A Child of Great Promise: An Altearth Tale

by Ellis L. Knox

  “I’ll keep my hair covered,” she said, suddenly anxious.

  “Yes, certainly. Then, you will ride with us, taking the bull to the arena.”

  “I?”

  “Verily. The horse likes you and Tachette knows the city.”

  “Won’t everyone be watching?”

  “They watch the bull, not you,” Guarin said. “We guide the bull. You come behind, mostly to block any hotheads from trying to dash in and touch the bull. They like to do this to prove their courage. Yngezo rides beside you. No one remarks an awkward boy riding in the rear van.”

  Talysse was about to protest she was neither awkward nor a boy, but she kept her tongue. She reached down and patted Detta, who was twining her fingers so anxiously they almost formed knots.

  “There, you see, tante? Guarin has arranged everything. I will see you inside, very soon.” She put more confidence into her voice than she felt.

  Detta looked up. “Ayi, are you sure, Lyssie? Ayi.”

  “Quite sure,” Talysse said.

  Detta nodded and drew a deep breath.

  “Hoi,” Guarin called in a loud voice. In smooth, swift movements, the gardiens arranged themselves on either side of the bull, which was snorting and tossing his head nervously. Yngezo moved to Talysse’s side.

  “Stay next to me, argent, and you will see a thing to remember. L’entrée!”

  Talysse said she would ride close. At another command, the gardiens set out with Guarin at the point of the wedge that encompassed the white-horned bull. She and Yngezo closed the back of the wedge from a couple of yards behind.

  As they rode at an easy pace, Yngezo said, “If he tries to lag, I will use my trident to urge him along.” He handed a second long spear to Talysse. “Seat it there,” he said, indicating a kind of pocket alongside the saddle, “but do not try to use it. You have no practice. Dropping it brings shame.”

  Detta called out a farewell from behind, but Talysse could not reply. With one hand she held the trident, which was heavier than she had expected and required her attention to keep in place. Her other hand held Tachette’s reins. The general excitement affected him as well, and she had to keep a firm grip to settle him. For a time, it was all she could do to keep from falling off.

  The city wall swept forward like a cresting wave. Directly ahead, an opening yawned, a low rectangle of shadow. The gardiens rode into it like a flight of swallows. The light of morning dimmed briefly as Talysse passed beneath heavy wooden beams, the muffled thunder of hooves suddenly louder. She glimpsed armed men liveried in azure and gold, then she was through.

  The white horses seemed to know where they were, for they trotted proudly, at the edge of a canter, keeping close to the bull, never breaking rank. The bull ran, but now and again he plunged or tried to turn. Somehow the horses kept him on course without once coming within reach of the horns. Talysse had to do little more than stay mounted, for Tachette naturally fell in step with Yngezo’s horse.

  From open windows and doorways leaned the citizens of Arles. Dark-haired women waved kerchiefs of blue and yellow, or red and white. Men waved their hats, shouting as if for a champion. Behind the company ran a straggle of boys and young men who cried out “Toro! Taureau! Les gardiens!” Some gave out along the way, but others were always ready to join. Among them were young men dressed in white pants and white shirts, each wearing a red kerchief around his neck.

  All along the way, the road cleared itself, people and animals scattering down side streets or gathering like leaves at the edge of plazas. The whole parade thundered down cobbled streets that curved more than they ran straight, narrowing until the flank riders brushed the faces of whitewashed buildings. It was like being aboard some grand, complicated barge that sailed between brightly-colored waves. Then all fell away, buildings and people alike, and there was the arena.

  Talysse gasped. One moment she was on a paved trail winding through a forest of doors and windows; the next she had pulled up before an immense structure that could have held ten Saldemers. She had only a moment to admire the warm, honey-yellow stone arena with its immense arches stacked one atop the other, a structure seeming to be built as much of air as of stone.

  “Hoi,” a rider called, gesturing insistently. Tachette danced, impatient. Talysse eased the reins and he quickly caught up and followed the others into cool darkness.

  The arch led into a tunnel whose walls shook to the heavy tread of unshod hooves. The rich odor of livestock hung in the air. She could imagine herself swallowed by an immense whale.

  After only a moment Guarin called a halt. The gardiens pulled back and men on foot came forward. Using prods, they took charge of the bull, leading him down a side passage. The gardiens dismounted, so Talysse followed suit. She stood, a little bewildered, holding Tachette’s reins and stroking his neck. Jollins found her.

  “Our work is done for the time,” he said.

  Her mind was still careening down strange streets. “Do you always enter the city this way?” she asked.

  “Yes, though I never come into the city,” he replied, “except to bring the bull.”

  Guarin motioned at Talysse. “Come and we will see how our bull fares in the arena.”

  “Where is Detta?” she asked, reluctant to go further without her compagnon.

  “She is with Donat,” Guarin said, “and so she is safe. The city is a busy place, Talysse. It takes longer to cross than a marais in a rainstorm. Let us go. It is more pleasant in the open than in this dark cave.”

  She did not want to sit here by herself. Once again she was reminded how dependent she was on these gardiens, not merely for protection against Saveric, but even to know where next to place her foot. She got up with a sigh and followed him along a slanting tunnel that vanished into bright sunlight and noise.

  As busy as the city streets had been, the arena was even busier. It was as if the streets were siphons pouring people into a vast bowl, where they now bubbled and jostled like a boiling pot.

  “Follow me,” Guarin said. This was easily done because she could hardly have gone in any other direction. Narrow stone stairs rose seemingly up to the sky. Stone benches arced away left and right, almost solid with people, an even mix of elves and humans with a scattering of dwarves. Guarin stopped and worked his way along one bench. As she followed, Talysse noticed the image of a horse’s head carved into the stone at the bench’s end. A stretch was empty of people; the gardiens arranged themselves along it.

  Only after she had sat down did Talysse begin to take in the whole of the place. The warm colors of stone and sand were decorated with a wild panoply of color. The humans seemed to favor white and red, though here and there bright gold and pale blue marked people wearing the colors of the Kingdom of Arelat. More varied were the elves, who seemed to favor every color as long as it was bright—scarlet and indigo, vermilion, saffron, verdigris, and colors for which she had no name. And a hundred shades of hair, from slate to her own shining silver. Her heart leaped at the sight of this. They were like her! She resisted the urge to tear off her kerchief and throw away her black hat.

  She drank in that sight for several minutes before paying attention to the rest. The amphitheater itself rose impossibly high, crowned by arches that appeared to serve no purpose other than to show it could be done. At the very bottom was an oval of sand that matched the rich yellow of the stone, perfectly level and perfectly groomed, as if living feet had never trodden it. The oval was bordered by a wooden wall about five feet high, painted dark red, which set apart a walkway between the seats and the arena’s sand. Something like stalls occupied that space. What was all that for? She could not tell.

  Donat emerged from the shadows with Detta hurrying behind. Guarin raised an arm; Donat spotted him and climbed the stony steps.

  “How fare you?” Guarin asked.

  “Well enough,” Donat answered. “Small trouble. They watch the gates, as you supposed, cousin. You plan well to send madame gnome in separately.”

 
; Guarin nodded, Donat sat, and no more was said.

  That’s all? Talysse thought. There must be more. What sort of “small trouble”? She scooted over to make room for Detta to sit beside her.

  “Oof,” the gnome said, “I am so very glad to see you, Lyssie. Ayi! Have you ever seen anything like this?” She waved a hand at the arena.

  “No, never,” Talysse said. “But you must tell me everything. What’s this about a small trouble?”

  Detta’s reply was forestalled by a flourish of trumpets off to her left. A whole band stood on a dais at the lowest level—several tall drums with taller drummers, trumpeters with their bronze horns gleaming in the sun, and three with what looked like skinny lutes.

  Down in the arena, a broad wooden gate swung open and the crowd uttered a shout that gradually fell away to silence.

  “So,” Talysse turned again to Detta, “tell.”

  “We walked to the city, Master Donat and I. It’s rather a long walk, not to complain.”

  The stringed instruments set up a droning sound, but Talysse said to keep going.

  “We reached the city soon enough, though. I don’t mind saying that between the great numbers of people and the great high walls, I was nearly overcome. How can people live in such noise?”

  “I don’t know,” Talysse said. She thought it was exciting, herself, but she did not want to distract Detta from her story. The drummers were joining with a slow, deep pattern, slower than a heartbeat. She leaned closer so she could hear. “When you got to the gate, is that where you had the trouble?”

  “Indeed. It may have been small trouble to the gardien Donat, but it seemed large enough to me, and I had to face it alone.”

  “What? Alone? Where was Donat?” Talysse shot an angry look at the gardien.

  “He said I should do better alone. He said they were looking for two, so I should be only one. And if Donat were with me, the guards might ask him about me and he might have to lie.”

  “Hmph,” Talysse said.

  “Oh, look!” Detta exclaimed.

  Horns joined the other instruments as figures emerged from the darkness of the wide gate: two lines of women, colorfully dressed. They moved in an elegant step, a dozen in each column, in perfectly matched rhythm, like palace guards on parade. The music sped up, becoming almost wild, yet the steps of the women kept their slow march, on every eighth beat. It set Talysse’s blood racing.

  “They are all such beauties,” Detta said.

  Some of the women were old, some young, but they were all magnificently arrayed. Each wore a brilliantly white shirt, and a red skirt that went to the ankle. Black boots, shined to a high polish, gleamed against the sand. Graceful embroidery varied the common uniform, tracing patterns in yellow and green and pale blue.

  As they marched, now one woman, now another, executed a pirouette, or raised an arm, or gave a hop, always in time, seeming to be both planned and spontaneous. In this manner they reached the center of the arena where they and the music stopped, save for the slow thump of a deep drum.

  “My, my,” Detta said.

  “Go on with your story, tante. But hurry. I expect we’ll be interrupted again.”

  “I went in a line of people. Guards questioned everyone. They arrested the man just in front of me, saying he was a brigand who had robbed a merchant. Then they called me forward. Called me ma petite, which I don’t truly much care for, but they were courteous enough. They asked me my business, but then another man came. He wore a brown robe.”

  “Tante!” Talysse cried out so loud the others looked her way.

  “It was not him,” Detta said quickly. “I would know that villain. But maybe one of his order? ‘Let me see your face, gnome.’ That’s what he said, nor even a ‘good day, madame.’ He had a voice like thick oil. But I showed my face. What else could I do?”

  “Nothing,” Talysse said.

  “The man says, ‘A gnome the color of a fawn. Why are you here? Do not lie to me.’ That’s what he said! Arrogant man.” Detta trailed off in soft snarls.

  “One of the guards, the kindly one, speaks up. ‘Here now,’ he says, ‘we’ll be asking the questions. This is the king’s city, not yours.’

  “That evil man says, ‘The Syndicat searches,’ and the guard comes back with ‘For two. A gnome and a girl. Before me is only a gnome. I do not see a girl.’ And he looks at his comrades and says, ‘Do you?’

  “The other men laugh. One says the Syndics can all go suck eggs.” Detta giggled at this. “And the wizard retreats, wondrous to say, and the guards let me through. I went and hid, me. Waited for Master Donat, who came and found me. He says I am not good at hiding. I think he is joking, but I cannot tell.”

  The lone drum was now joined by the other two, rattling in a kind of tumbling rhythm. Out from the entry sprang a lone woman, and a single, sharp shout came from the crowd.

  “What’s is happening?” Detta wondered.

  The woman contrasted with the others in every way. Where the two lines of women had entered in a stately walk, she charged into the arena like a loosed animal. She ran, her long dress swirling as she spun and leaped, until she had passed between the others. Where they were all coiffed and finely dressed, her brown hair hung loose, spiraling like her dark green dress. Her shoulders and feet were bare. Her dance was all leaps and twirls and sudden crouches, her face at times nearly touching the sand. The music was as wild as the dance. After a breathless minute of this, the music shifted again, into a rolling, surging tune.

  Now entered a single rider, a gardien on a magnificent stallion of purest white, its long mane hanging well below its neck. The rider, with his trident and black boots, bore down on the dancer at a wild gallop. The two fell into a mad duet, the young woman and the rider. The movements of the horse—plunges and rears and prancing steps—were every bit as astonishing as those of the woman. More than once, Talysse gasped or cried out, nor was she alone. All around the arena people called out and even screamed. The musicians sent out cascades of notes and harmonies.

  Then, abruptly, it ended. Horse and woman stood, panting wildly, leaning into each other. The music resolved into a sweet melody, the cascades swirling into a languid pool.

  The gardien dismounted. Together, he and the woman led the stallion out of the arena. The music returned to the entrada and the other women followed in halt-step. The doors closed. The arena roared in appreciation.

  Guarin leaned across Ceranne to speak to Talysse. He had to shout over the cheering of the crowd.

  “Now we will see our bull. He is up first.”

  At that, an array of horns sounded and the big gates at the end of the oval swung wide.

  From the opening now marched two lines of human men dressed in white pants and shirts. They took the same route as the women, but the men strode in long, easy strides, waving to the crowd. Once at the center, they bowed grandly, then went to the wall that encompassed the arena and climbed over it, spacing themselves in small groups all around the circumference. The crowd fell silent again.

  Talysse began to get restless. This is going to take all day, she thought. She looked at Detta for sympathy, but the gnome leaned forward, eyes bright and eager.

  Pipes shrilled. The wood gate opened again. The crowd called ‘là là, taureau!’ and out came the bull, charging the length of the arena so fast Talysse thought he would crash into the fence, but he pulled up just short and stood, lowering his head and pawing at the sandy arena floor. Absurdly, on his back was pinned some sort of bright blue ribbon.

  He was all black, with curving white horns, their tips deadly sharp. Instantly she was back in the herd with the massive head and wide nostrils inches from her face, the brown eyes regarding her. She hoped the men would not hurt the bull.

  Horns sounded and twenty young men vaulted over the fence into the arena. What followed was itself a kind of dance. The youths shouted and waved their arms. One or another ran at the beast, coming from behind or on a flank, or even from in front, getting d
angerously close. The bull chased this or that one right up to the fence. The fleeing youth jumped, planted one foot on the top, then leaped over as the bull pulled up short, thwarted by the fence. Sometimes the bull went right up onto the fence with his front feet, scattering those behind and eliciting shrieks from those in the front rows, while the rest of the crowd cried out ‘ooh! Là!’ Once the bull caught a man. He ran him down and would have gored him but for the others, who rushed to distract the creature.

  It all seemed madness to Talysse.

  “What are they doing?” she asked Guarin.

  “They compete to win the cocarde,” he answered. “The ribbon on the bull’s back.”

  “Why?”

  He glanced at her. “They test themselves against the bull. But also the bull shows his strength.”

  She watched a few more minutes in silence; it still made no sense. Then the horns sounded and the young men retreated behind the wall. Five gardiens rode out on their white stallions. Using their tridents freely, they herded the bull from the arena to wild cheering. The young men, though, looked dejected.

  “I don’t understand any of this,” Talysse said.

  “The bull won,” Detta said. “Wasn’t it grand?”

  “Tante?” Talysse said, utterly surprised.

  “I’ve not seen a feria before, but my da did once. He told us about it often, but it’s ever so much more exciting in person.”

  “Did you notice the bits of thread on the horns?” Ceranne asked.

  “I did.”

  “The raseteurs—those young men—must pluck each thread from the horns. If they get them all before the signal, the man with the most threads is awarded that bull’s cocarde—that ribbon on its back. But if threads remain, then the bull has won. He has proved his value and will be used in breeding for the next year. This one will fetch a good price—the youths took only four threads.”

  Before Talysse could tell Ceranne how ridiculous it all was, the pipes sounded again.