The Summer's King Page 19

  “I climbed up and looked out upon a scene of terrible desolation. We were deep into the territory known as the Adz, some miles, as we found later, from the town of Orobin, in a desert place from which all the treasures had been taken. No one lived close to our lookout, but in the distance a faint light burned in some kind of cottage. The edges of the forest could be seen miles away over open ground pocked with old diggings.

  “We were too weak and our companion Forberan too sorely wounded to reach the trees alive. We decided to approach the cottage. I went out myself, with Orombek, first of all. I had a good smattering of the common speech and was of course the tallest.

  “We crept swiftly over the rough ground to the humped house and peered through a slit in the wooden walls. In a strange room full of shards and scraps there sat one old woman. She crooned over her fire and stirred a pot and there were cats with her and a singing bird in a cage. We were pleased to see that she was a very small old woman, no taller than myself, with a limp and a humped back. I took courage and knocked upon her door, and when she came fearfully peering out, I bowed low and begged for her help. At last I let Orombek come forward.

  “The old woman was delighted. She bade us all come in by the fire and settled us in her second largest chamber, filled with straw and meal sacks. We made a place for the old man Forberan, and Lillfor his daughter watched by him.

  “Our friend in need was called Mother Riddisal or Use the Herb Woman. She lived from the scraps of gold and the few remaining precious stones that she scratched from the old mine workings. Down in the town, she told us sadly, lived her three grandsons, grown children of her eldest son, who had died of pit-cough like his father before him.

  “I promised that she would be well rewarded for her kindness. I wore an armband of gold and I said this was hers, but it must not be shown in the town. She had better melt it down once we had gone.

  “Next day we kept hidden; no one came near the cottage. About midday Forberan, our injured companion, died. We mourned his loss. Mother Riddisal took some of her own findings and went down to Orobin to buy food. We kept a close watch until she returned and afterwards, not because we distrusted her but because she might have let slip some word. When darkness fell, we stole out and buried Forberan. Then we ate the good food that Mother Riddisal had prepared and lay down to sleep.

  “There is a word in our speech “sashogan” meaning “to be carried off in a bag”; it is what the Tulgai fear most and what we of the royal house fear most for our people. In the early hours of the next day, while it was still dark, the old woman’s three grandsons stormed into her house and seized us all. She cheered them on; it was her plan. We were brought down the hill to a covered cart. Three laden sacks were flung aboard, and then, before I was flung in with bound hands, I was stunned by a blow on the head. That same morning we were taken over the Ringist, and when I came to myself we were deep into the land of Lien. Our forest home lay far behind.

  “The Riddisal brothers brought us to a fairground in the town of Milnor and sold us there for twenty royals of gold. The transaction was secret; it took place in the tent of our new owner, a man called Born or Burrin. I was the least valuable property, being merely a dwarfish creature, not a “forest fairy,” but I spoke up to this Born. I told him I must stay or my companions would pine and die. Also I was the only one who had the common speech.

  “Born was a middleman who hired or sold freaks and misbirths for the fairgrounds. We met with the human skeleton, a poor fellow with a wasting sickness, and the dancing greddles and Gorbelly, the Fattest Man, and Mistress Bart, the bearded woman. She took the measure of my companions and sewed them fanciful clothes out of scraps of fur and leather. For me she found in some trunk a suit of motley. She told me to learn tumbling, to be a fool, so that I might have some worth and be sold along with my friends. We were all moved in painted wagons clear across Lien to a larger fairground.”

  “At Denwicktown where the two rivers meet,” put in Raff Mazura, “or so I would guess. I went tumbling for a season or two.”

  “In the name of the Goddess!” burst out Sharn Am Zor. “Are stolen Tulgai on display in Lien? Are they bought and sold in this way?”

  Ragnafarr and Mazura exchanged glances, and the Captain replied; “It is not lawful to put anyone on show against his will, Dan Sharn, and certainly unlawful to buy and sell human beings. But these laws are hard to enforce. I have never seen ‘forest fairies’ set forth, but I remember a Kelshin pair who travelled with a troupe of miniature ponies.”

  “This Born knew the law very well,” said Ragnafarr. “He kept us well hidden until he found the ideal purchaser for his ‘little treasures.’ There came by night a sea captain and with him a courtier, a certain Lord Evert, who served an old, eccentric nobleman of Eildon, the Duke of Greddach, who kept a bestiary in his wide park. After a rough passage over the western sea, we were off-loaded in our cage, trundled through the misty countryside and set free in the old duke’s park at Boskage. We all took to the trees again with goodwill. We lived a strange half-life, pleasing our new master by showing ourselves for visitors. We became ‘forest fairies’ indeed, popping out to frighten ladies and knights on horseback.

  “Yet I saw that our life was not as it should be. We could no longer live like true Tulgai. When the old duke died and his domain went unwatched for a time, I decided that we must overcome our fears. I stole a pony cart; my friends rode under the hood, and we simply left Boskage one autumn afternoon and took to the roads of Eildon. In the first town with a fairground, I found a band of tumblers and spoke to the master. Farr the Fool tumbled and sang for the first time with his Three Farthings. We were well received, and we earned our keep. We have done so ever since. We were safe enough. A little hairy man come out of the trees is something to be caught and sold, but a dwarf or a midget, living on a fairground, is a person of some estate, however humble.

  “So we came at last to Lindriss. I knew more of the world by this time and understood that it would take an enormous amount of luck and of gold to get us home again. In time we became accustomed, as you have seen, to work in noble company.”

  “And you trusted no one with your story?” asked Sharn Am Zor.

  Ragnafarr sighed.

  “I tried the truth first of all upon a circus master,” he said, “a powerful showman who rules over the Five Ways, the great year-round fair beyond the walls of Lindriss. He could hardly believe me. What did he know of distant lands, of a race living in the border forest? He pointed out a poor black man, old now and toothless, working as a roustabout, who had been billed once as the King of the Savages, from the Lands Below the World.

  “More than a year ago we stood before Prince Ross Tramarn, whose magic allowed him to recognize many strangers. He spoke us fair and counselled patience. He matched one of my fool’s couplets with another:

  “‘Keep watch for the king whose way is long,

  For only a king will hear your song . . .’

  “Now I understand the meaning of his rhyme. We worked before the courts of Eildon, and we were put into your service by Prince Borss Paldo as a piece of foolery, my King. You have answered our prayers. So ends the Tale of Ragnafarr.”

  Prince Ragnafarr and his listeners drank a round in silence, then Raff Mazura asked a question.

  “Prince, you and your Tulgai have lived in the world. Will you be content to live in the forest?”

  “I cannot tell,” said Ragnafarr. “First of all we must return from the dead and see our loved ones again.”

  So the charmed voyage continued, and Sharn Am Zor went about on the caravel and sat at night on the deck, watching the sea and the stars. He came together several times with Raff Mazura, and they understood each other very well. As they sat one night watching the coast of the continent draw near, Mazura said, “The civil war in Mel’Nir is hot as ever. I spoke lately with a sea captain who had been in Krail, the city of the Westmark, ruled by Valko Firehammer.”

  “My sister Merilla was th
ere once,” said the king, “and Nerriot was in her service then, I think.”

  The musician who was not far off bowed his head and played melodies of Mel’Nir and the Chyrian lands.

  “There is a certain warrior in Krail, in Valko’s service,” said Raff Mazura. “His name is Yorath, Yorath the Wolf, leader of a Free Company. Have you heard of this man, my King?”

  “I have heard some strange tale from Dan Aidris,” said Sharn. “Was it from you she had it then?”

  “I warrant Nerriot has heard the story, too,” said Mazura softly. “What d’ye say, Master Nerriot, to this Yorath of Mel’Nir?”

  Aram Nerriot looked wise and nodded his head again.

  “I saw this man once, Dan Sharn,” he said, “and your noble sister, the lady Merilla, saw him on the same evening in the citadel in Krail. He is a mighty warrior, the tallest and strongest of all the warriors of Mel’Nir that I have seen. Also he has a rough charm and a native wit. I have heard him trade words with the Vizier of the Markgraf himself.”

  “So Rosmer was there, too!” said the king.

  “Master Rosmer observed the warrior Yorath,” continued Nerriot, “and afterwards I heard him speaking to the war lord of Krail, Valko Val’Nur. Master Rosmer swore that Yorath was of the line of the Duarings, the bastard son of Prince Gol.”

  “That was all he saw?” The king laughed. “If that were all, this big fellow would not interest us. The tale I heard placed him much closer to Lien and to the Daindru. He is the child of fair Elvédegran, the youngest swan of Lien, my mother’s sister. Therefore he is Prince Gol’s true-born son. Is this not so, Captain Mazura?”

  “I believe it,” said the Captain solemnly. “I will call Yorath my friend, my boyhood friend of one summer. Perhaps we should not bandy his parentage about.”

  Sharn Am Zor seemed eager to talk, but he fell silent and presently he sent away the officers, the musician and all who were on deck so that he was alone with Raff Mazura. They talked of Yorath and of Hagnild Raiz, Mazura’s uncle, the Healer at the court of Ghanor of Mel’Nir, who had spirited away a marked child of the Duarings.

  Then the king sat silent again, staring at the waves, and came out of his thoughts to say, “What have you to say of Rosmer?”

  Mazura wrinkled his brow and stared into the gathering darkness.

  “Once I thought him an intriguer, puffed up and overrated,” he said, “but now I know his power. He is cruel, a monster of cruelty. I hope some champion will arise to rid the world of this evil creature.”

  Sharn Am Zor gave a sigh.

  “Once I thought I might be that champion,” he said. “I hoped to take revenge for the suffering of my poor mother. But I am unlucky, my feats of arms or of magic will never be equal to the task.”

  “He is well guarded,” said Raff Mazura, “and has his spies throughout the courts of Hylor.”

  “In Achamar?” asked the king, and answered his own question. “Why not there, too. I must look about.”

  The king and the captain drank a round of schnapps, and Raff Mazura said: “King Sharn, you have offered payment for this passage over the western sea. I will take no gold from you if you will grant me a boon.”

  “What then?”

  “We will anchor at Larkdel in five days, and your wounded champions and the sick men of the escort can be cared for at Wirth Hall and at the Hermitage of the Brothers. I think you planned to escort Prince Ragnafarr and his people across Lien to the border forest.”

  “I had thought of this,” said the king.

  “I humbly beg you to go a little further in your travels. Cross over one of the mountain passes into Athron and visit Robillan Hazard at the Owl and Kettle Inn on the outskirts of Varda.”

  “Why yes,” said Sharn, “yes, it is a fine idea. I might have come to it myself.”

  Then, glimpsing a strange expression on the captain’s face, he asked anxiously, “Is he sick? Short of money? Does it go ill with my old friend after this cursed imprisonment?”

  “I have been sworn to secrecy,” said Mazura. “I can only send you to him, Majesty. He may not thank me even for this.”

  The king’s fleet came to Larkdel again, and all those in need of healing were kindly received. Zilly of Denwick, already improved in health, came to the arms of his lady, Veldis; and Gerr of Zerrah also went to the manor house. Sharn Am Zor stood for the first time before a crowd of folk, gentle and simple, who had seen him sail off proudly, who had expected him to succeed. The ruin of his enterprise was plain for all to see, but no one had changed towards him. The Wirth family were full of sympathy. Sir Berndt cast off his Falconer’s tunic and swore aloud, saying he would have no truck with Eildon if they handled the King of the Chameln, that fine young man, so ill.

  The travelers still had far to go. The two caravels, the Caria Rose and the Nixie, sailed on towards Balufir with all those Chameln men fit to travel, save only four men of the escort and the king himself. Sharn Am Zor insisted upon traveling light; he would take no valet. Prickett stayed in the Hermitage to care for poor Yuri and bring him home with the other men sick of “Eildon fever” when they were well. Tazlo Am Ahrosh, under protest, agreed to go on to the Danmar and ride as courier straight to Aidris the Queen, in Achamar, to bring her the king’s letters. The king sent more letters to Seyl of Hodd. He pondered a little and sent a very brief letter, together with the topaz ring that he had received in the Sacred Wood from the King of the Isles. The letter went to Lorn Gilyan, the Heir of Chernak.

  Captain-General Britt, standing on the bridge of the Caria Rose with Tazlo as the king stood on the dock waving them farewell, shook his head in wonder.

  “He is a changed man,” said Britt.

  Tazlo Am Ahrosh scowled and bit his lip, but he could not deny that his master had changed. The ship’s trumpet sounded, and the king exchanged a last salute with Captain Mazura as the caravel set sail up the wide river.

  II

  Sharn Am Zor chose a steady bay from the Larkdel stable and set out riding across the Mark of Lien. By his side rode Prince Ragnafarr of the Tulgai, dressed as a prince, in Chameln breeches and tunic, and mounted upon a black pony. His companions Orombek, Theranak and Lillfor rode before the men of the escort. The countryside was at its most beautiful; this was the rich summer country of which Hazard wrote and other poets of Lien. The early roses were coming out.

  More than once in the woods of Lien the travelers found a pool and swam and sunned themselves. As Sharn Am Zor swam in the river depths he thought of Moinagh, child of the sea; as he lay in the grass, he remembered the river fields at Alldene, his companions Jevon Seyl and Iliane. O lost, elusive Moinagh, O lost foolish Iliane. He had been continent for too long. Yet he still had hopes of love and fulfillment. He looked into his grandmother’s scrying stone, hoping to find the answer to a certain question he meant to ask, but the stone was dark all through the journey.

  The party crossed the Ringist on a stone bridge from the town of Athory and entered the Adz, riding through that part of the mining lands that surrounded the Silverbirch Mine. Sharn saw all about him his subjects whose land would be governed in the future by the Mark of Lien. There was no word in the land pledge of men and women, only of land.

  In Corth, the largest town of the region, the folk recognized their king, wondering, then cheering; the word flew through the streets. Sharn was received at once by the reeve, an old and leathery individual called Baskin, and sat down with him alone. The king admitted his failure, his loss of the land; an agreement must be made with Lien. The folk could stay or go; those who chose to leave the district—though there was no saying that Lienish rule would be harsh—would be resettled at the king’s expense.

  Baskin the Reeve heard him out and comforted the young king. It was a trick, an Eildon trick and a Lienish one, he burst out, to come to the Silverbirch. He would say no word till all was arranged, but he knew the folk; many would stay, but some might take the chance to resettle. Mining was a hard task, and the younger men frette
d under its yoke. So the king, taking comfort from the Reeve of Corth, allowed himself and Prince Ragnafarr to be given a feast on that summer evening in the town square.

  The journey continued, and they came this time to Orobin, on the fringes of the worked-out lands of the Adz. Now it was time for Ragnafarr to stand forth and parley with a new reeve. The seizure of his person some eight years past was not known in the town. Mother Riddisal was dead, but what of her grandsons? A movement at the back of the puzzled crowd was quickly halted, and the eldest of the Riddisal boys was dragged forth. The third grandson tried to steal away, but he was caught, too; only one had left the town years before.

  Prince Ragnafarr dealt out swift justice with the help of the Reeve. The waste ground above the town where the old woman’s cottage still stood must be cleared and ploughed by the Riddisals and made ready for planting. In the following spring, tree seedlings would be planted; the Tulgai would bring them to the edges of the forest. Slips or cuttings from the townsfolk of Orobin would be welcome in the New Woods, to be planted in the name of the Goddess, who had spared Ragnafarr and his companions.

  It might be thought that there was nothing left for Prince Ragnafarr but to go into the forest with his friends, taking to the high trails. But the Prince of the Tulgai excused himself to Sharn Am Zor; he too was honor bound in this place and would hold to a certain ritual. So the party rode on, sticking to the highroad that led northwards across the great border forest to the town of Vigrund. Nights upon the road they camped in well-used clearings beside the highway; a host of unseen watchers went with them all the way, by day and by night. At last they turned up a well-made road leading to the Wulfental Pass and came about mid-morning to the hospice of the Brown Brothers.

  It was exactly as Aidris the Queen had described it to her cousin Sharn. There was the perfect round tarn and the bathhouse in a wide green meadow and the sturdy wooden bridge over a ravine. The Brothers came out bowing low, delighted to see the king and his companions, overwhelmed by this great honor. Sharn was a little cool, recalling the harsh welcome given to Kedran Venn and the lovely Sabeth Delbin, traveling into exile.