The Song the Ogre Sang

by Peter Fane

  Colj lifted his great cup to his lips. He rarely drank. He seldom allowed his men the luxury, either. But tonight was different. Tonight was special. For the first time in years, they had something to celebrate.

  Daniel Eadle had spent the rest of the day with Lord Garen in the infirmary. By sunset, however, both were feeling better, up and about, walking together with Master Falmon, slowly making the rounds, both a bit tender. The High Lords of the Tarn were presenting the young soldier to all the troops and the people. Celine Quay, the Captain of Lord Doldon’s Guard, had made a victory wreath out of star tree leaves which Daniel proudly wore. The little boy was exhausted, but he also seemed to enjoy it. To every person he met—dragon rider or ogre, lady or lord, captain or commoner—he said the same thing: “We did a good job today, didn’t we? Every day, there’s a way! Yes, sir!” These words would be met by a solemn salute, a raised glass, friendly laughter, a loud cheer, or a combination thereof. Already, Daniel was the stuff of legend. Exactly as it should be.

  Colj took another sip from his cup.

  A good drink after a good fight.

  There was really nothing quite like it.

  “Captain Colj.”

  Colj turned. It was Lady Kyla, resplendent in a simple high blue dress of Eulorian silk. She carried a large folio of blue leather in her arms. “May I speak with you, Captain?”

  “Of course, my Lady.” Colj inclined his head. “How can I be of service?”

  She walked him across the hall, to an antechamber free of revelers. There, she turned and looked up at him, her stance and posture formal.

  “Captain Colj, Lord Michael commanded me to give you this as a sign of our appreciation and respect.” She lifted the leather folio. “We owe you Lord Garen’s life. A great debt. Lord Michael hopes this will go a small way toward repaying it. There will be many awards and honors bestowed in the coming weeks. He asked me to present this to you now, without delay, so that you might enjoy the fruits of your loyalty as soon as you are able.”

  She held the folio out to him.

  Colj did not take it.

  “What is it?” He inclined his huge head politely.

  “Title and land in the Duchy of Jallow, Captain. To be placed in your name and the name of your heirs in perpetuity. Also herein are documents that release you and your clan from their blood oath sworn ages past. Lord Michael would speak to you in detail about this tomorrow, if you are willing; he offers it now for your attention.”

  Colj considered for a long moment. It was significant, of course. And, depending on the precise contents of the folio, it would mean important things for young Ponj. Then Colj said, “The Lords of Remain are generous.”

  Lady Kyla looked at him thoughtfully. “They can be,” she said. “But this is not generosity. This is justice. Long overdue.”

  She held out the folio to him once more.

  He took it. “Thank you, my Lady.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “We thank you, Lord Fellen Colj of Jallow.”

  Lord Garen approached, holding Daniel Eadle by the hand. The little warrior looked tired, but he still smiled. He wore a new doublet of blue Eulorian silk, a small Dallanar Sun embroidered in silver over the heart. He tugged at the doublet’s bottom, as if the new clothes itched.

  “Lady Kyla,” Lord Garen said. “This young soldier is a little tired. It’s been quite a day.”

  Lady Kyla smiled. “Your talent for understatement remains unmatched, Garen.”

  Lord Garen inclined his head. “I wonder if you might be willing to escort him to the family chambers. Jeremy’s old room has been prepared.”

  “Of course. It would be my honor.” Lady Kyla looked down at Daniel and smiled. “Shall we, young sir?”

  Daniel smiled up at her; he looked so tired. “Ready to work, Lady. Yes, ready I be. You can count on me.”

  69

  “AND THIS IS your room,” Kyla said, swinging the door open. A servant had been up earlier to light the lamps, but the huge window’s curtains were still shut.

  Daniel looked up at her, blinked, craned his neck, and peered into the room—but he didn’t move to enter. Kyla could understand his reticence. The little fellow was probably overwhelmed and exhausted. All this must be quite a change from what he was used to. And right then and there, she made up her mind to make him feel totally comfortable, entirely welcome, and completely at home.

  So she stepped into the room, walked straight to the far wall, and pulled the blue velvet curtains open with a flourish, walking each curtain back to its place, moonlight streaming through the huge window, silver dust motes dancing, the room’s wool rug glowing azure and green and blue with its vibrantly woven pictures of sea animals from across the Realm’s oceans.

  “This is your window, Daniel.” She turned to him and smiled. “One of the best views in the Tarn. You can see out across the water and a bit up toward town, too. That’s the Sea of Ice.” She looked back out the window, gestured at the leaded glass, then turned and smiled at him again—but he hadn’t moved from the doorway.

  Actually, he seemed to have taken a step back.

  “Just there. If you’d like to look? The moon is full tonight—beautiful.” She gestured again and smiled. But he didn’t budge.

  “If you like, you can see the eastern breakwater—the mole, there—and a bit of Tarntown. Here’s your seat. During the summer, you can see the ships sail into port.” She patted the long bench below the window, then gestured at the three model ships sitting on the bench top, each of them a perfect replica of a famous vessel of the Tarn’s summer navy, brilliantly painted in their proper colors, little wooden sailors ready to be walked about the decks. Dan blinked and kind of nodded, but still didn’t move.

  “And this is your library.” She gestured below the window to the shelf built beneath the bench. The shelf was made of polished Anorian oak and packed with leather-bound books, gilt titles shimmering in the moonlight. Kyla touched the books. “All kinds of stories and pictures from across the Kingdom that you can read. And look at this.” She withdrew a volume bound in luxurious Abúcian hide, dyed blue, the Dallanar Sun emblazoned silver on its spine. “This is your copy of the Silver Book, the Canon of Tarn, Dan.” She paged through it, nostalgia touching her heart, the old pictures taking her back in time. “It used to be my uncle Jeremy’s, of course, James’s twin—but now it’s yours. Not all the stories are here, of course. But there are amazing pictures. Would you like to see them? There are other books here that you can look through, too, if you like.”

  From the doorway, Dan stared at her with tired eyes and nodded, understanding seeming to come at last—thank the Sisters!—but also kind of biting at his lips, a strange look on his face, kind of like he was nervous. But no, that wasn’t it. It was like he understood, but also like he didn’t know what to do.

  Or was he afraid?

  She couldn’t tell.

  In fact, Kyla realized, she couldn’t really read his face at all. She put the book back, gave him her gentlest, and most winning smile, and turned determinedly to the rest of the room.

  “This.” She touched the bronze-bound chest in the corner. “You’ll like this, Dan. This is your toy box. Do you like toys?” She opened the chest—turning the false lock twice to the right and once to the left, then flipping the real latch on the chest’s side. “It has a secret lock, see here?” She patted the side. “Only you can open it. And inside, all these amazing toys from all over the Kingdom.” She reached into the chest and pulled out a wooden soldier about a palm tall, an ogre from Jallow, carefully carved and perfectly painted in every detail. She held it up to Dan. “This looks like Captain Colj, doesn’t it? Look at his fangs and his armor. Just like him, huh? His arms move, and he can hold different weapons and things. There’s a whole squad of little ogres in here for you, if you want to see?” She hopped the little ogre up and down, then growled in a deep voice, “For the Remain!” And immediately felt a little silly.

  Dan nodded and tr
ied to smile. He was so sleepy, but he was getting it at last, she saw with relief. At the same time, however, his gesture was perfunctory, like he was obligated to agree with everything she said. He was holding the front of his new doublet with both hands, clenching the fabric in his little fists. He still looked at her, but every once and a while he’d look around the room, then glance back down the hallway, like he was looking for something. That strange, nervous expression on his face was becoming more pronounced—but he was still nodding, still agreeing with everything she said.

  It was late.

  Perhaps he just needed a good night’s sleep?

  Great Sisters knew she did.

  “And this—.” She stepped away from the toy chest and hopped onto the bed. It was covered with a thick white bear’s skin. She patted the spot beside her patiently. “—this is your bed.”

  The bed was the perfect size for a boy his age, its pale korom’s wood headboard intricately engraved with naval battle scenes, framed by aquatic creatures. From each of the bed’s four posts, the silvery smooth head of a porpoise flowed up from carved water as if diving over the bed, perfectly rendered, their porpoise eyes wide as they jumped, leaping over their sleeping charge. The top of the headboard was carved as a silver sea dragon, its wings spread over endless waves. She touched the dragon’s claw. “Kind of like Moondagger, see?” She gestured at the carved porpoises. “And they’ll watch over you as you sleep. And this dragon here.” She gestured back at the dragon. “You can rub his nose and tell him what time you want to get up in the morning, and he’ll wake you. This wood is very old. Ancient scholarship. They call it ‘korom’s wood.’ An ancient master crafted this bed long ago for a little boy to sleep in, just like you. Do you want to come and try it? Be sure you like it?”

  He’d taken a step forward and was almost inside the room now. That strange expression was still on his face, but now he seemed to be frowning, too. Nodding but frowning. He kept looking back down the hall. His frown deepened, his brow wrinkling, swaying a little bit now, as if he was having a hard time standing up.

  “You can come in, Dan.” She smiled patiently, resolute not to give up. “This is your place. That door over there is for your toilet, and there’s another room through there for you to take your bath—you share that one with James. This was his brother’s room a long time ago. And that door there.” She pointed. “That’s a closet with your clothes.”

  His eyes moved over both the doors, he nodded, but his frown went even deeper. Then he yawned and muttered something that she couldn’t understand.

  She walked over to the closet and opened it. Inside, neatly lined outfits perfectly tailored for a boy his age hung on polished hangers. They might take a little adjustment, to be sure—but the quality was the very best in the Realm. She didn’t think that Dan would care that they had been Jeremy’s before, but maybe he’d like to see how nice they were? Surely, he could appreciate the fine material and the colors. She gestured at the rows of hanging clothes. “All for you, Dan.”

  Dan nodded, then looked at his feet and mumbled something again, shrugged, pulled at the front of his new doublet.

  Kyla closed the closet door firmly, walked across the room, knelt on the floor in front of him, took his hands in hers, and tried to look into his eyes.

  He wouldn’t look at her.

  “This is your room, Dan. Yours. Do you understand?” She squeezed his little hands. They were so small. And scarred, she realized. Old and new cuts overlapping, a scab on the knuckle of his little index finger. “This is where you’ll be now. Up here, with us. With me and my brothers and sisters, right next to James, when he returns.” She gestured back into the room. “This is your place.”

  He nodded, still looking at the floor, muttering.

  Gently, she touched his chin with one hand, lifting his eyes to hers.

  His eyes were glassy with fatigue, the skin around them marked by old bruises. He was trying not to cry, she realized. Biting his tongue to keep the tears away. Trying to be strong, to be tough, to be a soldier.

  “This is your place, Dan.” She nodded again, her throat starting to go thick. “Your place.” She touched his chest.

  “. . . my box.” He nodded, stammering. Then, as if remembering himself, he cleared his throat and saluted. “Yes, Lady Kyla. I can do it. Yes . . . yes, Lady. I can. Sorry, Lady. Every day, there’s a way. But . . . but—.” He shook his head. “I need my box.”

  “Your box?” She held his shoulders gently, nodding, smiling, encouraging him to continue.

  “My box? My—uh, my tools? In my box. Yes, Lady Kyla. My toolbox.”

  “Your things? Oh, of course.” She smiled and laughed and wiped her eyes. “Of course! Of course, Dan. I’ll send for your things right away. First thing tomorrow morning. First thing, that’s a promise.”

  Dan nodded, kind of smiled, nodded again, then frowned and looked at the floor. “I do a good job. You’ll see, Lady.” He looked up at her and grinned. He was missing a front tooth. His smile was pure. “You’ll see. I do good. Real good for you, Lady. Just need my box, then I can start.”

  Kyla grinned back at him—and stopped short, the truth coming at last, a punch to the heart.

  She took a deep breath, held him by the shoulders, and looked into his eyes. “Dan, I want you to listen to me. You don’t work here. You don’t clean here. You live here. With us. With me. We’re your family now. You’re my new, most favorite cousin. You don’t work here, understand? You live here. You live here with us.”

  He blinked, frowned, shook his head, so tired, his face screwing up with confusion, almost desperation. “B-but I do a good job, Lady. I’m a good worker. All the pals know . . . . For . . . for truth . . . .” He cast around, yawned, then saluted out of the force of habit. “I get my box, Lady. If I—. I get my box and you—you’ll see. Yes, ma’am. Please. I’m sorry. I’m a good worker. I’m good.”

  And then she was holding him to her heart, holding him so tight she could barely breathe, her arms around him, kissing the top of his head, tears hot in her throat and eyes. “You are good, Dan. You’re perfect.”

  70

  KYLA INTRODUCED DAN to his servant—which took another quarter bell to explain—and had another servant go fetch his box—which, upon arrival, turned out to be a half-broken piece of junk packed with rubbish, which Dan promptly hugged and shoved into bed beside his pillow, the happiest smile on his face. The box was home, she realized. And now that it was here, he understood. He was amazed and overwhelmed and exhausted, but he understood.

  And he was irresistible, she realized. He never lied, he never spoke an unkind word, and his simple, missing-toothed smile was joy. She stayed the entire time the servants were getting him situated, then dismissed them, and tucked him into bed.

  “I see you tomorrow, right, Lady?” he asked, fresh covers pulled tight under his chin.

  She kissed him on the forehead. He smelled like clean soap and little boy. “Of course, we’ll have breakfast together with everyone and then I’m sure you’ll be starting on your lessons with Garen and the other tutors.”

  “Lessons? What’s ‘lessons?’”

  She smiled. “You’ll have teachers, and they’ll show you things. You’ll work on your reading and your writing and your numbers and your history, logic, weapons, everything—all kinds of wonderful things.”

  “I’m a good worker,” he nodded, eyes drooping. Then he gave a giant yawn.

  It was infectious, and she yawned herself, the length of the day coming on at last.

  “Yes, you are, Dan.” She smiled and touched his cheek.

  “This is the nicest bed there is, in the whole world . . . for truth . . . .”

  He slept.

  And it was time for her to do the same.

  She blew out the lamp, made sure the little safety lantern was lit in the toilet in case he needed to go in the night, and left for her own quarters just a little way down the hall. Bruno was there, as always, snoring away on t
he foot of her bed, upside down, his floppy jowls wide, one eye peeking open as she entered. Her bed beckoned, and it took all her willpower to actually undress before crawling into those cool, clean covers. Bruno wiggled his furry warmth against her feet, the last thing she felt before sleep took her into sweet darkness.

  71

  KYLA WOKE AT the sound, at the knocking, and reached for Bruno, but the cloud mastiff had already shifted silently from her bed, blinking across the room to appear at her bedroom door, his fur shimmering like magical fog. He didn’t growl, but his ears and posture showed he was on highest alert.

  The knock came again, a soft rapping.

  Kyla blinked, reached for the dagger beneath her pillow, and glanced at the clock beside her bed. Pale moonlight reflected its dials: three bells after midnight.

  Bruno sniffed at the bottom of the door, his stumpy tail moving now, back and forth—back and forth. He knew who it was.

  Kyla pushed the covers away, slipped on her robe, and slipped her feet into her house shoes. She lit the lamp beside the bed and walked to the door, her dagger held pommel down, the blade following the line of her forearm. She listened for a moment, hand on the latch, looked again at Bruno’s moving tail to be sure, then cracked the door. Bruno promptly shoved his fat head into the gap, stumpy tail wagging now.

  It was Nordo Ness.

  Kyla’s eyebrows went up. “Lord Librarian?”

  “My Lady.” Ness bowed formally. He was an ancient man, stooped and wispy-haired, grey skin pulled snug over old bones, leaning, as always, on his crooked walking stick. He now wore a faded blue robe and cowl, the wool clean but threadbare, smelling of cloves and mint tea. A strange scar ran between his dark eyes, from the middle of his forehead to the bridge of his nose. While the old scholar’s commitment to the Tarn’s collections was legendary, it was also known that he performed other tasks, special errands for the High King and Queen . . . .