No True Way by Mercedes Lackey Read Free Book Online

between the kitchen and the herb garden, breathing in warm air that smelled of soup made with the first of this year’s tomatoes and some of the last of the rootstock from the cellar under the inn. Just-browning bread waited in the big, open oven that was the pride of the inn’s kitchen.
    Helen raced upstairs to kiss her grandmother’s papery cheek. The old woman stirred lightly but said nothing. Helen’s grandfather sat near his wife, his blue eyes saddened with weeks of watching her fail. He also said nothing, but he and Helen exchanged a smile.
    Helen was the youngest daughter of the fifth generation that had run the Robin’s Rest, and she and her siblings would eat later. For now, she started preparing plates and bowls of food, moving easily through the dance of meals that flowed from the oven to the long wooden trestle tables. Her mother sweated as she stirred and ladled, cut and chopped. From time to time Helen filled water cups. Her sister Magen handled the mead, fending off good-natured compliments with humor, even though she blushed at a few of them. Helen’s brother Dravon snuck in from time to time when he took a breakfrom caring for the horses and stole ends of bread for his favorite dog.
    Most patrons were local single men too tired to put together their own meal after a long day in the fields. Three merchants sat quietly in a corner, trading stories. With no Bard or unusual traffic to keep the common room busy late into the night, the room started to quiet only a few candlemarks after the last of the sun faded.
    Helen’s mother sent her up early to sit with her grandparents. She had Helen bring fresh water, a single cup of soup, and a piece of fresh bread with berry jam.
    Her grandfather took the tray from her. “How are you, child?”
    She smiled. “Good. I was hoping we’d see a Herald today, but there isn’t one.”
    â€œYour grandmother always knew when a Herald was coming,” he told her.
    Her heart thrilled. Maybe she wasn’t imaging the feeling. She thought about sitting by the window, but it had grown too dark to see the road now anyway. She chose a seat on a well-worn couch where she could see her grandfather’s face clearly. “
How
did she know?”
    He looked at her grandmother tenderly, and then searched Helen’s face for a moment, as if looking for a resemblance. “She told me once that it was like having an extra sense, only it wasn’t always there. Just when it was needed.”
    â€œLike a Healer’s gift, or a Bard’s gift?” She put a hand on her heart, which still felt itchy. “Or a Herald’s?”
    â€œSome gifts are great and noticeable, like the Bard who came through here last winter and warmed us all through the worst of that ice-storm.” His voice was still strong, like a younger man’s, except he had to stop more often forbreath than he used to. “But other gifts are small and seem to appear only when Valdemar needs them.”
    While Helen thought about that, her grandfather touched his wife’s pale cheek and held her hand briefly in his before he took a bite of the bread. Last night, he’d tried to feed the old woman, and she had refused.
    Tonight, he didn’t even try. That made Helen a little sad, but she didn’t say anything about it. Instead, she asked, “Can you tell me about grandmere’s extra sense?”
    â€œIf you had been alive while she was still running the kitchen, you might have noticed that the best meals always graced our tables on the days that Heralds and Bards and Healers came through town. If women smelled her best pies cooking during the day, they scraped up their pennies to eat with us at the inn.”
    â€œReally?”
    â€œWould you like me to tell you a story?”
    She nodded. He often told her stories while they sat by her grandmere these last few months.
    He looked solemn. “This is a long story. Are you