“That scab will need to be picked at some time,” Wayland maintained. “Now might be better, because it is so fresh. If I don’t have all the information, others will eventually ask the same questions. Those questions will no doubt be more leading, and for the benefit of whoever sends the men to ask them.”
“Remember,” Wayland continued, “you helped launch a military expedition against the buggers to get her back. Now we turn to the last page of that story: to what the Grand Prince and others will say about it. Grotoy looks strong, aggressive, and Rydol has been reminded of how timid and selfish it can be. What will happen to Lord Wenslig now that his plans are undone, and to those who supported him? And to Grotoy, who sent hundreds of men to fight along the northern edge of Lake Aven, when Gece is so plainly being assailed elsewhere.”
“Do it then, but choose your word carefully,” Johnas warned him. He didn’t like the way that Wayland had just led his thoughts around, it was plain. Wayland got on his horse as the others passed by, and he rode over to where the Countess Sunnil was now riding on one of the extra mounts that Lord Hesher has sent out. He looked at her and tried to see why the troll had coined the particular name, but he could not.
She had dark brown hair and green eyes like Johnas, and the family resemblance was clear. She was fair of face, with a few light freckles, the broadness and angles of it perhaps hinting at some deeper lineage with the Goloks of the Kundi. She had experienced a great deal while in the company of the troll, and as a captive of the witch Malice. Still, she opened her mouth now a little and gave him a dreadful, slit-eyed stare, like he was a bee who would sting her if it got too close.
“Countess Sunnil, your grace. I am Wayland of the Isles, dispatched by Captain Tig Morten of Troli to arrange for the return of your grace and the others taken hostage by the monsters of the Priwak. I’m afraid I bear for you of a bit of bad news.”
She looked over at him, fatigued and annoyed. He could plainly see both anger and fatigue fighting each other across her features. She turned her horse out of the line and he followed her over the edge of the old road bed, where they continued on, out of earshot from the others for the moment.
The others watched them, but made no attempt to join or ask questions, not even Johnas Tygus. Wayland had just spoken to her like a petitioner fighting over the ownership of a cow in someone’s court. Perhaps that was the best way to deal with the whole situation now: through calm and solid reason. She straightened up her saddle and threw back her shoulders, then looked over at him, daring him to speak with her green eyes.
“What is this news?” she asked. “Does it have to do with my uncle in Rydol?” She had her mind set well ahead it seemed, and it was not focused now on her ordeal at all.
“No your grace,” he replied. “I barely talked to the man, but he struck me as one who was keeping his thoughts and actions all inside his cloak, as we say is Rezes. When I tried to elicit greater help from him, he only provisioned me and kicked me out of your city. I then fought one of his men, who tried to usurp my authority here in the West Lands. I retained my command though, with the happy result that we have here today.”
“He has made his play,” she said. “He will not be able to pretend much longer, when the word gets out of my return.”
“But your grace, this is about another matter. It involves the troll called Golden Sword. When he saw how the chief of Warukz react to our attempt to rescue you, he began to fight with him and burned his village. He left it, fought off a pack of goblins that were chasing him, and journeyed out of the hills. I ran into him, and he is now near at hand. He wants to know if the promise you made to him still stands.” She stopped her horse and looked out at the hills then back at the company they traveled with.
“Near? How near?” she said, disturbed by the revelation, even frightened.
“He has wandered off for the moment, and I think he could have gone home,” Wayland said, “but he may return. I do not pretend to be able to make decisions for a great lady such as your grace, but I do counsel against honoring any bargain with him. He did not release you as he promised, or return you to us in exchange for your ransom. He seems to have acted stupidly and callous in your regard. He is also a great monster, I add, and he was the one who originally put you into peril. If he insists and makes trouble, a company of men can be raised and deal with him.”
“I will think about this matter,” she replied, and it seemed she was content with his words. “I do require news of Rydol, if you have any.”
“While you were held captive, the Kovekund Amash, the Sund, and the Kundi Goloks besieged the holy city of the Daughter. They captured Kraxika from the Bagheri Prince of the Golden Slope. Gece, Alonze and Pendwise have mobilized soldiers and are moving them across now to the all the eastern borders.”
“The trade road had shifted to run south through Troli and Rydol, by way of the Oasis of Laurent and Pendwise. There is also said to be fighting in Maghot Bay, a quarter of the world away at least, and trade appears very spotty.”
She laughed and looked away, off toward the mottled hills to the west. Wayland looked over to Johnas Tygus, who was studying him critically, and then he looked back over at the Countess Sunnil. She turned her green eyes back on him.
“Spoken like a true road knight,” she observed. “If that is all your news sir you may retire. If I have need of you later, perhaps to reply to the troll, I will let you know.”
“Yes, your grace,” Wayland said, and he rode back to check on Sir Byrning and his squires.
They rose up through the hills several hours later, and Wayland looked off into the rocks again at the side of the road, but saw no sign that the troll had returned. Perhaps he had indeed left of his own accord, and that would be that. The olive trees and grape vines shimmered like a ribbon of dark green, and then expanded out to reveal the tower of the keep, the walls, and the squat village of Braus Cote on the rise above the dusty plain.
They rode to the keep, and it was much the same scene as when Wayland had arrived before, now repeated again with more honors because of the two great nobles traveling with them. The Lord and his men came out into the yard and bowed to them, as the men congratulated each other and the women wept, mostly for the poor, lost Lady of Sabine.
The Lord had four wooden tubs put out in an unused room and the women were let to bathe, and then the cooled water was given to the men to use. Wayland’s wound had gone stiff again from riding, and so he went back and lay in a pallet of straw. He saw things were taken out of trunks and caskets for the women to wear, as their clothes were then cleaned or burned, as the case held.
Lord Hesher had another great table set out, and many people were invited to come in and join in a feast of thanksgiving, with plenty of wine and cured olives set out in bowls. There were slices of pork in sugared beans, and fish caught out of the local waters, and a lamb and rice stew with bread. Wayland stood up half way through the meal, his injury paining him. The others stopped their forks and knives for the moment, and took up their glasses to watch.
“To the Lady Getline of Ronziers,” he said. “I now apologize profusely for implying that I would steal the plate and candlesticks from the church there. It was only done to win the confidence of that vile goblin Weech, so that I could get as much information from him as I could.” He held up a purse of pennies they had brought back, a leather of the blackened coins that had once sat in the Stone Pile, and been at the heart of the war that the monsters had fought.
“And I am gifting this silver to Lady Getline, for her needs, and to convey to the church of Ronziers.” They applauded as he put the purse on a platter, and one of the serving girls then carried it around the table to the lady. He sat down and Sir Byrning stood up.
“I will leave with my remaining squire for Pendwise tomorrow,” Sir Bryning told them, “by the Vara, through the Oasis of Laurent. I am taking with me the relics of our quest, with the testimony of the lords here to present to the Keeper of the Three Shrines. I had so
me difficulty there that required me to go out on quest, but I am sure that when I return with my efforts, I will come back into full favor.”
They applauded him, as Wayland thought again to himself what the knights would make of the gold cup cut in half by the troll with his magic sword. If he couldn’t have the sword, then he would have its miracle, which was all he really wanted. Johnas Tygus Grotoy stood up next, in a fine silk doublet that belonged to the lord, taken out from a chest of holiday wear.
“I congratulate you all on the return of the Countess Sunnil my cousin, and on the return of the others,” he said. “There will be suitable rewards handed around for this miracle. You have my word on it.” He lifted his wine goblet up higher. “I toast you all, on a thing well done!”
Sir Byrning left the next morning with two stout boxes loaded on different ponies, and with another carrying enough food and fodder to see him and his squire at least half way across the Vara. They had penned witness testimonials for him: from two counts and from Wayland, as a foreign knight, to give his tale the backing it needed to be credited in his land. Gatan had been retrieved from the tower, and would stay at Braus Cote until his wound healed, with the promise that he would hear from the knights in the future and be summoned by them. Wayland hoped he would also hear from Sir Byrning again, as he had loaned him five pounds to help pay for their mounts and provisions. What was the going rate for miracles in Pendwise, he wondered?
Grotoy stood with him on the battlements of Braus Cote, watching as Sir Byrning and his squire Authaus got smaller and smaller in the distance.
“It is our luck that we are young, and have yet to make such mistakes,” Johnas Tygus said to Wayland. Wayland didn’t bring up the issue, but he thought immediately of the Yellow Duke’s troops, still harassing the northern edge of the Dimm, with no reason now to be doing so but out of revenge.
“There’s always something to a quarrel,” Wayland said, to just answer him back. He had many such vague answers, garnered from living as he had in Tolwind. That was the normal to Wayland, and it amazed him how plainly people sometimes talked on the continent, instead of making everything a mist to later be worked out or not. How did anyone ever escape from blame?
“True,” Johnas replied, “but he would not let us hear it, and what would we make of something that happened so far away?” Now there was some sense finally, from out of the mouth of the son of Grotoy.
“He never made me believe otherwise though,” Wayland said. “I met him in the common room of an inn at Old Gate, just south of Rydol. I didn’t think much of him there, but he was the only person who would talk to me about what was happening in the county. Look at him now. This journey has been good to him. There is a miracle.”
“Yes, I think we’ll see more Knights from Pendwise coming into the West Lands after this, seeking their fame,” Johnas said. He turned back from the crenellation toward Wayland. “My cousin, Rydol wishes to see you, before we leave for Krolo. She is in the garden with the ladies of the keep and the other girl from out of the witch’s cave.” That was how they were all now referring to the thring they had killed.
“I will go and talk with her grace,” Wayland said, aware that there was only one thing that the countess would want to talk with him about, and he had nothing to say. He nodded, left the battlement and hobbled down a stair, to come out and across the hall. He took a corridor off from it that led out into Lord Hesher’s herb garden, and a larger area beyond that contained flower beddings and several small fruit trees. Hesher’s wife and two young daughters were there, trying to coax the Countess Sunnil and the other girl into small talk between bowls of porridge and fruit.
The other girl was named Brigha, and she was from Wei on the coast of Bezet, opposite the pirate infested isles of Heride. Her father was a brewer, and had gone to work for one of the Golok lords in the march. She had what many called the old Mancan set to her: a long, thin nose, flat brow line, pointed jaw and dark green-brown eyes. She was very pretty, a little too thin, and looked like she had just stepped out of a classical plaster on a wall. Wayland was sure that any court would welcome her as a governess, dresser, seamstress, or perhaps more scandalously as a mistress.
Sunnil of Rydol was almost a hand shorter, but still taller than most full grown women. Her hair was clean now and came down in long brown curls that turned to dirty gold in the sunlight. She had the same green eyes as Grotoy that had come from their mothers who were sisters. She repeated many of Johnas Tygus’ facial features, save that her lips were more feminine and wider, and she had the cheekbones and chin of a Golok. Wayland remembered the unfortunate nick name that the troll had given her, and he wondered now if her lips had been the reason for it.
They both had long, straight pink scars on the inside of their wrists, where Malice had let their blood out to fill up her magic cup. They were healing now, fading a little, but Wayland thought that both of them would wear those marks for the rest of their lives, along with other scars that no one could see. She saw him looking at her wrists and she pulled her sleeves down farther to cover them.
“Savage,” she said over to Brigha, and looked back at him as if daring him to say something rude back. He bowed to her instead.
“Your grace requested my presence?” he asked.
“I wanted to talk to you more about the troll,” she told him. “I am declining his request for sanctuary, which you will convey to him if you see him again. This is my own decision, based on the circumstances of my ordeal. He kidnapped me from my guard of road knights, and the road knights eventually rescued me back. So go the fortunes of war. You are to have no more interaction with the creature other than to give it this message. We leave in the morning for Krolo.”
He took this to mean that he was going with them, and it was plain to him that he would, and there was no reason to object to it. There were letters to be written from his desk at Krolo, and it was an easier duty than going off immediately to fight on the Golden Slopes. He also needed time to heal his wound properly, and he felt there was enough for this to happen, if only he insisted on it.
Hadn’t he been tasked with returning her to Rydol? Her words were a daring call on him, he realized. She was telling him what they would do, and not the other way around. Would the monster waylay them in the road he then wondered, or had it truly wandered off back to the Priwak? He knew better than anyone that a lot could happen on a little stretch of road.
“I will make arrangements for a strong guard, in case the monster intercepts us as we travel, your grace,” he replied.
“Do so,” she said. “You are dismissed.”
He bowed to her and left the garden, glancing over at Brigha once more before he moved too far away. She was lovely.
The next morning he looked over his horse and then saddled it with a groom’s help. He then checked to see if the baggage was in order on the remaining ponies. It had occurred to him now that the mission was complete, there would be an accounting of all the money spent. After his gifts to a foreign knight and a damsel in distress, he considered that he might be held responsible for some of the losses. It was true that they had avoided paying the great ransom for Sunnil, but now he saw that the light at the end of the tunnel might be clouded.
Lord Hesher gave him six lancers and six archers, and with them he felt that they could at least pin the troll down long enough for the rest to ride around and continue. As they began the journey the low hills around the village looked peaceful to him, the place in total order, seeming too ordinary after his journey to the edge of the Dimm and back. The road up to Kassal continued to be quiet, with some cart and wagon traffic before the town, still bringing in the fall harvest, daily produce, and loads of firewood.
They took dinner in Halgrim’s hall, and he told them a bit of the recent news. He paused form his silver cup to look around, the Countess of Rydol and the Grotoy’s son both sitting near him, and Wayland quite far down the table, just on the edge of the salt. Halgrim made eye contact with all of
them, as his wife and children glowed in their best, surrounded by their exalted guest’s presence.
“The army of northern Gece met the Kundi Goloks in battle on the Golden Slope, to prevent them from going through the Great Pass. The outcome is in doubt, but the Goloks have withdrawn back to the east, so I guess that means that Grand Prince Zhury has won.” There were gasps through the hall, and then a round applause. There were toasts, and then the feast continued on.
They reached Krolo Castle three days later in the afternoon, and there was a formal welcome there for the Countess of Rydol by Lord Sirlaw, as the news had spread out before them. There were no new heads beside the gate, and the line of blackened stakes there now stood empty. Wayland felt all his burdens fall away, as they passed on inside the town, as the horns called, and he left it to Sirlaw to take care of Rydol, and Grotoy.
He brought all the money in and checked it with the castellan; writing out a list of the ransoms he had paid to Weech, of what else was lost or gained during their trip, so that repayments could be arranged. Then he went and took part in the dinner, more elaborate as what had been done at Kassal, but he left it as quickly as he could, going up to his office in the hall between the two towers. There he wrote letters out to all the majors involved, stating the outcome of the mission, of who had done what and where it had been done. He placed all of the blame for their inability to ransom the countess on the heads of the troll and the goblin chief, who had been at odds at Warukz because they were naturally at odds with everything, the both of them being great monsters.
He came out of his office and checked the letters with the castellan to be sent out at dawn, and then he went down to the great hall, which was now mostly dark. It was the middle of the night now, and he looked over what had been left from the feast and put some of it onto a wooden platter. He took it over to the great hearth, and sat on a bench to eat it there. He warmed a cup of wine on a hot stone and flexed the muscles under the wound to his leg.
A War of Stones: Book One of the Traveler Knight Page 63
