"Certainly, my lord."
Dargul and Brennig exchanged looks of bewilderment, but Dargul soon mastered himself and went on to tell Brennig of the local happenings during the past two weeks, about the visitors that had arrived that morning, and that other visitors were coming. Walking Brennig down the hall, Dargul said, "I know little of the west ways, but I feel something important is going on that we are just on the edge of. Lord Tallin is very close with his thoughts these days. I feel a crisis may be taking shape. Yet, I cannot say what it may be."
"I may be able to say for you," Brennig said at the front doors. "Tracia is hungry. Damar is opportunistic. Their pact will soon be open. If Tracia aims west, she can hardly afford to leave Tallinvale as a threat to her flank. If we do nothing, they will eventually attack us."
"But what can we do?" asked Dargul.
"That is for you wise men to think out!"
"The situation may be beyond anyone's thinking. I'm afraid what will come will come!"
"Then sharpen your dagger, good counselor, and sleep lightly!"
• • •
Ullin was pleased to find his old rooms opened for him. The suite of two smallish chambers had served as his bedroom and study from his earliest years in Tallinvale. Located on the third floor of the west wing of the Hall, its balcony was some distance below and north of the West Tower that he had just left. Still, it afforded a good view over the little town, encompassed by the great walls, and a picturesque view of the mountains in the distance. The windows had been left open to air the room, and a cool breeze sent a wave of chill bumps along his arms. He absently rubbed them away as he looked westward. Many a sunset had he seen from this window, watching Sir Sun walk slowly over the mountains toward the faraway homeland of his ancestors.
"I hope you will find everything in order, sir."
Windard was standing in the doorway.
"I thank you, Winny. As if I never left."
"A little tidier, I think," Windard said with twinkle in his eye. "The staff change the sheets and clean and air the room every fortnight, at least, so you should find it fairly fresh. I have also taken the liberty to lay out a change of clothes, should you like."
"That's very good of you, but you shouldn't have gone to all the trouble," Ullin said, fingering a fine selection of robes and tunics draped over the bed.
"Not at all, sir. Your guests are in the lower east wing, and we are making them as comfortable as possible. We have offered the young lady some clothing that is perhaps more suitable for the Hall than her own attire. But she is reluctant to accept."
"She is not one to accept loans or charity very easily, Winny. She will likely remain in her own clothes."
"I see. I hope I did not offend her."
"I am sure you did not."
"I thought perhaps after they were settled in, they might enjoy being shown about the Hall and the town. Captain Bekund was kind enough to offer his services for that purpose."
"I believe they would like that very much. But I don't know if they will be able to do so."
"Very well. You have but to pull the bellrope, and I or one of the household will attend," Windard said, turning to depart. He stopped and turned back to Ullin. "If I may be so bold, my lord?"
"Yes?"
"Is it true that your cousin, Mirabella's child, had something to do with the ringing of the Bell at Tulith Attis?"
"What makes you think that?"
"It was rumored to us by a troupe of musicians who passed through some while back. They said it was well known among a group in the company of the Queen as she passed Lake Halgaeth. They called him Harbinger, but said the elves called him Bellringer."
"I was not at Tulith Attis when the Great Bell rang," said Ullin casually, as he tried to hide the sudden concern that gripped him. "And all I can say is that Robby was there. Yet, in truth, I do not think he knows precisely how the Bell came to ring."
"I see. And if I might inquire after your aunt, Mirabella? Is she safe? We have heard all manner of news, some of it hardly credible."
"I saw my aunt two mornings ago, when we set off from Janhaven. She is as beautiful as ever she was, well, and as safe as any can be in those parts."
Windard nodded. "Like you, she is still missed in this house. It is good to have you home."
"It is good to be here."
"I will leave you, then. Please do not hesitate to summon, my lord, should you desire anything at all."
"Thank you, Winny."
• • •
In other parts of the great house, Robby was led along sundry passages and hallways to his room. The servant who showed him the way said little, but she glanced at him suspiciously several times. As he followed along, Robby was continually awed by the finery he saw, the elegant tapestries that adorned various rooms they passed through, the magnificently carved columns and archways, and the lofty windows that poured light into passageways. The people of the house smiled and bowed or curtseyed as he passed, but he was too intent on the sights to pay much attention to them or to speak more than a good morning or how-do-you-do. On they went, crossing tiled floors and carpeted rugs, and everywhere Robby saw the evidence of a rich and glorious heritage, the result of a union of one of the greatest ancient lines of Men to that of Fairoak of Vanara. Statues of his forebears, some stern, others rather benevolent-looking, appeared here and there. He passed one adorned in the same accoutrements worn in life, banded breast armor of gold, shoulder-cape of green, and pointed helmet of gold-trimmed steel. He and his guide suddenly turned a corner and there opened a long hall of light-colored wood. At the end of the hall was another great window, but before they came to it, his guide turned and opened a door.
"Here we are, my lord. We thought you should have your own room," she said as she entered and stepped aside. "Your companions share rooms next to you, the two boys together, and the older man and the lady with separate rooms, she at the end of the hall."
She waited and watched as Robby inspected the large bedroom. It was light and airy with windowed doors leading out into the east gardens. The bed was turned down for him and there were clothes laid out for his choosing. There was a writing desk, a cold fireplace with a bucket of wood beside it, and through a little door, a washroom complete with pumps for water and an iron bathtub.
"I hope this suits, my lord?" the girl asked when he looked back to her. For a brief moment, he thought she had spoken to someone out of sight in the hall, then he realized from her questioning expression that he being addressed.
"In the first place, this is far grander than any bedroom I have ever seen, much less stayed in. And, in the second," he was so overwhelmed by the extravagance of the place that he laughed as he spoke, "it will suit me far more than I deserve since I'm no lord but just a store clerk from Passdale."
"Pardon me? Are you not Robby, grandson to Lord Tallin and heir of Fairoak through Lady Kahryna, his wife, your grandmother and your mother, who is also one of the Elifaen?"
Robby was glad she wielded no feather, for she surely could have knocked him over with it after such a surprise question so lightly asked. But he locked his knees and stood rigid while his expression served only to confuse the young girl who was now just as red-faced with embarrassment as Robby.
"I am Robby Ribbon, son of Robigor and Mirabella. Lord Tallin is my grandfather," Robby said stiffly, but stopped, unsure of what else to say. "I thank you for your kindness and all who have gone to so much trouble for me and my friends."
The girl managed an uneasy smile and curtseyed.
"Tell me," Robby asked. "Whose rooms are these? I hope no one had to move on our account."
"Oh, no, Lord, er, Master Ribbon."
"Most just call me Robby."
"Yes, your honor, er, I mean, no, Lord Robby, sir. No one was turned out. These are guest rooms always held in the ready for company, though we have had very few since I came here to work."
"And how long has that been?"
"Oh, sir, I first came h
ere to serve Lord Tallin and his family, oh, it must be fifty-one, no, fifty-two years ago, by the reckoning of these parts."
"You astonish me! You look no more than a little girl, no more than ten or eleven years old! So you are of the Faere folk? From the west?"
"Oh, yes, sir! Of the House of Persimmon, sir. My family has served Fairoak for generations, and we serve still, though the Lady has passed away and all the children have gone."
"I see."
"Please give the bell rope a tug if you need anything," she bowed and curtseyed.
"Just one more thing?" Robby stopped her.
"Yes, my lord?"
"May I wander in Tallin Hall? I have never seen such things as I have seen here."
"There are no rules forbidding guests from any parts of the Hall or grounds," she answered. "And especially not you. But I would suggest you stay clear of the topmost floor. Lord Tallin has his rooms there, and he is rather stern about his privacy."
"I will do as you say. How many floors are there?"
"Not counting the towers, the Tallin Hall has five floors above ground, and two more below."
When she had departed, he again looked over the room. It was about five times bigger than his old small bedroom at home. It had an iron-lined fireplace, simple framed landscapes on the pale blue walls, and a large bed, which he tested and found to be very comfortable. Nearby to the garden doors, the writing desk was stocked with quills, ink, writing paper, and a sealing candle. He went to the washroom and looked again, testing the pump and, picking up a cup there, drank his fill of cool water. Next, he opened the glass doors and stood for several minutes gazing at the profusion of flowers and shrubs still in blossom in spite of the lateness of the year. After washing, he made his way down the hall to greet his friends. The door of the adjacent room was ajar and, peeking in, he saw Ibin sprawled across a tremendously large bed, and Billy likewise on another across the room, and they were snoring in competition to one another as if they were sleeping off a night of revelry. Passing Ashlord's room, he went on down the hallway and knocked on Sheila's door. After a moment, she opened it and smiled.
"I was wondering how long you would be," she said, inviting him in. "Aren't these rooms wonderful?"
"Quite nice, indeed!" he answered as he looked about. It was obviously a room for a lady, with fine silken curtains and dainty paintings, flowery sheets on the bed, edged in lace, and an elegant dressing table with an assortment of fine combs and brushes. There was a large floor mirror in an ornate stand, another vanity at the dressing table, and several looking-glasses with silver handles and frames. She, too, had thrown open the garden doors and the sweet aroma of the blooms mixed with her own as she took his arm and showed him about. "And how did your chat with Lord Tallin go? Did he pry much out of you? Or did you get much out of him? Will he send help to Janhaven?"
"I don't know if he will send help or not, but, and this is a strange thing, I suspect he is not overly fond of Duinnor. And," Robby hesitated, "he knows why we go west. My part, anyway. I think he had guessed as much before we arrived, but something, maybe something I let slip, seemed to confirm it for him. There was a point in the conversation when he changed his tone. He became—I don't know how to say it—very respectful? I think he knows as much about things as Ashlord. Maybe more. I don't know. It was a strange meeting."
"Does he know you are destined to be King?"
"Does anyone know that? I hardly know it myself, except by what I've been told." Robby shook his head. "It hasn't sunk in. I'm not sure it ever will. Whenever I think on it, my head swims. As for Lord Tallin, I believe he is convinced. Not so much by meeting me, I don't think. More from other knowledge, though I haven't the foggiest what. Lore, legend, old books, maybe."
Sheila looked at him and furrowed her brow.
"Is something else bothering you?"
"Yes. Perhaps we should see Ashlord, if he is in, and I'll share it with you both at the same time."
• • •
"Come in!"
They entered Ashlord's room to find that, he, too, had flung his doors open to the gardens, but was sitting at a small desk, much like the one in Robby's room, writing furiously with a quill, his back to them.
"Ah," he said, without turning around, "Robby and Sheila. Good of you to pop in. I was just writing a few notes to be sent as dispatches to various points east, west, north, and even south. I have just this one left to finish. Windard assured me that they would be carried by the regular riders who go forth from Tallinvale each week. They ride tomorrow. One of the riders will go to Janhaven, and so a note to your mother is here, as well as another to Furaman. You might consider writing a little note, too, since you may not get another chance for some time to come."
He then fell silent, and the scratch of the pen sounded strangely loud until a wren just outside began to sing emphatically. Certina sat on Ashlord's shoulder, peering down at the notes, following his hand as if reading what he wrote. Robby noticed thin streaks of silver running through Ashlord's long black hair, and, as he and Sheila took chairs nearby to the open doors, it occurred to him how much he had trusted Ashlord since Tulith Attis. Even now, as Ashlord sat with his back to them folding his notes and sealing them carefully, Robby felt confident that Ashlord was doing something wise and thoughtful. He remembered, too, that day on the road to Janhaven when in the company of Captain Makeig and his men, how Ashlord had fought. True, after the melee began in earnest, Robby did not seen much of him, but now frozen flashes came to him, and he saw again glimpses of the fury of Ashlord's sword, held high to strike a Redvest, his hair flying about his head, his arm outstretched in warning to a fellow even as he plied his strokes. That was Ashlord, ever mindful of more than one thing at a time, so that during the panic of any moment, he was watchful of those other things of great importance, too. The Watcher, he had been called, by more than one person. Before now, Robby had taken it to mean something more sedate or meditative, studious and distant. But now he realized a truer aspect of Ashlord the Watcher, and remembered the walk back from Tulith Attis and how he cast his attention to every movement and bent his ear to every sound, even as they conversed.
Aspects of Ashlord's mysterious nature revolved in Robby's mind. Ashlord never seemed to sleep, was possessed of uncanny awareness, and somehow communicated with animals and transmitted his words, and warnings, through Certina. To Robby, all those things, and more, made Ashlord something other than a Man. Yet, surely Ashlord was no Faerekind. A Melnari, Thurdun had said. Robby wondered deeply what Ashlord's story was, where he came from, and who, if anyone, he served.
Ashlord turned around in his chair, smiling warmly at them with his eyebrows up in anticipation of the gist of Robby's visit. But there was also something in his expression that seemed to say, "Yes. I am here. Who it is that I am, I have always been becoming. You have some inkling of me. I am here."
"How do you find the Hall of your forebears?" Ashlord asked. Robby shook himself from his thoughts and glanced at Sheila.
"Well," he replied, somewhat hesitantly, "I am a bit overwhelmed at what I have seen so far."
"The wealth and power of Tallinvale is renown throughout the Seven Realms, though it is but a small region. And the heritage of the Joined House of Tallin and Fairoak is one rich in history and legend."
"I am beginning to get some sense of that. And I would like to ask you something about what happened during my talk with Lord Tallin. Oh, I must tell you first that he wants to see you at your convenience and says he desires you to wait upon him whenever you might."
"Very well," Ashlord said. "I confess I have a desire to see him, too. I sense change in the air. You might think our reception cool and without much in the way of welcome, especially as you are his kin. But I find it somehow less cool than in the past. The last time I was here was three years ago, on business. But what is it that you wish to tell me?"
"Well, I know I've been sheltered, knowledge withheld from me about my mother's side of my family," Ro
bby began. "And, since I don't have much kin on my dad's side, I am a stranger to the inner workings of most families or clans, except when it comes to Bosklanders. But the servant girl who brought me to my room acted rather, well, rather too respectful of me, saying 'my lord' and so forth, calling me 'heir' to Fairoak, too. And we went all around the house, it seems, before we got to my room. This is truly a wonderful and grand place! Like I've never imagined. Along the way, I saw all sorts of marvelous things—statues, paintings, battle gear, flags and pennants, just to name some of them. But, the thing of it is, it was as if the servant girl was not only showing me the house, but showing me to the household staff as we came through. They would stop what they were doing and bow and curtsey and say 'my lord' and such as I passed."
Ashlord nodded with a somewhat bemused expression as Robby spoke.
"I don't mean to make something of nothing," Robby wrapped up, "but suddenly it is as if something is expected of me. Some way of acting, or some action. It may just be some misunderstanding. I just wanted to ask you about it, before I have any more dealings with these people."
"You are not making something of nothing," Ashlord said. "As for family matters, one can never tell in the great houses what conflicts or happenings may sway the line of inheritance one way or another. Yet, this is a sign to you, Robby Ribbon, that indeed something is expected of you. Some people expect this, others expect that, but few know what it is that gives them the sense of expecting anything of you. They latch upon this and that. You are heir to Fairoak and Tallin. These people expect you to act as such. You are a messenger from Passdale to Duinnor. Those people expect that of you. Such are the times we live in, that few comprehend the reason behind their feelings, and they give to those feelings reasons they may reasonably accept. You are to be King. King. It is in your face and in your blood. It is in the earth and stars, and no age falls or arises except that those who live in the changing of ages come of themselves into what they are to be. You are to be King. This, too, is what people sense, yet cannot form in their minds, so fearful a thing that it is. So, instead, they may rightly call you by other names, Lord and Heir, Messenger, Hidden One, and Bellringer."
The Nature of a Curse (Volume 2 of the Year of the Red Door) Page 17
