Shining Moon declared, “I find myself feeling sorry for Prince Melyngoch. It was so obvious that he was merely a pawn in the same evil game Clotilde had designed.”
Paloma clarified, “He always has been her pawn, but at least now, he knows he was a pawn. It will be the measure of the man to see if he has inherited his father’s integrity or his mother’s deceitfulness.”
* * *
It was the eleventh day of the Holy Moonth, the day after the ox fell on the Umpqua Trail. The trekkers were making camp in the evening about a half days travel from Irmunsul where the Sharaka had determined to hold their annual ceremonial Booger Dance. They had just breached the narrowest part of the trail this evening and it was good to have it behind them. As Pyrsyrus’ men were setting up their tents in the shelter of a large old growth fir grove next to the banks of the Umpqua, Sur Sceaf summoned Ilkchild to his side with his three Prester shadows listening intently. He ordered Ilkchild to ride to Irmunsul to meet with the three emissaries of the Roufytrof and to inform them that they will be delayed. “Determine if Long Swan’s message is time sensitive. If it is, I’ll ride out tonight to meet him, otherwise tell him we will be there tomorrow by noon.”
Sur Sceaf began divesting himself of his weaponry. He propped his right leg on a rock, pulled up his pant leg, and unfastened the leather sheath holding his scramasax from his shin and laid it nearby before divesting himself of his sword and knife. A parade of women from all tribes marched down a gentle incline that led to a sandy bank with easy access for water.
Heber remarked on Sur Sceaf’s scramasax. “Who would have ever thought a weapon was hidden down there? And what a curious sort of dagger it is.” Heber picked it up. Withdrew it from the sheath. “My goodness, this is quality steel and what on earth are all these scribblings?”
Sur Sceaf responded, “It is standard fare for Herewardi to wear the scramsax at all times. The writing you see are runic spells of protection. The steel is forged of iron, nickel, carbon, and virgin’s milk. The handle is finely tooled Faery-Bush, and sports a coiled serpent about to strike on either side. But my friend, if you think one hidden weapon a surprise, then wait until you meet our Apache brethren. They have at least twenty knives concealed on their persons at any one time.”
Pyrsyrus came by and asked, “My lord, Ilkchild and Yellow Horse stopped by to tell me they were off to Irmunsul. Do you wish to have a consultation before meeting with the Roufytrof?”
“I don’ think it will be necessary, but if it is, Ilkchild will return and tell us so.”
Rip watched with interest as the towering man disappeared into the palatial tent. “That’s the second time somebody has mentioned these Roufytrof people. They sound very important. Are they yet another Rogue Tribe?”
Sur Sceaf laughed. “No, no. Actually it is difficult to explain to anyone who has not grown up Herewardi. The Roufytrof is a non-joining society among the Herewardi. They constitute the Elder Moot which is chosen from the Syr-Alfim, our talking chiefs, heorls, and great ladies.”
“Well,” Heber asked, “If they be non-joining, how does one become a member?”
“They receive a calling to become a member based on some great merit they have performed. The Roufytrof itself is composed of Forty-Four Elders, and unless that term throws you they are either male or female, young or old, who upon the basis of merit alone are selected to join in promoting the well-being of the Herewardi Commonwealth.”
Heber added, “Sounds like our Apostles.”
Sur Sceaf acknowledged with a nod. “The Roufytrof was the mid-wife of the Council of Three Tribes. Their goal is to forestall problems before they grow into disasters. They lead, but do not drive the people. Essentially they are the ghost leadership of the Herewardi. Now, the Roufytrof understands that accommodations will have to be made by all tribes. That is why they consented for the three tribes to be governed under the Rule of Law and a form of constitutionalism taken from the Congress of Elrus of Olden Times.”
“So, are they like priests?” Rip ventured.
“In a sense, they constitute the priesthood of the Herewardi faith, but our actual priests are the godhi and gadija, and they perform different roles, copying script and writing in calligraphy or the flame elfabet. In short scriveners and teachers. We call the Roufytrof the Bright Ones. But unlike most priests or godhi, they are highly secretive and maintain sacred mysteries and knowledge, which may only be conveyed from mouth to ear. That is why certain names and doctrines are unspoken except in a low breath and under the barley shield. As a matter of fact, their deepest doctrines are only spoken in the Great White Lodge. More I cannot tell you.”
“You are familiar with the isolation of our people. So you must know that this is beyond our experience. Where is the Great White Lodge you speak of?” Rip inquired.
“The White Lodge is not a place, but a sanctuary for instructing initiates in the Rites of Holiness. Initiates are led to and from the White Lodge blindfolded, for it can be in a secret grove or in some discrete room of an existing building. It was originally a portable sanctuary made for a mobile population. Additionally, the Roufytrof has formed a White Horse Order as an oven for all the peoples of the Panygyrus who are truth seekers, that they might, like the Herewardi, become more like the Elfkind, who preceeded us. All who are initiated become what we call moot-worthy, and of their own will seek to execute all the directives, suggestions, and counsel of the Roufytrof. Basically, they pledge to promote the concepts of liberty, freedom, equality, and constitutionalism.”
Willard knitted his brow. “If we saw one, what would they look like?”
“Well, those who have become proficient in ancient lore are called lore masters, rune singers, and white masters, because they wear white hooded robes. Tomorrow when we reach Irmunsul you will actually see a member of the Roufytrof. His name is Long Swan and he just happens to be my younger brother.”
Later that night as Sur Sceaf was finishing his meal in company of Pyrsyrus and his wives in the palatial tent, Mendaka arrived along with Mendaho and made their presence known by knocking three times with a little drumstick that hung on the tent pole for just such a purpose.
“Who goes there,” Pyrsyrus inquired.
Mendaka answered.”Two weary travelers seeking the company of my blood brother.”
“Well, come on in. He’s here stuffing his face and charming my wives.”
They entered the magnificent tent, Mendaka raised a hand in greeting. “I am here to accompany Meny, who has a very special message which I thought you would wish to receive, Surrey.”
Sur Sceaf said, “Of course you wouldn’t reject a pint of goodly ale for your service, would you?”
“A man is, after all, worthy of his hire.” Mendaka glanced at Meny. She took the cue and said, “Surrey, I have this message to deliver to you. It is from Taneshewa.” She reached into her bosom and pulled out a rolled message.
His heart raced. “Oh, no! That’s usually not a good sign.”
Meny smiled. “She had planned to meet you today, but more babies are coming and her services have been sorely needed.”
Sur Sceaf took the note and read. ‘Sur Sceaf, Slamming Squirrel will replace me tomorrow. Meet with me tomorrow night during the Booger Dance. You will find me near father’s campfire. Signed Taneshewa.’ He glanced up at Mendaho with a smile, “Thank you, Meny. Please tell her, I’ll be there.”
“Mendaho,” Mendaka said, “Would you do me a favor and suffer me to drink some ale with my friends since you are going back down the line?”
“Coming from you, I will say yes.”
“Great! Go into the Quailor Camp and ask for a gentleman known as Hartmut Hegele. Ask him if he will lend a Quailor suit to me. I need it for the Booger Dance.”
“I’d be happy to do it, Dak. Gives me a chance to see those dark birds up close and personal. But tell me, Surrey,” she said with a devilish grin, “is it true what Little Doe says?”
“That depends. What did you hear
?”
Her eyebrows lifted. “That the Quailor have sex with their clothes on?”
He coughed up a laugh as Mendaho winked and slipped out of the tent door before he could give answer that he had no idea if they did or didn’t.
* * *
In the twelfth day of the Moonth of Leaf Change, the Holy Moonth of the Herewardi, just as the caravan was preparing to start off, several of the Sharaka boys took their bows to pursue a white tailed deer. One returned and said they would need help to get it up the ravine. It was a cactus buck and a prize for any youth. Sur Sceaf sent Mendaka, who was assisted by Snake Asker and Redelfis to retrieve it. A cactus buck being a great omen of a good journey.
Confident that the wagon train was in the capable hands of Mendaka, Sur Sceaf departed for Irmunsul along with his brother, Pyrsyrus. They were perhaps two hours ahead of the train when they brought their horses to a slow lope as they approached the sacred grounds of Woonstone.
Sur Sceaf pulled his mount in close to his brother. “It’ll be good to get the news from Witan Jewell. I imagine lots has changed since I’ve been gone.”
Pysyrus cocked an eye. “There can’t be all that much that happened, other than Father is actively stockpiling granite and timber near Urford for the building of the new city-state.”
“There is something I’m particularly concerned about.” He raised his eyebrows to his brother. “It would seem, my name has suffered a whirlwind of slander in my absence. I received a message from Paloma via a harrier which contained some shocking news. I’d like to have it clarified by Long Swan as soon as we arrive at Irmunsul.”
Pyrsyrus looked puzzled, “What slander could anyone possibly raise against you?”
“I have some how been accused of forcing myself on a woman and not taking responsibility for it.”
“Who would believe such crap?”
“Pyr, you are an anointed king, I have not yet received my anointing, nor had my calling and election made sure, so my commission could be taken away from me just as easily as it was given. Not because anyone believes me guilty, but because it casts aspersions on my name. The outlanders would forever mistrust me.”
“It has always been clear to Fa, the Forty-Four, and myself that you were preordained by the gods for this calling, Surrey. They know you are destined to succeed Fa as the next king. I can’t imagine anyone would believe you are guilty, but then often the Dark Elves twist simple minds to do their will and slander great men.”
“Thank you for your confidence. You may think me strange, Brother, but from the moment I received this commission, I have sensed the hatred of the Dark Elves oozing out of the depths after me. I sensed them in the bear attack on my daughter. I sensed them riding up the Umpqua. I even sensed their dark fingers pulling the strings on the three ruffians, and it was made known to me by the Ur Fyr that they orchestrated my ordeal in the Pit.”
“Do not fret yourself so, my brother. It is true, the Dark Ones may afflict you and oppose you, but the gods, do favor you and they will set the boundaries through which the Dark Elves may not pass over. Those demons may mean you evil, but the gods will turn it all to your favor.”
Sur Sceaf felt some of the anxiety lift. Ever since he was a child, his big brother had the ability to lift his spirits and bring him solace. “I can only pray, it is so, Pyr.”
“As a young blood, I scryed my destiny,” Pyrsyrus said. “I have founded the Kingdom of Syra-Coos, built a palace and fortress of renown, established a navy, and launched the Pyringian Pirates. Though I did not foresee it, all this was an aid to my greater destiny, which is to aid you as the chief of the three tribes. Our two destinies, from this point on will be tightly interwoven. Unto this end, I pledge myself and my fealty to you for the greater cause of our people. Don’t give in to the opposition the Dark Elves have raised up against you. I’ve had a few dealings with their antics myself.”
“You cannot know how much comfort it is to me to have my bro by my side as my trusted friend and fellow warrior.”
They rode on down the road in silence for several moments before Pyrsyrus said, “You must know that there is always opposition when a new high lord arises. That is just to be expected and that is what you are experiencing. The road to kinghood never ran straight. The gods will have no king among the Herewardi that they have not first tested and beaten into fine steel. You can bet, as I believe, there’s always someone else who thinks they would have been better for the calling than you.”
“Melyngoch!”
Pyrsyrus nodded, “Yes, and also Standing Bull. Mendaka told me about his attempts to unseat you. And from what I’ve witnessed on the trek, it appears that Quailor dycon, Fromer is breathing down your neck to either replace you or work to be as contrary to your will as he can get away with. As a king you may be forced to tolerate your opponents, but only up until the point where they attempt to usurp your authority. Authority has been granted you and it should only be portioned out according to your will and none other.”
“Tell me King Pyr, what do you advise me to do with him?”
“Grab the little bastard by the throat and throttle him until he understands you cannot be moved by his insolence and insubordination. I suspect that was what he had done to Elijah before you.”
Chapter 14 : The Booger Dance
It was early afore noon when Sur Sceaf and Pyrsyrus dismounted from their white steeds and approached the sacred grounds of Irmunsul where the Woonstone thrust up from the earth into the heavens as a giant monolith of stone rising unto the heights of fifty-four man lengths above the Umpqua River. Here the river was calm and the forest had temporarily lost the war with the grasses, giving a broad expanse of grasslands to camp in. Vine maples had already bedecked themselves in brilliant red-orange around the edges of the forest and the groves.
A white canvas tent was pitched in the shadow of the long column. They tied their horses to a nearby ceanothus and walked over to the lore master’s tent situated a stone’s throw from the crystal clear river.
Long Swan had placed the tent in a manner that the shadow would completely cover it at the sunrise and remain until noon, man of ritual that he was, always attuned to the rhythms of life surrounding him. Such was the way of the wizards.
“Yeoh!” Sur Sceaf belted out. “Os-Frith, long life, and swift death to you, my Elven Lords.”
The tent door opened, Long Swan greeted them in his deep white hood and invited them inside. It was just approaching midday and the tent was cooler than it would have been out in the sun. As it always was with Long Swan, his temporary residence was neat, clean and well-ordered. Seated at a folding table were the other two lore masters, Alcuin and Hroar of the Herewardi Settlement in Stonyford. The hooded white robes symbolized what was called Swan Mastery of the Herewardic Lore. The mere fact that someone as young as Long Swan had been selected for the Roufytrof attested to his extreme brilliance.
Long Swan locked in the Royal Embrace with Sur Sceaf and then Pyrsyrus. “My two favorite brothers.” He beamed a smile.
“What about us, Long Swan?” Alcuin said.
Long Swan said, “You two are my two other favorite brothers. These two are merely my most familiar brethren.”
Hroar gave out his oaken laugh. “I can see you inherited the diplomacy of Fa. No wonder you made lore master younger than any other man.”
Sur Sceaf declared, “It’s been four years since Long Swan was elevated to the Roufytrof and that’s the last time all five of us have been together in one place.” A lot had happened in that time. Their familial connection would inevitably lead to many more encounters in the future.
Pyrsyrus greeted each of his brothers in the Royal Embrace.
Then directing his focus to Sur Sceaf, Long Swan said, “By the gods of our mothers, what I’ve been called upon to go through for you, Surrey. I’ve had to deal with news of your being buried alive by the Pitters from abroad, to slanderous accusations of you at home. What a joyous sight to see you alive again. And you,
Long Pyr, so good to have you join your full forces in this, our greatest cause. I have news from your other wives and your firstborn, Herefax.”
“Hail to you Long Swan,” Pyrsyrus returned, “And to you Alcuin and Hroar.”
“Os-Frith!” they answered.
The last time Sur Sceaf had seen his older brother, Alcuin, he wore the aubergine robe of a Syr-Alfim. He now sported a few grey hairs, had a few more crow tracks around his eyes, and yet he still had those intense greenish-brown eyes.
Alcuin exchanged the Royal Embrace. “Lord Sur Sceaf, Hroar and I were at Fort Rock just after you had left and heard of your encounter with the pit. We were told that Mendaka and Ilkchild found you there, where you teetered on the threshold of death. We found the tale of the ravens, as another confirmation that you were indeed the one for this commission and the one to hear of our business here.”
Sur Sceaf wrinkled his brow. “What manner of business brings you here?”
“We three Lords are come to express to you our concern that your proposed arrival date will be on or before the Elven Fair. We want to know how you assess the Quailor’s tolerance level, for we will not have our High Holy Day profaned or blasphemed by the intolerant. Nor will we tolerate anyone to hold our beliefs in derision.”
Sur Sceaf paddled his beard with his thumb and fingers as he thought. “Well, I can tell you, no matter what we do, the dycons have a doctrine they have developed over the past eight years called Retrenchment, and it is designed to be at opposition to all other peoples in an effort to keep themselves separate from the world. And, of course, that means us.”
“Then there is no chance we will allow them into our gates until after the Elven Fair.” Alcuin declared from under his deep hood, his golden hair barely showing.
“I would not go that far.” Pyrsyrus said. “The Quailor are divided. The dycons, I would say, are incorrigible, and I’ve advised Surrey to deal with them sharply, but the high priests are much like the Quailor we are used to dealing with, and you shall find them to be most accommodating. That, good Sirs, is my observation.”
The Frightful Dance (The King of Three Bloods Book 2) Page 26
