“Come with me,” he said. “Stay close.
CHAPTER TEN
The Elf Chevalier
Talysse stayed close, though she had to quick-step to match the elf’s long strides. They had not gone far before they arrived at a wide door. He pulled it open. Inside was an antechamber with two doors, the one on the right with a bed painted on it, the other with a table. He took the right-hand side into a hall, lit only from an open door at the end. Partway along, he opened a door into a small room. Moving in almost total darkness, he laid Detta onto a bed, then lit a lamp. The sudden light showed a room as plain as her cell back in Saldemer. Talysse rushed to Detta’s side. The gnome lay in a straw bed, on her back, eyes closed. Her fur had been dirtied by her fall, but otherwise she could have been merely sleeping.
Jehan knelt next to Talysse. He listened to Detta’s breathing, felt for a pulse at her neck, examined her for blood.
“Will she…” Talysse forced her words from a tight throat. “…will she live?”
“She will not die,” the elf said. “When she wakes, we will see if her mind has been hurt or only her head.”
Talysse’s gut twisted. She thought for a moment she might get sick.
“Thank you,” she said. “You saved our lives.”
Jehan did not respond. He stood, moved over to a wooden table, and leaned against the wall near the door. He gestured to indicate a stool where she might sit.
She thanked him again and pulled the stool next to the bed. Voices of men came through the thin walls.
She examined Jehan, who appeared to ignore her stare. He could be handsome, she thought, if he did not look so morose. His lips were full, but they turned down at the corners. His eyes also turned down, with lids lowered and wrinkles at the corners. He was Unsighted, with a faint scar on his forehead where his third eye used to be. His hair fell in white, unkempt waves like sea surf over his shoulders. His clothes were worn, chosen without care. She thought he looked like an abandoned house. Yet, for all that, he was well-built, strong in back and legs, wide-shouldered, with powerful arms. There was a brooding, brutish air about him, a tension as of an ill-used animal.
“This is an inn for the tourniers,” Jehan said. “They will be loud, for some among them are celebrating.” When Talysse looked at him quizzically, he explained, “Those who fight in the tournoi—the tourney, as some call it, though that is not quite the proper name.”
“Are you a soldier?” Talysse asked.
“No,” Jehan said, then added, “I was. I… am trying not to be.”
Talysse kept talking to him, in part to keep herself from fussing over Detta. “How does a person try not to be a soldier? Can’t you just leave?”
“I did. But they still have something of mine.”
“What?”
“My armor. And my sword.”
“Oh.” Talysse studied the man in the flickering light. His eyes were deep-set, so she had to look hard to see their color: stone gray. “Are you a nobleman?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
He rubbed one long hand over the other. “If you must know…” he said, then trailed off.
When it was evident he wasn’t going to continue, Talysse prompted him. “I’d like to know,” she said.
His back straightened, as if he had decided something.
“I am an elf chevalier,” Jehan said.
Her heart tripped over the words.
“Truly?”
“No.” Her heart staggered at the word. “But I intend to be,” Jehan said.
She had to look away, to gather her wits again. It took a moment, but it gave her time to scold herself. You are searching for your parents. This man may know something. Dig in your toes! She suppressed a smile at that: She had used one of Detta’s admonitions. Lean forward, dig in your toes, and go.
“Does that mean you are on your quest?”
“No.”
She turned back to face him. “You are rather frustrating to talk to, did you know that?”
“I have heard this.” A smile came and went quickly, like an echo of laughter.
“And you, mademoiselle, how came you to be in that place, beset by bandits?”
She hesitated, then decided it would not hurt to tell him a little.
“I am looking for my parents,” she said.
“In the alley?”
She somehow managed to laugh and be angry at the same time. Something about the moment knocked over her reserve. Talysse abruptly launched into a quick explanation of how she and Detta had come to Arles— about her patron Remigius, the visit from Saveric, the story of her parents, the pursuit, the gardiens—her recounting was jumbled, but Jehan listened patiently and gravely.
“You have suffered much for one so young,” he said at last. His eyes were downcast.
Having emptied herself to this stranger, Talysse found herself with little else to say. The silence grew uncomfortable, so she asked him again about his own past.
“You said you are a chevalier,” she said at last.
“I set out to be a chevalier,” he said, “but I am a poor man and unlucky. I lost my way,” Jehan said. “To survive, or so I told myself, I entered the service of a company. Condotierri. Hirelings.” One hand reached in empty air as if searching for a word.
“Mercenaries.”
“Also so called,” he said with obvious distaste.
“That was wrong?”
“Not in itself. But time passed, and all I knew was war and killing. I told myself I still searched for my purpose, but the search was drowned in blood and drink. Then there was no war and there was only the drink. And then I lost my armor to a cheat. That was two days ago. Now I have nothing, not even the drink. When my mind finally cleared, I knew what I had to do. The cheat fights in the mêlée tomorrow. I will recover my sword and armor, and so recover my honor.”
The resolution on his face was so tentative, Talysse felt sorry for the elf. She knew something of what it felt like to be both determined and uncertain. She tried on a smile. “So it’s all right then.”
“No.”
“You seriously must stop doing that—saying no like that—if you want people to talk to you.”
“I’m not sure I want that.”
She was not going to let his gloom spread. “Why is it not all right?”
“It is not simple.”
“Neither am I.”
“I see you are not.” Again that smile ghosted across his face. “I had intended to take my armor back in the mêlée tomorrow.”
“You said that. I’m sure you can; you were amazing back there in the alley. I’ve never seen anyone fight with just a pole.”
“It is a quarterstaff,” Jehan said.
The conversation stumbled to a stop again. The silence only reminded her how alone she was.
“Very well. I’ll tell you about myself first. Then maybe you’ll talk to me. My name is Talysse and she is Ardetta, my compagnon. We are from the cenobitum of Saldemer.”
“I am not curious,” Jehan said. Talysse ignored him.
“I’m searching for my parents—I’m half-elf, half-human, you see. I have magical power.”
“Is silence one of them?”
“Very funny. Hear me not laughing. You are a dour man, did you know?” When Jehan did not reply, she went on, “We came to see the king.”
“Many do.”
“But he is away.”
“Yes,” Jehan said. “He is at war in Gascony.” Talysse was about ask where Gascony was when a groan from Detta distracted them both.
She took Detta’s hand. The gnome’s brown fingers twitched. She touched her face; the fur on her cheeks was slick with sweat.
Jehan came over to the bed, where he stood tall and gloomy as a birch in winter. “Your friend awakens,” he said quietly.
The words caught at her heart. She had never thought of Detta as a friend. She was her tante. Her compagnon. But how many gnome companions fought bandits in an alle
yway? How many aunts talked back to a wizard? Detta was something more. “Friend” was as good a word as any.
Detta’s eyes opened.
“Tante,” Talysse said softly. “I’m here.”
The gnome smiled, moved, then winced. “Oof,” she said, “my head hurts.”
“You were struck by ruffians,” Jehan said.
Detta propped herself up gingerly. “I remember. I saw you drive them away, but then I must have fainted. Foolish gnome.”
“It is good a sign that she remembers.” Jehan stepped closer. “May I?”
“Don’t touch it, please,” Detta said.
He needed only a glance. “You must sit up, Madame Ardetta,” he said. He helped her to sit up in the straw. “I have a salve that will help.” So saying, he fetched a small jar from his pack.
“What is it?” Detta asked, pulling back.
“Paste of arnica—the mountain sunflower. Now hold still, if you please.”
Detta submitted with a small whimper. The elf was almost delicate in his ministration. Talysse warmed to him.
He nodded and put away the jar. “Leave it alone as best you can,” he said. “You can sleep, but you must not lie down.”
Talysse gave the elf a small smile. “You are very kind,” she said.
Jehan looked down at his hands and wiped them on his pants. “I have some experience with wounds. The gnome is well,” he pronounced. “She will sleep in the bed tonight. I have a bedroll for mademoiselle.”
“What about yourself?” Talysse asked, hardly paying attention. She kept patting Detta’s hand.
“I have slept on stone, sand, and mud,” the elf said. “A floor is comfortable enough.”
Detta swung her legs over the side. “That would not be proper. The guest does not put the host onto the floor.” She swayed and Talysse made her lean back again.
“There is no inconvenience,” the elf said.
“Detta, Jehan here is a fighter. He was just about to say why he has been banished from the tourney.”
“I was not.”
“Banished? Or about to say why?”
“No. That is, yes.”
“Both?”
“Mademoiselle is relentless!” Jehan got up and paced. With his long legs, he could manage only three paces in one direction. “Very well,” he said, surrendering, “I shall tell you. I could not fight in the tournoi because my armor and sword were stolen.”
“Brigands!” Detta exclaimed.
“A thief,” Jehan said. He scowled. “I was betrayed by my own gonfaloniere.”
“What’s a gony-fony-leery?” Detta asked. “Ooh, tender.” She touched one hand to her head.
“Gonfaloniere,” Jehan corrected her pronunciation slightly. “Standard bearer.”
“You have a standard bearer?”
“Formerly.”
“I thought standards and banners and such were for armies.”
“As they are. Also at mêlées. Each man has his standard displayed at the edge of the field. When a man is bested in combat, he goes to the standard of the victor, there to pay his ransom.”
“You do not kill the other?”
“Sometimes a man is killed, but that is not the intent.”
“This man, your gon—um, standard bearer,” Detta said, “he stole from you?”
“Yes. I do not regret the armor; it was not truly mine.”
“Did you steal it?” Talysse asked.
“No!” Jehan all but roared.
“Peace, peace. I was only joking.”
The elf peered at her in open confusion, as if he had never heard of jokes.
“It is not important,” he said.
Talysse sensed a mystery here. “You must tell us more. At least say why you cannot fight.”
“In the jousts,” Jehan said. “I can still fight in the mêlée. Or could have, but I have lost my standard and its bearer.”
“Lyssie could be your gony-fony-leery,” Detta said.
“Oh, tante,” Talysse said, shaking her head.
“Simple gnome,” Detta said, abashed.
Jehan raised his head. His voice rumbled. “Would mademoiselle be willing?”
Talysse started to laugh, then stopped when she saw he was serious. “You don’t have a sword,” she observed.
“I have my quarterstaff.” His voice grew stronger.
“You don’t have any armor,” she said.
“But I do. I have only to go get it.”
“You seem awfully confident.”
He smiled. “That’s because I have a standard bearer.”
She snorted.
“Come,” he said. “Be my gonfaloniere tomorrow at the mêlée.” He raised an eyebrow. “Or would mademoiselle prefer to sit here and feel sorry for herself?”
Her eyes sparked. “I would prefer,” she said, haughty as a noblewoman, “to be called by my name.”
Somehow, Jehan managed to bow while seated. “Most excellent,” he said. “I am pleased to form this association”—he paused, then winked—“Talysse of Saldemer.”
She could not help smiling in return, though a voice at the back of her mind said she was Talysse of nowhere at all.
“Normally, the gonfalonier is paid three silver pennies. Help me and I will divide the prize money with you. It will be more than three pennies.”
“Please do not think to pay us, sir,” Detta said. “Payment is owed from us to you, not the other way around.”
Jehan gave a bow of respect. “I would not dishonor myself by failing to pay. Now I need only find a banner.”
Talysse thought for a moment, then touched her scarf. “Will this serve?”
Jehan laughed a second time. “Very nicely. I dare to say no one else in the arena will have such a standard.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Tournoi
The approach to the amphitheater was far different than it had been yesterday. She thought about Ceranne and Guarin and the gardiens. No doubt they were already returning to their marshlands and horses. They were nicer people than Jehan—or at least they were less difficult. He walked too fast.
Talysse called to Jehan as she hurried in his wake. “Slow down a little, won’t you?”
The elf glanced back, paused. Talysse had been chasing after him since they left the inn.
“I can keep up,” Detta said, and she had, but she was puffing and her head was down. Jehan set off again as soon as Talysse reached him.
Talysse said, “Can you imagine him going to fight dressed like that? With only a stick?”
“It’s a quarterstaff,” Jehan rumbled from up ahead.
Talysse gave Detta a ‘whoops, he heard that’ look.
She hurried to catch up again with Jehan, Detta following at a determined trot.
The street and its buildings ended. Across a space hardly twenty paces wide rose the amphitheater of Arles, its walls the color of dark butter. It was as if someone had built a city within the city, complete with its own walls, gates and population. She had been here only yesterday, but everything looked different now, for today the crowd was nearly all elves.
In dress they were not so very different from humans, their chief differences being in their appearance—the hair and their third eye, and their preference for strong colors. They did, Talysse noticed, tend to favor jewelry. Men and women alike wore rings, bracelets, necklaces, pins, clips in their hair, even beads on their soft leather shoes. A faint but distinctive jangle echoed softly off the stone walls.
“I’ve never seen so many elves,” Detta said.
“Nor have I,” said Talysse, “but you know what? We’ve only been here two days and already I’m tired of saying all the things I’ve never seen. Honestly, we’ve never seen much of anything, have we?”
“It is very grand, even so,” Detta said.
“And very busy. Stay close, tante,” Talysse said, worried that the press of the crowds might sweep them apart.
The amphitheater was indeed grand, almost too much so.
Her eyes could not take it all in, for the thing curved away on either side like a mountain. When she looked up, the crest cut against the blue sky like shoreline. From within came a busy mutter, like wind in a pine forest.
People seemed to enter it at every point, through every arch, but Jehan guided them to one in particular. As they passed beneath the arch, she felt Detta tug at her arm. She glanced down to see the gnome’s eyes wide with worry.
“What’s wrong?”
“It is very big,” Detta said. “I think I am being swallowed.”
“It is only stone,” Talysse said.
“Yet it roars like a great beast and its mouth is dark.”
“Stay with me, dear,” Talysse said. She squatted to bring her eyes level with Detta’s. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”
Detta nodded and squeezed her hands. “I am a foolish gnome.”
They did not emerge directly into the arena as she had imagined they would. Instead, she found they were in the interior of a dark palisade, smelling of elf—a musty odor that reminded her of thyme and soil. Most people crowded toward an interior opening, but Jehan took them into a narrow hall, to a single human, bored and impatient, standing before a postern gate. The space was dark and cool. Jehan removed his cap and stepped up to the man.
“These are your aides?” The man at the doorway sneered in Talysse’s direction. “A girl and her gnome?”
Talysse looked at Jehan. His glum face shifted subtly. His eyes went level and narrow, his jaw set as if reinforced with iron. His long, muscular frame composed itself, like a hunting cat.
“You have my token,” Jehan said in a dry voice. He placed an object into the man’s outstretched hand.
The admission guard looked at the square bit of lead stamped with the lion of Arles. On the reverse was a man with a spear. The guard seemed to wait for something to happen. He flipped the token over in his hand, then over again. Jehan took a small purse from his belt and emptied it into the man’s hand. Out fell three pennies.
He scowled at Jehan, dissatisfied, but resigned that the elf had given him all he had. “Get on. Find an open stall.”
A Child of Great Promise: An Altearth Tale Page 11
