Melgar glared at the younger man, who licked his lips nervously. “If you carry on in this behaviour, Frilzae I will order you barred from this council and you can go back to your farm.”
“You wouldn't,” Frilzae sneered, “You don't have the power; none of you has.”
“I have the authority and I will unless you keep quiet!” Snapped Melgar. He turned to Tarim. “Please continue, Tarim.”
“Could you tell me where all of these children lived? In a general term I mean; it does not have to be specific houses.” The men of the council pondered the question for a moment until a portly gentleman stood.
“I am Pecifer. I believe all of the unfortunate children to have lived within the village walls. In fact I would hazard a guess that they all lived along the main street.”
“Would these children play with others from the village?” asked Tarim.
“Those within the walls yes,” answered Pecifer. “Those without, live differently and are mostly out on holdings; they do not mix much with the children here.”
“Okay,” Tarim replied. He paused for a moment. “The bushes with red berries…are they indigenous to this region?”
“No,” answered Melgar. “They were imported to the region a season or so ago. They have flourished incredibly since they were planted.”
“I don't doubt,” Tarim agreed. “The land around here is so fertile you could plant a rock and it would grow. Did you know those plants were deadly poisonous?”
“This is preposterous!” shouted Frilzae as he jumped to his feet. “Those plants are beautiful and make the village a better place for their being here! Everybody knows the tales about Maiden's Blush and how they only affect the ardour of young women.” He stared poignantly at Zya as he said this, leaving her with a most uncomfortable feeling.
“Maiden's Blush you say?” countered Tarim. “I think you should know that your maidens will certainly have an interesting experience if they go near the berries whilst courting, or at any other time. That plant is called the Lypar bush, and the toxins contained within the blushing red berries make one of the most deadly poisons in this region, let alone the whole land.” Tarim turned back to Melgar. “I would hazard a guess that any children who have died lived in a house that has these bushes, or has friends who live in a house with the bushes. A bad water supply would most likely make them ill, but it wouldn't be restricted to children. Whole families would go down with a sickness.”
“Those berries are harmless I say,” pressed Frilzae with an almost manic look in his eyes. His hair had fallen down across his head, and veins were starting to throb underneath the skin of his already flushed forehead.
“Harmless are they?” said Tarim. Zya noticed a little smile pull at the corner of her father's mouth as he reached to a fold in his pack. He turned back, gingerly holding a stem of the bush with some berries on it. Looking menacingly straight into Frilzae's eyes, quietly he said, “Go on then, councillor, try one. Here are the harmless berries you claim are so pretty. Try one and prove me wrong.” Frilzae physically backed off as Tarim held the stem out towards him, looking at the other councillors to help him out. Licking his lips nervously, he stood up.
“How do we know those berries are the same ones as on the bushes? You could have taken them from anywhere.” It was obvious he was clutching at straws now, and he glared at Zya for a moment before fixing his attention once again on the menacing scowl of her father.
“ I can show you where I cut the stem not an hour ago.” Tarim answered. “I engraved a small 'T' below the place I cut the stem.” He leaned forward, placing the knuckles of his fists on the large wooden table. “Come on, councillor, surely as great a man you claim to be you would not be beyond tasting a sweet, harmless berry. Just try one.” The other councillors were all staring at Frilzae, some in apprehension, but some with grins on their faces. There had obviously been contention between them in the past. Frilzae edged around to the back of his leather seat, placing his hands on the top of the back in a defensive posture. His fingers trembled as he rapidly thought out his options. It must have occurred to him that he had no avenue left down which to travel as he turned and strode towards the door.
“Where are you going, Frilzae?” asked Melgar, “I have not dismissed this session.”
“Fool man,” shouted Frilzae in reply. “You do not have the power to do this, and I refuse to be a party to anything that occurs here!” He pointed at Tarim. “These 'Tinkers' have obviously got you convinced with their lies, and I will not put something in my mouth that has been so obviously poisoned by them. O'Bellah shall hear of this, mark my words, Melgar!” He turned sharply and strode from the room, the heels of his shoes clicking heavily on the floor.
Melgar turned back to the council. “Does anyone else here share the views of our excitable young colleague? If they do I would ask that they say so now.” Nobody replied to Melgar's request, but a middle-aged man with a shock of white hair and a man who looked nothing less than a dandy to Zya, stood without looking at the rest of the council and walked quietly to the door. When the heavy door closed with a clunk, Melgar sighed in disappointment. “I was hoping that Lloene and Kotka would at last see sense and remain, but maybe that is just wishful thinking.”
He strode to the head of the table. “I propose we help the travellers out of their dilemma, as they have helped us out of ours. Who votes for the motion?” Without hesitation the rest of the council raised their right hands, bringing a broad smile to Melgar's face. “So be it. Tarim, consider your burden to be lightened somewhat. We will take charge of your attackers and hold them according to the old law. They will be taken from you and held for one month. Though I think we will say one month from when ever you leave, so you have a good head start on them.” Melgar turned back to the councillors. “My friends, I think before we retire to the oak for the evening we should at least warn the villagers about the hazards of pretty plants. I declare the session closed.”
The gathered gentlemen rose as one and bowed, and then turned away from the table and headed for the door, all except for the elder gentleman who had been so helpful earlier. He walked around the table slowly until he reached the rest of them.
The smile he wore was one of relief. “That was bravely done, Melgar, considering. Frilzae was right about one thing though. O'Bellah will not like what has been done.”
A resigned look crossed Melgar's face briefly. “By the time he returns, it will be too late to undo anything that has happened here today. Tarim, I believe from the look in your eyes when you first entered the room that you required an explanation. I think this will fit that requirement.”
“The paintings?” Tarim enquired.
“Yes, they are part of this. It all started over a year ago, when a man called O'Bellah came to the council and presumed to start advising us. We have always been open to anybody's view, as we try to run the council as a true representation of the village. Now, although we had never seen him before, we listened to his words, much like we listened to yours. It turned out he was a persuasive and very convincing speaker. Before too long he had several of the more tractable members of the council convinced that we should elect a mayor of sorts, and that it should be he. To keep the peace – a bad reason I know – the council voted him to be this mayor, with the power of direction over the choices made by the council in the future. In essence, we voted in a dictator.”
Melgar paused; taking a sip of the drink he had offered Tarim and Zya. Zya asked a question that had been bugging her since Melgar started speaking. “Councillor, the strange things and bad events started happening just after this happened, didn't they?”
“Right,” Melgar agreed. “He brought those bushes with him as part of his so-called quest to brighten up the village; the people love it, and him. Also, he has a stone that he keeps locked away. Recently, he was out the front of this building doing something to the road.”
“Ahhhhh, so it was him ,” said Tarim, relieved to know the source behind t
he magic. “He has spent a lot of money on that stone; they do not come cheap. The only thing I cannot fathom is why he would spend so much money and energy on keeping the road looking pretty.”
The old councillor raised his hand. “If I may, Melgar.” Melgar nodded. “By all means Alander.”
“He seems a man overly concerned with aesthetics. Everything has to be right in his eyes; the bush, the road. It amazes me that he contradicts all of this with the paintings.” Seeing Tarim's eyes darken at the mention of the paintings, Alander continued. “The paintings are a subtle reminder of what would happen were we to interfere with whatever his plans are. He kept the originals so that we would know the reward for non-defiance. The other paintings he introduced in order to let us know what would happen should we go against his wishes.” Alander smiled ruefully. “I think we will soon find out what he meant by them. Still, I am sure it is for the best. Things were never meant to be this way.”
“Where is this man?” asked Tarim. “He causes trouble in such a peaceful place and yet we do not see him.”
“He sometimes goes off on journeys lasting a couple of weeks,” answered Melgar.
“We have never seen fit to follow him. Besides, we have our hands full here. You have already met the three who fell in with him instantly. Frilzae and his two accomplices, Lloend and Kotka, have always believed themselves to be something more than farmers. They have always sought more than the lives of peace we enjoy. While the cat's away, more cats will play would be an apt phrase to use here. When O'Bellah goes travelling, they see fit to come up with as much hassle as possible.”
Melgar sighed and leaned back against the table. Zya could see that even the job of a village council did not seem to be easy, and although she knew they felt they were beaten men they still had pride in their positions.
“They have given up their farms to grow wild, and their families fend for themselves while those three barely acknowledge them. The only reason their outlandish scheming has not come to pass is because once an amendment to village law has been outvoted, it cannot be considered for a full season. That rule I am sure will go eventually, but O'Bellah will not risk the anger of the villagers yet. He has found enough in trying to terrorise us. Only last week Lloend put the bridge to the vote! He thinks we should levy a toll on the merchants coming in form the North. You would have seen the market as you arrived, yes?” Both Tarim and Zya nodded.
“Well were a toll to be put on the bridge, many of the merchants would raise their prices. The flow of traffic from the north is thin but consistent. Many of the hill folk from the northern range and even the occasional Uporan tribesman come across through the forest to trade here. They would all disappear should that happen. The market would wither and die and many in this region would eventually be ruined. It is our only real source of income because we are so far away from Bay's point or any other city. Still, I have burdened you for too long with our problems.” Melgar gestured towards the door. “Let us go and greet your companions and deal with the matter that we spoke of. I am sorry the paintings were so disturbing to you, Zya, and I hope you can understand the reasons why I am so helpless to do anything about it.”
Zya smiled reassuringly. “I understand, councillor.” Zya couldn't help but see that Melgar was a lot more perceptive than he let on; she had never mentioned the fact that it was not her father who was upset about the paintings, but her.
As Tarim and Zya strolled in to the main square with Melgar and Alander they saw a radical change. The market-square was nearly deserted. An hour must have passed whilst they were in the council rooms and in that time everybody had packed up. The square was quiet except for the distant sounds of digging. Down the main street, several home owners were shovelling dirt for all they were worth in an attempt to get rid of the berry-laden bushes.
“It looks like the councillors were effective,” noted Melgar to Alander.
“About time too,” agreed the old man.
“We have sent a man on horseback to guide your companions to a suitable location, Tarim. I know you want to go to meet them, but please do us the honour of having a drink with us first.”
Tarim considered the request for a moment. “True, we do need to get back, but your help has been invaluable and having a drink is the least we can do.”
Melgar smiled broadly, wrinkling the sides of his face. “Settled then. Let us delay not a minute more than we must. To the Oak my friends!” They walked briskly towards the large building that had been pointed out by the gate guard as the Arms of the Oakwater.
“That is an unusual name for a tavern,” observed Tarim as they walked towards it. “Where did it come from?” It was Alander who answered. “The Boarsrush is the name generally given to the river by any who pass by as that is how it is known throughout the region. But for years uncounted the locals have called it the Oakwater for the simple reasoning of the forest comprising mainly of Oak woods, at least near the village. The 'Arms' part does not mean arms in the bodily sense, but as in weaponry. For when we used to get raided and the village was less guarded this building was where the arms were stored. Hence 'Arms of the Oakwater'.”
Her father smiled while Zya said to Alander, “You will love to meet Gren, our cook. He delights in stories and I think you do too. You would have an excellent time swapping old tales.”
“Why, yes, you are right,” the old man agreed. “I like nothing more than a good story. You travellers bring a myriad of treasures with you when you come. No wonder old tales portray you as bringers of luck.”
Zya smiled at the compliment, but withheld any further comment, as she was sure that he would revise his opinion. The gut feeling she had about their two assailants was still strong, and she was sure something was going to happen, just not what.
They entered through a side door of the Tavern to find a surprisingly well-lit room. Dark wood rose from the floor to meet merrily yellow painted walls that made one feel instantly cosy. There were a fair few people in the main room, but it was not over packed. The main room split off into many smaller rooms so if anyone needed privacy they could get it. Melgar led them to an alcove off to one side with cosy deep red chairs. Zya sat down and felt the weariness drain out of her as she relaxed in the plush chair. Though she was used to life as a traveller, she did appreciate comfort when she could get it. The fur boots laced with leather thongs that had been so comfortable in the mountains were suddenly a bit too warm, and the woollen top just that bit too snug. She flushed slightly as she realised how warm she was. Shortly, a stout man with a gut that left his shirt bursting at the seams brought them four tankards on a tray. He mopped his brow with a large cloth he hung over his shoulder, easing the path for more sweat to roll off of his balding head.
“It be a bit too warm today, even for my liking.” The man looked down at Zya and her father. “It seems we be having new guests tonight.”
Melgar made the introductions. “Yelaar, may I present Tarim S'Vedai and his daughter Zya. They are part of a travelling community that will be joining us shortly.” At the mention of travellers, Yelaar's face visibly brightened.
“Well then, all be well,” he said with a broad grin. “Your timing be most fortuitous, friend as I have lots as needs doing. 'Tis only a shame travellers do not contain farriers too, or carpenters for that matter, for I have lots that could be seen to.”
“You would be in luck then barkeep,” replied Tarim, “As both myself and my daughter care greatly for horses, and I am also a carpenter by trade.”
“The Gods own truth?” asked Yelaar. Tarim nodded.
“Ours is not the typical travellers community.”
“Now that be the truth and no lie,” agreed the barkeep. “Word has already gone around that you be carrying some excess baggage, shall we say. The old law though it still be followed has rarely been applied of late. Still, drink and enjoy on me. This be a local brew that we call summer's pudding. It be ale fermented with fruits from last summer's crops. The flavour is less bitt
er and much more pleasant. I store the kegs underground in the cellars so it be cooler.”
Zya tasted the brew. As she sipped the dark brown liquid, she was hit with a myriad of tastes that combined to form the drink. The echo of bitterness from the original ale combined with the sweetness of the summer fruits made a drink that to her was both refreshing and full of vitality. “That is wonderful,” she murmured to herself.
“Aye,” agreed Yelaar who still stood nearby. “Its best quality be that it has less alcohol in it as the fruits soak it up. I be selling this all night long and no-one gets rowdy. It be making my life more peaceful – at least until I run out.”
Zya leaned back into the chair and sat enjoying the quiet of their alcove and savouring the taste of the drink, while she listened to her father and the councillors talk about more mundane topics. She was not surprised to learn that Alander was less a fountain of knowledge and more a walking talking library. He had references on everything and opinions no less. The men talked about the weather and the lack of rain, and how only the proximity of the river was saving their crops. They discussed the likelihood of the travellers staying for longer to be met with dismissive shakes of the head by her father. One thing they did not discuss was the mysterious O'Bellah. Zya felt the councillors wanted to keep his domination of them from common knowledge. They must have been there an hour when the guard Uye stepped into the room with a tankard of ale. He approached and nodded to the councillors.
“What can we do for you Uye?” asked Melgar.
“I just thought it best that you knew a group of tinkers have entered the village, councillor. I sent them along to the paddock on Bridge Street where there will be space for their horses and wagons.”
“Thank you for the information, Uye. I take it you know our guests?” The old man eyed the both of them.
“Aye I know them. If I seem rough to you both don't take nothin' personal. It's the way I am and the way I work.”
The Focus Stone (The Tome of Law Book 1) Page 11
