The Forgotten Beasts of Eld

by Patricia A. Mckillip

  “I do not know either, my Tam. I only know that I will never do anything to hurt you.”

  His eyes rose, troubled. “Sybel, what is my father afraid of? Is it you? He will not even let me say your name.”

  “Tam, I have done nothing to hurt him. I have done nothing to make him afraid.”

  “But I have never seen him like this, and I do not know what to do to help him. I have not known him very long, and I am afraid—afraid of losing him, like I lost you.”

  Her brows twisted. “You have not lost me—I will love you always, no matter where you live, where I live.”

  He nodded a little jerkily, his mouth twitching downward. “I know. But it is different, so different now, when the people we love hate each other. I thought as long as you were here on Eld, I could come here any time, away from the noise and people in Mondor and—just lie here by your fire with Gules, or run on the Mountain with Ter and Nyl—just for a while, and then go back home to Drede. I thought you would always be here with the animals. But now, you are going, taking them to a place where I know I cannot come. I never thought that would happen. I never thought you would marry Coren. You did not seem to like him.”

  “I never thought I would, either. But then I found I loved him.”

  “Well, I can understand that. But I do not know why Drede does not. You would never use your powers to start a war; you said so. Drede must know that, but he is so afraid of something, and sometimes I think—I think he may be lost somewhere inside himself.”

  She drew a breath and loosed it. “I wish you were small again, so I could hold you in my arms and comfort you. But you are grown, and you know that for some things there is no comfort.”

  “Oh, I know. But Sybel—sometimes I am not that grown.”

  She smiled and drew him against her. “Neither am I.” He rested his head on her shoulder, twisted a tendril of her long hair in his fingers. “Are you happy at Mondor? Have you made friends?”

  “Oh, I have cousins my age. I never knew before what cousins are. It surprised me that I have so many relatives, when here I had only you. We go hunting together—they like Ter, but they are afraid of him, and he will not let anyone hold him but me. At first they laughed at me, because I was so ignorant of many things. Maelga and you taught me to read and write but you never taught me to use a sword, or hunt with hounds, or even who was king before Drede. I have learned a great deal about Eldwold you never knew to tell me. But I learned such things on this mountain that they will never know. Are you—are you happy at Sirle?”

  “Yes. I am learning things, too, about living with people that Ogam never knew to tell me.”

  He shifted, stirred by a restless thought, and groped for words. “Sybel. Why—why did my father say you were going to marry him? He told me one night not long ago—he said he did not mean to tell me then, because it was still a little uncertain, but he wanted to watch my face. I hugged him, I was so glad, and he laughed and then—the next evening I spoke to him about it and he—just looked at me, saying nothing. He looked ill, and—old.”

  “Tam—” Her voice shook slightly and she stopped. “He had no right to tell you that because I had never consented to it. Perhaps he—”

  “Yes, but when did he ask you? Did he write to you?”

  “No.”

  “I do not understand. He seemed so certain... Perhaps I made the mistake—I mistook something he said. I do not know. But what is he afraid of? He never laughs. He hardly talks to anyone. I thought, coming here I could find out what was troubling him, but I was wrong.”

  “I am sorry you are troubled about Drede, but I cannot—I cannot help you. Drede’s fears are of his own making. Ask him.”

  “I have. He will not tell me.” He reached out, put one arm around Gules, his brows knit worriedly. “I think I had better go home carefully, more carefully than I came. Drede will be angry with me, but I am glad I came. I am glad I could talk to you. I miss you, and Gules. Someday, though, I will come to Sirle.”

  “No.”

  He smiled. “I will come so quietly no one but you, Gules and Cyrin will know I am there. I will come.”

  “Tam, no,” she said helplessly. “You do not realize—” She checked suddenly, her head turned quickly toward a drawling, bubbling wail that ascended, faded and ascended again beyond the closed door. “What—” Gules rumbled beside Tam, rose suddenly and gave a sharp, full-throated growl. Sybel rose. There was a crash beyond the door, and the murmur of men’s voices.

  “Coren—” she breathed. She turned, flung open the door. Gules Lyon bounded past her, came to a crouch at the fireplace, his gold tail twitching. Coren looked at Sybel over the blades of three swords held at his throat. He was unarmed, backed against the hearthstones. Moriah paced at his feet, wailing at three men who wore the black tunics with the single blood-red star of Drede’s service on their breasts. Tam, beside Sybel, said quickly,

  “Do not hurt him.”

  The guards’ faces turned slowly to him, their eyes flicking between him and Moriah. One of them said between his teeth, “Prince Tamlorn, this one is of Sirle.”

  “Do you know them, Tamlorn?” Coren asked. A blade point bit the hollow of his throat, and he closed his mouth.

  “Yes. They are my father’s guards.” His eyes moved back to their tense faces. “I came here to see Sybel. She did not know I was coming. I have talked to her, and I am ready to come home. Let him go.”

  “This is Coren of Sirle, Norrel’s brother—he was at Terbrec—”

  “I know, but if you hurt him I do not think you will leave this place alive.”

  The man glanced at Moriah, then at Gules, his golden eyes full on their faces, rumbling deep in his throat. “The King is half-mad with worry. If we let Coren loose, we will be killed by these beasts. And if Drede knows we let one of Sirle slip through our hands, we might as well be killed by them.”

  “`Are you alone?”

  “No. The others are beyond the gate. They will come if we call.”

  “Then no one but you will need to know that Coren and Sybel were here. I will not tell Drede.”

  “Prince Tamlorn, he is the King’s enemy—your enemy!”

  “He is Sybel’s husband! And if you want to risk killing him in front of Sybel, Gules and Moriah, go ahead. I can go home by myself like I came.”

  Moriah screamed again, flat-eared, crouched at Coren’s feet, and the blades jumped, winking. One of the guards drew his sword back suddenly. Sybel’s flat voice froze the drive of it toward Moriah.

  “If you do that, I will kill you.”

  The guard stared at her still, black eyes, sweat breaking out on his face. “Lady, we will take the Prince and go. I swear it. But how—what guarantee do we have that we will walk alive out of your house, if we let Coren go? What is the surety for our lives?”

  Tam’s eyes rested a moment speculatively on Coren’s face. He came forward and knelt at Coren’s feet beneath the swords, and put his arms around Moriah. “I am. Now let him go.”

  The swords wavered, winking in the firelight, fell. Coren’s breath rose soundlessly and fell.

  “Thank you.”

  Tam looked up at him, stroking Moriah’s head. “Think of it as a gift from Drede to Sirle.” He rose and said to the guards, “I will come home now. But no one of you is to stay here after me, or follow Sybel and Coren when they leave. No one.”

  “Prince Tamlorn—we saw nothing of Sybel or Coren.”

  Tam sighed. “My horse is in the shed—the gray. Get him.”

  They left quickly, followed by the soft whisperings of Lyon, Boar and Cat. Tam went to Sybel, and she held him a moment, his face hidden in her hair.

  “My Tam, you are growing as fearless and wise as Ter.”

  He drew away from her a little. “No. I am shaking.” He smiled at her, and she kissed him quickly. He turned and hugged Gules Lyon tightly, then rose to the sound of hoofbeats at the door.

  “Prince Tamlorn,” Coren said soberly, “I am very
grateful. And I think this gift will be a great embarrassment to the Lord of Sirle.”

  “I hope he is pleased,” Tam said softly. “Good-bye, Sybel. I do not know when I will see you again.”

  “Good-bye, my Tam.”

  From a window, she watched him mount; Ter circling above his head, watched his straight figure swallowed by a crowd of dark-cloaked men with their fiery stars, until they had disappeared through the trees. Then she turned and went to Coren, put her arms around him, her face against his breast.

  “They might have killed you before I even knew they were in my house, in spite of all my powers. Then what would Rok have said?”

  He lifted her face with his hands, a smile creasing his eyes. “That I should not have to depend on my wife to save my skin.”

  She touched his throat. “You are bleeding.”

  “I know. You are shaking.”

  “I know.”

  “Sybel. Could you have killed that guard? He believed you could, and I was not sure, then, myself.”

  “I do not know. But if he had killed Moriah, I would have found out.” She sighed. “I am glad he did not, for his sake and mine. Coren, I do not think we should stay here long. I do not trust those guards. Let us pack the books and leave.”

  Coren nodded. He picked up a chair that had overturned, found his sword in a corner and sheathed it.

  Gules Lyon lay muttering softly by the fire. Moriah prowled back and forth in front of the door. Sybel dropped a soothing hand on the flat, black head. She looked around vaguely at the house and found a strange emptiness that seemed to lie beneath the cool white stones. She said slowly,

  “It seems no longer my house... It seems to be waiting for another wizard, like Myk or Ogam, to begin his work here in this white silence...”

  “Perhaps someone will come.” He unfolded the big, tough grain sacks they had brought to pack the books in, and added wryly, “I hope he will have gentler memories of it than I ever will.”

  “I hope so, too.” She gave him a tight parting hug, then went out to speak with Gyld and the Black Swan while he packed. The late afternoon turned from gold to silver, and then to ash gray. Coren finished before she returned; he went into the yard, calling her name in the wind. She came to him finally from the trees.

  “I was with Gyld. I told him there would be a place for him at Sirle, and he told me he would bring his gold.”

  “Oh, no. I can see a glittering trail of ancient coin from here to Rok’s doorstep.”

  “Coren, I told him we would see to it somehow... he will have to fly by night, when we are ready for him. I hope he does not frighten all of Rok’s livestock.” She glanced up at the night-scented, ashen sky, and the green-black shapes of trees. “It is getting late. What should we do? I do not think we should even stay at Maelga’s house.”

  “No. Drede would not mind risking a war by killing me if he could trap you, take you to Mondor. If he wants that, they will return tonight to look for us.”

  “Then what should we do?”

  “I have been thinking about that.”

  “The horses are tired. We cannot go far on them.”

  “I know.”

  “Well, what have you been thinking about that has put the smile in your voice?”

  “Gyld.”

  She stared at him. “Gyld? Do you mean—ride him?”

  He nodded. “Why not? You could pretend he is the Liralen. Surely he is strong enough.”

  “But—what would Rok say?”

  “What would any man say if a dragon landed in his courtyard? Sybel, we cannot ride the horses far, and this mountain is no safe place for us tonight, wherever we are on it. You can loose the horses, call them back to Sirle when they are rested.”

  “But there is no place to put Gyld in Sirle.”

  “I will think of a place. And if I cannot, you can send him back here. Would he be willing?”

  She nodded dazedly. “Oh, yes; he loves to fly. But Coren, Rok—”

  “Rok would rather see us alive on Gyld than dead on Eld Mountain. If we make a slow journey back with these books, we may be followed. So let us sail home through the sky on Gyld. Sybel, there must be a silence deeper than the silence of Eld between those stars; shall we go listen to it? Come. We will throw all the stars into Sirle, then go and dance on the moon.”

  A smile, faint and faraway, crept onto her face. “I always wanted to fly...”

  “So. If you cannot fly the Liralen, then make a fiery night flight on Gyld.”

  She called Gyld from his winter cave, and he came to her, soaring slowly above the trees, a great, dark shape against the stars. She looked deep into his green eyes.

  Can you carry a man, a woman and two sacks of books on your back?

  She felt a tremor of joy in his mind like a flame springing alive.

  Forever.

  He waited patiently while Coren secured the books on his back, wound with lengths of rope around the base of his thick neck and wings. He heaved himself up, so Coren could pass and repass the rope beneath him, and his eyes glowed like jewels in the night, and his scales winked, gold-rimmed. Coren placed Sybel between the two bags of books and sat in front of her, holding onto the rope at Gyld’s neck. He turned to look at her.

  “Are you comfortable?”

  She nodded and caught Gyld’s mind. Do the ropes bind you anywhere?

  No.

  Then go.

  The great wings unfurled, black against the stars. The huge bulk lifted slowly, incredibly, away from the cold earth, through the wind-torn, whispering trees. Above the winds struck full force, billowing their cloaks, pushing against them, and they felt the immense play of muscle beneath them and the strain of wing against wind. Then came the full, smooth, joyous soar, a drowning in wind and space, a spiraling descent into darkness that flung them both beyond fear, beyond hope, beyond anything but the sudden surge of laughter that the wind tore from Coren’s mouth. Then they rose again, level with the stars, the great wings pulsing, beating a path through the darkness. The full moon, ice-white, soared with them, round and wondering as the single waking eye of a starry beast of darkness. The ghost of Eld Mountain dwindled behind them; the great peak huddled, asleep and dreaming, behind its mists. The land was black beneath them, but for faint specks of light that here and there flamed in a second plane of stars. The winds dropped past Mondor, quieted, until they melted through a silence, a cool, blue-black night that was the motionless night of dreams, dimensionless, star-touched, eternal. And at last they saw in the heart of darkness beneath them the glittering torch-lit rooms of the house of the Lord of Sirle.

  They came to a gentle rest in his courtyard. A horse, waiting in the yard, screamed in terror. Dogs in the hall howled. Coren dismounted stiffly, his breath catching in a laughter beyond words, and swung Sybel to the ground. She clung to him a moment, stiff with cold, and felt Gyld’s mind searching for hers.

  Gyld. Be still.

  There are men with torches. Shall I—

  No. They are friends. They just did not expect us tonight. No one will try to harm us. Gyld, that was a flight beyond hope.

  It pleased you.

  I am well pleased.

  “Rok!” Coren called to his brother’s torchlit figure moving toward them down the steps. The dogs swarmed growling between his legs. The children jammed the doors behind him, then scattered in a wave before Ceneth and Eorth. “We have a guest!”

  “Coren,” Rok said, transfixed by the lucent, inscrutable eyes. “What in the name of the Above and the Below are we going to do with it?”

  Coren caught one of the dogs before it nipped at Gyld’s wing. “I have thought of that, too,” he said cheerfully. “We can store it in the wine cellar.”

  NINE

  * * *

  They sat late with Rok, Ceneth and Eorth, until the great hall quieted and the dogs had gone to sleep at their feet. Coren told of their meeting with Tam and Drede’s guards, and Rok listened silently, whirling a wine cup slowly between
forefinger and thumb. Me grunted when Coren finished.

  “The boy is soft, yet. I wonder what Drede himself would have done.”

  “He would have done what I wanted him to,” Sybel said. Rok’s tawny eyes flicked to her face.

  “Could you have controlled all of them?”

  “No. They could have overwhelmed us, but it would not have been a pleasant encounter for them.”

  “But you could control the King.”

  “Rok,” Corers murmured, and Rok’s eyes dropped. He leaned back in his chair.

  “Well. I am thankful you are safe. It was foolish of me to think of you for a moment as simply a man and his wife who could move safely as children through Eldwold, and to let you go alone.”

  Cores shrugged. “It was best that you did. There would have been a small war in Sybel’s house if Eorth and Herne had been with us, and we would all be licking our wounds in Mondor by now, including the animals. Besides, even if Eorth had kept his temper, he probably would have broken his neck falling off Gyld on the way home.”

  Eorth refilled his cup. “At least, I would have had enough sense not to let myself get trapped in a corner by three of Drede’s men. They must have made enough noise riding up the hill to warn you.”

  Coren flushed. “I know,” he said. “I should have heard them. I was distracted. Cyrin was telling me about the time he met the witch Carodin in her doorless tower and answered six out of her seven riddles and discovered even she could not answer the seventh.”

  Eorth looked at him bewilderedly. “A Boar told you all that?”

  “He talks.”

  “Oh, Coren, you have told us ridiculous things, but—”

  “It is not ridiculous. It is true. Eorth, you never could see farther than the sword in your hand—”

  “Well, that is as far as any man needs to see in this land.” He appealed to Sybel. “Is he lying?”

  “He never lies.”