“Not a chance!” Keet snarled. “She promised!”
“I owe him. Besides, I will not ride a horse back – nor, I hope, that wagon. The pony carriage is much more comfortable. However...” she hesitated.
“I’m sure Orwen’s hospitality will be more than suitable.” He looked around. The driver of Scylla’s wagon was hovering some distance away, looking uneasy. Coltic beckoned him over.
“The Pr... that is, Minda’s handmaid requires some rest and refreshment,” he said to the driver, who nodded in return.
“They’ll be expecting her at the house, I’ve told them. Ma’am, if you would come with me.” He hesitated. “When will you want to return to the castle, ma’am?”
“Not yet,” Coltic answered for her. “She will be traveling on with the pony boy to Bart Smith’s village. She is on queen’s business, you understand.”
The driver looked like he didn’t understand at all, but said, “I’ve sent word to have the pony boy hitch up. Orwen wants some things sent out to the forest smithy...” His voice rose doubtfully as if it were a question.
“I hope it will all fit in that little carriage,” Coltic said. “I and the soldiers will accompany Minda’s handmaid and return her to the castle afterward.”
The man’s eyes shifted in worry, no doubt remembering that Orwen was holding him accountable. “Yes, sir, Captain,” he said. “Is that all right with you, ma’am? Come with me, I told ‘em to find some food for you.”
“Excellent!” She followed him to the house. Minda’s and Orwen’s house... she looked around with interest. It was a large and well-kept dwelling, with the yard and barns around it in perfectly groomed condition. The house was clean, spacious, and luxuriously furnished with furniture, carpets, and curtains... very comfortable and, interestingly, almost as grand as Queen Maris’ chambers had been.
Why had Minda left such pleasant surroundings to offer her duties at the castle? Scylla thought that she would have much preferred to stay. But it had begun to occur to her that Orwen and Minda’s business interests – and their comfortable life – were linked to the stability of the Kingdom of Rellant. It was to their own advantage to assist and even influence the new queen and her regime now that King Tobin’s benign rule had so abruptly ended. Obviously, Orwen’s knowledge and contacts would be a useful asset in the defense against Gryor. Scylla could only be thankful that he and the rest of the War Council were competently minding the kingdom’s affairs while she, the absent queen, rode along on the hard wooden seat of the wool wagon with Keet’s basket in her lap.
***
After a light meal of soup and a few nibbles of bread and cheese, and with an apple to take with her, Scylla returned to the yard. The soldiers were re-tightening the girths of their horses and the boy, Jay, had a firm hold on his pony’s headstall. It already wore its harness, with both leather and pony clean as a whistle.
“Jay!” said Coltic. “Hitch up that pony! I presume he is fresh and eager.”
“He always is!” said Jay with the pride Scylla remembered. He tossed her an uninterested glance. “What’s all that in the carriage? It could be a tight fit. Are you bringing that basket?”
“The basket goes,” said Coltic. “This is Minda’s handmaid from the castle, the queen’s messenger – please keep that pony under control.”
Jay looked offended, but backed the animal between the shafts and began to hitch up. “All right, get in, miss!” he directed Scylla some minutes later. “Can you head him while I get in, soldier?”
Coltic took hold of the pony’s bridle and patted it on the neck. “Hop in, miss!” Scylla gave him a glare and clambered in as best she could. She stowed the still disguised swordstick in the wicker carriage beside her knee and held Keet’s basket on her lap. A case of bottles clinked on the floor at her feet, and wedged between her and Jay on the seat were two well-wrapped packages. Jay caught up the lines, taking a firm grip. “Step aside, soldier,” he ordered cheerfully. “I hope you are able to keep up! It is some distance to the smithy – I believe I can find the way!”
The pony was dancing between the shafts and champing on the bit. Coltic, looking somewhat wild-eyed, let go of the rein and retreated. His horse began to dance as the carriage and the other three soldiers lurched into motion. Scylla, holding tightly to the basket, looked back to see the captain spring into the saddle, his horse’s hooves already on the move.
“Curses!” she muttered as they left the yard at a sprightly trot. But the carriage was as smooth as she remembered, and the pony as energetic. The wind blew as the landscape flew by.
“I will slow him down in a mile or two,” yelled Jay. “He’s fresh as a daisy!”
“Isn’t that wonderful!”
Behind them, the four soldiers rode at an easy canter. Scylla checked the basket on her lap where Keet was huddled, apparently asleep.
The pony carriage traveled much more quickly than the cargo wagons. Villages fell behind, trees quivered in their wake. Much more quickly than Scylla had expected, the road narrowed and the surface deteriorated, the forest closing in around them. The pony slowed his pace and the carriage swung along the bumpy road. Scylla, who had had enough of the journey almost at the beginning, set her teeth and endured it. Keet barely moved, except for the swaying of the carriage.
Jay said after a while, “Are you going to live with Bart Smith, miss?”
“Certainly not!”
“Are you going to be his mistress or his housemaid?”
“Absolutely not!” she replied with even more emphasis.
“Oh,” he responded. He did not sound convinced. “Why are you traveling there, then?”
“I am returning something.”
“Oh... You seem familiar to me.”
She glared at his profile. He turned his head and then his jaw dropped, his mouth making a round O. “Wait a minute! Are you not... you are the Princess Scylla herself! I mean... the queen!”
“Keep it to yourself, Jay!”
He swallowed hard and returned his gaze to the road ahead.
“Dear Goddess,” he muttered to himself. “Why did they not tell me the queen is in my carriage? Again!”
“Do you remember what Chancellor Mako said to you last time?” Scylla said into his ear as the wind blew between them and the dust billowed up behind. “If you injure me, you will hang from the castle gates. If you convey me safely you will get another gold coin.”
His jaw clenched. He gave her a wary sidelong glance. “Do not worry, Queen,” he said with determination. “I will be very pleased to get another gold coin!”
At long last, the road became even narrower and rougher and some time after that the small forest village came into sight. Scylla drew a long breath at the welcome sight of the shabby wooden dwellings and the smithy with its porch out front and the shop at the side. It was late in the day, with the sun beginning to drop in the western sky.
As the carriage drew up before the smithy and the four soldiers brought their tired horses to a halt, the door opened and Bart Smith came out onto the porch. A look of surprise crossed his weathered face. He made an attempt to smooth his wild gray hair.
“Good day, Bart Smith!” Coltic hailed him.
“Captain, a good day to you too.” Bart eyed the carriage, bemused.
“May we beg your hospitality once more?” said Coltic. “We have brought regards from the queen and Orwen Miller, as well as some tokens of appreciation. This is Minda Miller’s handmaid, who has conveyed these things from the queen.”
Bart stared at Scylla. She could tell he was not fooled by her appearance. Coltic dismounted from his horse and headed the pony.
“Jay, assist the Pr... ah, please assist Minda’s maid to descend from the carriage.”
Jay gave him a sardonic glance, dropped the reins and climbed out. He rounded the carriage and offered Scylla his hand. She got out, even more stiffly than she had descended the cargo wagon earlier that day. Holding tightly to Keet’s basket she reached b
ack in for the swordstick.
“Accept my regards, Bart Smith,” she said, trying not to limp too much as she went up the steps to the porch.
“Accepted. I hear that you found an excellent use for the swordstick... that is, the queen herself found it useful.”
“She did indeed,” said Coltic, who had handed the pony over to Jay, and lifted the case of ale out of the carriage along with the packages. “Orwen and the queen have sent you some ale, cheese, and sausage which they hope you will enjoy.”
“Come in.” Bart opened the door and Scylla and Coltic followed him in. “Excuse my humble home once more!”
“Your home was much appreciated,” Scylla told him. “Also the swordstick as you noted has come in very handy. I cannot thank you enough.”
“Oh, go on, Princess... I mean...”
“I am in disguise for reasons of convenience,” Scylla explained. “But not disguised well enough to mislead you. I must return something to the forest. Please accept my apologies for bothering you once again.”
He looked shocked. “Oh no, Princess... ma’am... Queen? ... what should I call you?”
She shrugged. “Do not worry about it.” She sat down in the nearest chair and heaved a sigh.
Coltic said, “Our lady needs to rest. I’m not sure she can travel back today.”
Keet’s head appeared from under the towel and he chittered.
Bart’s eyes popped wide open at the sight of the trellet. Then he gave himself a shake and recoiled. “Please make yourself at home, ah... Lady. Captain, may I speak to you on the porch?” Coltic went back outside. Bart reluctantly tore his eyes from the trellet and followed Coltic through the door.
“Curses, Keet! He looks at you the same way those other men did. And the healers.”
“Eeeee!” shrieked Keet faintly. “Do not leave me alone with him. I do not trust him!”
“Nor do I,” Scylla said in despair. “At least, I do to some extent, but...”
“Take me to the forest! Now! I want to go back!”
“Curses!” said Scylla again. She struggled to her feet, looking around. The back door led... where? On the porch, she could hear the voices of Coltic and Bart.
She picked up the swordstick again and, clutching the basket, went out the back door. It led through another small room, with kitchen tools, a tub for washing, and a rusty, iron-topped stove. Scylla crossed the room and tried another door, which led outside. From there, a footpath led into the forest.
“Is that where you want to go?”
“Go, go!” said Keet’s shrill cry from the basket. He was cowering under the towel.
“Curses! Curses! Curses!” Scylla muttered quietly to herself. She went out, closing the door as quietly as she could, and struck out down the path.
| Chapter 17 |
“I mean you and your family no harm,” Chancellor Mako had said into the silence.
After checking on Axit and Leon that morning, he had summoned the young soldier, Sergeant Brit, to the late king’s reception office on the ground floor of the castle. Mako had continued to use it as headquarters, much as King Tobin had. The heavy door was closed, and members of the Guard stood outside in the courtyard.
Sergeant Brit stared back at him with wary blue eyes and a stubborn set to his mouth.
Mako tried again. “Truly. I swear by the Goddess herself.”
“My family can not help you. I was thinking of something else when I said that!”
“You said ‘there is magic, you know’ – and that your father and granny would know what to do.”
The young sergeant gave him a tortured look, his eyes shifting away. The color had drained from his cheeks, leaving him pale. He had been confined to his quarters and was beginning to wish he had never joined Rellant’s army.
“Sergeant Brit,” Mako spoke slowly. “The Kingdom of Rellant needs you. We have lost King Tobin and our young princes and came close to losing our new queen as well. I have been told that some ancient evils have been reawakened by these priests, and Rellant is in danger.”
“I can’t help you,” muttered Sergeant Brit sullenly. “Although I know what I saw!”
“I believe what you saw – even though it’s difficult for me to believe it.” Mako shook his head. He sat down in the chair where the king had often lounged while he discussed imports, exports, shipments of wool and shipments of wine, pretty maids, the day’s plans and whatever entertainment his fertile brain had next dreamed up. Mako looked up at the sergeant. “We need help to fight back against these – ancient evils.”
Brit was silent, his mouth clamped shut.
“I am told...” Mako hesitated. “I am told that those following the old ways have been persecuted in the past, by those following our modern and more formal – perhaps restricted – worship of the Goddess.”
“The old forest ways are no longer followed! By anyone!”
“Of course not! But if anyone still had some knowledge of the forest ways... the ancient magic... Our religious houses such as the faction of the court priests and the healers’ medical house have been no help at all.”
“Of course not! Their Goddess worship is often for their own ends... not the true Goddess of the forests!” Sergeant Brit stopped abruptly.
“I am with you,” Mako said heavily. “The priests’ ambitions led them astray. Those that remain I cannot trust, and they say they know nothing. We have seized some of their books, and their house is locked and under guard. Meanwhile, the healers look benign – most of them – but talk in circles. All they want is the trellet.”
“Trellet!” Brit repeated, taken aback. “What do you know of a trellet?”
“I have been told by Queen Scylla’s trellet that there is evil swirling through the land, and it is coming from Gryor.”
Sergeant Brit looked startled. “Queen Scylla! She should not keep a trellet!”
Mako shrugged helplessly. “It follows her.”
“It follows her... !” Brit repeated in disbelief. “Have you seen it?”
“With my own eyes.” Mako shook his head again. “What is one to believe? That we are fighting magic? What the hell is magic? What the hell is a trellet? I have no prior experience with either!”
Brit was eyeing him. “Can you bring the trellet?”
“Bring where? To see your granny?”
Brit’s glance shifted sideways.
“Not likely. That very odd creature makes me nervous – it acts crazed. But it has saved Queen Scylla’s life at least three times, although it claims four.”
“Really!” Brit breathed. He looked away, his eyes shifting around the room. “Well, if you could bring the trellet to my granny ... she may know someone who may know something. Not that they worship in the old ways, you understand!” He glared at Mako.
“Of course not! No one does! I cannot, however, bring the trellet. It won’t leave the princess... Queen Scylla, that is.”
“Will it not?” Brit’s expression had changed again to interest.
“It is hard to pinpoint exactly where it is unless it wants to be seen. It will be returned to the forest soon,” said Mako, now wondering if it had been wise to have alerted yet another person to the trellet’s existence. “At least, I hope so. It seems quite nasty.”
“I have heard. Or, I should say – the old folk tales describe them so.”
“All I need is information. I need some help as to how we are to prepare against, or head off – hopefully not fight against...” Mako hesitated in mid-sentence.
“The priests’ magic?”
Mako nodded, throwing out his hands in a helpless gesture. “Or whatever it is!”
“Well, there is magic,” the young sergeant said, as he had said when Coltic had hauled him in front of the queen. “It can be a dangerous thing! I will take you – you alone, that is! – to see if they may help. The Goddess’s way is not magic or sorcery. It is simply worship!”
“I cannot go alone,” said Mako, “but we can leave my men some
miles out if that helps.”
The blue eyes skewered him with a hard and bitter stare. “I will take you... only for the sake of our murdered king. But if this brings persecution to members of my family – innocent as they are! – I will cut out my own heart!”
“You will not have to,” Mako promised with relief, springing up from the king’s chair. “We will leave immediately.”
“Oh, dear Goddess...!” muttered the young sergeant, plucking at his leather tunic with bitter unease. “Can I have my weapons back?”
***
An hour later, he, Chancellor Mako, and three other soldiers of the Guard were cantering north along the river road. It wound along the banks until it split – one fork continued north beside the river and the other led across a wide rocky ford to the other side. The horses picked their way across and trotted up the other bank. From there they set out on a narrow road winding its way west and north. For several miles, the road ran through wide fields with the occasional outcrop of rock and stands of trees. Gradually the landscape became rockier, with smaller pastures, fewer sheep and more trees – and the clusters of farms grew smaller and further apart. Then the road narrowed to a rough track, winding through the rocky, wooded areas that were beginning to dwarf the hill farms. After three hours of hard riding, they were starting to see the inclines leading to the heavily forested foothills.
Sergeant Brit, who had ridden the whole way in gloomy silence, raised a hand.
“Take a break! ... How much further?” asked Mako. The horses slowed to a walk. All the soldiers and horses were fit. An outing such as this had been just part of the day’s play for King Tobin and his men.
“Further,” Sergeant Brit said morosely over his shoulder. “Keep going... there is a small forest village.” He pointed vaguely ahead.
“How much further?” Mako asked again.
“Oh, about fifteen minutes of walking. They will hear us coming.”
“All right, we’ll walk.” They went on, the only sounds being the horses’ footfalls, their blowing nostrils, and the squeak of leather and jingle of bits. They passed some abandoned and derelict dwellings.
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