Windhaven

Maris was achingly aware of the knife in his hand, the dull bronze length of it, the smear of blood along the blade. She felt Evan tense beside her. The Landsman smiled and walked toward them.

"Stop him," said the tall woman he had tried to arrest. Her voice was weary but firm. At once the Landsman was surrounded. A burly bear of a man held his arms, and a slim young woman took the knife from his grasp as easily and fluidly as if she had pulled it from a sheath. "I'm sorry," said the woman who had taken charge.

"Let me go!" he demanded. "I am Landsman here!"

"No," she answered, "no. Sir, I fear you are very sick."

The grim, ancient keep had never seen such festivity.

The gray walls were decked with bright banners and colored lanterns, and smells of food and wine, wood smoke and fireworks permeated the air. The gates had been opened wide to all. Landsguard still roamed the keep, but few were in uniform, and weapons were forgotten.

The gibbets had been torn down, the scaffolding altered to make a stage where jugglers, magicians, clowns, and singers performed for the passing crowds.

Within, doors were open and halls filled with merrymakers. Prisoners from the dungeons had been set free, and even the lowest riff-raff from the alleys of Port Thayos had been admitted to the party. In the great hall tables had been set up and covered with huge wheels of cheese, baskets of bread, and smoked, pickled, and fried fish of all kinds. The hearths still smelled of roasting pig and seacat, and puddles of beer and wine glistened on the flagstones.

Music and laughter were in the air; it was a celebration of a richness and size unknown on Thayos in living memory. And among the crowds of the people of Thayos moved figures dressed in black — not, by their faces, mourners: the flyers. These flyers, one-wing and flyer-born alike, along with the previously exiled singers, were the guests of honor, feted and toasted by all.

Maris wandered through the boisterous crowds, ready to cringe at any more recognition. The party had gone on too long. She was tired and feeling a little sick from too much food and drink, all tributes forced on her by admirers. She wanted only to find Evan and go home.

Someone spoke her name and, reluctantly, Maris turned. She saw the new Landsman of Thayos, dressed in a long, embroidered gown that did not suit her. She looked uncomfortable out of uniform.

Maris summoned a smile. "Yes, Landsman?"

The former landsguard officer grimaced. "I suppose I will get used to that title, but it still brings to mind someone very different. I haven't seen much of you today— could I have a few minutes with you?"

"Yes, of course. As many as you wish. You saved my life."

"That wasn't so noble. Your actions took more courage than mine, and they weren't self-serving. The story they will tell about me is that I carefully plotted and planned to depose the Landsman and take his job. That is not the truth, but what do singers care for truth?" Her voice was bitter. Maris looked at her in surprise.

They walked together through rooms filled with gamblers, drunks, and lovers until they found an empty chamber where they could sit and talk together.

Because the Landsman still was silent, Maris said, "Surely no one misses the old Landsman? I don't think he was well-loved."

The new Landsman frowned. "No, he will not be missed, and neither will I, when I am gone. But he was a good leader for many years until he became too frightened and began to think foolishly. I was sorry to have to do what I did, but I saw no other choice. This party, here, is my attempt to make the transition joyful, instead of fearful. To go into debt to make my people feel prosperous."

"I think they appreciate the gesture," Maris said. "Everyone seems very happy."

"Yes, now, but their memories are short." The Landsman moved slightly in her seat, as if to shake off the thought. The line between her eyes smoothed out, and her features took on a kindlier cast. "I didn't mean to bore you with my personal worries. I drew you aside to tell you how respected you are in Thayos, and to tell you that I honor your attempts to keep peace between the flyers and the people of Thayos."

Maris wondered if she was blushing. "Please," she said. "Don't. I… had the flyers in mind, and not the people of Thayos, to be honest."

"That doesn't matter. What you accomplished is what matters. You risked your life for it."

"I did what I could," Maris said. "But I didn't achieve very much, after all. A truce, a temporary peace.

The real problem, the conflicts between the flyer-born and the one-wings, and between the Landsmen and the flyers who work with them, is still there, and it will flare up again—" She broke off, realizing that the Landsman didn't care, and didn't want to know, that this happy ending was no true ending at all.