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 moonlit 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 stomach, 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 Hall is restless tonight," Weylan observed, nodding toward the residence on the hill some distance away. They were nearly level with the middle floors, and yet from this distance they saw that a light moved along the windows of the fifth floor corridor, Lord Tallin's floor. Someone moved there with a lamp, walking behind the glass, and lighting the hallway lamps as he went so that soon the entire length of windows was lit. Ullin knew that hallway to be lined with tapestries and paintings, a record of the family's history, or rather the families' histories since the two great Houses, that of Fairoak and that of Tallin, were joined in this House. He knew, too, that his grandfather was pacing the hall in his brooding way, as he was known to do. His grandfather would study each painting, lost in thought, sometimes standing close to the artwork and at other times viewing it from a distance, his arms crossed, or his chin cradled in one hand as he slowly moved from depiction to depiction.
"He has much to decide," Ullin said. "Much to consider, I fear."
"Aye," agreed Weylan, "and the sooner the better, I say. Meaning no disrespect, mind you, but too much scratching of the head makes for a cold head and no hat."
"And I guess you ought to know!" Ullin chuckled, affectionately rubbing the shiny spot on Weylan's crown.
"I reckon so! And I only have the North Gate to keep, and not all of Tallinvale and more."
Ullin and Weylan continued on, each smiling once again. But they were grim smiles.
"Things don't seem to be turning out quite how we dreamed when we were lads, do they?"
"No, Ullin, not exactly. Though we ain't done too bad. You a Kingsman, and still alive, and me a right proud soldier, complete with a sweet wife and two fat little brats. I hope you'll have a chance to meet them before you're off."
"That isn't likely, though I would like nothing more in the world than to congratulate the lass who managed to tame you! No, we'll be off early, I'm sure, with many miles to make up for."
Weylan nodded. "So it's on to Duinnor, is it? And right through Damar lands, if I understand you right."
"Yes, there's no other way, it seems, this late in the year."
"I'm wishing I could talk you into staying here. We could use someone with your experience in the fight that's sure to come."
"If there's to be a fight."
"Oh, there'll be one," Weylan insisted. "Whether it comes to us or we go to it, there'll be one. And a right mean one it is sure to be, too."
"I wish I could stay and help out, but I'm committed. My companions will need me more. Ashlord and I are the only real fighters among us, should it come to that, though the others are all scrappy enough."
They stopped again, this time to let a squad of sentries go past, but they paused for a while, each gazing again toward the Hall.
"Many's the night I've seen those lights, often wondering 'bout the thoughts going on in there."
"Wish I could tell you," Ullin said. "But he's as much of a mystery to me as to you. Perhaps even more so, since I have so seldom been here these past many years. Yet, I am impressed, frankly, by what I have seen today."
"What's that?"
"I've been all over the Seven Realms. Even to Tracia, and rarely have I seen or met people as loyal to their lords as these folk are to my grandfather and my family. I'm not really sure why, except that he is fair and looks to his people's welfare as any decent lord should do. Only in Glareth and in some parts of Vanara have I seen the like. Yet, Tallinvale is far away from any court and any Regent or King."
"That may be why," Weylan said. "Your grandfather keeps us. He is a tough man, true. And words of rebuke from him land like boulders. But never was a man more loyal to his people. I know, it sounds odd that a man might be so good to his people and so hard on his family. But it is true. He spills out his treasury during drought or pestilence, he directs our defenses and parleys with our enemies for our safety, at his own risk. He sees to the direction of the law and the appointment of fair judges. He asks no tribute but relies solely on the earnings of his own holdings and lands, no more, and takes no property as is his right as liege. He orders and directs our education, and hardly a person in Tallinvale cannot read and write. And he himself leads patrols along our most dangerous borders. I myself have had the honor on more than one occasion to draw swords with him against the Damar intrusions. No man in Tallinvale can match the swiftness of his arm or the power of his blows, not even I who am a less than half his age and twice his weight in muscle. Oh, we would be lost without him, I fear!" Weylan looked at Ullin curiously. "And who will be his heir? Will it be a fighter, like him? Or a store clerk?"
Ullin looked up from his feet with a blank expression, but his eyes glinted with sharp response.
"Do not underestimate clerks of stores," he replied. "Or the sons of Passdale. I need not remind you that they have spilled more of their own blood and more of the blood of the enemy in this past week than Tallinvale has done in your lifetime. Moreover, the one that goes to Duinnor a clerk may not return as one."
Weylan bowed, stunned at the cutting tone of Ullin's words and embarrassed at his own.
"I deeply regret what I said, and I meant no disrespect to your cousin or his fellows," he said. "Yet, I only try to express my sentiment to have you here with us. Not only mine, but many, many others of your people here in the valley."
Ullin took Weylan by the shoulder and turned with him to continue their walk.
"Come, come, good friend. I am sorry for my rash response. I am honored by your sentiment. But I cannot stay, as I told you earlier. I am committed to my cousin, and the mission of my company. And I will see it through."
Weylan nodded, though the turn of his lips and the bow of his head showed that he was disheartened by Ullin's reply.
"I fear for Tallinvale," Weylan said simply.
"These walls are strong, and the people stronger still," replied Ullin as they walked slowly on. "If the enemy in Barley and Passdale are any sign of the rest, they put appearances over fighting prowess, and any man here is more than a match for three of them. My sense is that many Tracians serve unwillingly."
• • •
Tallin Hall was indeed very large, but it was not so vast that a man—one who knew its passages and chambers, its stairs and back corridors—could not walk every hall and every back passageway from top to bottom in little more than an hour. And this the Lord of Tallin Hall often did, sometimes during the daytime, sometimes in the evening, but more often late into the darkest hours of the night when all was quiet and all but a few servants and guards had retired. Those that knew the Hall best knew their lord might at any moment appear, at any hour and during any task in any part of the place. They were accustomed to this behavior, if any could be, their master appearing as an apparition, his almost silent footfalls giving little warning of his approach, often wrapped in a cloak against the evening chill, his head bowed in thought, sometimes with a small lamp in his hand, but just as often in complete darkness he wandered. He would sometimes stop, especially when a maid or footman would rise from their seats, pausing long enough to acknowledge each person by name, to ask after their family, or to make a small inquiry or comment concerning this or that business of the household. Though no room was barred to him, he respected the servants' chambers and rarely ventured into those parts of the house except only to pass through the kitchens or workrooms on his way elsewhere. And when he did so, it was never with the air of lord and master, but rather as a visitor, a passer-by, humble, and not wishing to intrude or disturb their privacy or their work.
Likewise, he could often be found during these hours between the middle of the night and well before dawn along the battlements at any part of the outer wall, or in the armouries, or at any given turret or gate. So, like the staff of Tallin Hall, the soldiers of Tallinvale stood their watches and minded their stations with meticulous attention and readiness, knowing that at any moment the Lord Tallin himself might ask a report of even the lowest rank.
Where he got his stamina no one could say with any certainty, though many rumors abounded, some having to do with Faere spells of his late wife, others pertaining to peculiar and mysterious herbs he put in his pipe to smoke. Some tales even had it that the Lord Tallin was not one man but many, each alike in aspect and character and each taking his turn in the place of the others. But so accustomed were its inhabitants to this fact of Tallinvale life—this awesome and mysterious presence that ruled them so effectively—that most inhabitants of the valley wondered very little about it anymore. And, like their lord, Dargul, too, was often seen during these nocturnal walks. Sometimes he was at Lord Tallin's side as a friend, the two strolling like old chums. But just as often, Dargul kept some paces behind, entering a room just after Tallin had left it, or standing some distance away, but within easy calling distance, as Lord Tallin paused to study a trophy, some pennant or shield, or contemplated the town through a window, or the scenes painted within one of the many alcoves throughout the Hall. The two had long since given up telling each other to get rest, of kindly scolding each other for keeping such late hours when important duties lay in the morrow. Dargul usually retired first, and then he often found Tallin was already up and about before him the next morning, if indeed Lord Tallin had slept at all.
It was with habitual concern that Dargul thus followed and looked after his master. And for more than sixty years this went on, since Dargul came into his present position of Counselor to Tallinvale. But Dargul no longer had the stamina of those earlier years, though Tallin had aged hardly a day. During the early years of their association, Dargul worried over his master like a faithful and loyal dog, ever at his master's side awaiting his lord's word. Then came a time when Dargul was more confident in the well-being of Tallin, and this lasted for several decades. Now, Dargul was aware of some further tension within his lord. It was as if those earlier years of worry and fret had come again; and once again he strove to be nearby as much as he could. Dargul could not ride out with Lord Tallin as he once had, being now too frail of bone to endure the rough horseback travel to all parts of the valley. Nor could he even keep apace on foot, marching hither and yon across the city or out into the countryside, his breath now too shallow and his stride now shorter than it once was when youth's strength made up for difficult paths. So he most often confined himself to the Hall and to his business there, enlisting several young helpers to accompany Lord Tallin whenever possible, ready to send for Dargul should he ever be needed.
It was one of these, a reliable young man, who knocked this night on the door of the apartment where Dargul lived with his wife. Here, they were just next door to his son's home, and on Dargul's rare days away from the Hall, he spent every moment he could spoiling his grandchildren in whatever way was possible for him to do. His butler gently woke him, trying not to stir Mrs. Dargul, but he failed, as he always failed at such attempts, and she, too, arose as the two men hurried to the foyer where the young messenger awaited.
"Sir, he's up as usual," said the messenger. "But he lights the lamps of the West Hall and is muttering and speaking to himself most vehemently. I left Sprately with him and came directly. Don't know if it signifies, but I ain't seen him act as such."
"You did right, Johons, quite right," Dargul assured him as he turned to his man who was now holding out proper clothes to replace Dargul's nightshirt and slippers. As he quickly dressed, he could hear his wife in the nearby kitchen putting together a bit of food to shove into his pocket. So often had he been called away in the night that Dargul and his wife acted as one, and, as Lord Tallin might well know, the service of his most trusted counselor was due in great part to the counselor's devoted wife.
• • •
Dargul was met when he arrived at Tallin Hall by another young man who told him that Lord Tallin was still on the fifth floor. When he and his assistants had at last climbed all the stairs, Dargul a bit breathless at the effort, they found the hall lamps of the family wing lit. Halfway down the passage stood Lord Tallin gazing at a wide mural. Ashlord was there, too, standing a few feet behind Tallin, leaning on his stick. Dargul quietly dismissed his helpers and contented himself by watching cautiously from this distance.
"Was it so long ago that these ships came?" Tallin was saying. The painting was similar to the one Robby had seen deep in the bell room of Tulith Attis, and was in fact done by the same artist. The subject was a seascape of many large ships coming over the bright rim of the horizon and bearing for shore, heeling from the wind, their sails taut and their bow waves white and determined. The nearest ship in the depiction had a golden hull, and its billowing sails displayed the emblem of the House of Tallin. "This one brought my own namesake, though he was but a youngster. He was born at sea, as were all who landed on these shores. In these lands, he established himself as a man and later built this hall. Did you know he used timbers from that very ship to frame the doorway of the original hall built here on these grounds? Those timbers still stand four floors below us."
Ashlord stood silently by, letting Tallin talk.
"His line was nearly wiped out. By plague and disease, famine, war. His descendants hung on. One of them, called Leander, moved our family to Vanara, fearing the war that he saw coming. He and two of his brothers lost their lives at Tulith Attis. His son, safe with his family in Vanara, was rewarded for his father's service, and with the trust of the Queen, Serith Ellyn. Many came back east with me when we were forced from there, and here in Tallinvale, our ancient holdings, we have once again grown and prospered, indeed even beyond the accomplishments of our fathers." He threw Ashlord a fiery look, saying, "But what will my people say of me, now? Will they say that age has robbed my mind at last? That time has left a dotard in a young man's frame? Do they know, I wonder, how precarious these last years have been? Can they imagine the utter destruction I could invite by one false decision or another?"
Dargul stepped a little closer.
"These people have never known real war. Not like we have, Collandoth. They are young, and few have faced more than a skirmish. They are happy, I think, and healthy, and their zest for life and its bounty is matched, I dare say, in few other lands of Men. Yet, even they have grown more stern these last years. Do they suspect the doom that creeps upon us? I cannot say. In later years, will this Hall still stand? Will the children of these good people spit at my name? Are these last years of peace to be purchased with a final payment of blood?"
Still Ashlord said nothing, and Tallin turned away, stepping toward the next painting.
"Would not slavery be better than that? Who am I to say for these people that slavery and death are little different? I, who have enjoyed long life beyond the time of natural men? I, who am prosperous and safe behind my walls! Who am I to make such judgments for these people?"
Tallin paused before a small delicate depiction of a baby boy, barely able yet to stand, playfully reaching out for a butterfly with one hand as he steadied himself by clutching the gown of his mother with the other hand. Ashlord recognized the pair as Ullin and his mother, and the fanciful field where mother sat and child played was sunlit and golden-green. So charming and cunning was the depiction that Ashlord could see the grass move under a gentle breeze.
"I have tasted the bitterness of battle, Collandoth, as you have," Tallin took up after a moment. "I know the terrible joy of survival when all my comrades lay dead around me, the sick happiness of remaining alive among the lifeless gore and slaughter of friends. I remember it still, aye. This long life that I have been granted is cursed by a memory that does not fade, and every experience of happiness, every memory of fear, each recollection of fury or despair or sadness has for me the same power of emotion as ever it had. The joy and delight of the birth of my children and the satisfaction of seeing them grow to be fine and strong. What can match those feelings but the overwhelming grief at the death of my two sons and my wife! Yet, one is not more powerful than the other, nor is one memory softened any more by time than another, and all combine into a confusion of despair that ever draws me closer to madness, day by passing day. Perfect memory is a perfect curse that no man should endure for long. And I know where it drives me; I fear that someday I shall give up the present altogether, and live my life as long as it lasts in memory alone.
"No color of sunset seen may fade from me. No thunder of battle drum may soften, but ever again and again, even with its first beat crack ever again in my ears. No rebuke has lost its sting, nor any mistake its shame. Yet my children's tiny fingers forever caress my hand. And the taste of love's kiss never leaves my lips. But, alas, all are gone away, yet will not depart. Oh dear Forgetfulness, thou minister of relief, will you not come to me? Come take from my heart some slight feather of this weightless world that crushes without sweet harm. With your elixir rust away some nail of this ever towering house so that some moment's room may cave away and so be barred from my roaming thoughts never to enter there again. To be absent of mind but once! To have one moment, one only! Some unfilled place in my heart to exist, some space not to be piled upon with memory upon memory, some brief nothing to be mindful of! Some sleep from this cacophony of experience, some repose, if only for a passing eye-blink, so that one moment might be recalled with perfect peace. Oh, peace, peace! Perfect memory is but a perfect hell! Hated Time, that coach ever in the arrival, it delivers to my door its never-ending passengers, an unending family of uninvited recollection, each one a despised guest who will not depart, but ever demands my hospitality and welcome, though I would cast them all out, if I could. Oh, that I could!"
During this quiet but coldly passionate speech, Dargul drew even closer and stood just behind Ashlord, his eyes now glistening in pain for his lord and friend.
"This condition that is upon you is matched by your great will to sustain, to continue," said Ashlord softly to Lord Tallin. "Surely it keeps your madness in check."
"Aye, but it is the will of necessity, not the will of the willing," came the reply as Tallin slowly moved down the hall, with Ashlord and Dargul following. Ashlord's knowledge of Tallin was not so exact as Dargul's, but these two knew Lord Tallin better in certain ways than any other living soul. In spite of the harsh and tough exterior, one enforced, these two knew, by the cruel nature of perfect memory, they knew Lord Tallin was not a man without a heart. Indeed it was his heart, so shattered and broken by the loss of his children and his wife, that made him into a stern man these many, many years. Those pieces of his heart, which had once been strong enough to be broken and to heal, he had guarded too long, allowing nothing to touch them. Little comfort had he desired, nor did he need. His was the business of everyday musings that led to anger and short patience. Those closest to him, who had known him the longest and whose own demeanors were much a result of living within the influence of so brooding a man, knew that his outbursts were passionless and cold. An astute man of business, with a keen eye to the welfare of his domain, Lord Tallin was ever on horseback checking the fields, purchasing the best seed for his lands, and negotiating with Furaman or other traders for the best prices on behalf of those who farmed and toiled in the valley. A warrior by upbringing and, for many years of his life, by trade, he still rode out with his men at arms to push back the creepings of the Damar with many skirmishes fought and won. And, though his days of great and mighty battles seemed over, he still dressed daily in the raiment and armor of a soldier. But his losses were too many. Battles had he lost with great slaughter of friends and fellows. He had lost his lands, the ancient realm of Fairoak, upon the western slopes of Vanara. He had lost his western titles and no longer had the honored standing he once held in Duinnor. As misery follows strife, one after another, he lost his sons, his wife, and his daughter. But none hurt so much, nor cost him so dear, as the loss of his wife. Lady Kahryna was the only person who had ever been able to truly love him without hesitation, who could provoke him so easily to laughter, and whose memory would now provoke him to tears if only he had not locked away the crumbs of his heart so fast and so far, and sealed over the deep well of his eyes.
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 and 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.