Sir Apropos of Nothing

by Peter David

  Our mouths parted and I thought desperately of something to say. “Sorry” was all I came up with.

  “You know this man, weaver?” asked Meander slowly.

  “My beloved Tacit? How could I not know my lover? He who warms me with his very essence?”

  “The good Sir Coreolis claims that he is in the employ of Runcible, and is actually named Apropos …”

  She laughed at that. “What foolishness. The good Sir Coreolis is misinformed.”

  That caused him to find his voice. “The good Sir Coreolis is going to kill the both of you!” he bellowed.

  Meander froze him with a glance. “Sharee has been in my service for some time now, Coreolis, and served me well. Restrain yourself. Now.” Without even bothering to make sure that Coreolis did as ordered, Meander turned back to Sharee and said, in as grave a voice as I’ve ever heard any man employ, “Sharee … do you swear on your oath as a weaver that this man is named Tacit? That he is your lover? That he is not now, nor has he ever been, in service to King Runcible? On your oath, Sharee?”

  The wind began to howl. I heard a distant creaking of ice from overhead. It felt as if the wintery winds and fierce weather that had been kept at bay by Sharee’s magiks were starting to intrude on our zone of safety. I looked to Sharee nervously, and she, in turn, never wavered in her gaze as she and Meander faced one another.

  “On my oath as a weaver, I do swear it to be so,” she said.

  “She lies!” bellowed Coreolis and, gripping his sword with both hands, he charged.

  At that exact moment, there was a massive cracking noise and a huge tree, weighed down by the ice that had gathered in its upper reaches, and pounded by winds so fearsome that they threatened to knock us all over, broke off at its base. It toppled over, massive, irresistible. Everyone in its way scattered …

  … save for Coreolis, who was so focused on attacking Sharee and me that he dashed directly into the tree’s path. At the last second the crashing of icicles around him alerted him and he looked up, but too late. He had barely enough time for an abortive scream, and then the tree slammed down and crushed him beneath its weight. His armor did him no good, as it was flattened along with the rest of him.

  Once again silence reigned over the scene as we stared at the mishap, Coreolis’s body completely obscured by the huge trunk.

  And then, the picture of calm, Meander said, “Well. That would seem to be it, then.” He raised his voice and addressed his men. “Gentlemen … it would appear that the clever King Runcible sent the late Sir Coreolis to us in an attempt to trap us. The supposed alliance he offered to form with us months ago, in exchange for our capturing King Runcible, was apparently naught but a meticulously constructed and elaborate invitation to disaster. Well … we will not accept his invitation. Allow the king to sit there in his foolish motley. We will attend to other matters. As for you, weaver,” and he turned to Sharee.

  “Yes, Highness?”

  “Your servitude to me is at an end.”

  She blinked in surprise. “It … is?”

  “You have attended to me quite well during this time. And in this instance, your intervention helped to unmask the duplicity of Coreolis and prevented me from tumbling into whatever trap Runcible had set. I believe that it is time to call our accounts settled. Unless you have objections to that …”

  “No. No objections at all.”

  “Very well. Tacit … am I safe in assuming that you will remain with your lover, rather than with the Journeymen?”

  “That … is a safe assumption, Highness.”

  “Yes. Well, I cannot say I am surprised. Then again … it takes a great deal to surprise me.”

  He smiled at me.

  I looked at the scars. My mother’s handiwork on her murderer’s face.

  My hand started to go for my knife and then Sharee’s hand was resting, gently but firmly, on my arm, freezing it in place.

  Moments later the army of King Meander was moving off. I stood there and watched them go, the cloak drawn tightly around me to ward off the cold. Sharee stood close to me, and not a word passed between us for quite some time as Meander’s troops disappeared from view. The only thing that was left was the crushed body of Coreolis, somewhere beneath the frost-covered tree. When the spring thaw finally hit—which would happen sooner rather than later, thanks to Sharee no longer interfering with the weather patterns—some lucky scavenging animals would find their first meal, neatly preserved.

  “That was interesting,” she said.

  I turned to her. “I was ready to think we were even now, for the time I saved you,” I said. “But because of me, he released you from service to him. Let me guess: Gambling debt.”

  “You know me too well,” she said with mild amusement, which quickly faded from her voice. “But no. We are not even, for reasons you cannot begin to comprehend. Don’t you see? The only thing that enabled me to convince Meander of the truth of my words was to swear a weaver’s oath. But I lied under that oath. Such actions, while benefiting in the short term, have long-term harsh consequences.”

  “For whom?” I asked nervously.

  “For all who benefit in the short term.”

  I did not like the sound of that, but I felt that dwelling on it would serve me about as well as dwelling on the fact that I’d just let my mother’s murderer walk away. Instead I shifted the subject. “You’ve been in my dreams. Why? What have you been trying to tell me?”

  She stared at me as if I was mad. “Me? I’ve never been in your dreams. I’m no dreamweaver. You’re imagining things.”

  “Are you willing to swear a weaver’s oath on that? Or would you be violating two within minutes of each other?”

  She didn’t reply, unless you can consider an enigmatic smile a reply. “On your way now, little man.”

  “On my way? You mean …”

  “I’m not coming with you, no. Not yet. It’s not time. This other foolishness has to play out.”

  “What foolishness? Dammit, Sharee, can’t you stop talking in riddles?”

  She looked surprised that I even had to ask. “No,” she said. She started to turn away and then, in an offhand manner, inquired, “Oh … is Tacit dead yet? Tacit One-Eye, I mean. Your childhood playmate. He who first tried to rescue me and owes his salvation to you and your purse.”

  Obviously she had not heard Sir Coreolis’s bellowed pronouncement of his fate. ” ‘Yet’? How did you know he was dead at all?” I asked, startled.

  “That’s easy. You’re still alive. I never thought this world was big enough for the both of you.”

  And with that, she stepped back toward the icy trees. I swore I never took my eyes off her, and yet the next moment, between eyeblinks, she had blended in with the snow and was gone.

  I stood there staring, although I had no idea for how long I did so. Although on the one hand I wanted to will her back to me, I nevertheless had the distinct feeling that I might have got off lucky. It was with those precise mixed emotions that I trudged away to the fort, having no idea how I was going to feel when I saw Entipy again … especially considering that I had already resigned myself to never seeing her, or her father, again (never seeing Odclay the jester wasn’t preying on my mind at all).

  As I approached the castle, I smiled and shook my head at the ludicrous sight of the King of Isteria, on my say-so, continuing his nonsensical singing. But I could tell that he was already beginning to suspect that Meander had departed, and when he caught sight of me, I waved to him and nodded. He didn’t recognize me at first, clad as I was in the garments of a Journeyman. But when he did he got to his feet and returned the wave, looking somewhat relieved that he didn’t have to keep singing. Then he disappeared from view as he climbed down, only to emerge some minutes later—with Entipy and Odclay on either side of him—from the front gate.

  Entipy was, I have to say, quite a sight. She ran toward me, her arms pinwheeling, intermingling shouting of my name with nearly incoherent squeals of joy. I su
ddenly felt very tired, even exhausted, still having trouble believing that such a half-assed plan as I had developed had actually worked. Never in a million years would I have given myself the slightest hope of succeeding.

  The princess got within four feet of me and then jumped, literally leaping into my arms. I staggered from the impact, and would have fallen over had not the king arrived quickly enough to brace me. I should say, though, that if there was one man even more ludicrous-looking than the king, it was the jester, attired in the king’s own raiment. Yet even the jester rose to the occasion as he pumped my hand firmly and said, “Well done. Very well done,” with absolutely no trace of insanity to his voice. If the man was capable of staying lucid for longer periods of time, we might actually be able to be friends.

  “I never doubted you! Never!” said Entipy.

  She had no idea, of course. No idea that, save for the timing of my encountering the scout in the woods, I would be far away from this place, while she and her father would be captives of Meander. Nor did she ever need to know.

  “Nor did I, Princess,” I replied as suavely as I could, “for I knew that I had you to come back to.”

  She held me tightly, and I winced because I was still aching from the wounds Tacit had inflicted. But I tried to keep a stoic face.

  “Tell us what happened, Apropos,” said the king as we walked slowly back to the fort. “Tell us everything.”

  Well, obviously I didn’t tell them everything. Somehow I didn’t think I would be doing myself any favors by telling them that I’d been looking to flee when fate had taken a hand. So obviously I gave myself a slightly more … willing … role in the proceedings.

  The king looked both surprised and saddened to learn of Coreolis’s involvement and duplicity. When Coreolis’s name first came up, he stopped walking so that he could give the tale his full attention. Naturally we all had to stop as well as I told him everything, up to and including Coreolis’s curious demise at the hands—well, limbs—of a tree.

  “I have known for quite some time that he was discontent,” murmured Runcible. “But that he would do this … it is tragic. Truly tragic. How someone can aspire to greatness and do so with no sense of honor at all … I do not understand it. Do you, squire?”

  Desperate to move on, I simply gave a quick shake of the head and then managed to say, “So … what do we do now, Highness?” I was most anxious to do anything to draw attention away from myself.

  The king frowned, considering the question. Surprisingly, it was the jester who spoke up, sounding as if he was sliding back into his comfortable lunacy. “No matter where they go … here we are,” he said cheerfully.

  I didn’t pretend to understand, but the king promptly said, “That is a good observation, Odclay.”

  “It is?” Entipy said, surprised.

  “Yes,” said the king, cheerfully. “What he’s saying is—”

  And a voice, cold as ice, interrupted, “What he is saying is that you should remain here for a time to see if your escorts and knights return.”

  We stopped and looked ahead of us.

  King Meander was leaning against the great front door of the fort, with a wry smile upon his face and a long sword in his hand.

  Chapter 27

  Naturally we froze.

  “Hello. I’m King Meander—also known as the Keepless King and the Vagabond King. Although since it is just us few, I tend to think simply ‘Meander’ will do. I am not often one for standing on ceremony.” Meander looked at each of us in turn, and then pointed the long sword at each of us, one by one. I was amazed by the fact that, even though it was a two-hander, he held it with one hand as if it weighed nothing. “The true jester … ?”

  “Odclay, yes, sir,” said the jester, trembling as the point was aimed at him. He probably thought that Meander was going to run him through simply on general principles. I thought as much myself.

  But Meander just nodded slightly and turned the point to Entipy. “And … the princess?”

  Entipy said nothing. She just looked at him defiantly, chin slightly upturned. But to her obvious surprise, her father said quietly, “You are being addressed by a king, my dear. Even an enemy king. As a princess, you are obliged to respond in a suitable manner.”

  She spit at Meander. The glob landed squarely on the front of his armor.

  That’s it, we’re dead, I thought.

  But to my shock, Meander simply laughed. “There are many,” he said with obvious amusement, “who would concur that that response was appropriate. But they would not have the nerve to see such a sentiment through. Well done, Princess.” He paused and then added as an afterthought, “Do it again and I will leave your neck longing for your pretty head.”

  She puckered her lips, preparing to let fly again. Immediately I clapped my hand over her mouth. The result was a large wad of saliva in my hand. I was rarely more thankful that I was wearing gloves.

  “And ‘Apropos,’ I take it?” Again the Keepless King chuckled. “Alas, poor Coreolis. To die confused about matters is a sad enough state … but to meet your demise knowing beyond question that you are right and everyone else is wrong … ah well. Your fortunes were clearly in ascendance over his. Although you managed to enlist a weaver who willingly swore a false oath on your behalf. Aside from still being alive, that may be the single greatest accomplishment of your life, squire. How did you do it? What hold do you have on her?”

  “I’ve no idea,” I said honestly.

  “Her?” said Entipy.

  “Well … whatever it might be, learn from it and learn how to exploit it, for it is a most formidable thing. And when you next see her, in this life or the next … do give her my best wishes.”

  “Her?” Entipy said again.

  “Quiet,” I said between gritted teeth.

  And then Meander turned to Runcible. His sword was still unwavering. The amount of strength in his arms must have been considerable. “And you. Runcible the Crafty.”

  “Meander the Mad,” replied Runcible. He wasn’t looking at the sword at all; instead he was staring straight into Meander’s eyes. I wondered what he saw there.

  “An honor.”

  “The same.”

  “Did you craft this little strategy?”

  “My response depends upon yours,” Runcible said thoughtfully. “If you wish to kill the one who conceived it … yes. It was I.”

  Meander considered this for a moment, and then turned back to me. “A very clever plan, Apropos.”

  He said it with such flat conviction that I couldn’t even bring myself to try and deny it … which, for me, was a hell of an admission to make. “Thank you, Highness,” I said. “Personally, I thought it was rather an insane proposition at best. So you flatter me.”

  “It takes no imagination to conceive a plan that everyone is expecting. You think outside of the box, Apropos. That may take you far …”

  ” ‘May’ meaning … if you don’t kill me here and now.”

  He sighed heavily. “Such talk of killing. Is that all the world exists for? Killing?”

  “I should like to think not,” Runcible replied. “I would like to think that other, softer emotions and interests provide beauty and charm to us all.”

  I couldn’t quite believe the conversation that was occurring. I scanned the area, looking for some indication of the rest of Meander’s forces. Were they hiding? Had they doubled back and taken up positions in the fort? But no … such actions would have left tracks all over the snow, and the only ones I saw at this point were Meander’s. So they had to be waiting in the forest nearby, arrows undoubtedly trained on us. Why, then, was Meander prolonging this business? He had us … appropriately enough … cold. What was his game?

  “Softer emotions?” He seemed to consider that, then looked back to me. “Is that what motivated the weaver, Apropos? Softer emotions? Feelings for you?”

  Entipy was looking extremely annoyed at repeated mentions of a female weaver who apparently felt something
for me. Desiring to move on, I suggested, “I saved her life on one occasion. Perhaps she felt indebted to me.”

  Meander scoffed at that. “Weavers feel no debt to any except themselves,” replied Meander. “Although, like all humans, they excel in self-deception. Much as you do, young squire. I was young once …”

  “Highness, with all respect …”

  But he wasn’t listening to me. Instead he looked as if he was gazing into a time and place very, very far away. “Would you like to hear a tale? That I … heard in my youth?”

  Entipy turned to me. “Give me a sword. I’m going to throw myself on it just to end this.”

  “Quiet, Entipy,” Runcible said firmly.

  “Once upon a time …” began Meander.

  “Oh my gods,” Entipy moaned. But Runcible fired her a severe look and she silenced herself.

  ” … there was a king,” Meander continued. “He was not the wisest of kings, nor even the bravest of kings. But he was the coldest of kings, for he was of his land, and his land was a cold and barren place. It was a place that the sun had forgotten about.

  “In this place was a great, cold castle and he lived there with his great, cold heart. And rarely did he smile, or frown, or give any indication that he had any interest in the frozen world around him. Entire days would pass and he would simply sit in his throne, like an ice statue, and stare at nothing. His courtiers would walk gingerly around him, wondering if he was even alive. Only the occasional blinking would inform them of such, because he was so cold within and without that even his breath would not mist up. That is how cold he was. He came to be known in some circles as Old King Cold, even though he was not all that old. And as Old King Cold would stare into nothingness, he would be looking for something. And the oddest thing was, he had no idea what he was looking for.

  “And then, one very cold day—as they all were—he found it.

  “Her name was Tia. She was a jewel of the North, but where the cold king was frozen ice, she was a frozen diamond. She had many facets, and when Old King Cold would look at her, he would see small flames jumping about within her. It was the first time that Old King Cold was able to approach flames while feeling some measure of safety in doing so.