Elof, standing silent and dumbfounded, heard a soft sigh arise from the watchers, like an echo from some dark deep of pain revisited. It awakened in him memories he hated, the destruction of the little town of Asenby where he had grown up, his guilt at having so fervently wished it. Beside him Kermorvan, left gaping as wide as any, at last found voice. "M-my lord… who are you?"
The gray-blue eyes so like his own flashed at him, and the voice rang like some dark-toned horn. "I? I am Ko-rentyn Rhudri, Prince of the House of Kermorvan, High Steward of the Realm of Morvan, Sealord of Kermorvan-nec. All this by the will of my brother Keryn, High King of Kermorvan the City and the realm of Morvan, one hundred and sixty-fifth in that line since the Flight from Kerys."
Elof, torn between anger and amazement, could not forbear. "How can any of this be?" he burst out. "Tell me that, my lord, when he who stands by me is well-nigh two hundredth of his house, the thirtieth born in the Western Lands! And when, since the realm of Morvan fell beneath the Ice, nigh on one thousand years have passed!"
A rumble of disquiet ran among those who watched, and the man rounded on him, his face a set mask of anger. It was alarming how like Kermorvan the expression made him, but Elof met the cold gray eyes firmly, and almost at once the anger faded. "Elof you name yourself," murmured the man, "One Alone, that would be, in the ancient tongues. Strange, then, that you also should remind me of someone… not so closely… of whom, I cannot think, but it is strong… and what you say… ach, this is madness, madness…" Again the man's face knotted and twisted, as if in the throes of some terrible struggle; he lifted shaking hands to his temples, choked as if some word trembled on the edge of speech, some word that failed him. The silence among the watching throng hardened, as if no breath should stir the air. Then a sudden trilling note, liquid and beautiful, broke it, the call of some nightbird in the whispering foliage around. The tall man raised his head as if to listen, and Elof also harkened in great wonder, for it seemed to him that in the song there was a tremor of meaning which shaped itself into words within his mind.
Within the woodshade I sing of all life Ever renewing Coming to flower.
Worry is folly Doubt is deceiving Serving what lives not, Slaves to its power.
Look to the Forest Here in its hallow Time shall bring fullness Never decay.
Under its shelter Fear not the season This and this only Passes away.
The rain had ceased now, and the clouds parted upon a cool summer night. As Elof listened to the birdsong, he felt less oppressed by the Forest, less wary of it, ever more acutely aware of its living beauty. On a nearby bush a cobweb's pattern was picked out in raindrops which the emerging moonlight turned to white gems; he found the craft of it almost heartbreaking, it and the silvered leaves that bore it far surpassing any counterfeit from human hand. The air itself was so fresh it seemed to sparkle as he breathed it, rich with the myriad scents of the wood. He felt weariness and hunger fall from him like soiled mantles, and new strength flow in his veins. The tautness faded from Kermorvan's stance, and he flexed his weary back and limbs; Roc gawked around him open-mouthed, as if seeing the place for the first time, and all the others of the company seemed suddenly more at ease. Ils breathed deeply, and rubbed her eyes gratefully; even after so long above ground she much preferred moonlight to sun. The man called Korentyn listened most intently, as if hearing even more than did Elof in the song; little by little the anguish faded from his face. The last liquid trills died away among the bushes, and he turned to them with nothing in his face but grave courtesy and concern.
"I pray you pardon me. I am grown discourteous, that in my sorrow at not finding him I looked for I should so disquiet another close kinsman!" He smiled with calm delight. "To that name your face is title and patent beyond all dispute. And you remind me of him in more than face; what else need I know? I should have remembered that few in the Forest meet by chance. I bid you welcome, in the name of the Preserver who has led you hither! And these your worthy companions, no less; long is it since we had a great smith amongst us, and never before any of the mountain folk. Honor our halls, if it pleases you! Find here re-freshment, rest, slumber without fear, joy in waking. For all are welcome, by the Preserver's will! Come!" He stepped aside, smiling and eager, and gestured them to pass through the ranks of watchers and up to the gate. "Come!"
It was in Elof's mind to hang back, to ask more. Thresholds could be decisive things to pass, most of all where there was metal and a smith. Ils, he could see, was of like mind. The others were anxiously looking to them for guidance. But Kermorvan glanced about a moment, and Elof guessed what was in his mind; if good was intended they could cause offense, if ill, there was little enough they could do against such numbers. The warrior stepped forward, and the weary travelers after him, glancing nervously at the throng as they passed. But only grave bows greeted them, and graceful courtesies. Kermorvan returned them with becoming grace, and Tenvar and Bure as well-born northerners also, but Elof felt rustic and abashed, and dared not try. Ils, by contrast, beamed all over her broad face. "Strange day," she laughed, "When a duergar lass gets so fine a greeting among men! I may begin to like this place."
"Among men?" murmured Elof. "I wonder."
As he spoke he felt the grass grow thinner underfoot, heard his steps ring on buried stone; one step more and he trod bare flagstones, hollowed like hands from long wear, as were the broad steps leading up to the gate. A towering arch of carven stone it was, high and fair, yet as Elof stepped up to it he stood startled, for it seemed to him that beyond it there was only the Forest once more, a grove of trunks overshadowed by the immense and ancient oak at its end. Then he saw his error, but marveled all the more; the trees of the grove on either side were the two great gates of wood, cunningly carven and contrived to draw the eye within when opened, counterfeiting depth and distance. But the oak was real, though it rose out of the paved floor of a wide court whose walls were high. Many roofed galleries ran along them, but the oak rose still higher, its topmost branches waving free against the moon.
Kermorvan strode through the gate, and warily Elof followed, admiring its work as he passed. The man called Korentyn noticed his interest, and smiled. "Closed, they still seem open and inviting, and they are without lock and bar. But we rarely close them, save against rough weathers; here there is no worse enemy to fear. For this is Lys Arvalen, the Halls of Summer." He held his torch aloft, and around the high walls lamps awoke in answer, soft steady glows of many shades that swelled in a moment to fill the court with radiance, broken and dappled by the oak leaves into a mild summer twilight. From the galleries many voices called down fair greetings through the cool air, and spilled down great profusion of sweet-scented flowers and petals upon the travelers. Snatches of song beguiled their ears, glimpses of fair faces caught their eyes, and above all these the sheer majesty of the building.
"This is a noble place indeed!" breathed Kermorvan in quiet admiration. "Larger than anything in Kerbryhaine save the citadel, and more majestic. A fair sight, and a fairer welcome!"
"But one as strange as the other!" Elof reminded him. "Still, it is work to rival even the duergar, is it not, Ils?"
"Not quite!" remarked Ils, amused. "Do you not see? The walls—" Then she could say no more, for they were surrounded in an eddy of tall folk, pressing close about them, eager to make themselves known.
"My lord Keryn?" said one man, shorter and broader than Korentyn, yet of the same cast and color. "Welcome, welcome again! I am Lord Almayn, a cousin of your house, and this is the lady Dirayel." Tall and fair of hair, she reminded Elof uncomfortably of Louhi, though her smile was warm. Another and younger approached, smaller of stature, her delicate catlike face framed by straight auburn hair, a startling contrast to the flint-faced giant on her arm, whose hair streamed fire-red as Roc's about his shoulders. "And by her side the lady Teris, and Merau Ladan, who was a distinguished guardsman of King Keryn."
"Merau Ladan?" repeated Kermorvan, astonished, taking the outstre
tched hand. Elof glanced down at it in dis-may; the fingers seemed longer even than Korentyn's and the arm, though still massive, matched it. Kermorvan seemed about to ask the man something, but Almayn was beckoning to a wiry man with tanned complexion and dark-brown hair not unlike Elof's. "And may I present another cousin of Prince Korentyn, who was once our foremost captain of the seas, Svethan—"
"Svethan!" cried Kermorvan in astonishment. "He who drove the hordes of the Ice from the Middle Isles? Who met Amicac himself upon the open ocean?"
Svethan chuckled. "And who came close to outrowing the breeze in the other direction! But I am done with the sea now, kinsman. Welcome! Say how it is you know of me, and I not of you?"
"I read of you in the lays of Morhuen!" whispered Kermorvan. "You, and Merau Ladan. And if this is the same Lady Dirayel…"
Svethan laughed outright. "Morhuen! Well, well! Wait until we tell the old fool his fame has reached even these Westlands of yours! Beside himself he will be!"
Kermorvan's eyes narrowed. "My lord Svethan, they did indeed reach us. These many centuries past."
A slight frown crossed Svethan's brow, and Merau La-dan shook his head firmly. "Hardly, my lord Keryn. An old fool is Morhuen indeed, but you may meet him yourself later, and judge!"
The lady Teris sighed. "May it drive him to play something once again! I miss hearing him, of late."
"Not I!" said the guardsman firmly. "My lord, and you, sir smith, and your friends all, when these courtly folk will weary you with their lays and their dances and politeness, do you come hunting with the Guardians and myself! For there is better sport to be had in these woods than in even the parklands of Morvan, and I hear there is a huntsman among you." Elof waved to Gise, who was evidently laboring to understand this archaic form of the Sothran tongue, and translated the guardsman's words. Gise launched into a positive torrent of northern speech which, to Elof's surprise, Merau Ladan evidently understood very well, and replied in a fair attempt at a Northland accent. Teris began discussing poetry with Kermorvan, classical works Elof had never read; Ils was suddenly encircled by chattering gallants, Borhi and the northerners by pretty girls, and even Arvhes was busily discussing the commerce of the Westlands with Almayn. Elof felt absurdly left out. But then Korentyn appeared once more, gathering up the travelers, a hint of kindly amusement in his resonant voice.
"My friends! You are weary and worn after your long journey; who should know that better than we? So we shall set by court and celebration till you are rested, and may share in them. Food awaits you, and better rest than the Forest floor has provided. Come!"
He ushered them briskly through the press of folk, who seemed in truth loth to let them go. Teris in particular almost ran to keep up with Kermorvan, her long gown of soft blue scuffing across the flagstones. "Like children bereft of their new playthings," said Ils amusedly.
Roc laughed. "Not much changes in a forest. Like as not we're the first things new here for a long time!"
"Like as not," agreed Elof, but he found no laughter in himself.
Korentyn led the travelers up a broad stone stair to the first level of galleries and round to the far end of the court. There, in a wider balcony whose windows looked out onto the Forest, he sat them down in high comfortable chairs round a long table raised upon a dais; his own chair had a carven canopy, and so also the one on its right hand. There he placed Kermorvan, and as the warrior sat he glanced at Elof, placed opposite him, and raised his eyes meaningly. In the center of both canopies was a design of the Raven and the Sun.
To Elof's surprise it was the long-limbed woodfolk who came to wait upon them, bringing them water to wash, then loading the tables with trenchers of meat and other foods, simple but plentiful. Kermorvan bowed formally to his host. "On behalf of all, I thank you, my prince, for the hospitality of these your halls."
Korentyn smiled, and helped him to meat. "I thank you, but I am not the lord of this place. A steward or castellan, perhaps, if such things mattered; but here they do not. I am only the leader of such as survived our flight from Morvan; we were drawn too close in that terrible time for rank to matter so greatly. Merau Ladan's courage and resource kept many alive who would surely have perished, so what counts it that he was only a sergeant of the guard? We are of one rank and quality now. The only true lord in these halls is he who found us wandering and near death in his domains, that ancient Power who gave us the very heart of his realm to dwell in. He the Preserver, the Lord of Forests. He who is Tapiau." And he gestured out to the shadowy trees below.
"He gave you this place?" asked Ils quietly, from her seat at his left. "But who built the hall?"
"Ourselves," smiled Korentyn, with some pride. "I doubt that Tapiau has much appreciation of buildings. But we were fortunate in having Torve still with us."
"Torve the Builder," muttered Kermorvan, as if in a dream. "Of course…"
"And did he plan the walls thus?" asked Ils. "Stone up to this level only, and above…" She gestured. Elof twisted round to look out across the gallery, into the court beyond, up to its roof and the towers and rooftops he could glimpse beyond. Once mentioned, it seemed obvious; he would have seen it sooner, even without keen duergar eyes, had it not seemed so improbable. Of all this enormous hall, almost everything above the level of this gallery, a mere second story, was made of wood.
Korentyn sighed. "Not precisely, no. Poor Torve! He swore to make this place great, a monument to Morvan that was no more, the fit center of a realm that would be a haven for all men. And he fired all of us with his vision. Man and woman, lord and lady, not one scorned to help in any way they might." His mouth twitched. "It might surprise you that a prince of Morvan made a fine feller of trees and digger of ditches; me it certainly surprised. A hard labor it was, and a long one…" His eyes grew distant, vague, his voice sank almost to a murmur. "The Guardians were there to help us, of course; but they were fewer in number then, and the quarries of good stone were so far off, so far… Many grew weary, many, and Torve spent the fire of his heart all the sooner in striving to rekindle theirs. Ever more seldom we saw him, until at the last…"He shrugged, and slowly his eyes regained their keenness. "There were still some with fire enough to continue what he had begun, myself among them, but not in stone, not when Tapiau'la affords us wood aplenty. And strange as it may seem to one of the wise stonefolk, we have grown to love wood. It keeps the strength and warmth of living things about it, and it is as fitting here in the Forest as stone must be in your deep delvings."
"What happened to this Torve, my lord?" asked Elof. For all his misgivings he had eaten ravenously, and found no lack of anything he could wish for. After so many weeks on scant food, and then the sparse sufficiency of a hunter, it seemed marvelous beyond belief to eat a rich and varied meal, and to sit now supping at some light wine and watching the play of the leaves below the windows. "Did he simply… wander away?"
"No!" smiled Korentyn. "Few would do that, who have once breathed the air of this realm. He went to live with the Guardians, that is all."
"The Guardians?" inquired Elof. "Those that Ils' folk call Tapiau's Children?"
"A fair name," nodded the prince, "and a true one. But we call them Guardians, or in the Northland tongue I perceive you grew up with, alfar. "
Elof sat up in surprise. Had the meaning altered? That name did not mean Guardian now; he above all should know, who had once borne it in contempt, who had been named Alv—the changeling. But he thought it better, then, to say nothing of that. "What are these Guardians, my lord? What does the name signify? Are they servants? Slaves? Or…"He waved a hand. He had been about to ask, or jailers.
Korentyn looked slightly shocked. "No such demeaning thing! Here no man need be what he does not wish to be, so long as he does no hurt to others. They are our friends. A simple folk, as you may see, but with many skills and virtues among that simplicity, and very dear to us. They have no greater joy than to hunt, to gather, to till the soil in their own rather crude fashion. And having Tapiau's
favor, that is all they need to feed both themselves and us in abundance. That and their service they give to us with love and reverence, and to Tapiau all that and great awe, for he is their lord. They guard his domain and its bounds, keeping a watchful eye on intruders even as they hunt and gather, and so are they named. It is no poor life they lead; many of us, like Merau Ladan, may spend days or weeks away hunting with them, and find it deeply refreshing, a rest from the court. You may, also."
"It sounds so," smiled Kermorvan, stretched out at ease in his chair. "Have you ever gone out with them, my lord?"
"Aye, often," said Korentyn quietly, and once more it was as though a veil fell across his eyes. "Often, and for long, so long that I have thought, at times…" He shrugged, smiled again and dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand.
Elof looked from him to Kermorvan; he had been waiting for his friend to ask one question, one vital to them all. Better that it should have come from him, but at all events somebody had to ask. "My lord Korentyn… did you not name yourself Prince of Morvannec? Is that not Morvan's eastern port? And far from the Ice?"
Korentyn set his wine cup down carefully, and for the first time since his outburst at their meeting something other than kindness and merriment played over his face. "It was, sir smith. And so I name myself, empty honor though it be."
"You believe, then…"
"Could poor little Morvannec stand, when Morvan fell? Messengers were sent, as I told you. But since that time none has come westward, not one. Beyond doubt the east is dead, gripped and ground down under the hand of the Ice; far or near, the power of men unaided could not save it. My brother knew what he was about in forbidding us to return there, and so waste our lives. Do you take heed, wise smith!" The gray gaze flashed in the long lean face. "For not only yours to hold is your wisdom, to risk or throw away as you will. You must not waste it in a light cause, a doomed adventure. You owe it to the men who are to come, you hold it in trust for them as I hold my own scant store, that I may leave more than a mere life behind me."
The Forge in the Forest Page 17
