by B. Y. Yan
At the entrance of the palace guardsmen in blue mantles lounged about lazily on wide stone steps, bracing spears against their shoulders, and past them they found a narrow lane lined on both sides by tall grey pines. Going in they came to a body of clear water after several turns, and beheld the holdings of Plead On-the-Lake, where the queen lived in a house of red mortar covered in ivy and vine. Here the litter came to a halt, and Sir Boors was helped out of it by Basil. They presented themselves humbly to the servants scattered about the premises.
Going in past gardeners and maids and maids-in-waiting and ladies and ladies-in-waiting they went around the house to a small garden of rare greens and delicate flowers in full bloom. In a far corner eunuchs were having a game of horseshoes with the accountant, who was losing badly. Sir Boors never failed to press each hand he passed, always with a kind word or two, while Basil followed behind, handing out small monies.
In this way they arrived meeting the queen armed with the knowledge that she was content, that she was cheerful, that she was lately at times, furious with a wrath to behold, that she did not eat today, and had no visitors for some weeks, except for the son of the Great Yarl whom she detested, who was sent away earlier. Her own son the king she longed to see, but he made different excuses for every day of the week—calligraphy on Mondays, philosophy on Tuesdays, hawking and the hunt on Wednesdays, a study of history throughout the rest of the week (which, according to his new tutor, the king never attended)—and did not come by at all.
But when Sir Boors presented himself outside the window of her study she seemed amicable. The first thing she did was to send her favorite handmaiden to ask him if he would not mind sharing his opinions with her on a painting she recently acquired.
“Gladly,” he said.
This handmaiden, whose name was Milsworth, showed Sir Boors to the window. He looked through it at the painting hanging on the opposite wall.
It was a picture of Gainsworth, the late husband of the queen framed in muted gold and vividly colored in deep blues and greens, seated in his great throne of steel bars and gold-plated legs with his head supported by his hand and wearing an expression of inattention; at his feet his favorite hound Cudgel looked up upon its master with reverence. The Steward immediately recognized it as the handiwork of Over the Hill, a hermit residing deep in the wastelands who recently passed away young through illness—some say with decency, for now his life’s work was precious and priceless, owing to his timely demise. He said so as much to the queen’s handmaiden.
Milsworth went inside to tell the queen word-for-word all she had been told and in no time Amber’s voice flowed out of the window bidding him to advance. A delicate hand was stretched out of the window and rested gently on the sill. Sir Boors knelt before it, and touched his lips on the brilliance of the great diamond sitting upon a long white finger.
The voice of the queen carried the thunderous bearing of her rule—just or otherwise as some may have said—bidding him to rise. As he did so he caught sight of her for the first time in months. And what can we say about her, really, in order to accurately describe Amber Plead in her tenth-year year at court for those who are meeting her for the first time? Suffice to say that there exists a breed of women time cannot measure, despite every effort. Here was a creature exhibiting every excellence, and elevated her species and sex by simple virtue of membership. She was compassionate and loving—to her father in youth, to her husband in marriage, and now deeply devoted to his son by his previous wife—intelligent and wily in equal measures, courageous in catastrophe and steadfast in her resolve. If she had a singular fault, it would be her apparent ageless appearance, which can come off unnerving; for it was the opinion of most people that nobody should look as they did at nineteen when they were, in truth, closer to thirty, and some were quick to account this trait to fey blood (it is rumored that her father, the King of Plead, had taken a fairy wife out in the wastelands, who is today seldom seen), which is how they explained she ended up with hair the color of forest fire. She was the fairest woman for miles around and fantastically unhappy. Today we might have called her ungrateful, which is the greatest compliment anybody can pay as evidence of historical greatness that has ever come before or will be.
Sir Boors was admitted into her study. It was a small room with little space to spare, but tall with a high ceiling, and warmly decorated by long tapestries. A good hearth was cut into the center of the room surrounded by carpets made from the skins of many beasts. A great marble chair covered in fur was placed next to it, where the queen was seated. Sir Boors stood opposite her with hands clasped respectfully before his belly until a chair of stern birch was brought in for him.
Soon they were seated and talking together in an easygoing manner, and Sir Boors discovered that the queen was not as contented as he initially supposed, for she spoke of hardships endured from losing many old friends.
“It is this matter of strangers in my own home which has gotten me unnerved,” she told him. “I see many unfamiliar faces in my home. Did you know my maids were replaced last autumn? I do not know any of the new ladies-in-waiting; the eunuchs I distrust; the guards are new faces with grim countenances; and the accountant I think a spy. Milsworth is all I have left and I feel as if I have not a friend in the world to depend upon.”
“I am here still, madam,” said Boors.
The queen sighed.
“You are always a welcomed sight in my home. And truth to be told if you had not come by, I fear I should have spent the whole day mired in lonely misery without speaking to a soul. I feel I shall not get better in the short while.”
“What can I do to help?” asked Boors.
“I have asked you to give me your opinion on this painting, and I feel you have not been entirely honest with me.”
“What do you mean?”
“You have spoken to Milsworth about its origins, and appraised its value; but you have not divulged a single detail as to the meaning behind the work, which I am eager to learn from you most.”
Boors hesitated. When he spoke his words were carefully chosen.
“I believe the meaning conveyed by the artist is loyalty,” he managed. “The painting itself, as I remember, was commissioned by a retainer of your husband; Galvin went on a Quest in order to obtain it. The hound is representative of himself, who served without compromise until the end of his days, never asking for more than the pleasure of being in the company of his liege. After his passing the painting, which had been a gift from Galvin to his king, was given in return by Gainsworth to his heirs, who have kept it since as a treasured heirloom.”
“And now it has come to me again.” Amber stared at the painted visage of her husband with a troubled look.
“It is good of you to help them,” said Boors, hoping to lighten her mood. “I’ve heard that these Galvins have fallen on hard times, and by selling this heirloom this will be the second time their family has been rescued, first from obscurity by your husband sixty years ago, and now by you, from destitution today.”
“That would be true,” said Amber, “except that I haven’t done anything. It was the Great Yarl, and I don’t know how he came by it, only that he spared no effort in getting it to me. His son came by some days ago, and this was the gift he presented to me on his father’s behalf.”
“Ah!”
“He has never made his peace with me.” Amber ground her teeth as she spoke. “Although I’ve done my part to treat him as my family, he has never given me anything but trouble, and chooses often to forget altogether that I should exist in this world. Why should he remember now that I am his sister by custom, his liege by law, and think that I should not suspect him for this gesture as method to conceal some villainy?”
“Perhaps he is only trying to make up for lost time,” the Steward consoled her. “There has always been great love in the house of Antwerp, especially between brothers, and it is my belief that all grievances can be laid aside.”
Clearly the queen
did not think so, and wept suddenly into her hands.
“Madam—”
“I have lost much,” she told him through her sobs. “And looking on this picture now I long for the faces and company of true friends who are beyond my reach. Now I am surrounded by enemies. Hard eyes watch me from every shadowy corner. You may not believe me when I tell you that I am often frightened for my life, but if you ever loved me over the years we have known one another, and will defend me as you have promised, I ask you now to become my Galvin in my time of need.”
“What would you have me do?” asked Boors, suppressing a sigh.
“I mean to move away for a little while from here. If you could find suitable lodging elsewhere, where I can be freed at last from unwanted hindrance or influence”—here Amber slipped the great jewel from her finger, for a moment catching a strand of sunlight passing between the window-drapes; and dancing there with all the brilliance of the world she pressed it into his hands, where the light vanished swiftly from sight— “I am not without gratitude. I gave you all the help I can to deliver me from imprisonment. Even by telling you my desires I have placed myself in great danger, and danger still may find me if the matter is not carried out with caution, and in secret. I am wholly yours, my friend. It remains to be seen what you might do.”
Now it might be said of Sir Boors that for his long experience serving as caretaker of the kingdom he understood well the caveats which came with unsolicited attention and gifts, but yet lacked the fortitude necessary to resist them. It was his one great failing that he was easily tempted by the sight of treasure or a show of great wealth. He slipped the diamond into his pocket and promised to do what he could for the queen.
They talked then well into the morning on subjects less interesting to recount. The queen asked about his family, of which she knew little, and Sir Boors asked about her son the king, of whom he knew every detail. As it was coming to noon the queen pulled on a long cord of rope which fell from the ceiling beside her seat, and a bell rang for lunch. Sir Boors excused himself from her company then, though she bade him to stay.
He left collecting his litter from the estate premises, going back to the square by the same way he had come. Soon he was returned to the comforts of his cabin, peering out from half-closed eyes at the scenery rushing by as Basil drove the men on with flogging strength, and the footmen did their best to keep up, going down many winding ways all along the western face of the citadel. They had a second appointment to keep still and there was pressing need to hurry.
The litter went beneath a suddenly cloudless blue sky. Narrow strips of sunlight cutting through the spaces between thatched roofs of stone courts passed briefly over the cabin. The white faces of the tall stone houses carved into the mountainside cast numerous shadows reaching like long black fingers to the west.
At the foot of the western face sat a great stone gatehouse of grey mortar, embellished by ringing pipes and groaning smokestacks belching smog into the air. With three narrow arches set in it, through which the primary lane of the citadel was split, it resembled nothing less than a tall, frowning face with missing teeth, worn by the harsh sandy winds which now and then buffeted against it in broad, windy strokes. A set of red doors studded in faded gold set deep inside the arches blocked off each of the three paths, and before each stood a sentry watching over passage through, where the long highway wound around first to the west, then south, into the Fields of Ingraine.
The Great Gate it was called and the Steward’s procession came swiftly before it. On recognizing his servants every courtesy was shown to expedite him on his way. Trumpets blew and a lane was swiftly cleared. They came through beyond the gatehouse to the highway, where the road was laid out wide, paved in some places but not at others, with a ditch on both sides to drain away infrequent rain. It led, winding, into the desolate wastes. But nearer to the citadel one could see at a glance on both sides farmsteads and little broken walls in the distance dotting the field, sheltered in the shadows of the great tumbling ridges with their ragged rows of stone teeth like waves of frozen sand, with here and there the white smoke of hearth-fire billowing into the sky.
Passing these town-lands and going south for a little distance a great natural wall arose from the earth as a buffer in the east, atop which sat a dense screen of prickling needle-pines and outstretched branches. Deep rooted trees grew here in thickets, sitting at the feet of harsh mountains sketched far in the distance. Between them lay a natural preserve of sparse, crooked woods and blackened, oily bogs which was to the House of Antwerp their royal hunting grounds.
Before this barricade a lonely red tree frowned upon the highway and here the litter halted in the shadow of its canopy of sparse yellow and red leaves. Herdsmen quickly approached, for they maintained stables nearby for travelers to switch horses on their journey, and provided sturdier mounts with which one might venture into the ragged forest on official business. A great chestnut was led up for Sir Boor and a tall mule for Basil. These branded steeds were brought out from stables separate from those provided for commoners by merit of their white thatched roofs, upon which fluttered the yellow and black pennants of Immortal Linberry. It was getting on three o’clock in the afternoon.
Master and servant went into the wilderness of the Royal Parklands and came upon the hunting party of the Great Yarl a little of the ways in. They were set on the right course early following the trilling of distant trumpets, and then as they drew closer, the faint noise of many voices speaking together deep in the marsh. Soon they saw lanky woodsmen dressed in yellow tabards going with their backs bent like sapling over still black pits, wearing great bows of yew over their shoulders. Seeing them they were hailed, and bade to follow.
They went deeper into the hunting grounds, horse and mule pushing through sparse undergrowth into a small clearing where they found nearly a hundred men with their ankles blackened scattered about, leading dogs and following mounted riders along the edges of a lake of sticky tar. Men dressed in leather busily sharpened spears with many colorful banners draped from their necks, or brandished them wildly about in the air to distant cries.
In the center of this commotion a tall white horse stood atop a small yellow hill. Snowfell she was called, and well known to all who gazed upon her, for she was a creature of majesty and splendor belonging to the Great Yarl. A well-dressed young man sat astride her, cutting a dashing figure in his silver cuirass, bearing royal inscription and arms. Sir Boors shook the reins in his hands, and rode through the hustle up to the hill. He stopped just short and dismounted, approaching on Basil’s arm, crunching coarse gravel beneath the soles of his boots. He bowed low, not before the rider as you might have expected, but rather to the man standing beside with his hand on the neck of the horse.
This fellow bore some resemblance to the young man in the saddle but for being about twenty-five years older. The brown-gold curls falling in locks around his ears showed some grey hidden within the strands. His dark sunken eyes alighted upon the Steward with a fierce look, but he pressed Sir Boors’s hands with affection, laughing merrily.
“Now you arrive! You have kept me waiting a good while.”
Sir Boors embraced the Great Yarl, and made his apologies for being late.
“We have sorely missed your company, my lord,” said the rider then, who had dismounted in that time and came round the horse, just as eager to show his affection.
“As I have yours, and that of your esteemed sire,” said the Steward. “I hope I haven’t kept him from his game.”
“No harm done,” said the young man, laughing. Half his face was scarred by pox, but smiling he outshone every deficiency, a specimen of grace and vigor befitting a prince of the realm. “The denizens of the park are being uncooperative and father has had nothing to show for his efforts all day. He is losing his touch, for I fear he attends to this business in the same manner as he does tilling a battlefield, and all the beasts of the earth are driven before him. It is a fantastic rout, but it will
not bring any bounty worthy of heft and praise.”
“I’ve been away long,” his father replied with false indignation. “And out of practice, I might add, so I should be forgiven for being warlike in my methods, for that is my only business these days.” The Great Yarl put his arms around the shoulders of his son and the Steward, and they all three of them began to walk away together, taking with them all their might.
“Have you brought your bow with you?” the Great Yarl asked Sir Boors when they were all set to begin.
“I have not,” Boors replied.
“Take mine.” The Great Yarl shrugged a tall bow of golden birch and gleaming steel from his shoulders and pressed it into his hands.
“Have you got a horse with you to your liking?” asked the young man.
“Only the one upon whose back I came.”
“That won’t do,” said the young man, handing over the reins to his magnificent white. “Take mine.”
The Great Yarl and his son were doing their best to be accommodating, and Sir Boors did not refuse. He accepted every compliment given, returned every courteous gesture, and once new horses had been brought up for the Great Yarl and his son, mounted up after them. A bugle trilled advancing notes and the whole procession became elated by action—trampling sparse tufts of grass wherever they tread, buzzing like a great hive of hornets which had been provoked into action, raising a dust cloud to cover them like a shroud, attacking everything moving in sight.
In this way a great exultation came upon all, and voices broke soon into war-like songs. There was nary a cause for complaint but for lack of game, for they drove every living thing into hiding from the cacophony. Even the principle hunters, around whom everything else revolved, managed to shoot only two desert hares between the three of them—both tallied to the score of the young man riding far ahead of the main host, whose prowess with the bow from horseback was formidable. When at last their pursuit of a family of rattlers ended up for naught, and every arrow in the Grand Yarl’s quiver was spent, the party was called to a halt and an end put to the festivities.
