The Shining Falcon

«My lady! Lady Ljuba! Are you hurt?»

It was Semyon, the old fool of a boyar. Ljuba got wearily to her feet, gingerly brushing off her clothing. «No, I'm quite well.»

«Then, did you — "

God! The man had been asking her the same questions over and over: Did you see Finist? Do you know where he is? And Ljuba's frustration and fear erupted into wild anger. «No!» she shouted. «No, I did not see him! No, I do not know where he is! No, I—I don't even know if he's still alive!» She stopped short, horrified at what she'd just said. «He is alive," Ljuba said, very softly. «I'd know it were he slain. He is still alive, Semyon. And, come what may, I will find him.»

Chapter XVI Secrets

That rough wagon ride seemed to last forever. Finist found himself aching to fall asleep right then and there, but every time his eyes would close, he'd be jolted rudely awake again.

Something besides mere physical discomfort was bothering him, too, and that was the fact that his host plainly regretted his charitable offer. At last Finist said sharply:

«Look you, remember I'm a stranger here. I know nothing of your ways. Or your politics.»

That struck home. The man gave him a quick, keen look, and Finist added flatly, «I'm no thief, either, if you're thinking of your treasure.»

The man snorted. «Treasure.» Then, more softly, «I have a treasure, yes. A living one: my daughters.»

«And I am no ruffian, either. All honor to my host's kin.»

That seemed to set the other's mind at ease, at least for the moment. And soon after that—praise be to Heaven, thought Finist—they reached an end to that uncomfortable ride.

Finist paused in the middle of dismounting from the wagon, looking about. There was nothing unusual here, a small farm consisting of a shabby log house surrounded by the few outbuildings to be found on such a poor place, the lot surrounded by a crudely cut palisade of wooden stakes. But his host's daughters… If the driver's voice had hinted of noble breeding, his eldest daughter fairly radiated it, tall and slender and lovely as she was, elegant even in the simple blouse and overdress any peasant woman might wear, with a delicacy of bone that spoke of generations of aristocratic stock.

This, Finist learned, was Vasilissa. He bowed, and she smiled with studied politeness, eyeing his plainness with an equally polite dismay. But their eyes met for an instant; and in that instant, a bewildered Finist saw her dismay turn to fear. Hand to her mouth, the young woman shrank back, watching him with eyes gone wild and wide.

No one else seemed to find anything odd about her reaction. Confused, hazy‑minded from fatigue, Finist almost took the younger woman with her for a servant. It wasn't so surprising. She looked too… capable for aristocracy, at ease in her peasant dress as though simple wool and fine silk were all the same to her. Not as tall as her sister, not as elegant, too tanned of skin for courtly beauty, too sunbleached of hair. But her smile seemed genuine, and her brown eyes friendly.

This, it seemed, was Maria.

But that was all Finist learned, for the last of his much-abused strength had faded. He was dimly aware of entering the farmhouse, finding it neat and scrupulously clean despite the shabbiness; he was dimly aware of sitting down abruptly. But after that, he remembered nothing but falling into a deep well of sleep…

He awoke to a vision of warm brown eyes and a gentle smile‑Maria, at his bedside.

Unfortunately, he also awoke to a feverish head and an aching throat. Wonderful, thought Finist wryly. My body's taking revenge on me for abusing it. Even magicians, it would seem, could become quite mundanely ill.

He started to croak out some embarrassed apology to his hostess, but she waved him to silence.

«Don't be silly. Everyone falls sick sometime.» She draped a damp, cool cloth across his forehead—oh, wondrous coolness! — and continued softly, «Besides, I'm in your debt. You saved my father's life.»

«I only did what — "

«Hush, now. Spare your throat. I know what you did. He told me. I repeat, I am in your debt.»

The next day found Finist on his feet again, albeit still miserable, queasy and dizzy, albeit over Maria's protests. But he couldn't go much longer without letting his people know what had happened to him. And he was only too well aware that on such an impoverished farm, with only the three family members and no servants, he would very quickly become a burden.

He made it all the way out of the house. But the next thing Finist knew, he was sitting down hard on a bench just outside the farmhouse's log walls, telling himself firmly that of course he'd meant to sit down.