This night, as so many nights before, Lord Tallin wandered the empty and immensely lonesome passages of the Hall, hearing in spite of himself the echo of children's laughter from the still rooms, or the sweet singing of his little red-haired girl as she wove a delicate tapestry beside her mother. Again he felt the shadow of his own stern face against the memory of harsh words that haunted him again and again. He relived, now as in memory.
"Tallinvale is not strong enough to resist Duinnor," his wife said to him. She turned away from the mirror and stood, her body lithe and firm beneath her sheer gown, and she glided across the room to the bed where he lay watching and waiting for her. "Unless Dalvenpar goes west, your obligation to Duinnor will be seen as broken. Would you risk the honor of our House, and the liens upon Fairoak? Dalvenpar is strong and little harm may come to him if he is sent south to the desert."
"I fear not Duinnor," he said to her as she slipped from her gown and then under the covers beside him. Lying on his side, he ran his hand along the curve of her side to the waist, then around the small of her back and along the scar that ran along her left side up to her shoulder as she snuggled close to him. "I fear useless waste of youth and treasure. Look what it has cost us. Do we send our first-born to pay an even heavier tribute?"
"It is the way of our people," she answered. "And yet we are now far from that strife, in peace here in the Eastlands, safe from the Sun King, maybe, but not from the frown of Duinnor. Our place here is not yet firm, and we have no resources to support any resistance. And, I need not remind you, that Duinnor fears this House above all others, for the prophesies made upon it."
"Yes, yes," Tallin said aloud.
Ashlord's eyes narrowed.
"Yes, yes," Tallin said impatiently, "we have all too often heard the poems of old, foretelling the great throne to be remade of 'oak, fair and strong,' and of the sovereign new-come from the east who will plant anew the healing trees of Vanara. How many times have I heard it, from you and from those of your proud family? But we are Tallin, too, and my fathers and forefathers, too, swore their allegiance to the Unknown Name. Have I not fought for the crown? Have not my lands and yours been laid waste by the wars? And what has Duinnor done? It continues to raise army after army, leading them into the desert. Where are the builders of old? Where are the craftsmen and the yeomen needed to retake and keep our old lands? Do not think that since we are among the first to be shorn of our properties that we will be the last."
"It is not hopeless, my love," Kahryna replied. "Not so long as those of our blood fight alongside Duinnor. Where would the Seven Realms be without the valor of our people? Wherefrom may the lands be restored, except by force of arms? Yet, you are master of Tallin Hall, and Lord Tallin of the House of Fairoak. I do not easily give up any son for vainglory or for hollow honor. Let Dalvenpar go, as his fellows must, and he will do us the honor by his service to the King."
"It will seem a hollow honor, indeed, if he never returns," Tallin said bitterly.
He had immediately regretted those words. He regretted them now as bitterly as he ever had. And now, as on so many previous dark nights of his soul, he wished them back. But they could be no more dismissed from his memory's possession than the endless halls of recollection that he was doomed to wander. Those words! Indeed, his fears came about soon enough, and never was his son's body recovered from the faraway field of war. But Duinnor had called, Fairoak had answered, and Kahryna was crushed by grief and remorse. Then Duinnor called again. He commanded his second son, Aram, to remain in Tallinvale or flee to Glareth, and Duinnor be damned. But the son did not obey his father, and so Aram went west to join with Duinnor and to seek vengeance for his brother's death. Lord Tallin had no words that could comfort his wife, and any he gave she threw back into his face. From that day onward, she rarely ever spoke, mourning her first-born and in perpetual fear for her second son. Then it was discovered that Mirabella, too, had run away after Aram. Tallin led men and horses after her, but she eluded them most cunningly. When he returned without her, never another word did his wife speak to him until the day Mirabella returned, years later, with the bitter news of Aram's death. Even now he shuddered at his wife's words, her last words uttered, as she wasted into dust before his eyes.
"I give you now all your memories," she said as she faded, her eyes ablaze with what he could only interpret as hatred. "May you never forget!"
Now, as always, he remembered these things without reference to time. Indeed, the laughter of their courtship among the waterfalls of Vanara was just as clear to him this night as the cries of her anguish. And it was just as this memory reached him that he arrived at the end of the long hallway, Ashlord trailing respectfully along and Dargul now only a few feet behind them. Here was where Tallin most often paused the longest, to muse upon a fair portrait done of Lady Kahryna shortly before their eldest boy was killed. Tallin put aside the little lamp with which he had been lighting all others and let the soft light from down the hall render upon this portrait as he contemplated it. As he looked upon the lovely countenance, Dargul wondered what new brooding his lord took before the painting. For a long time Lord Tallin stood, as silent and as still as his wife, tall and beautiful, her dark green eyes looking down at him from where she stood in her garden on a bright moonlit night.
Dargul edged closer, not trying to hide, yet reluctant to make his presence known or to disturb his master.
"Oh, Kahryna! It is not fitting for a mortal man to live so long as I!" Tallin said, speaking her name aloud for the first time in Dargul's long memory. "A curse of itself, perhaps. For we Men are weaker than your people, and we cannot bear this heavy weight of time! To the elderly, forgetfulness may be a kinder madness than anguish, and poor memory a blessing. For who can bear to witness the passing of those one loves, and the beauties of the world, yet keep company with them at every waking moment? What dire fortune is it to have memory of the world when it was young as we once were? That I remember trees and forests that have long perished before fire and plow, even at my own hand! That I still see my father's face. My mother and all my sisters and brothers, as clearly as if they were standing with me here. Yet, they are distant. Not even in spirit do I feel them anymore. But, alas, I see them. And I remember the laughter of my children in faraway Vanara and in this very house, and I see their toys and their play, and I hear their little cries of bruised knee and pouting anger, and even the whisper of their breath, now, just as clear as I once did looking upon them late at night peaceful in their slumbers. And now where are they? Gone. Into the dust of the great desert. Into the green grass of the hills of Vanara, they are. Not even their graves are known to me. And now, so full of loathing and fear am I become that I turned away our own daughter and know not one grandson while hardening my heart all these years against the other. I know. They will go the way of their fathers. Like all mortals do. And I must bear witness to whatever may come. I have turned my fear into steel and into chain to bind me against hurt! My anxiety I have forged into distance and time to shield me from caring. And not only have I done this with those of my family, those who are left to me, but in doing I have ill-guided my people. Why should they pay for my folly? What a fool am I! What a fool! Oh, what have I done? What have I become? Oh, how I wish that life would flee my bones! I am a wretch and cannot bear this weight of memory!"
He put his hands over his face and clutched his hair, crying out these last words, as he looked between his fingers at the image before him, not noticing that Ashlord had closed his eyes and was muttering soft words, low and indiscernible. Tallin groaned, swaying right and left as he pulled his hair. Then there came a breeze, gentle and sweet from an unseen place. And with it came a note of music, light and airy. Tallin opened his eyes and saw the folds of Kahryna's gown flutter, and her head bend a little toward him. She held in her hand a simple white flower and, as if for the first time in his life, he saw her there as he never had before, and it seemed to him that, for the first time, a look of gentle sympathy a
nd forgiveness came into her face. So powerful was the sense of her expression that he cried out and fell to his knees before the portrait, weeping for the first time since his wife had died, weeping into his hands most bitterly as only a man could who had lost everything he had ever loved. Little was he aware of the kind hands that rushed to him from behind, or the faithful man who kneeled beside him to hold him as one might a child. Dargul, long waiting for this moment, wept, too, but his were the tears of relief.
"There, there, my lord," he said, cradling the much more powerful frame. "All will be made right in time."
Ashlord turned away, leaving them together, and walked slowly out, muttering some thanks to the air for Tallin's final catharsis. Though deeply moved by Tallin's torment, the mystic was now confident that one crisis had passed. Another crisis, of quite a different sort, could now be faced by Tallinvale. Sad but satisfied, Ashlord returned to the library to study while his companions slept and while Dargul helped Tallin recover himself.
Chapter 10
Lord Tallin's Plan
Day 88
157 Days Remaining
Hours later, as dawn quickly approached, but sooner than Ashlord might have expected, Lord Tallin found him.
"I wish to thank you for your patience, Collandoth," Tallin said as he took a seat across the table from Ashlord. "I'm afraid I acted out rather shamefully. Dargul, faithful man! I am afraid I gave him a fright. I'm sure he believes I have lost my wits at last. But perhaps I begin to find them. I thank you for abiding with me as you did."
"I think you needed only someone to hear you," Ashlord replied. "The crisis and doubts you feel within may be a mirror upon those that cloud these days, surely. But I trust you have now come to a greater resolve regarding all?"
"I have. Though I have resisted the last measures I should put in place, I will no longer put off what must be done. I cannot put off."
"Then you have a plan?"
"I do. It is a hard one, and I shall tell you about it in a moment. But first, I must ask you if you truly intend to go to Duinnor? To take Robby there?"
"It is our intention to go to Duinnor, yes, but I hope to see Robby to Griferis, first."
"Ah. Griferis. Then you answer my concern. I have read the old books, in Vanara and elsewhere. Books we do not have here. Yes, he must go first to Griferis. It seems the only way to prepare him. But how do you propose to pass through Shatuum?"
Ashlord shook his head and shrugged. "It is my hope that a way will be made for us, or else we may find our own way."
"I see. I wish there was some aid I could offer along those lines. But if you find your way to Duinnor before spring, would you be willing to carry a message for me?"
"Certainly."
"I will not trust it to ink, so I must tell you. There is a person who resides in the Temple of Beras. His presence there is a secret, guarded by myself and the monks there. Many years ago, this person performed a service to me at great risk to himself. He helped me lay the stones for our defensive works. All was done according to my wishes, with nothing done amiss. But I was told by him that in order to make use of our defenses, I would need a secret word. I will not explain how it is to be used. However, the word was never revealed to me, as a safeguard for this person's secret. He trusts no one, and especially not mortal Men."
"A stone worker, you imply."
"Yes, of the highest caliber. Renown throughout the world."
"How were you to obtain the secret word, when needed?" Ashlord asked. "And I assume you now need it."
"Yes, I fear that I shall need it to secure our defenses against the enemy horde that I shall entice to battle. More of that momentarily. I have sent trusted couriers to the Temple, begging for the secret word. For years they have been rebuffed, the monks not permitting my couriers an audience with their guest. I, myself, aimed to go there in the spring. But time has run out. I am needed here. Would you go to him as my ambassador of sorts? And obtain the word?"
"I would be most happy to do so. Though it will be months before I may reach Duinnor, and months longer before I could return with the word."
"You need not return with the word. He has the means to send it swiftly. All I wish for you to do is to go to him and ask him to do so. I believe you can lay out the situation for him faithfully. And, being Melnari, I believe he may listen to you. If he refuses, then we shall do without his help, as well as we may do."
"Then I shall do it. I know who it is that you mean for me to see. For who else can you mean but he who has the greatest skill in stoneworking? I shall do it, and we shall hope for the best."
"Good. That is all I can ask of you. Now, it is best that you know my intentions. I tell you first, then must I hurry off to inform others."
• • •
Morning came early, and earlier, still, for many who were called to duty by Lord Tallin's orders much sooner than they were accustomed. Dargul, who had taken Tallin back to his chambers, and who was assured by Lord Tallin that the morning would see certain great changes begin, had hardly gotten back to his apartment and his bed when another courier came to wake him. Alarmed, he and his wife were told by the courier that Tallin merely wanted to get an early start on the day's activities and wished that Dargul would join him as soon as was convenient—Tallin's way of saying, "Right away."
Still disturbed by the previous night, Dargul took the sandwich his wife made in haste and hurried to Tallin Hall. There, he went immediately to Tallin, noting the unusual number of aides and footmen reporting to their stations even though it was well before dawn. When he reached the door of Tallin's small office behind the great hall, he saw Tallin at his desk. He knocked politely and entered, and Tallin looked up, grinned uncharacteristically, and waved him to a chair.
"Please be seated," Tallin said, turning back to the papers and books on his desk. "I will be with you shortly."
Dargul quietly sat, eyeing his lord with concern, for it was strange to see this new animation in Lord Tallin's eyes. A happy resolve, incongruous and somewhat disturbing to Dargul, creased Tallin's forehead over a genuine and rather bittersweet smile. Dargul wondered if the previous night's breakdown, which was surely embarrassing for the lord, forced Tallin to take on a lighter attitude in order to alleviate worry in others.
He patiently watched Tallin pore over documents of land holdings, scattered on top of a few maps on the cluttered table. Though he did his best not to squirm or fidget, Dargul's old bones, never comfortable for long, were least comfortable when waiting. The silence was bad enough, but as Dargul abided, absently fingering his wedding band as he thought, an out-of-place sound entered his awareness. It was nearby, soft and low. At first, Dargul could not believe the source, but he realized that his Lord Tallin was actually humming to himself. Thus, it was a bewildered Dargul that Tallin now looked up and saw. After so many years of serving a demanding master, of seeing the cold evidence of a brooding intellect, to see Lord Tallin now, smiling warmly upon him, topped the cup of anxiety that filled Dargul with a froth of nervousness unlike any he had ever known. It was simply too much. Dargul, for the first time in his life, actually squirmed.
Tallin was a powerful man, rich and influential, but one who had always resisted using any power or influence for the sake of their increase alone. Instead, as Dargul well knew, the Lord of Tallinvale gained and lost his fortunes by his own wits rather than by coercion or favor as such men often did. True, Tallin severely tested all who knew him, his family, his servants, and all his friends, if he had any. But the rewards he gave for loyalty and good work had always been beyond the expectations of most. In all his doings, in his dealings with folk high and low alike, his actions had always been for the good of the valley, respecting the bonds of tradition to blood and earth, and the virtues of justice and honesty. Never had he deceived any but his enemies, and even then never for his own gain alone. Yet, now Dargul wondered what he was about to hear, for something unusual was surely afoot. Just a few minutes before, when he had first arriv
ed in the room for the usual morning meeting, Dargul had to shuffle about to stay out of the way of the accounting clerks who were departing, having left stacks of ledger books on the floor and on the far table. After last night's scene, Dargul felt positive that Tallin was so exhausted that he would sleep late for once in his life. The evidence all around the room, the ledger books, the crumb-filled plates, and the morning dispatches already written and ready, convinced Dargul that his master had not slept a wink. But Lord Tallin appeared rested, and, another peculiarity, he looked less strained, even younger than ever. As Dargul scratched his chin, resisting the temptation to interrupt his master's thoughts, Tallin suddenly picked up a set of dividers, measured out a length against a map, tossed it aside, picked up a document and ran his finger down it, looking for a bit of information.
The Nature of a Curse (Volume 2 of the Year of the Red Door) Page 27
