"They say the Lords of Tallinvale are returned," Tyrillick said to Robby. "And that it is a sign, no less, that the great Joined House of Fairoak and Tallin will stand and may be restored to the glory of the ancient days."
"They do?"
"They do. I have with my own ears heard it said not an hour ago, a butcher telling a carpenter on the street with a certainty. And then again, just before we met up, from a governess to her charge. It is a small place, after all, and word has spread like the wind. And now, as the pair of you stroll, they see for themselves."
"So you are to take the place of our grandfather?" Robby asked Ullin innocently. "And become Lord Tallin?"
"They do not speak of me, Robby," Ullin said gently, yielding to a passerby. "I am not Elifaen, and so I cannot be heir of Fairoak."
"So who..., oh!" Robby stopped himself, embarrassed at his own ignorance. "I didn't realize."
Ullin nodded, and Tyrillick chuckled and shook his head, then went on.
"And of the third thing, it is rumored that a great visitor will arrive this night from the West. A party of the First Ones, they tell each other, the likes of which has not visited Tallinvale since before anyone can remember. They have, suddenly, many reasons to turn out in their finery. In one day, no less, all these things come to them. It is much to deal with, and their scurrying about—the fine clothes, the preparations—is, I would say, a kind of release of hope for many restrained hearts. Would you not agree, Ullin Saheed?"
"Yes. You put it well."
"First Ones?"
"That is what they say, Robby Ribbon."
"But not you."
"Not I, for I have said nothing."
"That would be enough to feel honored, if it were true. As to us lords," Robby nearly laughed out loud at the word—not so much as how it applied to Ullin, for he was lordly enough. "Do these people know we'll not be staying?" Robby asked Ullin.
"Evidently not. But I doubt if that would matter."
"And what about the visitors?" Robby turned back to Tyrillick. "Who are they?"
"You try me, Robby Ribbon of Passdale! I promised not to say," Tyrillick said kindly. "But the rumors are, well, not without some accuracy. As far as rumors go."
Robby could see that Tyrillick would tell him no more. By now they had passed through the town and were climbing the gentle slope to the gates of the estate. Looking up at the Hall, Robby saw new banners had been hung. And along the broad path that led from the gate to the Hall, men were cleaning the oil lamps on their posts by standing on long narrow ladders.
"I leave you for now," Tyrillick said. "I bid you rest before this evening. You will be summoned when the time comes."
Tyrillick bowed and took his leave of them. Ullin continued on into Tallin Hall, and Ullin showed Robby back to the guest wing.
"I have a few people to look in on," he explained, waving goodbye. "But I will be back later."
Robby, suddenly hungry, went to the great room in his hall and was served a plate of fruit and nuts and a tankard of ale. Ibin was reclining on a sofa plucking softly at his mandolin, and Robby thought he detected a familiar melody. He listened for a moment then took his meal to his room. There, he sat at the little desk, pulled over a sheet of paper and dipped a quill.
Mother,
I find myself writing to you from your old home, Tallin Hall. I don't know whose room they have given me, but it is very nice and opens eastward into a garden. How I came to be here, and off our course, I am not at liberty to say. Though you recently told me something of this place, you never mentioned how beautiful or grand it is. I have only imagined such places, and only as the abode of kings or queens, and I find my past imaginings have fallen short of the mark by far. Certainly you must have been very much in love to have left this place for the simple ways of Passdale!
I have seen many of the paintings, statues, and murals depicting and portraying various aspects of what I now realize is my own family's history. It has been very interesting, and I feel somewhat enlightened. I do not blame you and father for keeping so much to yourself, but I think it will make you feel better to hear that I have been treated very well, too well, in fact, for my comfort.
At this point there was a gentle knock on the open door, and Robby turned to see Windard standing there.
"I am sorry to disturb you, my lord," Windard said.
"Not at all. Please come in."
"I just wanted to know if you are satisfied with your room, as I missed you earlier when I came by."
"Oh yes, thank you," Robby said, rising from the desk. "It is very nice."
"We would normally have you in the family wing," Windard went on. "But our thinking was that you would prefer to be closer to your friends. Especially since Tallin Hall is a strange place to you."
"Yes, it is good of you to be so considerate. To tell you the truth, I do feel out of place here. But I am fascinated by Tallin Hall and the town, too. And, like anyone accustomed to more modest surroundings would be, I am more impressed by all I have seen than I have words to tell. I wish I could have visited before now. When I had more time to explore and to learn, that is. But I suppose my grandfather would not have been too pleased at that."
"Yes, it is a shame upon us that we have not been more inviting."
"Oh, no! I did not mean it that way at all! I'm sorry if I did not express myself very well. It's just that I knew so little about my family until very recently, and the opportunity on my part never came about. I only meant that I don't wish for anyone to feel obliged to me in any way because of my connections with Lord Tallin. I had rather be treated like anyone else. I regret any awkwardness my presence may be causing."
At this, Windard smiled.
"A little awkwardness, as you say, is not always so bad a thing, if I may be so bold," he said. "Your presence here is very exciting to many of the household, and to others. And, if I may, I would like to ask after your mother. For myself, and for others of the staff, we hope she is safe and well. We have all heard about the events in Barley and Passdale. We have also heard that your father has not been heard from since departing for Glareth by the Sea."
"Thank you for asking. That is so, and we all hope he is safe. I was just writing a note to my mother. I left her safe in Janhaven. She was organizing the people there, seeing to those who, like herself, have lost their homes. She is surrounded by many who honor and respect her, and I don't doubt she will soon be in charge of things there."
"That is good to hear. I will share it with others who have asked after her. There are some here who remember the day she left us. She is missed, of course, and all of us wish her well."
"Thank you."
Windard asked after you and I told him a little about your situation in Janhaven. I believe some of the nice treatment I have received here is due in part from the love and respect the servants still have for you. But, beyond that, I do not understand why they treat me so well. You probably know more about that than I.
I met Grandfather earlier today. He is a stern man, indeed. Much younger-looking and stronger-looking than I expected, in spite of his white hair. I think he has guessed everything, and I think he struggles with some hard decision. Ullin and I met with him privately, and by the end of our meeting he seemed more sympathetic to our cause. I cannot say what he will do, but I do not think he counts on Duinnor for help any longer, if he ever did.
There is no word here about anyone who made it from Barley, I'm sorry to say. But if any can make it here, I think they will find good welcome.
You may not hear from me again for a long, long while. It is only by chance that I have this opportunity to write. From here we resume our way, having hardly started on our journey when we took this turn. I can only say that I have been brought here to meet someone, but no one will tell me who it is, and they have not yet arrived. I do not know why it is so important. Afterwards, perhaps as early as tomorrow morning, we hope to be on our way again.
I should also say that our overnight stay
in Hill Town was very enlightening. They are something of a rough people, but not artless by any stretch. We met many unusual characters, too, some helpful to us and others just curious. But this I have to say: I think they would make good allies if that can be brought about. I believe, as you have seen, that they can be useful as a fighting force, but they have much to share along other lines, too. Perhaps you might speak with Captain Makeig about forming stronger ties with them. And should you meet one called Sally Bodwin, know that I believe her to be an upright and forthcoming lass, and her singing voice is as pretty as she is. She would be a good person to tell you about the Hill Town folk.
With all my love, your devoted son,
Robby
Yawning, Robby folded the note and sealed it, addressing the outside to Mirabella Ribbon, Janhaven, in care of Furaman's Stockade. He went to wash his face, hoping it would refresh him. It did not, and, yawning again, he decided a nap would not go amiss. He took off his shoes and his shirt, hung Swyncraff over the bedside table, and stretched out onto the bed. No sooner than he had noticed how comfortable it was than he was asleep.
It was a delicious sleep, and the only dreams he had were of fair days and pleasant company, no anxiety, no dark fears, and no strife. He slept soundly until an insubstantial rustling sound filtered into his notice, and he opened his eyes and sat up. It was dark, Lady Moon was still finding her pace across the sky and peeked faintly through the glass garden doors. The hall door was still ajar, and the bright light from the hall cracked across the room. Then, hearing the sound again and looking toward it, Robby saw, sitting at the writing table beside the garden doors, a figure bent over pen and paper. He heard the scratching of the quill and saw the quick movements of the writer's hand as he dipped the quill into the well and wrote more. But, most curious of all, even though Robby could only barely make out the mysterious person, and then only in a sort of dim silhouette, he could tell, somehow, that it was not one of his companions. Robby felt no sense of fear or alarm until he said, "Hello?"
The figure turned to face him, and every hair on Robby's body stood on end. It was clearly the face of a Dragonkind man that gazed at him curiously. Robby's heart pounded, and he instinctively thrust out his hand. Immediately, Swyncraff flew into his grip. A breeze ruffled the drapes, and Robby saw that what he had taken for a person was only a bit of gauzy curtain that had caught over the chair, and the scratching sound must have only been a twig or vine rubbing against the glass.
He jumped at the gentle knock at the door and the shadow that suddenly appeared there.
"Robby?" Sheila put her head in.
"Yes!"
"It's almost time," she said, slipping in with a lamp in her hand.
"Yes, yes. I'm coming," Robby replied, quickly scrambling out of bed and rushing to the washroom to throw water in his face.
Chapter 8
Lyrium
No one knew from whence they came. As Lady Moon at her most bold began her trek from the eastern rim of the world, the mysterious travelers appeared from the west on the roads leading into Damar territory. They traveled with eerie ease, and they passed swiftly by, with drummers drumming and pipers piping, escorted by troops with lances and bright, holly-emblazoned shields. With every step they seemed to glide ten paces, their progress a contradiction to the eyes of those they passed by. So suddenly did they come that the Damar could only stand aside in amazement and awe as the train passed right by their city. From the battlements of his town stood Lord Cartu, the Damar warlord himself. He watched with many of his generals and officials, all summoned by the sudden signal fires lit on the far hills, a sign of great alarm. But there were no orders he could give that could be carried out in time. He quickly realized that no command could stop the uncanny apparitions, and he stood agape as did all those around him. His generals waited in nervous anticipation of what their leader would demand.
"Let them pass," Lord Cartu said at last, weakly, nervously, more as a prayer of hope than of a command to his forces.
And pass they did, without care of the confusion in their wake, slipping over the eastern hills and into the forest. Soon couriers were pouring in from east and west alike, from checkpoints and armed keeps along the way, all a-babble with news of the passing. Some, who had been very close to the train, said the travelers looked neither right nor left, and they acknowledged no challenge nor even the presence of the Damar soldiers. Others reported how the tollgates burst asunder at their approach, and still others said that the feet of the strangers seemed not even to touch the ground, leaving no sign or track of their passing, not even hoof prints or wheel marks of the peculiar carriage.
The sound of their drums and pipes faded with them, but the firefly glow of their lamps lingered in sight as they went over hills and along the mountain road leading east until even that disappeared beyond the ridge and completely out of view from the city.
"That road is to be secured at all costs!" bellowed the warlord, as shaken as those around him. "From this moment, not even a flea may pass along it without orders from this castle!"
• • •
The last hues of dusk in the distant west were replaced by the evening shadows, now less deep in the east as Lady Moon climbed the stairs of night. And although the mysterious company moved quickly, more quickly by far than seemed possible, it was still some long while before the light of their lamps could be seen by those who lined the walls of Tallin City. Since sunset, the occupants of this town had gathered, not knowing from which direction the visitors might come. By now all manner of rumors had spread throughout the city, and had gained credibility only by the repeating of them, as rumors often do. Even the ranks of soldiers were infected by it, having freshly blackened their boots and polished their belts and shined their buttons and helmets and swords and shields with such vigor that much metal was removed in their enthusiasm. Each and every squad was now at its proper post, at the gates of the town and the outer bridges, and along the ramparts of the city. Not a man was absent, and, in fact, more were present than the evening orders called for. The city councilors sent delegation after delegation to the Hall asking for guidance, inquiring what sort of visitor was coming, from where, and of what rank? What would be expected of the town fathers? Would they be desired to address the visitors or give any accounting? Should they prepare a reception, a banquet, perhaps? What protocols should be followed?
Each delegation and each question was met by Dargul, kindly at first, but with growing exasperation after the fourth or fifth time he was interrupted to meet with yet another urgent request.
"Only a private visitor to Tallin Hall," he told them. "Not an official visit," he said. And, "no reception is needed," "no delegation required," "no observation of rank would be asked for, only free passage to the Hall," and "I am not at liberty to say."
He never indicated that he himself was as concerned as they, or that he, in fact, knew not much more than they. Indeed, the only thing he did know was that it was not Lord Tallin that the expected guests were coming to see, but Dargul never indicated that to the bothersome townsmen. What business was it of theirs? So the town leaders joined the rest of the crowds, in ignorance and anticipation. Since nearly every family had at least one member serving in the ranks, many people managed to find admittance to the walls, and so crowded it was in places, though the walls were wide, that movement was difficult. Others thronged onto balconies and rooftops, and many more lined the streets. Dargul, in an effort to find some peace from the constant entreaties, begged his master's leave. Tallin, who seemed not to care a whit for the visit but remained cool, distant, and distracted by other things, nodded his permission. So Dargul slipped away home only to find that his wife and all his family, except the cat, had gone out to watch with the throngs. He poured himself a glass of wine, then he and the cat mounted the stairs of his apartment to the roof where he, too, looked over the city toward the west as he sipped and pondered.
So when the mysterious glow was spotted, moving against the
night-darkened far-off western hills, word spread quickly, for it was apparent by its movement and color that it was an unnatural sight, and those who crowded the other walls raced to the western side. So tightly packed the parapets became that soldiers had to prevent any more from climbing up. The western entrance became lined with hopeful and curious onlookers, and from the walls in various places people called down to those below to give word of the progress of the approaching lights. By now the city was lit with all its lamps and braziers. And the many-colored costumes of the rich and poor, the soldiers and the shopkeepers, and all the people in their finery, gave the city an aspect of a great festival or celebration.
"It is a visit from Duinnor," some said.
"Aye, I heard the King himself is come," said others.
"No, it is a Faere Princess who comes, to visit the husband of her sister, Lord Tallin," others held.
"Not a bit of it!"
Thus the crowds chatted and speculated loudly, and refreshment vendors moved about taking advantage of the nervous excitement that drew the people out and together. Yet there was very little laughter or mirth, for it was a most uncanny light that moved so swiftly down the far hills of their valley, disappearing, now and again, and reappearing later as the approaching party passed below or behind rises in the land. After only a few minutes, the coming van had cleared the hills and could be seen on the western road, a fairly straight route of over a league, lined in places with trees and passing over many stone-bridged streams and, closer by, the stone-bridged canals that surrounded the walled city. It was at this point that the sound of their approach was first heard, faintly wafting across the cool air, distorted by the distance and by the following echo. Droning pipes, low, harp-like strings, and the beating of two-tone drums, all of a march-paced cadence, accompanied a heavy melancholy aire played in a ghostly fashion. This sound silenced the crowds when it reached their ears, and as it grew closer, it filled them with an awe somewhat of reverence, somewhat of foreboding. It was now reported by those on the wall to those below, that they numbered about two hundred. Fifty horsemen, every horse white as snow, at the front and at the rear, in line five abreast with every other outside rider carrying a tall staff mounted with a bright lamp and each rider between with equally tall lances with green and red pennants. Silver breastplates and holly-wrapped helmets they wore, and green capes and livery. Following behind the first group of riders were twenty drummers, ten men blowing pipes, and ten blowing horns, and twenty players plucking lyres. Fifty soldiers came next. They were afoot, dressed and armed in a manner like the horsemen, but these footmen also carried shields upon which was painted the likeness of a stag's head, its antlers entwined with holly and ivy. Then came fifty ladies in strange robes, some that shimmered like the wings of a dragonfly, others that were feathered like the wings of a hummingbird. These mysterious robes wrapped the ladies completely, yet revealed their feminine forms, and draped over their heads as hoods so that only their arms, crossed over their breasts, could be seen. At last came the carriage itself, drawn by twelve creatures as large as horses, but more akin to deer. They were mighty buckmarls, each with a regal rack of antlers and each haltered and harnessed with silver ribbons so light and delicate that no one could reckon how they drew on the carriage. No one led these beasts, and no driver sat behind them, and no rein was there, but they drew on the glorious carriage of their own accord. The carriage itself was enameled black as night, its sides the shape of the wing of a bird, with silver wheels and spokes, and red and green ivy adorning the silver stars that encrusted the coach. It was as if a mysterious night sky, as glimpsed through a break in a green thicket, was passing by those who looked on. And as it did so, whether by the flickering light of the lamps or by the movement of the coach, all who saw it thought those stars twinkled and glittered just as the real heavens above.
The Nature of a Curse (Volume 2 of the Year of the Red Door) Page 21
