He did not relish the ascent. The rain was falling heavier now and it made the stones slick and dangerous. Occasionally a tiny green leaf, like a delicate boat, would flow past his foot and catch for a moment in the eddy created by his toes. He smiled wanly. Was there ever a time when it was not raining? It seemed it always rained now, as if some forlorn god was forever weeping or possibly watering a vast and thirsty garden.

Even in dry weather the climb to the upper hills was not one Droon enjoyed; it took him nearer than he liked to be to the Roek. And now he was the pawn of one of these wretched people and was even now carrying out the tasks his new master had laid before him. How like a Roek it is too, to be making himself master over all. He fears me and yet it is he who commands. How came this to be? How did I allow it? He shook his head in self-disgust and shuddered as men do when beset by private horrors. Droon knew little of guilt, but much of shame and it weighed heavily upon him now. To be found out but one of the brutes, and by one no more clever than stone, it was more than he could bear. Ha! He laughed at himself, [/i]bears indeed. Feeling the cleverness are we Droon?[/i] For it was business with a bear-hunter that now drove him onward and upward.

To treat Frith's father, Droon needed bile and while he had some, he knew it would not be nearly enough. Bears, however could provide all the bile and he knew just such a person. It was no ordinary bear-hunter to whom Droon was going, but to the stern and unyielding Jyndri Laskal. All his life Droon had feared the woman who seemed to be made not of flesh and bone but pure steel and cold fire. He had seen her with a single look or a careful word reduce a brave and mighty hunter to nothing more than a scolded child, she had even done it to him on occasion and she had no right to have such power. No ties of blood or of tribe linked them, she was not some mysterious and powerful aunt, and yet that is exactly how the inner recesses of Droon's warped mind saw her. Droon had aunts of his own of course, stern and domineering women all, who could curdle milk with the power of their gaze, but compared to the hunter they were as the sweetest and most yielding of grandmothers.

Yet even the most hard-hearted and humorless person was not immune to gifts, and so Droon had brought with him a fair amount of the smoky tea the hunter preferred along with mushrooms and a few spices. Even if she refused to provide the bile, these gifts he would give; the favor of the hunter was not something to be lightly thrown away.

When at last he arrived at the great wooden house of the hunter, Droon was fairly soaked through. He slouched towards the door and took there what shelter he could find. "Jyndri?" he said as he knocked upon the door. "It is Droon, the apothecary. I am come with gifts of tea and spices to see you. Will you not let me in?" So saying, he pressed himself further into the shelter of the door and waited for an answer. The rain fell harder now, turning the door-yard to mud and threatening to destroy the spuriously early tomato plants. He wondered idly how they had grown so large.

Chop. Move. Chop. Move. Chop. Knock.

Knock?

Jyndri was not expecting guests, and she had not heard anyone’s approach. She looked up from her work, the slicing of a carrot, to peer suspiciously out her kitchen window. The rain must have silenced footfalls, if it wasn’t in fact a branch in need of trimming rapping at the door. Where were the dogs? The lazy mutts must’ve been sleeping by the fire, shirking their duty as guardians of the family home. Bother.

Knife in hand, the Roek hunter strode to the door and flung it open. Not tree branch, but stalky apothecary. She balked; had she stepped in something unpleasant, she would have worn the same expression.

“Tzul Droon!” Jyndri intoned, as though it were not his name, but an admonishment. “Come in at once!”

She made room for him to enter, pointing to a hook, sturdy and iron, for his dripping coat. Her floors were enormous slabs of slate, impervious to moisture, but also impervious to wicks. When wet, they posed a safety hazard. And she was very strict about safety.

He dripped upon the stone floor as he entered, the rain which clung to his clothing rolling off and forming a miniature lake about his feet. His rain coat, impregnated at it was with years of beeswax, had kept apothecary himself dry enough though he now smelled faintly of the ghosts of honey and wet cloth. He hung the heavy wet thing on the iron hook, took off his wide-brimmed rain hat and hung that as well. He was now only somewhat damp, though he still looked somewhat drowned.

"Thank you, Jyndri Laskal, hunter of bears" he said, bowing his head slightly in a gesture of both greeting and respect. "Thank you for your welcome." He smiled wanly and then, somewhat unsure of himself, continued. "The rain does fall hard today, does it not?" He stood there for a moment, unsure exactly how to proceed. It was ever the case with the hunter; Droon never quite new where he stood. Metaphorically that is; he was perfectly aware he was stranding in the hunter's hall and dripping on the floor, but that helped him not at all. He reached into the wooden box he had slung across he back and produced a cloth bag. It was fragrant with the heady smells of forest trees and good rich earth. "Tea I bring to you Jyndri Laskal, hunter of bears. Smoked it is, and over pine needles." He said this as though it were part of some litany, the tone was oddly inflected and had about it a song-like quality. "I am thinking you must now be nearly at the end of your old supply. So I made bold to bring you this. Long may it last."

For now he would say nothing of his true errand. It would not do to be hasty in the house of the hunter; in the house of his host. For now, let the gift of tea soften her resolve. For now, let her enjoy an unexpected gift and look with favor upon the bearer. Let there be all the necessary ceremonies of unexpected guest and unlikely host and then, when such things had been properly observed and carried out, then would he ask of her the favor of the bile.

“You have braved a storm to bring me tea?”

The hunter peered at the apothecary, then out at the sheets of rain, then back to the young Kohore man. She had done business with Droon since he was a meager boy, apprentice to the respectable Master Yaln, and never expected much of him. He did his job, and quite well, but he did not have the traits of a proper man. He was too quiet, too sedentary, too.. Droon. But today he joined in on a time-honored masculine tradition: risking life and limb for a woman’s trifle. Bull-headed, foolhardy and vain.

She was impressed.

“Very bold, indeed. Perhaps you have a warrior’s heart after all.”

Jyndri closed the door and locked it. The weather was not a threat today, nor would any Anhai dare to trespass in her home, but there were strange new wicks about. Outsiders. Who knew what they would do.

She nodded at the den, clutching her knife self-consciously. The mother had wanted a nice, quiet day at home. Now everything was thrown off.

“I am making soup.” Thank the ancestors for convention, or she would be lost as a moose in a bakery. “You may stay for lunch.”

"No bold warrior's heart have I Jyndri Laskal, hunter of bears," Nor would I be wanting of one. Do you think you compliment me with this empty speech? Do you think boldness would be even the least of the thing I value? Cunning yes, but not boldness. Do you know me no better than that? This he thought, but his face showed nothing beyond the slightly worried and bedraggled cast he always wore in Jyndri's presence. "Let us be saying that in rain such as this I cannot be easy with knowing that such a tea drinker as yourself might be going without. "

He heard the bolting of the door and looked quizzically at her. Most people, he knew, never bothered with the bolting of doors and he had trained himself to think this was perfectly ordinary. It was not, of course, at least in his profession. With so many delicate and dangerous things about, it only made sense for apothecaries to be vigilant of their doors, but to see the hunter do it puzzled him. Was it merely a precaution against the rising of the wind or was there something else to this?

The offer of food was no surprise, it was all part of the dance of hospitality. Soup, he had to admit, would go over very well on such a wet day and so it was tempting, but he had come here on business, not for a meal. Still, there was nothing like a good meal to soften resolve and make the asking of favors easier. He looked down at the heavy knife in the hunter's hand and considered his options.

"For the offering of soup, many thanks, but I would not be wishing to intrude overmuch upon your time. And yet, you are reminding me that I have other things for you." He untied a cloth bag from his belt and held it out to her. "Spring mushrooms. The dry-land fish. Please be taking of them."

Well, he thought as he smiled inwardly, if you take them, then that will be even more you owe to me, and I know you can never be resisting of a fine mushroom. Take them Jyndri Laskal, hunter of bears; take them and be in my debt.

“Mushrooms? Then you must stay. I will add them to the soup, and you will partake.” She took the bags from him, noting the quality of the cloth. Sturdy. She could use them again. “It is only fair.”

Taking a step to the kitchen, she said, her tone and her mindset shifting to motherly, “Now sit by the fire. If you do not want soup, at least warm yourself before heading out again. Or you will catch cold.”

The den, sunken from the entry, was a long room with dark, hardwood floors and butter-colored walls. Chairs--proper, heavy chairs--surrounded a massive fireplace, which housed a merry fire. Previously, the stone column that formed the central fireplace provided the Laskal family with countless debates regarding the placement of tables and chairs. Jyndri had won that battle against the sisters-in-law years ago, but the furniture still sometimes moved when she wasn’t looking.

“I will return shortly. Only one more carrot needs to be chopped, and then I will have nothing else to do.”

"I take your offer of a place by the fire, and gladly," he said with real thanks. Despite his heavy waxed coat and hat he was still wet and the fire was very inviting." Of the soup, I do not wish to be burdening you with so unexpected a guest. But do not be thinking me ungrateful, hunter of bears, for I know well the value of soup." He watched her go, and was glad of the departure of the great sharp knife. He breathed out slowly, his breath hissing between his teeth.

Droon stared into the fire. Logs spit and crackled, sap within them hissed like so many snakes. It was a comforting thing, this fire. Warm and fragrant it was too, and it drew out of him much of the tightness, both of body and mind, that had been plaguing him of late. For a moment, he thought he could see figures in the flames, dancing upon the glowing embers. Who or what they were, he could not say, but they seemed unimaginably old. Why he saw these things now, when before all that fire had held for him was heat and light he could not say.

Perhaps being suddenly alone in so great and empty a hall --a hall that looked half like it hailed from a vanished and more heroic age -- called to something very ancient within the apothecary. He could imagine it filled with all the members of the Laskal family, the living and the dead. He could almost hear the voices speaking, telling stories of the hunts of wild beasts and of dangers braved. And some part of him recalled a song, one he had heard as a small boy when all he knew of the world was the sound of the looms and the smell of the cinnamon trees. It was a song about the death of hunters who went to slay some great and venomous snake. It told of the bravery and glory of the hunters, of the evil and cunning of the snake, and the tragedy of the hunter's deaths. Oh, eventually the youngest of the hunters killed the snake at great cost -- as is ever the case in songs of this type -- but that did not matter to Droon. It seemed as though that heroic and tragic end had been tacked on to make the story palatable. No one, no one but Droon that is, would care to live in a world were cunning and evil snakes could win against a massing of heroes.

Softly at first, Droon began to sing:

And there upon the stones arrayed,
their spears so sharp and fine,
amid the night-dark hafts were laid,
the cups of bitter wine

A mournful thing it is to drink,
that final parting cup.
To feel the snakes of fear to slink
down throats, and raise dread up.

It was a long song, and as he sang it his voice, at first little more than a whisper, rose.

Back in her kitchen, Jyndri quickly washed a handful of the mushrooms. She resumed slicing the carrot - chop, chop, chop, and done. These went into the soup-pot, which was simmering on the spacious stove. Laskal House had been built for a large extended family, and now only sheltered five; the mother, her two children, and the sisters-in-law. The old building was more than adequate for their needs, and the laconic hunter enjoyed the peace, but it was also too great a burden to maintain for so few occupants. Soon, she would expect her son to find a nice Roek girl and fill the house with helpful grandchildren.

"You sing well, Droon," she said as she went to the den. The soup was ready; it just needed time to let the flavors mingle. "It is good to keep the old songs alive. The young these days do not respect that enough."

She stood by a chair, but before sitting down, she asked, "Is there anything I can get for you?"

He had not heard the footsteps of the hunter as she returned. Of course he had not. Her trade depended upon the quiet and though he knew this it was still an unsettling thing to have happen. He started slightly and turned to face Jyndri, a look of sheepish guilt and embarrassment on his face.

"I am taking it then that you were not minding of my untimely song then?" he asked with some little relief. "I am not usually to be found singing, though I have often found it calming. Indeed, I seem to still be finding it so. Strange that such an old song should come to me now. Perhaps it is your fine and ancient-seeming hall? Yes, I am thinking it is." He grinned nervously which gave him the appearance of a particularly devious and comic frog.

'Is there anything I can get for you?' she had asked; and now the careful dance of host and guest had changed subtly. Droon had little else he could give to foster further good will, though the hunter seemed pleased enough. There were spices of course, he had them in great quantities, but it seemed now to be a paltry gift, and might perhaps be seen as an insult to the as yet mysterious soup. No, he would have to trust to what he had already given, and hope it would be enough to earn him the right to make his request.

"There is a man," he said abstractedly, "a man getting on in years and from a once proud family. He is very ill and in great pain. The stone, I am thinking, is what troubles him. I cannot be cutting him for it, I have not that skill. There is a medicine that I know of that might help him, yet I cannot be getting it, for I am no hunter.

Rightly, Jyndri Laskal, are you known as a hunter of bears, there is none in all the valley who knows the beast such as you do. So I have come to you to ask you for the bile of those great beasts. I would be greatly in your debt." More than you would ever be knowing.

“Much singing has livened this house, though less so these days.”

Once Droon finally got around to the real business of his visit (and Jyndri preferred business to entertaining), she sat heavily, wanting a mug of mead to turn in her hands.

“Would that be Onin Riar? I have heard he is low with illness, and I have not seen him in the town or in the woods for some time.”

Onin Riar. Once respectable and prosperous. Jyndri looked up to him in the past, but no more. The older man made two mistakes: he fathered a traitor, and, worse, he did not disown the traitor. A whole family brought down by one boy’s wrath and one man’s sentimentality. Very shameful, and very stupid.

Her own son would never commit so vile a crime, nor would he be among those who would. If he ever were, unimaginable as that was, he would be no son of hers. No fruit of her womb could be so twisted; the thing claiming to be her son would have to be some evil spirit sent to replace her real son. For the good of Anhau, she’d kill it herself.

Ailen, of course, didn’t enter the mother’s mind; the girl was an innocent sweetheart.

"And if it is indeed meant for Onin, would that be mattering to you?" Droon was apprehensive. He knew the hunter of bears well enough to know that she might well look with scorn and contempt upon a man whose son had committed so great a crime. Would it bring some portion of the shame and dishonor that now haunted the name of Rair to her house to aid Onin? Would it taint the blameless name of Laskal in the eyes of all Roek?

He did not know and now, with the eyes of the hunter boring into him, wished he had never come here to ask the favor. Regret, a strange an unfamiliar sensation, washed over him. Not regret for what he had done, for the revenges little and great, but for his actions these last few days. He had acted on what was, for him, impulse and now he was here, begging the hunter to aid him. What a damned carnival you have been making of this all. Where is your head Droon? Where is your caution? Do you think that the wily hunter will not see through your song when the time comes and Frith lays dead? Do you think she will not piece it all together and know what it is that you have done? Careful now. Careful.

"Is it not enough to know that it is I who ask and there to leave off?

“Do not worry, Droon,” said Jyndri, her tone softening. As much as she pretended to be made of stone, she was not. She was also a mother, an experienced one who had seen that worried look on children before. Droon was still not much of a man after all, and probably never would be, but that did not disappoint her. She had different expectations for members of his tribe than of her own. The artisans could be soft-hearted children all they liked, so long as they pulled their own weight.

“Even if your Khore heart bleeds for Onin Riar, I will not deny you. I’ve known you since you were Yaln’s knee-high apprentice, and you have never done me or mine wrong.” She placed her hands on her knees, stable as Roekshir itself. “He is a fool, but if I had a personal grudge against him, I would meet him at the Ku Kar, not wait like an Ethia for illness to claim him.”

Then, the hunter leaned back, raising a hand. “That is not to say that Onin is your once-proud man, of course. I understand the desire for privacy. If my friends at Che-kop ask, all I know is that you asked for bile, and that I obliged.”

"Be knowing that I bleed for none, be they fool or be they wise; it is not in me to bleed so. No, hunter of bears, I am set to this task to assuage my wounded pride. I was slighted. My skill was doubted, so I take upon me a task that will test my skill to its ending. Would you not do the same, should one call you a coward and claim all your prowess with a spear was but the telling of lies? Would you not set about hunting some great beast in the forest? This old man's ailment is by way of being my great beast and I go to hunt it in the way I know best." He smiled bleakly, his teeth flashing for a moment like those of some sly and cunning beast. There, in the flash of ivory was all the truth that he needed to tell.

Upon that smile he would build his house of half-truths and little misdirections, the public edifice of the house of Droon. Could it work? Could he make the hunter believe that his revenge would be carried out but the act of healing rather than through secret poison? She knew no evil of him, that was true, and it was likewise true that Droon delighted in his skill. So perhaps it would be believed. It was near enough to the truth as made no matter, and the hunter's good opinion might count for much.

"Ah, but I have no call to be boring you with my little grudge now do I?," he said brightly and with just a hint of apology. "I thank you for the bile to come and for your kindness in seeing me this day. Should there be anything you may be wanting of me, you have but to name it for you do me a great service and I do not lightly forget my debts."