Free Longeye by Steve Miller, Sharon Lee Page A

owner.
    "No!" Becca cried out and raised her hand, sparkles of gold dripping from urgent fingertips. "Nancy, please take the cord over to that larch and loop it gently in the topmost branch."
    "That is not acceptable!" the owner of the cord shouted. He took a breath, his outline beginning to show distinct flashes of red. "I demand—"
    "Be quiet, you fool!" Someone snapped. Becca gasped, belatedly recognizing the voice as her own. "Or be sure that she will return it—and break your neck into the bargain! Go, Nancy."
    "Is that a threat , Wood Wise?" The High Fey urged his horse forward two reluctant steps, his seat so stiff it was a wonder, Becca thought, that he remained horsed at all.
    "It is a statement ," she said, flatly.
    "They do grow bold, don't they?" He looked to his companions, neither of whom seemed inclined to support him, then back to Becca. "What is your name ?" He spat the last word as if it tasted vile.
    Becca drew herself up, pretending not to see Sian's sharp sign of negation.
    "My name is Rebecca Beauvelley," she said, into a sudden, perfect and windless silence. Sian shook her head.
    "Rebecca— By the architecture of the sky!" the youth Sian held swore. "It's Altimere's pet!" His horse stamped, as it caught its rider's horror.
    Rebecca pulled herself up—and this time heeded Sian's signal. Bad enough to have named herself. To assert that she was her own woman, free of Altimere's influence, would be fatal.
    Might already have been fatal.
    "Perhaps you would consider betaking yourselves back to the safety of your house," Sian said in a voice that was too soft to reach Becca as clearly as it did. "Before word reaches the Grand Artificer that you have been discourteous to one who accepted his protection."
    It went hard against their grain, Becca could see that, for they were high-blooded young men, but prudence won out. The quiet rider, who sat closest to Becca, turned his horse first and walked sedately away, not looking back.
    After a moment, Fendri the cord-thrower turned his horse and followed.
    "Release me," the center youth, Narstaft, snapped at Sian. "I wish no quarrel with Altimere."
    "Your father, who has attained wisdom, and old age, wishes no quarrel with the Queen ," Sian told him. "Be assured that I will write to him that his youngest son believes it sport to hunt the Brethren, despite the covenant."
    Narstaft licked his lips, but—credit where it was earned—he did not look away.
    "There is no need for you to trouble yourself, Engenium," he said quietly. "I will tell him of this encounter myself."
    Sian nodded, and loosed his reins. "Good."
    The youth turned his horse and rode away in the wake of his companions. Sian waited, watching, and Becca did likewise. When they had all three passed under the shadows of the trees—only then did Brume turn and walk toward them.
    "That was remarkably foolish," Sian said, with, Becca admitted to herself, a great deal of restraint. "If you cannot control that artifact—"
    "I have no need to control her," Becca interrupted. "She does admirably on her own."
    "Between the pair of you, we are fortunate that we came out of that encounter as well as we did." She closed her eyes, took a deep breath—and exhaled. "Come," she said, "let us ride on. There is a good resting place just a little further on."
    Becca shook her head, and slid off of Rosamunde's back, staggering where she landed.
    "What," Sian demanded, "are you doing?"
    "This—Brethren," Becca said, moving around to where the creature yet crouched between Rosamunde's hooves—"is wounded. I am an herbalist and a healer. It is my duty to do what I am able to ease pain and comfort the infirm."
    She heard a loud exhalation of breath from above her as she knelt next to the shivering creature, but the Engenium said only, "Of course."
     
    Meri walked deliberately onward, mindful of where he put his feet among the shattered twigs and spiteful stones. He slowed, the air pressing him down. His head felt