Taggart could not keep the smile off of his face. He looked at all of the people in the room, saw their clothing, the uniform coloring of the hair, skin and eyes. His eyes cut to the one window and could just make out a pinkish tint to the sky outside. Taggart looked back at the largest man.
“Is this Olvion?” he asked in perfect Olvioni.
Mattus relaxed slightly. “We are four days from the city of Olvion, but, yes this farm is in the kingdom of Olvion.”
Taggart nodded and started to swing his legs over the side of the cot when he peeked under the light blanket and saw he was naked. He looked up at the small knot of onlookers not knowing what to do next. Toria spoke up.
“You were naked when I found you,” she said, coloring slightly with embarrassment. “And we don’t have anything large enough to fit you.”
Everyone gave a small laugh including Taggart. He looked at the young girl.
“And what is your name?” he asked.
“I’m Toria.” She turned to point to the others. “They are my parents, that is my Aunt and Uncle and those are my brothers.”
Taggart nodded to all of them. He noticed them waiting for him to furnish his name. The room was suddenly very quiet. Taggart sighed and rubbed his eyes. He did not really know what to expect when he revealed himself, but he owed these people his honesty.
With as much dignity as one could muster while lying naked under a blanket in a roomful of strangers he smiled and shrugged.
“You would know me as Tag-Gar.”
***
Later that night Summ and Lonn brought him clothing that had been radically altered to fit his massive frame. The shirt was a good fit, but the trousers were a little snug. Taggart didn’t mind, he was just happy to be clothed again. The family bade him to come to the main hall in the large farmhouse where meals were served. Then they all sat to a dinner of stewed vegetables and something that tasted like pork.
After they had eaten the women shooed the men outside to a circle of rough wooden chairs that ringed a fire pit. Taggart tried to help light the fire, but Mattus gave the task to his two sons.
Jost was the oldest, maybe sixteen by Taggart’s estimation. He was a large kid, almost as tall as his father. The younger one, Markh, was a year or so younger. He was not going to be as tall as his brother, but his limbs were unusually thick for someone born in the thin gravity of Olvion.
The fire soon blazed away cheerily. The sun had set and the temperature was comfortable. Seeja came out of the farmhouse with a clay jug and a grin on his face.
As was polite in Olvion, the first drink of the after dinner spirit was offered to the guest. Taggart accepted the jug and gave the spout an exploratory sniff. His face formed a grin and he pointed to the jug.
“Is this sween?” he asked.
Seeja nodded with a smile.
In his previous time in Olvion, Taggart had sampled many different liquors. Most were either as strong as straight tequila or flavored with the black licorice taste that Olvionis loved and Taggart despised. Sween, however, was a delicious brew that was made from honey. Taggart loved the concoction and called it “mead” after the spirit that was so prized by the Vikings of earth. Taggart’s family had been able to trace their own lineage back to those old world raiders.
Taggart raised the jug in a quasi-toast and took a long, satisfying gulp. Memories came flooding back to him as the liquid slid down his throat leaving a satisfying warmth in its path. There was little conversation as the jug made several circuits of the fire pit. Even the two boys took small sips under the eye of their father. Markh was just about to take a third taste when the ladies came out of the house. Mattus snatched the jug from his youngest son’s hands and quickly shoved it at Taggart. The warrior’s face then assumed an innocent expression as he pretended to stretch.
Summ took a chair by the fire, pretending she didn’t notice that her youngest smelled of sween. She straightened her clothing and put her hand on her husband’s arm. As Lonn and Toria settled into their own chairs it was Toria, not surprisingly, who brought up the subject about which everyone was thinking.
“Are you The Legend?”
Mattus shot his daughter a warning glare, but Taggart found her honesty and lack of pretension to be endearing. He poked a smoldering stick into the flames and looked at each of them as he spoke.
“That, my new friends, is a question without an answer. The old stories and books tell of the Legend coming out of nowhere and helping King Ausloe to defeat the Grey Horde many years ago. What happened to him after that is a mystery. It was said that he would return when needed and he was needed two seasons past.”
Seeja had just finished a quick sip from the jug and offered it to Taggart. He waved it past and Seeja handed it to Mattus. Taggart resumed his musings.
“I fell asleep in another world and woke up here as the new invasion of Greys started descending from the mountains. I have no explanation as to how that happened. I know you have a thousand questions about it and so do I, but there are no answers. One moment I was in that world, and then I was here.
Toria scooted her chair closer and leaned in as far as she could without straining the boundaries of good manners.
Taggart leaned back a bit. The flames painted shadows on his face as he continued talking. “When I awakened I was cold, naked, hungry and very much afraid. An incredible animal found me and became my friend.”
“Tinker, the white Mountain Child!” Toria jumped up as she spoke the words, unable to contain her excitement.
Taggart nodded. “Indeed. She became my protector and my teacher. Her wonderful abilities allowed me to speak to the people of Olvion and them to me. I became friends with King Zander, Lord Ruguer and many wonderful and noble warriors of Olvion. We fought against the Greys in the great valley outside of the city.”
Here Taggart stopped and turned his face from the fire for a moment. The other people at the circle gave him a moment of respectful silence. Eventually he turned back and gestured for another sip of sween. When he finished with the jug he continued.
“With my own eyes I saw King Zander pulled from his mount and killed when the Grey King sprung a trap upon us. Myself and several others fought to get to his side, but we were driven away. Then I saw Lord Ruguer, the Sword of the King, torn from his saddle. Thousands of Greys came sweeping down out of the bluffs into the valley and drove us back. They had been hidden there by the Grey King who had been advised by a silver Mountain Child. We were exhausted after hours of combat and had nothing left to give. Thousands of us, including myself, were struggling to reach the safety of our walls as the enemy that had been hidden up in the bluffs massed for a final assault.”
Taggart leaned back in his chair and poked at the embers with a new stick. The others gave him the time he needed.
“Then, as we all fled for the safety of the city walls we saw one man, Lord Ruguer, walking toward the enemy instead of away from them. He was wounded, he was exhausted, and he was resigned to death…but he was not going to abandon the defense of his city and his kingdom.”
Taggart looked up and the others saw a slight smile on his lips.
“And we all just fell in behind him. I can’t tell you why even though I was there, but that simple act of outrageous bravery just could not be ignored. We turned and followed him and some even found the strength to run at the enemy.
“Then we were joined by the warriors from the Coastal Kingdoms. Thousands of them. Tens of thousands. They passed us by and took a warrior’s vengeance on the grey murderers.”
Taggart smiled more broadly then.
“The Greys were defeated, and I killed the Grey King with a chain and slave ball in his own tent. My little friend was seriously wounded from fighting the other creature which had all of her abilities but none of her kindness. She survived, as did Lord Ruguer. The night of his coronation I fell into unconsciousness and awoke back in my other world.”
He looked around at the others.
“U
ntil today.”
There was silence all around the fire pit as one by one all of the family members looked to Mattus.
“I was there,” Mattus said. He was staring into the fire with the jug balanced on his lap. “I saw what the people of Olvion did: the thousands of men and women lying dead on the valley floor. Ever since that day I have wondered how many of those brave warriors would still be alive were it not for the cowardice of our leaders.” He took another drink and looked over at Taggart, the firelight turning his eyes to shining coins. “I didn’t see you there, but I heard what you did that day and in the days leading up to the final battle. I have one question for you Warrior. What can my family do to help you? Ask and it shall be given.”
Taggart took a deep breath and looked up at the stars.
“I only need two things, a bed for the night and someone to point me in the direction of Olvion.
CHAPTER FOUR
Dwan decided she was going to return to Olvion. Her attempt to lessen her emotional anguish by changing her surroundings was not working. She had hoped that leaving Olvion and not having to see the places where she and Tag-Gar had been so happy would help her to forget. She thought seeing new sights and meeting new people would dilute the raw hurt that she wrestled with every day. And, for a few days, it had helped somewhat. Exploring the layout of the massive medical clinic in Aspell and learning the small differences in treatment between the two kingdoms was interesting. If she never had to go back to her living quarters and be alone with her thoughts and memories she could probably make it through an entire day without breaking down into tears.
“Stop it!” She often commanded herself. “You are stronger than this.” No matter how many times she told herself that, however, she always came to the realization that, no, she wasn’t stronger than that. Not by a long shot. Tag-Gar was far away from her now. If he was anywhere on this planet she would already have set out to find him, but how do you search for someone in another world or another dimension? Why should she have to? What sin had she committed that was so vile as to bring about the personal hell within which she existed every day?
She had heard the stories. Some in Olvion claimed he had left on his own accord, off seeking new battles now that the Grey Ones had been vanquished. Others opined that the mysterious forces that brought him to Olvion had now sent him on to other worlds to right other wrongs there. Dwan knew the truth, knew it down deep in her sole. Nothing could have made him leave her if he had the power to stay.
Dwan had been in her shower the night of the coronation for King Ruguer. There had been a great ceremony with hundreds of revelers celebrating the new king and paying tribute to the fallen King Zander. They had walked the halls of the castle singing the songs of Olvion and greeting others as they passed. She had toweled herself off and returned to the bedroom portion of their small apartment within the castle. The light shirt and trousers that he’d been wearing were on the floor and a cup of shaving soap was lying on its side in the sink. His razor was on the floor. She had opened the door to search the hallway outside even though, in her heart, she knew he was gone. It took three days before hope finally left her like the last flicker in a dying fire.
So it was that she had accepted the fact that he was gone, most likely back to that exotic world from which he had originally come. She was still tortured everyday by the thought that he might someday be returned. If she was going to be miserable, however, she now resolved to be miserable in familiar surroundings. She had many friends in Olvion and she was still close to the mother of the slain King Zander. She looked forward to seeing her and offering her services as healer.
Dwan relaxed a bit. Now that she had made her decision everything seemed a little less difficult. She glanced around her living quarters seeing the high ceilings and bright draperies and bed linens. There was no sense in delaying. She stood, intending to begin her packing.
Outside of her window the alarm bells rang.
***
Mattus explained his planning to Summ. She had listened quietly as he laid out his reasoning before saying no. The retired warrior took in a deep breath to calm himself. Always it had been like this. Both of them knew that she would eventually be convinced, but there was a process that must be followed in order for her to receive and digest the information. This would be an especially difficult plan to sell because it affected one of the children, Toria to be precise.
“Listen to me, My Love,” he urged. “She is seventeen summers now. That is old enough to be mated. She is totally isolated out here with no chance to meet a young man her age. We have a plow head waiting for us in Olvion and my nephew, Lyyl, is there now. We would need to get both him and the plow head out here anyway. Seeja and I can’t take the time away now. When will we ever have an opportunity like this again?”
Summ stared at his eyes for a moment longer then dropped her gaze. Mattus knew he’d won then, but there was still a bit of convincing to be done.
“There is no certainty that Lyyl has arrived at the city yet,” she argued. “He might have had problems getting released from service. And, I know this may sound trite, but, just how well do we know this… Tag-Gar? Can he be trusted with our daughter’s safety?”
She was grasping at straws now. “Really, Summ?” he asked gently. “The Legend? Is there anyone in this entire world that we could trust more? What dangers might she encounter that he cannot protect her from? She will pass the farms of other settlers along the way where she can meet young men her age. In the city she will have several days to make friends with possible suitors. Then she can show Lyyl the way back here. Again I say, this is an opportunity that we simply cannot let pass us by.”
There it was, the merest trace of a smile. It meant that Summ had taken his point, and that she was pleased that her man had made such a wise decision. She was also happy that he had included her in the development of it.
For her part, Toria was so excited that she could barely keep herself in one spot. She hadn’t been off of the farm since she had arrived with her family two seasons ago. The daily chores had been mind-numbing to her even though she had performed them without complaint. The thought of the upcoming journey was almost too wonderful for her to imagine. She would see their neighbors, greet her cousin Lyyl and be able to shop in the city markets for goods. Her mother had made a list of items for her to bring back. That was all well and good, but there was also the unbelievable opportunity for Toria to spend several days in the company of The Legend. That would be a story that she would be telling when she was old and withered. How many people in this world would be able to tell such a story?
Of course there was another reason for Toria to be so excited. She had always been intrigued by the thought of meeting Tinker, the white Mountain Child. To see any Mountain Child was an event that occurred in the lives of very few people. To see Tinker, however, the very creature who had helped to rout the Grey Ones and save the kingdom of Olvion was an event for which she would gladly trade three fingers. Yes, she knew that there were no plans to seek out the wonderful animal, but who knew what the sudden reappearance of The Legend might lead to? Maybe Tinker would seek him out so that the two could be united again. The stories that had gotten through to her family before leaving Archer’s Gate were that the Mountain Child had stayed with the Healer Dwan for months until she decided to go to the coast where she could try to recover from the pain of her loss.
That thought stopped the train of imagination that was rolling through the young woman’s head. Would she be able to talk with him about Dwan along the way? Perhaps find out the true story there, would he try to find her, fight his way through walls of evil Grey beasts to get to her side? She could not imagine a more romantic event. Would he let her help find his love? Would Toria’s name be spoken around fires in the years to come as part of the story of their reuniting? It all seemed so wondrous to her.
And so it was that she had gone to bed anticipating disappointment as her mother overruled her father’s plans, b
ut, mere hours after her waking, was now standing with a pack on her shoulders and preparing to embark on what would probably be the most important journey of her life. For a person with such an excitable personality it was almost too much for her to bear. The morning was perfect, clear and cool while awaiting the full arrival of the sun. Birds fussed overhead, and the night insects were getting in their last chirps before hiding from the day.
She heard her mother speaking to her, no doubt listing the thousands of things that she should not do while she was gone. The words were lost somewhere in her mind among her fantasies and imagined adventures. It wasn’t until her father spoke that she snapped her attention forward. Father was not one to ignore.
He hung a beautifully carved whistle about her neck. It appeared to have been whittled from bone. “This is to be used only when you are in danger. I have told Tag-Gar that you will only use it when your situation is grave.” He reached into a bag and produced a pair of fingerless gloves. They were also beautiful, made from a soft brown leather and decorated with colorful beads. “Your mother made these for you last night. She had been saving the leather for some work gloves, but these will serve you well when you practice your tooth and claw.” Toria reflexively moved her hands to the two knives she wore on her belt. Her father had acquainted her with the weapons when she was ten summers. Mattus, being a warrior, had made certain that all of his children were able to contribute to the defense of the family.
Toria slipped the gloves on while watching Mattus speak to Tag-Gar. She was literally hopping up and down in anticipation. Markh, watching from the side of the yard, pointed at her and laughed, making a comment into the ear of his older brother. Toria didn’t care. She looked to her mother’s face again. There were tears in her eyes. Toria’s heart melted a bit, but she was far too excited to go over to her and get her started on another round of instructions. She knew her mother worried about her safety, but she could not understand why she did not realize that she could not possibly be any safer. Even Father was not the physical equal of Tag-Gar, The Legend.
The Coastal Kingdoms of Olvion: Book Two of The Chronicles of Olvion Page 4
