide me an introduction to you.” He did not mention that he had another introduction to another Gardingio, for that might give offense to these men, or add to an already existing rivalry.
    “Primor Ioanus,” said Gardingio Witteric in mild surprise. “Who would have thought that he . . .” He let that thought drift away. “So you are going over the mountains? What is your destination?”
    “Tolosa, on the far side of the mountains,” said Sanct’ Germain at once. “I have a blood relative there.” It was near enough to the truth that he spoke confidently: Atta Olivia Clemens had holdings there where he would be made welcome, whether Olivia herself was there or not.
    “Is that your homeland?” Gardingio Witteric demanded sharply, leaning forward as he asked.
    “No. My homeland is many, many thousands of paces to the east, in the hands of invaders.” It was true enough as far as it went, and Sanct’ Germain did not add that the conquest of his homeland had happened more than twenty-five hundred years ago, for invasions were common enough in these times, and needed no explanation.
    On the far side of the room there was a sudden burst of activity among the children, then shouts and angry sobbing; the two widows bustled around the children doing their best to restore order.
    After casting one fulminating glance in the direction of the commotion, he looked squarely at Sanct’ Germain. “So you came west,” said the Gardingio approvingly. “Will you return?”
    Sanct’ Germain knew the answer that was expected of him. “In time.” That he measured his time in centuries he kept to himself.
    “You want the help of your kinsmen,” said Gardingio Witteric, satisfied. “Thus you go to find them, to rally them.”
    “It may come to that,” said Sanct’ Germain. “I must get to Tolosa first to find out. I ask your aid to do this.”
    Gardingio Witteric laughed aloud. “Clever, too.” He slapped his free hand down on the arm of his chair. “I cannot fail to show you courtesy, since my half-brother asks it of me and you claim you do not come to join my household. I could not receive you into my Court as you must know. But barring that, you are welcome to be my guest. You should have the opportunity to do as you wish as one received in my half-brother’s name,” he announced. “You may remain here until word comes that the passes are open. You will need only to pay for the food your animals consume.”
    “That is most gallantly done,” said Sanct’ Germain. “But I would be less than honorable if I did not offer you more than that: I have three jewels that I would want to give to you to acknowledge your courtesy. As a traveler, I am beholden to the charity of lords like you to aid me in my journey. It is fitting that I show my appreciation.” If the Gardingio accepted the jewels, Sanct’ Germain knew that his horses and mules could not be confiscated when he left.
    “Let me see them. You may come up to me,” said Gardingio Witteric with a grand