The Nature of a Curse (Volume 2 of the Year of the Red Door)

by William Timothy Murray

  "What do you call me, Collandoth?" Robby asked.

  Ashlord's brow went up quizzically, just as a glint of sunlight struck a silver thread of his hair. His eyes grew sad, somehow, yet earnest.

  "I hope to call you King," he said. "But my greater hope is, regardless of what I call you, that you may call me friend."

  Robby returned the smile.

  "My hope is that you will not regret that I do," he replied.

  "Never in life," stated Ashlord. "Nor in what may come afterwards."

  At that moment, Billy and Ibin burst in, yawning and jabbering about their room, pummeling Robby with questions about Lord Tallin, about the grandeur of the Hall, about what o'clock it might be, and, naturally enough, about how those who stayed in this great house might take their meals, and, more importantly, when? Just as they turned to that subject, a tall and finely dressed figure appeared in the doorway, and it was a moment before they realized it was Ullin. His beard was gone, showing now his youthful face, his hair was combed and glistening, and to both sides two long locks were braided after the fashion of his grandfather. His loose-fitting robes were of a pattern of small green diamonds on a field of dark blue, hemmed in embroidered gold. He wore comfortable deerskin slippers with long curled-up toes. About his waist was a dark leather belt with silver tassels at the knotted end. And, incongruous with what they knew of him—but entirely suiting the look of this person who now stood before them—he held a mandolin.

  "Ullin!" cried Robby.

  "Yer beard!" said Billy.

  "Your clothes!" admired Sheila.

  "Yourman, yourman, yourmandolin!" uttered Ibin.

  "You're late," said Ashlord flatly. "We were just discussing food."

  "I beg your pardon," Ullin bowed. "I did not mean to cause a stir or a delay. But it is fitting that I should change into something clean within my own home, and I had to rummage somewhat for this."

  He held up the mandolin, stroked across the strings, then proceeded to pick a light melody. It was a brief phrase, a lively passage from an old ballad, and the group was fairly astounded at his talent. He stopped, mid-phrase, looked at the mandolin as if sizing it up, and nodded. "It is for you, Ibin," he said, holding it out.

  Ibin was stunned with joy overflowing, his mouth wide in astonishment, and his wide eyes flitting to Billy, then to Ullin, and then back to the mandolin nearly a dozen times before his arms slowly came up to accept it.

  "My father taught me somewhat how to play on this when I was only a toddler and it was bigger than me," Ullin said, handing it to the thrilled and still speechless Ibin. "And my mother taught me somewhat more. I thought you would enjoy it. Though it is old and worn, the strings are fairly fresh, thanks to Windard's care of my things, and it still sings warm and true."

  "I ... do ... not ... know ... how ... to ... thank ... you ... dear Ullin!" Ibin said, slowly and deliberately with great concentration, his eyes shimmering. None of the others had ever heard Ibin speak this way, and it was evident to them that Ibin was deeply touched as he took the mandolin and admired it. "But, Ullin ... I ... do ... not ... know ... how ... to ... play—"

  "I will teach you what I know," Ullin said. "And you will probably wind up teaching me more, if I have you right. You are welcome. Now. In this household, with such honored company—and you are honored company, even if your reception was somewhat off—you will be well dined this evening, I'm sure, should you desire it. In the meanwhile, it is the tradition of the house whenever guests are present to keep the kitchen fires hot at every hour of the day, and to always have in waiting some buffet in the great room of the guest wing. If you follow me, I will lead the way."

  Ullin showed Ibin how to sling the mandolin over his shoulder with the strap and then he led them down the hall and around the corner, Billy and Ibin almost tripping over each other with eagerness. Ashlord gathered up his letters and came along, too.

  "I have rarely seen any so enthusiastic for food or sleep at every opportunity," he muttered. Then, to Robby, "If you write a note to your mother, I will include it with these. But the riders leave early."

  "Thank you. I will do just that."

  "Keep it short and vague, if you can. Who knows what may become of the rider who carries these? And, if misfortune should befall, into what hands our letters may land."

  "Indeed. I will try."

  Ullin was waiting for them at a doorway, Billy and Ibin having already entered, and he ushered them into a large room. It was also brightly lit with glass doors all along one wall. On the opposite side was a massive fireplace of white marble with two rampant horses carved into the pillars supporting its high mantel. There were tables and chairs of various styles and sizes, in no particular arrangement, it seemed, as well as a settee here and there, placed near the sitting chairs for comfort and for ease of conversation. There was, in fact, one longer table where members of the staff had put out pitchers, platters, plates, and bowls all filled with soups, meats, fruit, breads, ale, wine, coffee, tea, and sweet cakes. Ibin and Billy were there, each with plates already piled high. Though the staff eyed the two with a mixture of amazement and dismay, Robby had little doubt that those stationed at the serving table would remain strangers to his friends for very long.

  Not as hungry as his friends, Robby continued to look around the room. On one wall were murals and paintings, most depicting pastoral scenes of Tallinvale, as well as several old but still colorful banners and pennants, trophies from past conflicts. On the opposite wall were more of the same, but also several plaques supporting ancient helmets, swords, and other small arms. In a corner leaned a tall pole, and Robby's eye was drawn to the white dragon embroidered on a green banner that hung from it. Ranged around the dragon figure were other, smaller symbols, done in gold; Robby could not make them out but thought they must be some kind of writing.

  "That is the battle flag of the House of Saltani Gurasa, which was carried before the armies that he led," Ullin said, coming up beside Robby.

  "Saltani Gurasa?"

  "Saltani means 'great leader,' and Gurasa was one of the greatest generals the Dragonlands have ever known."

  "Was it taken in battle?"

  "It is a strange thing," Ullin said. "It arrived here not long after news of the death of our uncle, Dalvenpar, brother of my father and your mother. That was ten years or so before I was born. Your mother thinks perhaps Dalvenpar took it in battle or traded for it. She told me there was a note with it saying it was in exchange for a ring, but that was all."

  "Why is it not with the other banners and trophies in the great hall upstairs?"

  "Because its price was too dear," Ullin replied. "You see, Dalvenpar and Gurasa were friends, each despising war, yet each loyal to their duty. Ashlord may tell you more, for he knew them both, well before I was born."

  "Their friendship began during a brief time of peace," Ashlord joined in. "Or it seems brief now, as all things do when their time has departed. At the time, I was member of a mission of representatives sent from Duinnor to the Golden City, Tyrsharat, and there I met a boy filled with curiosity about the inhabitants of Vanara. He was curious about all things. He loved to cultivate exotic flowers, he collected interesting insects, and he studied the movements of the stars and heavens. He read all the histories he could find, even learning the languages of Men and Elifaen to do so. He wished for trees that would grow needing little water, for his desire was to learn if such could provide shade and shelter to crops grown beneath them, protected from the harsh desert sun. Since he was a distant member of the imperial family, I saw him often, and he constantly pestered me with questions. He convinced me to bring him back to Vanara when I returned, and so I did, with the Dragonkind boy disguised as a malformed and sickly vagabond to hide the fact of his race. From there we went to Duinnor, where he met Dalvenpar. Someday perhaps I will tell you the whole of it. Suffice it to say that Dalvenpar was of like nature and temperament as Gurasa, and they struck up a close and deep friendship, Dalvenpar knowing Gura
sa's true identity. When Dalvenpar returned to Tallinvale, Gurasa accompanied him and stayed in this very house for a time. Eventually, Gurasa returned to his homeland and the two friends lost touch with each other, though Gurasa sent a ring to Dalvenpar from the Dragonlands as a token of their friendship. Tragically, they may have met upon the field of battle many years later, when Gurasa's name was as great as it was feared amongst the forces of Vanara. At any rate, I knew them both well, and their friendship was true and fast. Dalvenpar was proud of the ring Gurasa sent to him, and, in spite of the note that came with this, I do not think he would have ever traded it for anything in the world. Not even this banner."

  Ashlord gazed at the banner, heaving a great sigh, and leaned heavily on his stick.

  "Yet, it is said that no standard of Gurasa has ever been taken in battle," Ullin continued the story. "Perhaps Dalvenpar acquired it by some devious means and sent it here so that it would not be given to Duinnor. But surely he would have written home about it. And, our grandfather placed it here rather than upstairs in the great hall because it was in this room that Dalvenpar and Gurasa last saw each other in peacetime. If it was Dalvenpar who sent it, perhaps he desired that the banner would remain within the Tallin family, to honor his friendship with Gurasa. So it was leaned into the corner, simply and without embellishment. Alas, Dalvenpar never lived to see it there. So it represents many things to us. Mystery. Sorrow. Regret. Maybe hope."

  "It is a sad family history you have," said Sheila, listening from behind.

  Ullin nodded and shrugged, "It was not always that way. And I have faith that it will not be so forever."

  "Sheila, look at this!" Billy called over from the table where he was balancing a plate in one hand while at the same time holding out his other hand for a tankard being filled for him by one of the serving staff. "Barley ale! Clean made, High Bend Special, too!"

  Sheila and Ullin wandered over to the food table so that they could be served.

  "I think I'll go look for Lord Tallin," said Ashlord to Robby. "Don't forget to jot a few words to your mother!"

  Robby nodded as Ashlord departed, then he walked about the room looking over the displays. In this one room, there was a fair representation of the history of both the Tallin family and that of Fairoak. The Tallins seemed to have been among the so-called First Families, those who came off the original ships of Men that landed on the shores of the world, and Robby recognized among the various portraits of family ancestors the same pale-blue star he had seen in the murals within Tulith Attis. Only in what he took to be later paintings did he see the addition of the ivy entwining it, and he realized that it represented the union between the races of Men and Elifaen which took place. He had no notion who the people portrayed were, nor the significance of the weapons that he assumed had belonged to some of them, or had played some role in their history—in his own history as it turned out. Lost for a moment in thought, he found himself staring through the doorway at another small painting that was in the hall. He couldn't quite make it out from where he stood so he left the room to take a closer look. It was not a painting at all, but a scrap of cloth artfully mounted under clear glass, framed and hung for display. It looked to be a remnant of clothing as it had the same blue star dyed upon it, almost faded beyond recognition. It was not long before his curiosity overcame his reluctance to leave his friends, and he wandered along the hallways, up and down flights of stairs, studying the artwork, statues, and paintings that he came upon.

  Along one upstairs passage, he stopped at a window to gaze out at the bustling town. He wondered again, sighing at the thought, why it was that he was never encouraged to come to Tallinvale. It was in keeping with all of the other secrets his mother and father kept from him.

  "Still," he said, "had I known it was such an interesting place, I might have made an effort to come on my own, just to see the sights."

  Turning away, he saw a large chart on the wall nearby and, going to it, he saw that it was a family tree. It outlined the Tallin family ancestors, going all the way back to the last generation to live aboard the wondrous ships that had brought them here. It also, to one side, outlined the Fairoak lineage, with far fewer names listed, presumably owing to the long lives of the Elifaen, going back over two thousand years to the Time Before Time. He studied the chart for a long while, and was surprised to see that unions between Tallins and Elifaen had occurred twice before his own mother and father had married. The first such union was between the nephew of Heneil and a Tallin woman. Their son, his grandfather's father, took the Tallin name and passed it on. Robby realized that he had Elifaen blood not only through his grandmother's lineage, but from his grandfather's, too. As he looked over the names, his eyes tracing up and down and back and forth across the genealogy, he wondered at the people listed and their stories. He wondered, too, whether his own name might someday be listed on a similar chart.

  "Oh, I forgot," he muttered, walking away. "I don't have a name, do I? And, if I do, and if I become King, then only the person who will ever know it will be whoever it is that replaces me."

  This only served to remind him of the recondite tasks before him, not the least of which was to learn the Name of the King. Ashlord said that he would be able to solve the problem. But Ashlord always seemed to think the best of people, Robby thought.

  He paused at another window that overlooked the estate, and he watched some of the groundskeepers tend the gardens for a few moments before wandering on. Household staff came and went, but did not disturb him, though a few stopped to ask if he desired assistance, bowing low and addressing him with what he felt was too much deference. He thanked them, returning their bows, but refused any offers, content to be lost for the time being as he explored Tallin Hall. Somehow or other, he found himself down in the deep workings of the structure, in what he at first thought to be the ground floor, but now he perceived that many of the corridors were carved out of living rock. It was lit with lamps of amazing quality that gave off splendid white light. At last he rounded a bend in the corridor and came to a huge double iron door, outside of which were several guards who immediately snapped to attention.

  "Lord Robby!" one of them said. "I did not expect so quick an inspection!"

  Robby recognized him as Ullin's friend, Weylan.

  "Captain Weylan, I believe?"

  "Aye."

  "I thought you said you were of the Gatesmen."

  "North Gatesmen, my lord. But we of the Fortress Guard also serve the Hall. I am here to bring routine orders."

  "I see. And what is this room?"

  "This is one of the Hall's armoury vaults, sir. Just a storage place for spares and various fighting gear."

  "May I see?"

  "Certainly! Open up, there! And light the way!"

  Two of the soldiers pushed hard on the great doors, swinging them inwards as a third lit a small torch. He entered and quickly marched through the room touching off torch after torch that jutted from walls and columns. Robby followed Weylan into a very long wide room, nearly as wide and as long as the great hall above. But this room had low ceilings and thick stone arches crisscrossing throughout. Everywhere in neat orderly lines were racks upon racks of swords, shields, helmets, lances, breastplates, chain mail, bows, and baskets of arrows. He looked at Weylan in wonder.

  "It looks as though you have enough to arm thousands!" he said.

  "Three hundred archers with fifty arrows each," Weylan said. "Two thousand footmen with shields and pikes and shortswords. Seven hundred and forty light skirmishers, and three hundred lighthorse. Plus several light ballistas, some to launch fire, some for bolts, others for spikefists."

  "Spikefists?"

  "Yes, these little pretties, my lord," Weylan went over to a box and lifted the lid. Reaching in, he gingerly picked up a small ball about the size of a fist, bristling with dozens of long sharp steel spikes each about four inches long.

  "It looks like the center is made of some kind of glass," Robby said. "And the whole
looks very nasty."

  "Nasty they are! Our spikefist ballistas fling thirty of these at once in a tight grouping and can reach up to fifty yards away with accuracy, much farther if we don't care. The spikes penetrate anything they hit while the glass center shatters, sending the other spikes hurling at nearby targets."

  Weylan gently returned the weapon to its bin.

  "It is best used against lightly armored mass assaults of closely packed attackers," he said dryly. "This is only the house armoury. Lord Tallin has kept our forges ringing day and night these past few months, and the products fill three other much larger warehouses and many smaller stores around the city."

  "So you are preparing for war."

  "Well, we prepare the implements, anyway. Our treaties with Damar and Tracia still hold. We are certain their spies watch our movements and report the activity of our forges. We may be fewer in number than they, but we are well-armed, at least. And Lord Tallin has seen to it that we are trained as well as any. Perhaps better. If our enemies come against us, they will find Tallin Town a hard nut to crack."

  "If only my people could have had time to prepare," Robby said wistfully, picking up a lance and looking at its tip. "We could have used some fine weapons such as these, if only we had the men and training, too."

  Weylan nodded.

  "Riders came through three days ago with news of the Redvests in Passdale," Weylan said as they left the room and the doors were closed behind them. "Do you now go back upstairs? Or are there other things you wish to see?"

  "Oh, no. I am just wandering around. I don't exactly know how I made my way down here. Indeed, I think I'm rather lost. But I would like to see whatever I am allowed to see, and I'm in no particular hurry to rejoin my friends."

  "In that case, might I show you around?"

  "I would like that more than anything, if you have time for me. I'm sorry that I am woefully ignorant of so many things. Perhaps you would tell me about the walls, too. But first, tell me, what was the reaction here concerning the events in Barley?"