Micerea
Not far from Janhaven, in the rustic environs of Mr. Furaman's stockade, within the meeting room of the main building, the small group of Robby's friends, along with his mother, made a decision. By doing so, though it was farthest from their intent, they made themselves traitors of the King, rebels against the ruler of Duinnor, forming a secret pact around a secret purpose. Though they agonized over their deliberations, and remained baffled by the revelations that led them on, afterwards it seemed inevitable that they should make the plan they made. It was as if it had been written somewhere long beforehand, and they were only fulfilling some prior design. And though it was outrageous in its audacity, given the circumstances as well as the facts brought to light by their discussions, there seemed little else to do.
It was resolved, then, that Robby would depart Janhaven along with his companions to seek out the hidden place called Griferis, if it still existed, and there to try himself against the tests of kingship and to be judged of his worthiness to become King of Kings, Lord over all the Realms. If possible, Duinnor would be warned of the treachery of the Tracian Redvests, of their invasions and of the alliance with the Dragonkind. And if the present King chose not to act and refused aid to the east, or if he failed to prepare for the defense of the other realms, a New King might be the remedy.
As the weight and implications of this conspiracy fell upon the group, Sheila and Billy became taciturn. Mirabella retained a pale look of fear, and Ullin was far away in thought. Robby and Ashlord merely looked at each other, sympathetic to the group and the mood that had settled over them, each unwilling to break the silence. For what seemed a long while, they abided quietly, turning over their own thoughts until Frizella Bosk arrived, and she clearly saw the strained faces. But she had her own concerns, and she explained that help was needed to distribute firewood to their people. As Ullin and Robby moved to the door, Billy told her briefly, what they had been discussing, mentioning nothing about kingship, but only that they needed to go to Duinnor for help, and he promised to tell more after they had gotten the wood delivered. Frizella, seeing that Mirabella and Ashlord had no desire to leave just yet, asked Sheila if she would help her with the sick until they could be settled somewhere. And so Ullin and Billy and Robby went to join Ibin, already at work chopping and sawing and splitting. Sheila went with Frizella to tend the sick and wounded, relieving some of the other women so that they could rest, asking everyone along the way if they had seen Raenelle, Frizella's missing daughter. But none had.
Ashlord stirred the fire, his back to the table, letting Mirabella mull through her thoughts. Sooner than he expected, she spoke, and he turned to face her.
"Yesterday," Mirabella started, "when you and Robigor rode out to meet the Redvest general..."
She paused, looking away, as if trying to remember, though Ashlord knew that she had perfect recall and was instead looking for words.
"I was loading the wagons in front of the store," she went on. "There was a moment, when I looked across the river and up at the hills of Barley, where the enemy on the crest stretched across the skyline like jagged red shadows, the sharp glint of their steel in the sunrise, their war-drums like hammers upon my heart. There was a moment, when I saw you and my husband riding back to the bridge, that I knew what was about to happen. It seemed to me—I thought to myself, 'The end has come.' "
Ashlord nodded, seeing her ageless concern and the dark despair of her green eyes.
"So think any who see the closing of one age and the beginning of another," he said gently. "All things come to an end, just as all things must have their beginnings. Some easily and without notice, and others with great turmoil. In that way beginnings and endings are not so different."
Mirabella nodded. "Yes. Perhaps that is so. All my life I have feared the future. Those of my bloodline are naturally cautious, and our dreams are rarely comforting. After you and Robigor returned across the bridge, he looked at me from many yards away, where you and he and the men spoke together, and he nodded and smiled at me as he listened. I knew, then, at that moment, what was to come, and what I must do. As we looked at one another across the distance that separated us, I knew that it might well be the last time I ever looked into his eyes. I could not go to him. He could not come to me. Time was too pressing, and our duties were upon us. He smiled at me, over his shoulder, nodding as someone said something to him," her voice broke as she struggled to go on. "I saw it in his eyes. He was having his last look at me."
Few loves ever touched Ashlord's heart as did that of Mirabella and her husband Robigor, for he had recently made it his business to learn their story, and he understood the transformation it had brought to Mirabella. He felt through her words and saw in the pool of her eyes their love for each other, the strength of it, and the pain of their parting so, in the confusion before battle, without even a kiss, a touch, or even a word for each other. His heart, too, broke for them.
"All I wanted... He is the only man in all the world," she went on, continuing her struggle to speak, swallowing often, her voice cracking. "The only one who gave me peace and taught me joy. Through him, modest man, I learned of the greatness of Men, of their true strength and power. Through him, I found serenity and humble purpose. All I wanted was to spend my days with him, to see him through until the end of his own, then, afterwards, afterwards...I could carry him in my heart until, until..."
She stopped, her eyes a sea of anguish as she looked up at Ashlord. He was leaning on his stick, his shoulders slumped, old and wise and tired, his eyes a deep and dark well, and he smiled painfully. Her own watery eyes could not see the sympathetic mist in his.
"I watched him take his place on the bridge. When I heard that he rode away north, I have since had a kind of peace. Or perhaps it is resignation. In spite of my fear. But now that my son is going away, my fears are greater, and my anxiety cannot be expressed in words. I do not know how I am to go on. But go on, I must."
"Yes," Ashlord replied softly, "you must. You must have hope, and it is up to you, now, to give it to others, just as your husband would want you to do."
"I have little!"
"You may have very little of it, but it is more than many here possess. And, like friendship, hope is not weakened by the sharing of it."
• • •
By torchlight, Robby worked through the night, chopping and loading firewood onto a cart and driving it through the camps and distributing his loads along with blankets. He and the other men who labored with him spoke very little in the misty darkness. And though they were not sullen, they toiled with little enthusiasm. When dawn began to dimly show in the east, Robby found himself on the far side of Janhaven, having returned the cart to its owner, and it was a long walk back to the stockade. Fires burned lowly in the fields along the roadsides, and smoke hung in the motionless predawn air. He could hear the people stirring on the cold ground—a cough here and there, a baby crying in the distance—and he picked his way carefully through the campsites, trying not to trip over slumbering forms or tangling himself in the ropes of improvised tents that caught against his leg. More than once Robby stopped, recognizing a face huddled before a fire, and he asked after the folk there. In this manner, he saw the blacksmith, a bandage covering a gash on his head, lying on his side, smoking his pipe, staring into his small campfire. Later he spoke with Mr. Arbuckle, the former bridge tender, and his wife, and several others as he went along his way. He passed the Greardon nephews, too, who had labored so hard to put the mill back into operation after the terrible storm that killed their uncle. Mrs. Greardon, though, was nowhere to be seen. The heavy mill wagon, which used to haul flour and seed, was now their home, a tarpaulin thrown over the top of it as a roof. Stopping, Robby asked after Mrs. Greardon.
"We don't know where she is," said one of the boys. "She left Jay with us to look after, an' went back to the house for something."
"We think she got taken by them Redvests," said the other.
"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that. I'm sure she'll be fine, or turn up soon," Robby said, trying to be encouraging. They nodded, and he continued on his way.
It was a sad lot, indeed, and Robby grew more depressed as he went. He wondered at the misery that had befallen everyone so suddenly. Over and over he asked himself whether there was something else that he could do, something other than run off on some unpredictable adventure. The idea came to him of leading an attack on Passdale, perhaps winning back their town, driving out the Redvests and returning these people to their warm homes. His mind filled with grandiose visions of a well-organized offensive, with himself at Ullin's side, sweeping down on the unsuspecting invaders. "Let them have Tulith Attis," he muttered, "but surely we can take back Passdale and keep it!"
Out of the smoky mist ahead emerged the shape of a wagon parked near the edge of a field under some trees, and he heard a lonely pipe. It was from one of the minstrel's vans, lately belonging to Thurdun's people and given to the musicians when the boats departed. Robby paused, listening to the plaintive voice of the pipe, wavering through the melancholy air, and in the half-light of predawn he could just make out the player sitting on the back step of the wagon. His hand brushed Swyncraff about his waist, and he remembered Thurdun and the Queen. Her words came back to him.
"When you do what you must, it is as it should be, and leads to the next and the next."
He knew that if he stayed here to serve his people, to help organize a resistance and to take back their homeland, many things could be possible. After all, they were a resourceful people and, as the recent floods showed, they knew how to work together. But the darkness of his heart told him that even if he did so, and had every success against the invaders, it would be folly in the end. A more formidable opponent was stirring in the world, against which no army could withstand.
• • •
It was a difficult decision for Billy Bosk, who was beginning to feel the burdens of his duties as leader of Boskland. His initial inclination, in spite of the discussion of the evening before, was to take a few men and ride in search of his sister, going around the back ways toward the southern parts of Barley. Frizella dissuaded him, saying it would be a foolhardy quest, and that as the new laird, he had a greater duty to the land.
"Ain't nobody left what can speak for the House of Bosk," she told him. "An' if a great war is upon us, then somebody's got to get word to Duinnor an' bear witness concernin' these things. Yer sister's got a head on her shoulders, an' we must trust that she'll use it. An' though I hate to see ye go, I'd be comforted that ye'd be goin' off with the likes of Ashlord an' Ullin to see to things. I already talked to Mira 'bout all this. Robby's goin', too. At least ye'll be with good friends what'll look after one another."
So Billy was resolved to go with Robby. He consulted with several of his kinsmen who had survived the attack and were at Janhaven, and, with his mother, he explained to them that he was called away to Duinnor, to take warning and to seek aid.
"I'll not say this goes easy on me," he said to them at dawn. They had gathered together in a hut which was given over to them by a farmer who had been a childhood friend of Billy's father. "Yet Bosks have sworn allegiance to Duinnor, an' it's with Duinnor that our hope lay. The fate of Barley'll be shared, an' the Redvests turned back only by might greater than we an' Glareth can muster. If I stayed, me sword an' me voice would only harry the enemy. But if I go west, I'll carry with me the full word of our need. If chance an' fortune favor, I'll return with aid, or, should the way show otherwise, I will do me utmost to wrench the enemy from these lands by other means. But the two of ye, Tonifor Bosk an' Parth Bosk, elder cousins of mine, have all to do with fightin' an' keepin' our people. If ye honor me father an' the House of Bosk, ye'll do honor to the name of Bosk by what means ye have."
Hearing Billy speak thus, with stern determination, was new to them, for they well knew his reputation for sport and jest. And the fire in his eyes was fiercer than his words. The cuts and bruises about his face, his bandaged head, and the reluctance with which he spoke of his ordeal with Bailorg only filled them with a kind of awe of his transformation. Seeing him thus, and hearing his words, softly spoken yet full of authority, they could not but be moved, even though his cousins were older by nearly a generation.
"Aye, Bilaylin," they nodded vehemently, using his given name, and said, "we'll see the House of Bosk restored."
Ibin sat in the corner by the meager fire, a blanket draped over his shoulders, his face unusually void of the smile that he lost somewhere on the road to Janhaven and had not yet recovered. He understood least of any the talk going on about him and repeatedly asked Billy what was the matter. Billy gave an earnest and urgent explanation, lacking only in certain details he thought best kept to himself. Ibin listened carefully, full of effort to comprehend as they made their way to the hut.
"ThenIwillgo, I'llgotoo, Billy," Ibin said.
"Ye'll be needed here, good friend."
"But, but, butIdon't, butIdon'twanttostayhere!" Ibin pleaded. Billy could not say no. Ibin had as much a right to go as anyone. Though Robby had made it clear that he wanted no one to go with him except Ashlord, Billy and Ullin insisted they would be going along, too, regardless of Robby's objections. Billy sighed and put his hand on Ibin's thick shoulder.
"Well, I reckon one more'll do no harm."
Now, as Billy explained to his kinsmen that he would not be back before spring, Ibin sat silent, looking on as still as a statue. He was accustomed to being treated as if he was not present, left out of conversations, remembered as an afterthought, or smiled at with the same tolerant condescension given to children. Though it was impossible for him to articulate, Ibin felt this treatment just the same, and had done so all of his life. It did not bother him as it might have bothered someone else, owing to his good nature, and he rarely felt any sense of offense or cruelty. Though he paid intense attention, as was his way, he rarely gained much understanding about the many deep concerns and interests that those around him discussed. Thus he had come to feel that many things were simply beyond his comprehension. He had little trouble with "whats" and he was a master of "whens," and he never forgot a name or a face or the link between the two. However, "whys" were often a puzzle to him, and "hows" he often failed to grasp. Ordinary things seemed something of a mystery to him, like why folks worked so hard, always making even more work. To them, these activities seemed a-purpose to something else, always something else. But to Ibin all activities were a joy, even if those who worked with him seemed not to find joy in the work. They acted as if chores were a distraction from having a nice time, from dining and singing, drinking and playing. To Ibin all these things were just as natural as leaf and limb, and he hardly saw the difference, though he had to admit he took particular joy from mealtimes. There were things that he recognized as ordinary and self-evident, so much so that he took them for granted, but he was seldom ever able to express those things in words, and his efforts to do so only seemed to mystify others.
These late events had upset all of his routines and all of his expectations of what each day should be like. It was hard for him to grasp the idea that his old room in Bosk Manor was forever gone. And, though he was quicker to adapt than most, due again to his affable and acquiescent personality, he knew the feelings of confusion and anxiety that he suppressed were shared by everyone, and that, at least in some small way, he was now no different than all the rest. So he sat patiently and waited for the Bosks to finish their chat.
Those gathered in the hut concluded their discussion, and Billy's kinsmen departed. Billy looked at Ibin and sighed. Ibin sensed the heaviness on Billy's sagging shoulders, and his own feelings of weariness were nothing compared to the expression on his friend's face. Billy nodded, though, and tried to smile. However, it was Ibin's smile, appearing at last, that gave the most comfort.
"Iwillgo, Iwillgowithyou, BillyBosk," he said.
• • •
"I must stay, Robby," said Mirabella that same hour in the hastily prepared building that would serve as a ward for the sick and wounded. Pulling her son aside to be out of the way of the men bringing in cots, she spoke in low tones. "I would have you stay, or flee after your father to Glareth, except I see that your mind is made up to go. And I would go with you if I could, but the need here is so great. These are my people, too, and I will not abandon them. Not only are there women and children and hurt ones to attend to, but I think my sword will be needed again."
"I understand, Mother." Robby nodded. "I do not want you to go with us. I want you to be here when Daddy returns, and I want you to keep safe, if you can, and be with those that need you. The winter will be hard, I know, and the Redvests stubborn."
"The winter will not be as hard nor the enemy so stubborn as we, I think." She managed to smile. "When do you depart?"
"We meet tonight for more reckoning on that. But I think as soon as we can make ready."
"Come to me as soon as you know."
• • •
"Find a place an' get some sleep, dearie," Frizella ordered Sheila. It had been a long night, making and applying clean bandages, soothing the wounded, and holding the hands of the dying. Sheila cried with the survivors as eyes closed for the final time, and she cooled brows of the delirious with wet rags to somewhat ease their pain. Now, away from the wounded and the sick, her thoughts were as muddled and indistinct as the gray predawn light, and she walked without knowing which way she went. She stumbled into a small throng of lost children being tended by Mr. Broadweed. Seeing her weariness, he invited her to have some blankets and gestured at a place under a wagon where she could lie down and rest. She accepted his offer, in spite of her dislike of the schoolmaster, and curled up on the ground between the wagon wheels. Sooner than she knew, she slipped into a deep and profound sleep. She never noticed when Broadweed came and gently covered her over with several more blankets. It was Broadweed, too, who woke her midmorning to offer her a bowl of steaming-hot oatmeal.
"Wake up, Sheila Pradkin," he said to her, touching her shoulder. She roused herself and saw him crouching under the wagon on his knees to reach her, two small boys peering cautiously at her from behind him. "That's a decent sleep you've had, I hope. And here is a modest breakfast for you."
Sheila sat up on one elbow and took the bowl and spoon he offered.
"Thank you for your kindness, Mr. Broadweed," she said.
"Not at all, my dear!"
She ate a couple of spoonfuls of the honey-sweetened stuff and felt life come back to her. Mr. Broadweed was clumsily backing out from under the wagon when she asked, "Who are these children you have with you?"
"Why, I suppose they are my charges," he said, stopping to kneel next to a wagon wheel so that he could chat. "Younger students at my school who are separated from their parents, or, in the case of Sam and Tom, here, those who have none. I suppose they look to me, now, for things other than letters and numbers. At least for a while, anyway."
Sheila understood something she had missed all her life. There were adults who would not abandon children, or beat them, or do other worse things. There were a few to be trusted, and there always had been. She should have known this, from her knowledge of Mr. Ribbon and Mr. Bosk. As a brat, she had revolted against Mr. Broadweed and his school. But now she realized that his school had been a shelter for his students, even if only for a few hours each day.
"You have no children of your own, do you?" she asked.
"If I take your meaning, no. Alas, Mrs. Broadweed and I have none." he sighed. "But I try to treat any child who comes to me as my own as far as I can."
"I remember you," she said. "I remember you and your wife coming to see my uncle. I was very little, I think. Maybe only six or seven years old. He abused you most severely, as I recall."
"I came to see your uncle many times," Mr. Broadweed said. "But he would not force you to attend my school, and I had no power to force you, either. Yes. He was a difficult man. I'm afraid I do not think of him with much fondness."
"That's fine. I hated him. And now I hate the memory of him."
"I can understand."
"Oh, can you?" She made no effort to keep the sarcasm from her voice even though she knew he did not deserve it.
"Yes," he said with no sign of noting her tone. "You see, like you, my parents died when I was too young to remember them. My uncle and my aunt kept me as a house servant until I was ten years old. That's when I ran away." A look of pain crossed Mr. Broadweed's face. "I should have, well, I should have made more of an effort for you, my dear. I am so sorry! Yet, as I have heard, you have taught yourself to read and write. That is a great accomplishment! You did not need me at all. Still, I wish I could have offered you something."
Sheila was astonished.
"You did all that you could do," she said. "What more could you have done? I blame only my uncle and myself for my misfortunes. I should have done as you did and run away from him. If only I had." She shrugged. "But I didn't. Not until it was too late. Anyway, I did not teach myself. Robby Ribbon and Ashlord taught me. I'm sorry, too, for all your wasted efforts on my behalf."
"There, there. It is all done and in the past," he said as his pained face turned tender. "I'm afraid we have much else to worry about, now. Well, I need to go and see to the new schoolroom being prepared for us. I hope to see you again soon!"
Sheila watched him get to his feet, noting that he did not look as old as she once thought. There was something in his face, too, a certain droop of his cheeks, perhaps, or turn of his lips, that before she had taken as a kind of timidness. Now she saw him differently; his face, the same as ever it was, seemed to her framed with a quiet but powerful reserve. She suddenly remembered seeing him, the day before yesterday, loading books into the wagon along with as many children as he could muster. She had not been paying a lot of attention to him, though. The fight was beginning as the Redvests poured down the hill to the bridge. She remembered, too, during the flight from Passdale, seeing a man, sword in hand, standing over a crying child as he swung against three Redvests coming at them. She now realized that it had been Mr. Broadweed. She watched him recede, a bloody bandage tied around his left leg, trailing a gaggle of little boys and girls as he limped along, and she felt the bitter irony of coming to know these people only now that all had been lost to them. And she wondered, not for the first time, how her life might have been different if only her parents had lived a little longer. At least long enough for her to remember them.
• • •
Ullin stood at the high outcrop that overlooked the roadway, the place from which the Thunder Mountain Band made their headlong descent the day before. It was a hard climb, and he, along with Winterford and one of Billy's kinsmen, stood together, still panting with the effort. Glancing around, he quickly realized the value of this position.
"Let's get some signal fires up here, ready to light," he said. "And by day, some brightly polished looking-glass to signal warnings down to our points along the road and at the Narrows."
"Aye, but at night it might be better to use a covered lantern," suggested Winterford. "Like the kind we use. Ye can open a shade on one side and point the light. That way ye can wave all ye like and none behind ye can see it. No sense in lettin' onto the Redvests they've been spotted."
Ullin nodded and smiled. He liked the way this fellow thought.
"You Thunder Mountain men have a number of things to teach, I imagine," Ullin said.
"Well, we've gotten along pretty well by being careful, if that's what ye mean."
"And this path, here," Ullin pointed south. "Where does it go?"
"Back along this here ridge. 'Bout six mile er so on, it splits away west across the south road at Fox Gap an' then on up into the mountains," Winterford explained. "An' the other way, along the east side of the ridge for 'bout two miles, crossin' down to the bottom of the ridge goin' on southward that way. We don't use these paths much, except for keepin' out of other folks' way. Anyway, as ye can see, ain't nobody gonna come up the paths without givin' off plenty of notice, either way."
"And a fine command of the West Road below, going both ways," Ullin said turning back around. "Almost within long arrow shot. This is a great place for a watch. It's bound to get icy cold up here, though."
"That it will, for sure. Already pretty chilly with this breeze."
"I'd say it'd be worthwhile to go ahead and start working on some kind of keep. With four men up here standing watch, a small shelter can keep them warm as they take turns."
"Good idea. Maybe build it right up on the side of that rock face right over there," Winterford gestured at a flat, fairly smooth cliff just above and behind them. "Plenty of stone up here to make it with."
Several hundred yards below and to the east, Mr. Furaman was pulling up a wagon to the Narrows along both sides of which his men and others from Passdale were building log walls. Their intention was to make places from where archers could command the road between the two. Here, the road cut deeply through a gap in the ridge, rising steeply to it from the east then, passing through, making a long slow descent westward toward Janhaven. The men already had both walls up and were working on scaffolding behind them for platforms where the watches would stand. A thick rope had been passed between the two walls, some forty feet above the roadbed, and a system of blocks and pulleys allowed the passage of messages and supplies from one side to the other. Mr. Furaman brought with him food, blankets, and more rope, along with casks of oil for torches. He watched with satisfaction the progress that had been made since yesterday and realized that fear increased their efforts.
• • •
Ashlord remained alone the entire night after the others had left. He sat by the fire, smoking his pipe and thinking. Every so often, he would suddenly stand from his stool and pace about the room muttering or shaking his head, only to take his seat by the fire again as it died lower and lower. Hour passed hour, and he cared not when the last flame licked out, leaving only dull coals, and was not concerned at the dense chill that soon after crept into the room. When morning came, the men of the stockade began stirring to their wagons and to their tools, coming and going through the room with their things and talk. Still Ashlord sat, seemingly oblivious to the increasing bustle. But he noticed all those things and more; he simply gave them little attention, putting his mind's ears and eyes instead to stirrings of greater subtlety and moment.
"Excuse me, sir."
Ashlord turned and looked blankly at the man before him, standing with his arms full of wood for the fireplace.
"Excuse me," the man repeated.
Ashlord realized that he was sitting in the way and jumped up.
"Pardon me!"
The man dumped the wood into the box near the hearth and dusted his hands.
"Ye must be Ashlord."
"I am."
"I'm Durlorn, buildin' foreman." He shook hands with Ashlord.
"Oh, yes."
"We'll be usin' this here room for breakfast in a little bit, Mr. Ashlord, sir, if ye don't mind. Our usual place across the way is kind of crowded an' there ain't 'nough room," he explained. "Mr. Furaman always has breakfast with his top foremen. Goes over accounts, gets the men ready for the day, sort of. He's already out, though, takin' stuff to the men buildin' the gate at the Narrows. But he left instructions for his foremen to gather here for breakfast anyways."
"Well, I'll be moving along, then," Ashlord said, pulling on his cloak and lifting his walking stick.
"Won't ye have somethin' to eat with us?" Durlorn asked. "We'd be honored to have ye."
"Thank you very much for the offer. But I have some things I should see to."
Ashlord walked out into the chilly morning air, smoky with the many campfires that now surrounded the stockade, and made his way across the interior grounds to the far buildings. He hardly noticed when Certina landed on his shoulder, only nodding as she clucked in his ear.
"Yes, yes," he mumbled as he pushed open the door to the old warehouse. Inside, folk were busy creating a makeshift hospital, and he saw Robby speaking with his mother across the room. Robby watched her go back into the main room to help make beds, and then he turned to see Ashlord in the doorway. Ashlord noted the wear in Robby's face as he neared.
"How are you this morning?"
"I don't think I slept a wink," Robby said, looking back over his shoulder at his mother. "In fact, I know I didn't."
"That makes two of us," Ashlord said. "Perhaps you should find a place to get some rest. The last few days have been a trial for you, I know. You will need your strength, and it will do no one any good for you to falter."
Robby followed Ashlord back outside where the sun was burning away the morning mists and blue sky was emerging.
"I am tired," Robby said, pulling his coat around him against the chill. "But there's so much to be done."
"Yes, there is much," Ashlord nodded, looking around. "Not only here, but elsewhere."
Robby looked at Ashlord blankly.
"We must make our preparations to depart, Robby."
"I know. It's just that I feel, well, I dunno," Robby shrugged and shook his head.
"It's just that you feel torn," Ashlord said. "You feel responsible, somehow, about all this. You are having doubts about last night, and you think you should stay here and help your mother and the others. I understand your feelings, Robby, believe me, I do. But it would be folly to stay and foolish to delay."
"But, my friends, my home." Robby faltered for a moment thinking of his father, wondering what had become of him, and thinking of his mother doing her best to hold things together.
"I know that you feel pain at the thought of leaving here. It will not go away when you depart. The things you miss are those that you love. But others may have little hope to regain what has been lost, whereas you have a chance to do so. The right thing to do is almost always the hardest thing to start. Get something to eat, then find a quiet place and sleep for a time. Go in yonder and ask for Mr. Durlorn. Tell him that you come to eat breakfast in Ashlord's stead. He'll understand, and I'll wager he'll set a hearty plate before you. Ask him if there is a place where you can sleep undisturbed. Ullin and I will meet with you this evening and work out our plans."
"Have you seen Sheila?" Robby asked as Ashlord turned to go.
"Not since last night," Ashlord said. "I believe she will want to go with us."
"I think she ought to."
"Why? She would be of great service here. And there will be many dangers on our road," Ashlord said. "Do not mistake me. Sheila is capable of taking better care of herself than most full-grown men. I only wonder if it is best."
"I don't know, Ashlord." Robby shoved his hands into his pockets. "I only think I'll, well, I think I need her. I know I want her to come along. Maybe I'm mixing the two up."
"It should be her choice," Ashlord said. "I'll not object, if that is your fear."
Robby watched Ashlord head for the gate and then turned to find his breakfast. After introducing himself to Durlorn and giving him the message from Ashlord, a place was quickly set among the men at the table who had come in from their early morning work. At first, Robby thought them a rough group, but as he chatted with them over eggs and bacon, answering their questions about Passdale and Barley, he came to understand that they were just tired and worried, like everyone else. When they discovered that Robby was the son of Robigor Ribbon, the "great man of business," they warmed to him, saying that since Ribbon opened his store, a flourishing trade had been established with Barley, giving many besides themselves good work to support their families. One foreman, on in years but bright-eyed and friendly, even went so far as to say that if it hadn't been for Mr. Ribbon, "Janhaven might've dried up an' blown away years ago." This was surprising to Robby, for he had never considered what his own hometown might be like without the store.
"Oh, not the store only, no, no!" said the man. "But the bridge, too, an' all his works. Yer father's known far an' wide, er, at least nearby, as a man of acumen. Aye! Ac-u-men!"
"Hear, hear!" nodded a couple of the other men. "Ac-u-men!"
The talk turned to the Redvests and the refugees, and the group speculated on their trade routes south and north. They got around to wondering how long it would be before the Lakemen and their allies, the powerful Glarethians, fell upon the Redvests.
"It'll be summer, earliest," said one brooding man. "They ain't got the men like they used to."
" 'At's right," said another, talking with his mouth full. "Them Redvests ain't stupid. They'd a never come this far north if they had any fear of Glareth by the Sea!"
"Naw," said another. "I'll wager they'll be pourin' through afore the last frost. They's still a mighty people, them Lakemen an' their kin. An' with Passdale taken, the trade route's been blocked. Now I ask ye: how long ye think they'll stand for that?"
"Well, not afore we run short here, is what I say. More an' more folk're comin' in every hour, stragglin' from over the north ridge, mostly, some up from south parts, too."
"What d'ye think, son," one of the men asked Robby. "I seen that Kingsman 'round yesterday. Is thar gonna be an attack on Passdale to roust out them Redvests?"
Robby swallowed his coffee and wiped his mouth.
"I don't think we're in much shape," he said. "We've been licked pretty good, and it's as much as we can do right now just to take care of one another." They had all stopped eating, some with bits of sausage halfway to their mouths, and were all looking at him, listening. "But with arms provided by you folk, and a little preparation, I'll warrant that the Redvests will soon feel the sting of Barley steel," Robby added bravely.
"Thar ye go!" said one man.
"Hear, hear!" cried another, raising his cup of coffee in salute.
"Barley steel!"
"Aye!"
The men nodded and smiled, and Robby was impressed by how much encouragement they seemed to have taken from his words. But one man kept eyeing him without reacting at all, silent as he had been during the whole of breakfast. The others finished eating and hurried out to their duties, bidding Robby a good day as they went, but this man was the last to rise from the table. He was a big swarthy man with short-cropped hair and a matching beard of graying-blond. He stood, finished his coffee, then came around the table to stand next to Robby.
"Ye talk a brave talk, lad," he said without smiling. Robby realized that he knew the man, one of Furaman's wagoneers that often came to Passdale on deliveries.
"Only, is it good to give folk hope where there is little?" the man went on.
Robby did not answer at first, but slowly stood to face him.
"I'll not say there is always much hope," Robby said. "But it is better to have what hope there is, I've been told, and let a candle serve when there is no sun."
The man nodded as a careworn smile crossed his face. He took a step toward the door, then hesitated.
"My sister an' her husband lived in Barley," he said. "They have a little place down river-way, on the south Bosk line. They have two little girls, one's four years old. The other's not yet two."
Robby knew the place and realized that if Boskland had fallen so quickly, this man's relatives were probably captives, or worse.
"Went after 'em soon as word came," the man went on. It was terrible to see the man's face quake with all the restraint he could muster, and Robby's throat suddenly went dry. "Found me little nieces, down in the storm cellar hidin' 'mongst broken barrels an' the like. Took 'em up, one under each of me arms an' ran as fast as I could. On past where they mother lay. On past where they father lay. Holdin' the little one's faces close so they couldn't see."
The man went to the door and opened it, put his hat on, then turned and faced Robby.
"I mean to go back to Barley," he said, and never had Robby heard any simple phrase uttered with such black and certain threat. The man turned away and stood in the doorway a moment longer, looking out at the light of morning, then stepped away. Durlorn shut the door on the cool air and brushed past Robby, picking up plates and cups.
"If he ain't careful," he said to Robby, "he'll get himself done in like was his sister an' her husband. Mr. Furaman's gonna have a time keepin' a hand on the men now that war is on us."
"I guess so," Robby nodded. "Thank you for the breakfast, Mr. Durlorn. I wonder if I might trouble you to show me a place where I can get some sleep. Somewhere out of the way, I mean."
Durlorn straightened up from the washing tub where he had dumped the plates and wiped his hands on his apron.
"Well," he said, "thar's bound to be a good bit of business 'round here, today. Hm-m. I reckon the best place I can think of is Mr. Furaman's upstairs back room. Right this way, Mr. Ribbon. Thar's a cot, an' it's on the back side of the buildin', away from comin's an' goin's. Mr. Furaman catches a nap thar sometimes, but I doubt if it'll be used at all today."
"Just for a few hours," Robby said as he followed Durlorn up some side stairs and down a hall to the back of the building. Durlorn pushed open a door and showed Robby a small room with a desk, some chairs, shelves with account books, and the normal things that one might expect in a clerk's office. And in one corner was the cot, covered with quilts. Durlorn went to a small window and pushed back the shutters to let light in.
"I'll light a far in the little stove, thar," Durlorn said. "An' bring in a wash basin for ye."
"Oh that's not needed. Please don't trouble. I only want to get a bit of sleep."
"No trouble. Ye go ahead an' lay yerself down. Don't mind any stirrin' ye may hear. It'll only be me an' the men."
Robby sat down on the cot and took his boots off, then unbuckled his belt and removed his coat and tunic. Straightening out Swyncraff, he leaned it against the wall beside the cot and sank down into the straw mattress, fiddling with his shirt buttons. That is as far as he got before he closed his eyes. He vaguely heard Durlorn come back and the squeak of the stove door, but after that he heard nothing for a long, peaceful while.
• • •
While Robby slept, the people of Barley and Passdale continued their efforts, much aided by the Janhaven folk, finding accommodations and sizing up their situation. More people had trickled in overnight and into the morning, with some being happily reunited with friends and family. There were impromptu meetings among the people, striving to discover what they were to do. Furaman and others of Janhaven tried to reassure them that they would not be abandoned to fend for themselves, or left to the mercy of the elements, but this was of little solace to people so suddenly uprooted from their lands and shops and homes. Ashlord and Ullin spoke, too, telling them what they knew of the Redvests, and that the enemy would more than likely be gone by spring, perhaps even before. There was the inevitable talk of striking back at the Redvests, and at a large gathering just outside the stockade, many of the displaced people debated, with tempers and passions rising quickly.
"There are at least two or three thousand trained soldiers to face, perhaps many more," Ashlord shouted. The crowd turned toward the commanding voice. "They are armed, they are organized, and by all accounts they are well led," Ashlord went on. "They would be a match for any similar, well-trained and seasoned army, and to go openly against them with less would be folly!"
"What would ye have us do?" shouted back a particularly agitated man of Barley. "Give up our homes without a fight!"
"We ain't done no such thing!" came a shout from Billy who suddenly appeared at the back of the crowd, pushing his way through and climbing onto a wagon so that all could see him. "Good men whar lost in the fightin' at Barley an' Boskland, more in Passdale an' on the road. Would ye dishonor thar blood by uselessly pourin' out more?"
Sheila, coming up from behind the wagon, could hardly believe that it was Billy who addressed them so adamantly.
"This is what I say to all me kinsmen an' all else who'll listen," Billy said. "Look first to survive the winter. Make warm camps for the children, our elderly, an' our sick an' wounded. Take care of what ye still got!"
"Then what? Sit on our arses 'til them Redvests come trampsin' up the road to take us? What'll we do then, eh?"
"We shall fight!" called someone from the other side of the crowd. The crowd parted, and Sheila saw Mirabella, her sword hilt over her shoulder, striding to the wagon where Billy stood. Any who had not seen her take on the Redvests on the road had by now heard of her valor. All were in awe of the fighting skill she had displayed. There was even a rumor going about the camps that Mirabella was a Faerekind warrioress of old, and every imaginable tale was being circulated about how she came to live in Passdale all these years as a lowly storekeeper's wife.
"Fight, I say! But not as the enemy may expect. If you are anxious to fight, then join with me! Let us first make our place here secure. Then, if you will follow my command, I will show you how to make the Redvest fear us! We will reform the militias, and we will not wait for the Redvests to come to us. But here is where our first fight is, here in Janhaven. We must fight sickness and cold. We must fight hunger and disease. If we cannot win against these things, we cannot win against the Redvests!"
Ashlord leaned against his walking stick with an expression of satisfaction. Ullin shook his head with a chuckle.
"I think my aunt will fall upon the old ways of our people if she is not careful," Ullin said.
"And not a moment too soon, if you ask me," Ashlord replied.
Frizella then appeared, adding with her strident voice the ways in which people could help each other and demanding that each send a representative of their family to meet with her and Mirabella at the stockade this very afternoon.
"We get ourselves good an' organized-like," she said. "An' ain't nobody gonna go hungry nor freeze. We all got worries 'bout missin' an' hurt kinfolk an' friends, but we gotta get on with managin' our situation. So, let's do what we must to keep ourselves fit for what's ahead. This day at mid-afternoon! Let everyone know! We'll make articles of law, if needed, bindin' our fates, just like in Barley when we took our oaths. Now, get on with yer chores! Go on! Time's wastin'!"
Effectively breaking up the crowd, Frizella turned to Mirabella.
"Just what on earth d'ye have in mind, missy?" she asked her slyly. "If I didn't know better, I'd say ye've got a bit of soldierin' on ye mind."
Sheila eased over to Ashlord and caught his arm.
"Do you know where Robby is?"
"I last saw him this morning," Ashlord said. "I think Mr. Durlorn, at the stockade, might know where he is."
Ullin approached, and as she turned to go, he spoke to her.
"Sheila," he asked, "do you mean to go with us?"
"Yes."
"It may not be safe for you. That is, less so even than for the rest of us."
"Because I am not a man?"
"There are many rogues, and worse, along the roads we may take," Ashlord put in. "We may not be able to avoid them."
"I am strong," Sheila said, defensively. "And no more can be done to me than what has already been."
Ashlord looked at her and nodded.
"I am also concerned for Robby's sake," he said. "If he had to choose his own safety or yours—"
"Robby would choose anyone's safety over his own, as I think you know," Sheila retorted before Ashlord could finish. "Can you foresee it would be me in the choice and not some other of his friends?"
"No-o, no," Ashlord said. "If you are determined in this, then your bow and your wit will be welcome, and put to good use. Only of that am I certain."
"Then I will come," Sheila said, turning away and walking off, leaving Ashlord and Ullin looking after her.
"I have misgivings about her coming along," said Ullin. "But no more than I have about Billy and Ibin."
Ashlord nodded. "I am concerned, too. But those three have as much at stake as anyone, and they may be a comfort to Robby later on. I doubt if much good would be served by leaving any one of them behind. But if we do not depart soon, others may wish to join us, too."
"You may be right," he said. "Then let us make all our arrangements as soon as we can. Tonight? In the place where we met before?"
"Yes."
• • •
Sheila walked on, perturbed by the brief conversation. Although she readily admitted that Ashlord and Ullin had sincere concerns for her safety, she wondered at the implication about Robby and possibly the others.
"Do they actually think they'll have to protect me?" she muttered to herself. "As if I haven't been the one protecting them! Where do they think those arrows came from? And where were they looking during all the fighting? Was I invisible? Did they not see me there? Did I not fight as hard and as valiantly as any man? Do they say the same about Mirabella?"
Then she caught herself, and quelled her old temper. Her months with Ashlord, gentle and always sincere, came back to her. His teachings. "You must calm yourself," he had told her on more than one occasion, "and think of what is as it is, not as what you take it for."
So she came full circle, realizing that Ashlord and Ullin worried about much. That she was included in that worry somehow soothed her. Suddenly she felt the weight of their concern and realized for the first time what difficulties must lay ahead. She had stopped walking, and found herself standing in front of a little shop, one of several on a small alley along the edge of Janhaven. Through the dusty window of this shop, past her own grimy reflection, two women were cutting pieces of linen cloth from bolts and fitting the bits together on a table in preparation of a garment. She walked on a few steps, then suddenly turned back and entered.
• • •
"Soon, you must be on your way. Forces are gathering to oppose you and there is much you must accomplish."
Robby stood on top of the dune facing the Dragonkind woman. He could see only her eyes, gold and cat-like, gazing at him from under her shemagh-wrapped face. Her eyes were soft, but the way they narrowed at him told of her forehead, creased with concern. The air blew hard, tugging at her robes, revealing her feminine shape, in spite of her copper-hued light armor, while the low sun bathed the desert in orange hues. She pulled her robes back to her, but not before Robby saw the sword hilt at her side. Though the sand was hot, the gust of wind was cool, as if telling of the coming night.
"Who are you?"
"That is not important. You will know me soon enough."
"Am I dreaming?"
"Yes, after a manner," she said. "But this is the only way I may speak with you."
"You are one of the Dragon People."
"Yes."
"Do all your kind have this power?"
"Yes. And no. That is to say, all creatures have this power. They need only to find it. You are beginning to find it yourself."
He was frightened of her, yet strangely assured that she would do him no harm.
"Do many travel abroad in this manner?"
"No. Very few discover this gift. Fewer still survive its discovery, for it is seductive and may entice an unnatural desire to remain asleep. Many have starved to death, lost in dreams. Many more have died in their tombs or upon the pyre made for them by those lacking wit to see they were merely asleep and had not yet died. Very few of us walk the dream place. I have only ever met with two others, my Kundorlu—my teacher, who instructed me—and another student of his."
"Why should I trust you?"
"There is no need of trust. I do what I must for my people just as you do for yours."
"Our people are at war with one another," Robby insisted. "Why should I heed one of the enemy?"
"Our people are at war, but you and I are not," she said. "And the war at hand is but a skirmish compared to what may come. I fear for my people as you fear for yours. We have much in common, actually. You seek to displace a powerful but unwise ruler of your lands. I strive for the freedom of my people from even harsher tyranny. I think our interests may make us allies."
"You are afraid of me."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"For the same reason you should fear me. Betrayal. If I let it be known who and where you are, word would spread beyond my lands, and you would not live much longer. There are many who would wish to stop you from your quest. However, among those who would wish to stop you may be those who would wish to discover me. The things that we seek are bound up in each other. So it is that I cannot betray you unless I also betray that for which I strive."
"And I cannot betray you, either," Robby said. "For one, you are only a dream. And, for another, I do not know who you are or who it might be that I could betray you to."
"That is why I come to you in this way, directly, rather than through some messenger that may be untrustworthy."
"I have had dreams before, some that recurred."
"You mistrust your senses. That is understandable. I ask nothing of you. That time may come. If you do not wish to meet me in this way, or in any way, you have it within your power to wake from this dream. You only need to will it so."
Robby thought about this. He felt her presence fade and the sensation of a blanket over him, and he felt oddly horizontal.
"You sense what I say is true."
Robby redirected his attention back to her and saw her become solid and clear again, and the sensations of the bed where he slept faded away.
"I think you have the better of me," he said. "For you obviously know the ways of this dream-realm, and I do not. You must know I am full of doubts about all this and whether you be real or some spirit, or worse, come to misguide me."
"Perhaps," she said. "But I will give you a sign so that you may know I am no mere dream."
She lifted her hand and held it out, palm up. In it was a ring of black, banded by interwoven strands of gold, and set with a stone the color of dark wine. Just as Robby beheld it, a black form swooped down from the air, snatching it from her hand. Robby, alarmed, stepped back, and watched the large bird flap away swiftly into the sky. But the woman was unperturbed.
"When you go westward, insist that you go first to a place your people call Tulith Morgair. It is an abandoned keep near Bletharn Plain. There, look to the hand of your great grandfather. I leave there a sign for you. A token of my reality and my earnestness."
"My great grandfather?"
"Yes. I must go, now. You will not see me again until you have found the sign I speak of. Remember, look to your great grandfather. Until then, may care guide your steps!"
She turned to walk away into a cloud of fading scenery, then paused. Turning back to him, she said, "I will tell you my name. It is Micerea."