Free Fires of Aggar by Chris Anne Wolfe Page B

bread they took out with them to their contracts. And the pastie Sparrow presented her with was more meat than she’d see in most ten-days.
    “The cider too?” she breathed in astonishment, fumbling a bit from her hands shaking so.
    “It’s for remembering a message also,” Sparrow explained, her voice and face carefully set matter-of-fact so that there would be no stint of ‘charitable pity’ to demean the other’s pride. “Should any come searching for the Tinker-trade Sparrowhawk, have them know I first went to the House of Iseul and then returned to the Guild’s lodging.”
    “Aye Min,” the woman bowed again, “and you left here at mid-day.”
    “Good enough. My thanks to you, Min.”
    “My thanks to you, Tinker-trade.”
    And I wish I could do at least as much every day for you and all your hearth-kin, Sparrow admitted to herself. But it wasn’t an option, so she kept calm and set aside the old hauntings. She did what she could when she could; as Brit always told her, it would have to be enough. She missed the understanding embrace that always accompanied that rhetoric though. One of the reasons she loved Brit, she realized, was their shared regret for the fact that they could probably never really do enough — no matter what words they denied it with.
    Goddess Mother, I miss the old tyrant. And it’s not just the bond of the lifestone! It’s herself that I miss. Sparrow sniffled and wiped the sudden mist from her eyes. Brit would tease her no end if she guessed how maudlin Sparrow had let herself get.
    Oh, but what sweet teasing it would be!
    At the corner of the side street there was an open air Hood’n’Cloak shop with a black-backed glass in front. Sparrow took a quick stop to check her reflection and dry the hint of teary streaks from her face. She moved on, pulling the clip from her hair and neatly gathering up the mohair-like strands with a twist before securing it again. The light brown stuff was usually quite manageable and really hadn’t needed the fussing, but she was suddenly edgy. She frowned at herself and decided a little irritability would probably help in the bartering, then pushed through the swinging doors of Iseul’s establishment; she hoped the clerks were in a mood for dealing.
    Some time later Sparrow emerged from the Trade House with a distinct dissatisfaction that puzzled her thoroughly. She’d gotten everything they’d needed, delivery on the morrow to the Guild stables without extra charge, and reasonably good prices even on the rarer mustard oils.
    A bright bit of brocade with a braided trim distracted her then and took her to the cloth racks across the street. The material put her in mind of a wedding cape for some groom, and she wondered if they had room for any more bolts of fabrics. They’d be south before mid-summer, plenty of time for tailors to use it for the harvest weddings. She toyed with the thought, eyeing a few other designs as well. Absently her fingers strayed to the wristband beneath her left sleeve and tugged at it to ease the ache.
    Ache? Her attention shifted abruptly.
    Sparrow flexed her wrist experimentally, but there was no restriction; nothing was laced too tightly. Yet the dull throbbing was unmistakable.
    Which meant only one thing! She looked to the sun in confusion. The day was still nowhere near three-quarters, let alone eventide. It couldn’t possibly be Brit? But she knew it was; the lifestone embedded in her wrist was insistently prodding — it was Brit. Somehow it was Brit!
    And close — not merely in the city or settling into the Guild’s Inn at the far end of the Square, but here. Near.
    Sparrow jumped up to the top of the weaving shop steps, craning her neck to see over the racks of fabrics and people’s heads. She half-expected the woman to be at Iseul’s own doors, but there was no sign of that familiar face. She concentrated a moment, letting the pull of the lifestone give her a direction. Surprisingly, it drew her further