They'll order me locked in the dungeon. I'll rot my way to the death she arranged for me. What was I thinking? Oh, please let them throw me out...”
“Now good sir,” said Hebraun, “please tell us your tale.”
Yann-Ber kept his eyes on the table. He was beginning to tremble.
“Please, Yann-Ber, do tell us your tale. You needn't fear a thing, here. We shall listen to your story and then help you, if it is indeed within our power.”
“I...” said Yann-Ber, speechless from disbelief.
“There's no hurry, Yann-Ber,” said Minuet, “we have all morning.”
“I...” said Yann-Ber, as he stood straighter and met her kind eyes. “I...” he said as he shook with a violent sob that turned loose a flood of tears to run down his face. He was going to live after all.
***
Much later that morning, Yann-Ber slowly rose to his feet and stepped out of the fragrant warm water of the medicinal soaking pool the servants had led him to and with the occasional help of his broken arm, ever so gingerly dried himself with the fluffy towel which had been left beside the pool with the fine new shirt, hose, doublet and soft leather shoes. He eagerly put these on. They were light and slightly loose to allow for his boils.
He had not been so clean nor dressed so grandly in an eternity. He felt wonderfully better, and now he even had hope.
“These Niarg people are nothing like Demonica painted them to be,” he said, as he gathered his shirt about his waist. How fitting that they, whom she held in such contempt, would aid in her downfall. He allowed himself a tiny gloating smile as he donned his new silk lined wool cloak and carefully raised it's hood to conceal his face. With a sigh of contentment, he rang the silver bell which was left beside the towel and clothing.
Two servants appeared right away, eyed him over with looks of satisfaction, and at once led him out to the garden where he'd had his audience with Hebraun and Minuet.
Captain Bernard was there instead, and so was a table laden with the most wonderful food he had ever seen. “Yes, indeed,” said Bernard grandly, as he drew a chair for him. “This is entirely for you, good sir. Sit. Eat your fill. Enjoy.”
Yann-Ber could scarcely believe it, but he didn't wait for another invitation. He sat at once and began hurriedly filling his plate.
“Captain Bernard,” he said, suddenly stopping and looking up. “I do beg your pardon. I've been so long without decent fare, that my manners abandon me altogether. Please do have some of this with me.”
“Thank you very much, but I've filled up not long ago, so I'll pass. But I'd enjoy watching you fill your empty places. Lovely morning isn't it...?”
“Please. Do have something.”
“Oh, I might pick at something from time to time...”
“I owe you my life Captain Bernard. If you are ever in need, please send word and I'll come serve you...”
“You're just hungry, good man,” said Bernard, as his dark eyes twinkled beneath their bushy brows. “Go on, eat.”
At this, Yann-Ber ravenously fell to and ate without let up, as Bernard leant back and closed his eyes into the sun while the sparrows called from amongst the rattling leaves and heavy fruit of the nearby trees. At last Yann-Ber sat back, wiping his mouth.
“Now Yann-Ber, let me show you to your guest quarters,” said Bernard with a resolute nod.
“I'm not sure I heard that right,” said Yann-Ber. “Could you...?”
“I said: let me show you to your quarters...”
“But...”
“There's no mistake,” said Bernard. “Their majesties wanted you to rest and regain your strength before you set sail to find Razzmorten. They feel it is the least they can do. I'm also to tell you that the queen is going to scry to find the wizard's exact whereabouts before you leave. You'll be accompanied by a proper assortment of service and nurses to tend to you throughout your journey...”
“This is unbelievable!” cried Yann-Ber. “Am I dreaming? Have I passed away?”
“No, no. This is quite real. They took you very seriously, and they've had dealings with Demonica in the past.”
“But such utter kindness from heads of state...”
“They can certainly surprise you with it, can't they? Hebraun is a good king. They are the best imaginable. Outside of this recent crop failure and other similar times on and off over the years, it's been nothing but prosperity since they came to the throne. We've never had a war, ever. And Hebraun promises to be the first to ride into battle if we ever do. No one dares attack us because the crown issues a longbow or a crossbow to each householder in the realm and by decree, every citizen practices at the butts on the first Sunday of each month. There have even been occasions when their majesties have called the citizens into the square with their arms to choose what course of action they think best for the state.”
“I've never heard of such a thing. Niarg is a lucky place, indeed.”
Captain Bernard led Yann-Ber along a corridor until he came to a sturdy wooden door. “Well, here we are,” he said, as he unlocked it and waved him inside. “This room is small, but I think you'll find it comfortable. This is a part of the servants' quarters, but their majesties felt you'd feel more comfortable here, away from idle and curious traffic. However, if you feel otherwise, I'm given leave to find you another...”
“This will be fine,” said Yann-Ber. “Perfect, in fact. Please convey my sincere gratitude to the king and queen. When I came here I never expected anything even remotely like the kindness and hospitality I've gotten. I'm simply overwhelmed and more grateful than you could ever imagine. I almost feel human again.”
“I shall convey your gratitude, sir,” said Bernard with a smile, as he backed out and closed the door behind him.
Yann-Ber looked about to see a featherbed and a wash basin and a fireplace with a nice bed of coals, as well as a writing desk and a chair. There were rugs and even a small window with a view of the garden. “If these be servant's quarters, I wonder what palace guests are treated to?” he thought, as he laid his cloak across the chair, slipped out of his hose and doublet and turned down the bedcovers. He wriggled between the sheets with a sigh of contentment. “If you could only see me now,” Demonica, he thought, then knew no more for some time.
***
Myrtlebell awoke with a gasp at the click of the lock of her door. As she sat up to discover that she had been sound asleep for a good long while in her chair, the heavy door came open quietly and went closed. At the sound of its closing, she looked up from stretching her neck into the eyes of a beautiful young woman. “I've brought your supper,” said the woman with a flicker of a smile. “Shall I set it on the hearth or perhaps at your desk?”
“The desk will be fine,” said Myrtlebell. “And if you don't mind my asking, who might you be? You're certainly no servant.”
The woman set the tray on the desk and turned back to study Myrtlebell with her large dark brown eyes before replying. “You're quite correct. I brought you this in order to have a look at you. And now that I've done that, I find you to be every bit as beautiful as I'd heard.” She nodded at the tray. “You should eat before your food gets cold. 'Sheep in a hole' and 'speckled stew' are best piping hot. There's a wedge of cheese to go with your bread... Oh yes, here's this,” she said, handing over the soup spoon which she still held.
Myrtlebell looked at the tray as she stretched her back. The aroma of the food made her stomach rumble. “Thank you,” she said, as she sat at the desk. “I shall eat, if you don't mind, but please stay and talk for a while, if you would.”
The woman nodded, brushing aside a lock of her magnificent dark hair as she sat upon the bed. She said nothing as Myrtlebell ate, but considered Myrtlebell's features minutely, as if she were a specimen of some kind.
After a few minutes of this, Myrtlebell stopped eating and met the young woman's gaze. “Please forgive my bluntness, but why did you wish to see me? And just who, may I ask, are you?”
The you
ng woman dropped her gaze to pick at the folds of her rich damask kirtle.
“My name is Tramae. Brude Talorg is my father. I just wanted to see what you looked like because they say you look just like her. I had to see for myself if it were true.”
“Who?” said Myrtlebell. “Who is this person I'm supposed to resemble? And who says so?”
“All who have seen you say it, lady,” said Tramae with a sigh, still fiddling with her gown. You are the very image of my mother. Rumors are spreading even now, that you actually are she, reincarnated and returned to us.”
Myrtlebell barked one note of a laugh. “Your father can't believe that or else he cared very little for your mother.”
“My father cared deeply for my mother,” said Tramae with a frown. “Even now, years after her awful death, he still grieves. You think he's treated you ill, but I can assure you that he could never have harmed you when you look the way you do. And there are other rumors, as well, which most believe to be more likely.”
“And what might those be?” said Myrtlebell, uncertain if she wanted to hear them.
Tramae rose and stood before the fireplace, staring into the flames, causing Myrtlebell to notice that she was taller than the Beaks. “Do you remember your mother, lady?” she said, turning away from the fire.
Myrtlebell's spoon slipped into her bowl with a splash. She sat back and whisked at her bodice with her napkin. “I remember that she was fair and very beautiful, but I was quite young when she passed away.”
“How young?”
“I was four. So?”
“I was ten when my mother died, and I remember her right well,” said Tramae, jabbing at the largest log, sending a swarm of sparks dashing up the flue. “You look like her identical twin.”
“Well,” said Myrtlebell, dumping a whole spoonful of speckled stew directly into the ruffles down her front. “That's quite a coincidence.” She pushed away her plate and paused to dab and brush at herself with her napkin before meeting Tramae's intense gaze with one of her own. “And you can't seriously believe it to be anything more, surely?”
“On the contrary, lady,” said Tramae as her chin came up, “as I stand here, I'm convinced that it's no coincidence in the least. Mother often told me of the fair haired four year old girl she bore and left behind in Bratin Brute. That is your homeland, is it not?”
Myrtlebell sat back wide eyed, feeling lightheaded as she worked her mouth in silence. “But that's impossible!” she blurted out at last. “My mother died! She loved me. That's what I remember. That's what I grew up being told. And my father. Their marriage might have been arranged, but they were in love. She never would have left us for a...”
“Heathen?” said Tramae, with a flash of her eyes. “Barbarian...?”
“Another man,” said Myrtlebell, as a surge of fear shot through her. “Please, I did not say those things. Mother would not have taken up with another man.”
Tramae softened as she studied her face before turning back to jab another log. “No,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “It didn't happen that way. She was out for a ride on a new unicorn your father'd given her...”
“Yes!” said Myrtlebell with surprised conviction. “The unicorn came back without her. After weeks of search, they found her body in a ravine. They thought she'd been waylaid.”
Tramae came and sat by her. “She was indeed set upon by a highwayman, but your father found someone else in the ditch. She'd gotten out beyond the good roads when the scoundrel surprised her. He pulled her off her mount and she knocked him boss-eyed with a rock, good enough for her to flee into the brush, but not good enough for her to regain her unicorn. She ran away from him until she was hopelessly lost, and then she wandered for days on end, until she nearly starved to death.
“She'd gotten to the point that she'd walk a spell and then swoon, then come to and walk some more, until she swooned again. After a long time of this, she came to, all bound tight, a-dangling from a pole being hauled on the shoulders of some dorchadas. They were taking her to their camp for to cook her, when Father's rangers came upon them and cut off their stinking heads.
“At the very time when she was being nursed back to health here at the Castle, Carlin Cruinnich, whom you might know as Ugleeuh, was banished to the Chokewoods, and from that moment on, the power of one evil spell after another kept us confined, so that Mother...our mother, lady, was trapped. And here she stayed until she died, giving birth to our little brother, Donnel.”
“Yes,” said Myrtlebell, shaking her head with wide eyes, “but there's no way...”
“Mother's name was Lira,” said Tramae with a resolute sigh. “She was an only child. She had stunning blue eyes and a birth mark the size of a small currant on her left cheek. She also had a lovely singing voice and treasured the love poems your father wrote her when they were first married...”
“Then it is indeed true! You know far too many things. You verily must be my sister.”
***
Yann-Ber awoke with a start to a loud knock at his door. He hesitated to marvel in awe at not waking in putrid rags, but was reminded at once of his disfiguring curse as he struggled painfully out of the warm feather bed onto the cold flagstone floor. Managing his way to the door, he lifted the latch to find Captain Bernard.
“Breakfast has been laid for you in the garden, good sir,” said Bernard with a sympathetic look at the sight of Yann-Ber's pained efforts to stand straight, “and the queen bids me inform you that she's discovered that her father (the Wizard Razzmorten is her father, don't you know) is currently in the Gobbler Marsh. However, she has no idea whatsoever why he's there or where he might be headed next.”
“I see,” said Yann-Ber, as he thought this over. “Well, good Captain, could I trouble you to give me a moment to dress, so that I could follow you to the garden?”
“Most certainly, Sir.”
Yann-Ber quickly closed the door and dressed in such a frenzy that he returned to the door with a ruptured pustule seeping through his fine linen shirt, just below his collarbone. He stepped outside in the midst of a medley of calls from a mimic thrush, busily making declarations from the nearby pear tree, under a light grey sky. “What a fine morning, Captain,” he said. “Thank you for waiting. I've not yet had time to learn my way around.”
“My pleasure indeed,” said Bernard as he turned to lead the way.
“So Captain, I take it that the queen didn't expect the wizard to be in this...what did you call it, Gobbler Marsh?”
“No, she was right surprised. Razzmorten had set out with his grandchildren for the Dragon Caves on some mission having nothing to do with the marsh,” he said, slowing his initial pace so that Yann-Ber could keep up. “However I'm sorry to say sir, I've no details beyond that. If you wish, you'll have no problem asking the king and queen themselves when they take air in the garden, later.”
“I believe I shall indeed ask them, if that be acceptably discreet.”
“They are quite approachable, sir. Besides, I believe they were intending to speak with you after you'd finished with your breakfast, anyway,” said Bernard, stopping in the path with a crunch of gravel under his boots. “Speaking of which, here it is, spread out where you last ate. Have a seat. Enjoy.”
“Oh, I most certainly will,” said Yann-Ber, nodding appreciatively at the grand meal laid before him. “But, I couldn't possibly eat all of this. Won't you please join me?”
“Thank you, but I had breakfast less than an hour ago. I'd love to another time, perhaps.”
“Certainly,” said Yann-Ber, as he took his seat. “I'd be right honored.”
Bernard nodded with satisfaction and returned to his own duties at the gate, leaving Yann-Ber, a stranger and a foreigner, amazed to find himself trusted enough to be left to his own devices. “Mmm! Ar blijadur eo ganin. Digor eo ma c'halon,” he said through a mouthful of bread and ham to the fruit trees beyond the table. “I like this Niarg. I like it a lot.”
Chapter 68
Myrtlebell slept fitfully after going to bed with what she had learnt from Tramae. She was not at all rested when the red light of dawn woke her. Resentfully, she covered up with her pillow, but she was wide awake. With an exhausted sigh at thoughts of her newly discovered half sister, she flung back the covers and sat up to face the day. She washed, combed her hair, made her bed and then squatted on the hearth to scratch for coals in the ashes she had banked before retiring.
“Mercy,” she said, as she peeled splinters from a stick of kindling. “A half brother, a half sister and a full blown raging heathen for a stepfather. Jolly good, but all I want is Edward,” she dropped one knee to the bricks and covered her face with both hands, muffling her sob. She turned aside from the fireplace with a whoop of grief and sat, holding her sniffles against her face as she gave in at last to despair. At this very moment there came a knock.
“Yes!” she called out, as she quickly gave a waddling turn back to her feeble fire.
The door came open for Tramae and a young naked Beak soldier, tattooed from head to toe with writhing beasts, who paused at once at the sight of her struggling to regain her composure. Myrtlebell wiped at an eye with the heel of her hand as she hurried to tug at a stick from across her knees.
Tramae and the soldier gave her a moment to collect herself by resuming irrelevant talk. Presently, the soldier stepped forth to set logs on top of the growing flames.
“I wasn't actually expecting anyone,” said Myrtlebell, as she rose to smile awkwardly at Tramae.
“I'm sorry if this is a bad time,” said Tramae, with a sympathetic look, “but my father sent Etharnan, here, and me for to fetch you to breakfast with him.”
Wide eyed surprise and refusal took hold of Myrtlebell, but before she could put her thoughts together sensibly, Tramae rushed on: “I understand how you might feel just now, but it would be very unwise to refuse. Father is not a cruel man, in spite of what you think, but he is Ru and is right commanding and does not tolerate rejection. Besides, I suspect he plans to offer you your freedom if you accept his terms.”
Heart of the Staff - Complete Series Page 74
