"Aye," Ullin nodded. "Those are my thoughts, too. Word of tonight's honored visitor will surely spread, too. And that may not be without risk to Robby."
Chapter 9
Perfect Memory
The uncanny carriage and its escort passed through Tallin City and out through the eastern gate. The people, many of whom had lingered outside of Tallin Hall's grounds for some sign of the mysterious visitors' business, marveled as much at their silent departure as they had at their sensational arrival. When the carriage and its escort passed out of sight into the eastern hills, the watchers were just as full of speculation as ever. Many insisted that whoever had the means to come and go in such a manner was very important indeed. Others argued that the visit was a sign of great change to come, and that it might not be the kind of change one might wish for. Gloomy or otherwise, the speculation did not do much to diminish the celebratory mood within Tallin City. And since the people had no desire to waste an opportunity for merriment, they were soon enjoying a late night of dining, drink, and laughter.
Within the carriage, the mood was less merry. Inside its spacious interior, no sensation of movement or sign of its passage through the countryside could be felt. Indeed, it was as if they were not inside anything at all. Rather, they were free to stroll a springtime forest, with bright sunlight beaming through thick canopies of green. But the carriage did move, though not as quickly as before owing to the hesitancy of its primary occupant. As it rolled toward the coming dawn, Lyrium's thoughts guided it, while her daughters and Tyrillick tried to dissuade her of the decision she had just announced to them.
"But why, my lady?" asked Tyrillick. "The very thought of returning to Tulith Attis fills me with dread."
"You can have no more dread of that place than I do," said Lyrium. "I cannot say what it is that I wish to See. So much was lost there. My husband, my sister, your wife and children, and all our dear friends. Their memory has ever since weighed upon me, as it does you. For though we escaped, there is no end to our mourning. But a different memory now pounds upon my heart with hammers. I speak of those Seven objects that were entrusted to me. I sought to protect them, Tyrillick, by sending you and the others away before the end came."
"We searched before," Tyrillick said, "far and wide, high and low, for the one burdened with their safekeeping. She and the Seven Bloodcoins she carried are long passed away. They are lost, my lady. Lost forever. I am sorry that we failed you in that task."
"Tyrillick, good friend!" Lyrium reached out and took Tyrillick's hand. "I do not blame you or those that were in your company. As I have said many times before. I blame myself, only. For not taking them away much sooner. Failing in that, for not going with you to lend my aid, though I doubt that I could have saved the Seven from their fate. And had I known that I would be able to escape from Tulith Attis, and evade those who have sought after me, I would have kept them with me. So it is I who failed, not you."
"Nevertheless," replied Tyrillick, "it would mean a great delay, if we are then to go on to Glareth. For it would be necessary to go on foot from Tulith Attis to the coast, a journey of some weeks through forest and field."
"Before very long, our escorts must forsake us," said Elmira.
"And without protection, the Redvests might take us," said Belmira.
"I carefully scouted the lands before your arrival," said Tyrillick. "There is no safe way to go through Barley. If we are to go on without our escort and carriage, rather than return to our refuge in the west, then we must by needs pass by Tulith Attis. It is the only way. By all accounts the invaders have blocked the north road around the lake. And the Saerdulin is now too swift and broad to make a crossing farther south. So, to even begin our journey to the coast, we would have to first pass over the bridge at Tulith Attis, going directly below the fortress summit. But I alone cannot protect you against the company that is garrisoned there."
"Yes, yes. I well know the risk. Yet I still have Ethliad, which Robby refused to accept," said Lyrium, gesturing to the sword leaning against a nearby tree. "If it comes to that. If we move only by night, perhaps we shall not be seen."
Tyrillick shook his head.
"To abide nearby the fortress, in enemy-held lands, while you strive to See, will add to the risk. Will you not tell us, to ease our fears, or to bolster our courage, what it is that you wish to See?"
Lyrium turned away and walked to the edge of the garden then stopped and ran her hand along the smooth trunk of a myrtle. Her daughters, coming to stand with Tyrillick, waited. She looked up through the fuchsia blooms and into the blue sky above. Then she bowed her head, still clutching the myrtle, and watched the water of a nearby brook glisten and shimmer as it jumped around one mossy stone and the next. She listened to its soft patter, and tried to hear its words. But she could not make them out.
"I can no more explain my heart, my feelings, than to explain the color of the sky," she said, turning back to face Tyrillick and her daughters. "Yet I cannot deny them. As we recede from Tallinvale, the sensation fades. I am beginning to suspect more of Robby Ribbon than I did before. Perhaps the enchantment of the Bell permeates his aura. I do not know. In his presence, especially when I was nearest to him, my heart was filled with an anxiety such as I have not known since departing Tulith Attis. It was as if some portion of that place and the events of that terrible time was present. It was all I could do to push those feelings aside and attend to the purpose of our visit. I cannot explain it. But, as I said, the farther we go from them, the calmer I feel, and other mysteries now perplex me. Robby's friend, Sheila Pradkin, is as mysterious as Robby. Those two are powerful individuals. Did you not observe her face? Her bearing? None of you have said anything, but I know what must have passed through your minds."
Belmira and Elmira glanced at each other while Tyrillick gazed intently at Lyrium.
"I do not deny that the resemblance to Faeanna was uncanny," he said at last.
"Yet she is from Barley, so how can it be?" said Elmira.
"And, too, she is Mortal, as was plain to see," said Belmira
"I cannot say! I cannot say!" said Lyrium, exasperated at her own confusion. "I can only say that meeting her had the most profound effect upon me. It is something I must delve. Something I must strive to See. First to Tulith Attis, where there may be some power that will bring Sight to me, and then to Glareth by the Sea."
"My dear Lady Lyrium," said Tyrillick, "if going to Tulith Attis will help you See, if it will resolve the quandaries of your heart, then by all means let us go and look upon that place. I will not forsake you. And I will escort you as best as I am able as far as you wish to go. Not only to Glareth, but unto the ends of the earth, should that be your desire."
Lyrium's daughters nodded, and Lyrium smiled weakly.
"We turn north, now," she said as the carriage gained the road that ran along the Saerdulin and toward the confluence of the Bentwide. "We shall make the old Bentwide soon. And then we must say goodbye to Islindia's escort and to the comforts of her father's carriage. We will ford the shallow Bentwide on foot, find some place to bide the day in hiding. Then, going slowly and carefully, moving only at night, we will cross through Boskland and go to the fortress. I will first look upon the place from afar. If it is possible, I'll strive to See from a distance. Afterwards, in darkness, we will approach close to the fortress and pass it by. If we are fortunate, we will avoid the invaders and cross the bridge into the old forest and be away. As you say, Tyrillick, it will be an arduous journey to the coast, but with caution and luck we shall safely arrive. Let us hope that the Redvests have not taken the coastal towns and that we may hire a boat to take us on to Glareth."
• • •
It was not to be a restful night for any of the visitors at Tallin Hall. In the wake of Lyrium's visit, Robby and each of his friends privately pondered the meaning of her visit, and the meaning of other things, too. Others of Tallin Hall were also contemplative, even though they were not present at all within the moo
nlit gardens. And especially one who had looked down upon the gathering from a high window, but had turned away to pace his home's passages and hallways like a restless shade, brooding and silent.
• • •
Robby sat at the desk in his room, looking eastward through the open doors and out at the dark gardens on that side of the Hall. Lady Moon had wearied of Tallinvale, and she was now descending into the west so that the trees and shrubs that Robby stared at were in the shadow of tall Tallin Hall, lit only by starlight and the glow from windows nearby and on floors above his room. He recognized the constellation of Tameron, the Seven Princesses with their bluish sapphire-bejeweled tiaras twinkling as they played. He remembered a time, just about a year ago, when he and Ibin and Billy had watched them rise just as he did now, but from a hilltop in Barley. They spent the night out, making a camp under the stars and together drank a keg of Barley beer until they were all three stupid drunk and silly with laughter, freezing with cold because they hadn't the sense to keep the fire up. And he recalled another time, just a few months or so after that, on another hilltop nearer to Passdale, bundled together under several blankets with Sheila when his parents thought he was camping with Billy and Ibin some two miles away. That night he felt as if he was holding one of those princesses in his arms, wishing that he had a jeweled tiara to give her. That was a cold night, but little notice did they take of the chill, for the fire within their hearts needed no kindling. Now Robby wondered what it was about Sheila that fascinated Lyrium so.
• • •
While Robby mused, so did Billy, nearly in the same position in his room next door. Ibin was already snoring away in the broad expanse of the massive bed, but the desire to sleep had not yet come to Billy. He saw the same constellation that Robby watched, but his thoughts were on the future rather than the past. He wondered what would become of Boskland now that his father was dead and the land occupied. His head hurt constantly with worry, though he rarely showed any concern, and he wondered if coming along with Robby was a mistake, if his place was back in Janhaven with what was left of his people. What was being said about Duinnor was not encouraging, and the idea of Robby becoming King was unsettling and complicated. It made his head hurt even worse when he thought about it. What was Barley to a great power such as Duinnor? And if Robby did by some miracle become King, of what importance would a little farming land be when compared to the problems faced by the new ruler? Billy thought of the paintings in Bosk Manor, now lost in its destruction, those showing his ancestors and their achievements in battle and in commerce. He worried for his sister, hoping that she had by now found safety. He thought of his mother and nearly wept with grief for her loss, strong though she was, but he was thankful at least that she was with Mirabella. Mirabella. Robby's mother was always a fascinating point of interest to Barleyfolk, and Billy was no exception to the common curiosity. Beautiful, tall, thin and strong, well-spoken and kind. But both aloof of and held aloof by most others. Now that he was in her ancestral home, Billy understood much more of the nature of her grace and history, and he briefly wondered what Robby thought of it all. Tallin Hall made Bosk Manor look shabby, and yet never did he hear of Mirabella speaking a word about her home. Only a few times did his mother mention Tallinvale to Billy, but always as if it was some faraway village, and he doubted if even his mother had any notion of the grandeur that surrounded Mirabella before she came to Passdale. And so nearby! He did not understand why Lord Tallin could not spare a few soldiers to Janhaven. Was it to spite his own daughter? Or was he being honest when he said that Tallinvale was in a precarious position, with massive armies poised to strike? If that was the way of it, how long would Robby have to find this Griferis place and to do what was needed? How soon would be too late to save Barley or the refugees now scattered in Janhaven and elsewhere, and those captured by the enemy?
• • •
Ashlord made his way back to the library, wondering, as he had already done six hundred and twenty-seven times that day, how the pieces would come together. All was a jumble of possibilities, probabilities, and certainties, but how would the pieces connect? He knew that some pieces would be discarded as others came to light and were tossed into the mix. Tonight's meeting with Lyrium did that. Other events, he was sure, would, too. Still, as he entered the library and adjusted the flame of a lamp, he reflected and theorized, shuffling the bits and pieces, the signs and messages, the clues and questions.
Robby, he was certain, was destined for kingship. But how could he become the King? How would they find Griferis in time? And could Griferis truly provide Robby the knowledge and skill to lead?
Then there was Tallinvale, seemingly paralyzed, its situation precarious, yet unable to act decisively. Lord Tallin seemed fully aware of the consequences of continued inaction, though Ashlord sensed that the crisis within the stern lord was reaching its most intense pitch. A decision was imminent, and would soon be forced by the enemy's inevitable advance. Tallinvale would play a vital role, but what role would it be? Ashlord knew how much Lord Tallin cared for his people. Would he continue to barter and bargain in order to avoid bloodshed? If so, at what cost?
And there was Bailorg. Surely other agents would be dispatched soon, suspicious of Bailorg's silence. Perhaps he was merely a mercenary, favoring the highest bidder for Robby's head. No, that would be too much to hope for. Ashlord regretted that Robby had killed Bailorg before he had a chance to question him, but they were hardly in a position to hold the vile one prisoner. Worrisome, too, was the red-bearded Toolant, obviously working as liaison between the Redvests of Tracia and the Damar warlord, spying for both against Tallinvale.
"I must remember to ask Dargul if Bailorg was met here by Toolant," he muttered as he paced back and forth before the shelves of books and scrolls. "Or anyone else."
He abruptly halted, his shoulders hunched, his forehead creased with concern.
"Lyrium," he said softly, shaking his head. "Poor, brave Lyrium. All that she has witnessed. All that she has lost. But she still lives!"
Ashlord remained motionless for many long moments. Suddenly, as if flinching from a surprising crack of sound, his posture straightened. Then he hurried from the room.
• • •
In her room down the hall from her companions, Sheila lay in bed looking up at her dark ceiling. She was still dressed, but had not lit the candle. After the meeting with Lyrium, she tossed herself down on the bed to contemplate the encounter. Thought turned to thought, often of Robby, sometimes with longing, sometimes with awe, sometimes mindful of the words of Lyrium, and sometimes even with some anger that she should feel so strongly about one who was in many ways beyond her. It was not sadness she felt, but more akin to curiosity and bewilderment. Robby was suddenly important, not just to her, but to everyone, and in no ordinary way. She found herself thinking of him abstractly, like one would think of an object rather than a person, and about the division between them that she had always felt but had never truly understood. It was not that he might someday be Elifaen—she didn't care at all about that one way or the other. And it wasn't that he might become King—she was sure that he would. Now she felt torn between her desire for Robby, the flesh and blood, and her fear for Robby, the King to be. As her thoughts drifted and she edged toward sleep, visions of woodland frolics and pasture rollicks, mixed with incongruous imaginings about ceremonial crownings.
She suddenly thought of the night she clawed her way to Boskland, dripping blood and sobbing with pain and terror. There was a point when, in her misery, she lost all sense of struggle, gave in to the pain, and, when darkness poured over her, still a mile or more from Boskland, she stopped crying, stopped crawling, rain pouring down on her, and she slid into a black swoon. She remembered only complete helplessness. Then, vaguely, she recalled a lightness surrounding her that further muddled her vision, like a dizziness, like spinning upward, floating through the air toward Bosk Manor. As she lay on this soft bed in Tallin Hall, she turned over onto her sto
mach, her head in her arms. She remembered slumping heavily down onto the doorstep of Bosk Manor, and it opening to her. There were the memories of her delirium, wild and strong, pleading with Mrs. Bosk, begging her, screaming with agony and fever and despair until a draught came to her lips and was forced down her. Then faintness and sickness like she had never known, a sickness that could only mean one thing. Later, in her delirium, she felt as if she was pulled apart and that, somehow, Robby was being pulled and beaten out of her.
Now, far away from those places, she fell toward slumber, crying into the softest pillow she had ever known at the persistent memory, clutching it with both fists against her face, until the blackness of sleep approached. Then, dimly, a vision of Lyrium's face appeared. It grew clearer, yet retained an aspect of immense distance, and Lyrium's words gently hummed in her head like harp strings.
"I will be with you, Sheila Pradkin, whose right name is Shevalia, I know. I will keep you in my heart and in my thoughts and in my prayers. And now that we have spoken, I know that it was no king, but you that I was destined to meet."
• • •
Ullin leaned against the battlement and tapped out his pipe, watching the coals tumble and glitter downward into the darkness and suddenly disappear altogether in the moat below. He and Weylan had already walked nearly the whole way around the city wall, the crowds having long since dispersed in something of a disappointed muddle after the strange visitors' silent departure. At first the two chatted, somewhat merrily even, for they were old chums and there was much to catch up with. At Weylan's mention of the tensions with the Tracians, the conversation turned serious, and their tones, which had been noisy, even boisterous, became low and solemn. They strolled west along the south wall, speaking very little, and then turned northward along the west wall, saying nothing at all until at last they stopped some distance along it. Ullin put away his pipe and sighed.
The Nature of a Curse (Volume 2 of the Year of the Red Door) Page 25
