The housekeeper of Tallin Hall accepted the shipment, and he had it brought into the grand foyer while a footman went to notify his lord of the arrival of the unexpected item. Lord Tallin entered the foyer as workmen waited with their tools.
"What can this be?" asked Lord Tallin.
"Shall we open it and see, my lord?" asked the housekeeper.
"By all means."
Soon enough the crate's lid was removed and from it was taken a long roll of what appeared to be thin, low-quality carpet. But when they unrolled it and found yet another bundled roll of thin carpet, they were further baffled.
"Perhaps these rugs are for the Hall?" Lord Tallin asked.
"Not any that I have ordered," said the housekeeper. "They appear entirely unsuitable, if I may say so. The wagoneer said that it came from Colleton."
Meanwhile, at the housekeeper's gesture, the bindings on the second carpet were untied, and, as it was unraveled, they were all surprised when a long pole rolled out of it and across the floor, its metal caps ringing. In its wake unfurled a long green standard, hemmed in gold, with a white dragon finely embroidered upon it. Tallin stared as the servants backed away.
"Gurasa," he muttered.
For years, tales of this name had filtered north out of the Dragonlands, tales of glory told on the lips of captured Dragonkind, stories breathed with fear by renegades in the badlands of the desert, and exploits related by smugglers and mercenaries. Gurasa. He who smote the rebellious Dragonkind generals that defied their Emperor. Gurasa, who swept across the fabled southern deserts like a sandstorm, scouring the land free of criminals and discontents, annihilating larger armies by dint of his cunning and bravery. It was said that no army that marched under Gurasa's banner would ever know defeat. A green banner emblazoned with a white dragon. The battle standard of Gurasa, who had once been a guest of this very Hall.
Seeing a bit of parchment wrapped around the pole's base and tied with twine, the housekeeper tentatively unfastened it and handed the curled paper to Lord Tallin. Tallin took it absently, his eyes still fixed by those of the white dragon, his mind full of the image of his eldest son, whose death had only recently been reported to him. Dalvenpar died, he had been informed, when a truce between Gurasa and the forces retreating from the Green Citadel was broken. Lord Tallin had too many questions, ones that would never be answered for him. Finally, he broke his gaze and looked at the small note. Upon it were written only five words, brushed in a careful, almost delicate hand with distinctive flourishes.
"In exchange for one ring."
Part I
Chapter 1
Micerea
Not far from Janhaven, in the rustic environs of Mr. Furaman's stockade, within the meeting room of the main building, the small group of Robby's friends, along with his mother, made a decision. By doing so, though it was farthest from their intent, they made themselves traitors of the King, rebels against the ruler of Duinnor, forming a secret pact around a secret purpose. Though they agonized over their deliberations, and remained baffled by the revelations that led them on, afterwards it seemed inevitable that they should make the plan they made. It was as if it had been written somewhere long beforehand, and they were only fulfilling some prior design. And though it was outrageous in its audacity, given the circumstances as well as the facts brought to light by their discussions, there seemed little else to do.
It was resolved, then, that Robby would depart Janhaven along with his companions to seek out the hidden place called Griferis, if it still existed, and there to try himself against the tests of kingship and to be judged of his worthiness to become King of Kings, Lord over all the Realms. If possible, Duinnor would be warned of the treachery of the Tracian Redvests, of their invasions and of the alliance with the Dragonkind. And if the present King chose not to act and refused aid to the east, or if he failed to prepare for the defense of the other realms, a New King might be the remedy.
As the weight and implications of this conspiracy fell upon the group, Sheila and Billy became taciturn. Mirabella retained a pale look of fear, and Ullin was far away in thought. Robby and Ashlord merely looked at each other, sympathetic to the group and the mood that had settled over them, each unwilling to break the silence. For what seemed a long while, they abided quietly, turning over their own thoughts until Frizella Bosk arrived, and she clearly saw the strained faces. But she had her own concerns, and she explained that help was needed to distribute firewood to their people. As Ullin and Robby moved to the door, Billy told her briefly, what they had been discussing, mentioning nothing about kingship, but only that they needed to go to Duinnor for help, and he promised to tell more after they had gotten the wood delivered. Frizella, seeing that Mirabella and Ashlord had no desire to leave just yet, asked Sheila if she would help her with the sick until they could be settled somewhere. And so Ullin and Billy and Robby went to join Ibin, already at work chopping and sawing and splitting. Sheila went with Frizella to tend the sick and wounded, relieving some of the other women so that they could rest, asking everyone along the way if they had seen Raenelle, Frizella's missing daughter. But none had.
Ashlord stirred the fire, his back to the table, letting Mirabella mull through her thoughts. Sooner than he expected, she spoke, and he turned to face her.
"Yesterday," Mirabella started, "when you and Robigor rode out to meet the Redvest general..."
She paused, looking away, as if trying to remember, though Ashlord knew that she had perfect recall and was instead looking for words.
"I was loading the wagons in front of the store," she went on. "There was a moment, when I looked across the river and up at the hills of Barley, where the enemy on the crest stretched across the skyline like jagged red shadows, the sharp glint of their steel in the sunrise, their war-drums like hammers upon my heart. There was a moment, when I saw you and my husband riding back to the bridge, that I knew what was about to happen. It seemed to me—I thought to myself, 'The end has come.' "
Ashlord nodded, seeing her ageless concern and the dark despair of her green eyes.
"So think any who see the closing of one age and the beginning of another," he said gently. "All things come to an end, just as all things must have their beginnings. Some easily and without notice, and others with great turmoil. In that way beginnings and endings are not so different."
Mirabella nodded. "Yes. Perhaps that is so. All my life I have feared the future. Those of my bloodline are naturally cautious, and our dreams are rarely comforting. After you and Robigor returned across the bridge, he looked at me from many yards away, where you and he and the men spoke together, and he nodded and smiled at me as he listened. I knew, then, at that moment, what was to come, and what I must do. As we looked at one another across the distance that separated us, I knew that it might well be the last time I ever looked into his eyes. I could not go to him. He could not come to me. Time was too pressing, and our duties were upon us. He smiled at me, over his shoulder, nodding as someone said something to him," her voice broke as she struggled to go on. "I saw it in his eyes. He was having his last look at me."
Few loves ever touched Ashlord's heart as did that of Mirabella and her husband Robigor, for he had recently made it his business to learn their story, and he understood the transformation it had brought to Mirabella. He felt through her words and saw in the pool of her eyes their love for each other, the strength of it, and the pain of their parting so, in the confusion before battle, without even a kiss, a touch, or even a word for each other. His heart, too, broke for them.
"All I wanted... He is the only man in all the world," she went on, continuing her struggle to speak, swallowing often, her voice cracking. "The only one who gave me peace and taught me joy. Through him, modest man, I learned of the greatness of Men, of their true strength and power. Through him, I found serenity and humble purpose. All I wanted was to spend my days with him, to see him through until the end of his own, then, afterwards, afterwards...I could carry him in my heart until,
until..."
She stopped, her eyes a sea of anguish as she looked up at Ashlord. He was leaning on his stick, his shoulders slumped, old and wise and tired, his eyes a deep and dark well, and he smiled painfully. Her own watery eyes could not see the sympathetic mist in his.
"I watched him take his place on the bridge. When I heard that he rode away north, I have since had a kind of peace. Or perhaps it is resignation. In spite of my fear. But now that my son is going away, my fears are greater, and my anxiety cannot be expressed in words. I do not know how I am to go on. But go on, I must."
"Yes," Ashlord replied softly, "you must. You must have hope, and it is up to you, now, to give it to others, just as your husband would want you to do."
"I have little!"
"You may have very little of it, but it is more than many here possess. And, like friendship, hope is not weakened by the sharing of it."
• • •
By torchlight, Robby worked through the night, chopping and loading firewood onto a cart and driving it through the camps and distributing his loads along with blankets. He and the other men who labored with him spoke very little in the misty darkness. And though they were not sullen, they toiled with little enthusiasm. When dawn began to dimly show in the east, Robby found himself on the far side of Janhaven, having returned the cart to its owner, and it was a long walk back to the stockade. Fires burned lowly in the fields along the roadsides, and smoke hung in the motionless predawn air. He could hear the people stirring on the cold ground—a cough here and there, a baby crying in the distance—and he picked his way carefully through the campsites, trying not to trip over slumbering forms or tangling himself in the ropes of improvised tents that caught against his leg. More than once Robby stopped, recognizing a face huddled before a fire, and he asked after the folk there. In this manner, he saw the blacksmith, a bandage covering a gash on his head, lying on his side, smoking his pipe, staring into his small campfire. Later he spoke with Mr. Arbuckle, the former bridge tender, and his wife, and several others as he went along his way. He passed the Greardon nephews, too, who had labored so hard to put the mill back into operation after the terrible storm that killed their uncle. Mrs. Greardon, though, was nowhere to be seen. The heavy mill wagon, which used to haul flour and seed, was now their home, a tarpaulin thrown over the top of it as a roof. Stopping, Robby asked after Mrs. Greardon.
"We don't know where she is," said one of the boys. "She left Jay with us to look after, an' went back to the house for something."
"We think she got taken by them Redvests," said the other.
"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that. I'm sure she'll be fine, or turn up soon," Robby said, trying to be encouraging. They nodded, and he continued on his way.
It was a sad lot, indeed, and Robby grew more depressed as he went. He wondered at the misery that had befallen everyone so suddenly. Over and over he asked himself whether there was something else that he could do, something other than run off on some unpredictable adventure. The idea came to him of leading an attack on Passdale, perhaps winning back their town, driving out the Redvests and returning these people to their warm homes. His mind filled with grandiose visions of a well-organized offensive, with himself at Ullin's side, sweeping down on the unsuspecting invaders. "Let them have Tulith Attis," he muttered, "but surely we can take back Passdale and keep it!"
Out of the smoky mist ahead emerged the shape of a wagon parked near the edge of a field under some trees, and he heard a lonely pipe. It was from one of the minstrel's vans, lately belonging to Thurdun's people and given to the musicians when the boats departed. Robby paused, listening to the plaintive voice of the pipe, wavering through the melancholy air, and in the half-light of predawn he could just make out the player sitting on the back step of the wagon. His hand brushed Swyncraff about his waist, and he remembered Thurdun and the Queen. Her words came back to him.
"When you do what you must, it is as it should be, and leads to the next and the next."
He knew that if he stayed here to serve his people, to help organize a resistance and to take back their homeland, many things could be possible. After all, they were a resourceful people and, as the recent floods showed, they knew how to work together. But the darkness of his heart told him that even if he did so, and had every success against the invaders, it would be folly in the end. A more formidable opponent was stirring in the world, against which no army could withstand.
• • •
It was a difficult decision for Billy Bosk, who was beginning to feel the burdens of his duties as leader of Boskland. His initial inclination, in spite of the discussion of the evening before, was to take a few men and ride in search of his sister, going around the back ways toward the southern parts of Barley. Frizella dissuaded him, saying it would be a foolhardy quest, and that as the new laird, he had a greater duty to the land.
"Ain't nobody left what can speak for the House of Bosk," she told him. "An' if a great war is upon us, then somebody's got to get word to Duinnor an' bear witness concernin' these things. Yer sister's got a head on her shoulders, an' we must trust that she'll use it. An' though I hate to see ye go, I'd be comforted that ye'd be goin' off with the likes of Ashlord an' Ullin to see to things. I already talked to Mira 'bout all this. Robby's goin', too. At least ye'll be with good friends what'll look after one another."
So Billy was resolved to go with Robby. He consulted with several of his kinsmen who had survived the attack and were at Janhaven, and, with his mother, he explained to them that he was called away to Duinnor, to take warning and to seek aid.
"I'll not say this goes easy on me," he said to them at dawn. They had gathered together in a hut which was given over to them by a farmer who had been a childhood friend of Billy's father. "Yet Bosks have sworn allegiance to Duinnor, an' it's with Duinnor that our hope lay. The fate of Barley'll be shared, an' the Redvests turned back only by might greater than we an' Glareth can muster. If I stayed, me sword an' me voice would only harry the enemy. But if I go west, I'll carry with me the full word of our need. If chance an' fortune favor, I'll return with aid, or, should the way show otherwise, I will do me utmost to wrench the enemy from these lands by other means. But the two of ye, Tonifor Bosk an' Parth Bosk, elder cousins of mine, have all to do with fightin' an' keepin' our people. If ye honor me father an' the House of Bosk, ye'll do honor to the name of Bosk by what means ye have."
Hearing Billy speak thus, with stern determination, was new to them, for they well knew his reputation for sport and jest. And the fire in his eyes was fiercer than his words. The cuts and bruises about his face, his bandaged head, and the reluctance with which he spoke of his ordeal with Bailorg only filled them with a kind of awe of his transformation. Seeing him thus, and hearing his words, softly spoken yet full of authority, they could not but be moved, even though his cousins were older by nearly a generation.
"Aye, Bilaylin," they nodded vehemently, using his given name, and said, "we'll see the House of Bosk restored."
Ibin sat in the corner by the meager fire, a blanket draped over his shoulders, his face unusually void of the smile that he lost somewhere on the road to Janhaven and had not yet recovered. He understood least of any the talk going on about him and repeatedly asked Billy what was the matter. Billy gave an earnest and urgent explanation, lacking only in certain details he thought best kept to himself. Ibin listened carefully, full of effort to comprehend as they made their way to the hut.
"ThenIwillgo, I'llgotoo, Billy," Ibin said.
"Ye'll be needed here, good friend."
"But, but, butIdon't, butIdon'twanttostayhere!" Ibin pleaded. Billy could not say no. Ibin had as much a right to go as anyone. Though Robby had made it clear that he wanted no one to go with him except Ashlord, Billy and Ullin insisted they would be going along, too, regardless of Robby's objections. Billy sighed and put his hand on Ibin's thick shoulder.
"Well, I reckon one more'll do no harm."
Now, as Billy explained to his kinsmen
that he would not be back before spring, Ibin sat silent, looking on as still as a statue. He was accustomed to being treated as if he was not present, left out of conversations, remembered as an afterthought, or smiled at with the same tolerant condescension given to children. Though it was impossible for him to articulate, Ibin felt this treatment just the same, and had done so all of his life. It did not bother him as it might have bothered someone else, owing to his good nature, and he rarely felt any sense of offense or cruelty. Though he paid intense attention, as was his way, he rarely gained much understanding about the many deep concerns and interests that those around him discussed. Thus he had come to feel that many things were simply beyond his comprehension. He had little trouble with "whats" and he was a master of "whens," and he never forgot a name or a face or the link between the two. However, "whys" were often a puzzle to him, and "hows" he often failed to grasp. Ordinary things seemed something of a mystery to him, like why folks worked so hard, always making even more work. To them, these activities seemed a-purpose to something else, always something else. But to Ibin all activities were a joy, even if those who worked with him seemed not to find joy in the work. They acted as if chores were a distraction from having a nice time, from dining and singing, drinking and playing. To Ibin all these things were just as natural as leaf and limb, and he hardly saw the difference, though he had to admit he took particular joy from mealtimes. There were things that he recognized as ordinary and self-evident, so much so that he took them for granted, but he was seldom ever able to express those things in words, and his efforts to do so only seemed to mystify others.
These late events had upset all of his routines and all of his expectations of what each day should be like. It was hard for him to grasp the idea that his old room in Bosk Manor was forever gone. And, though he was quicker to adapt than most, due again to his affable and acquiescent personality, he knew the feelings of confusion and anxiety that he suppressed were shared by everyone, and that, at least in some small way, he was now no different than all the rest. So he sat patiently and waited for the Bosks to finish their chat.
The Nature of a Curse (Volume 2 of the Year of the Red Door) Page 2
