by W. C. Conner
Kemp spied them as they entered and motioned them over, saying something to one of the two women who bustled off and returned with tankards of ale for Wil and Scrubby before the two of them reached the fireplace. Because of his diminutive stature, Scrubby had not been able to see much more than the faces of Kemp and Morgan over the heads of the crowd. As he realized that the two women were Thisbe and the pretty young girl who had ridden into town on the war horse, Scrubby slowed then started to turn around to leave, but Wil grabbed his arm and steered him over to the four who had all turned by this time and were watching them approach.
Wil opened the introductions. “Kemp, this is Scrublein but he’d be much more comfortable if you just called him Scrubby like most other folks do. And Scrubby, this is Kemp. He’s a long time acquaintance of mine.” Kemp reached out and grabbed the swineherd’s much smaller hand in his own. After giving the hand a polite shake, he turned and introduced Morgan.
Morgan inclined his head in greeting but did not offer his hand, which did not offend Scrubby in the least.
Finally, Morgan turned and indicated the two women standing between him and Kemp. “Gentlemen,” he said gravely, “I’m proud to present my daughters, Thisbe and Peg.”
Even Wil’s jaw dropped at that announcement. Poor Scrubby didn’t know which board on the floor was the best one to inspect as he stammered a reply which was totally unintelligible due to the noise of the room coupled with the fact the words were not much more than whispered. In one horrifying instant, the two most beautiful women he had seen in his entire life turned out to be the daughters of a man who looked to the simple swineherd like death in waiting. He now feared even to try to sneak a glance at the two women. The only person who reacted to Scrubby’s discomfort was Thisbe, but the smile that crossed her face wasn’t cruel; it was knowing.
Wil recovered quickly and remembered enough of his manners that he bowed his head toward each in turn saying, “Milady Thisbe. Milady Peg. I am honored to make your acquaintance.” Thisbe’s smile was almost conspiratorial as she acknowledged his greeting with a nod.
Turning to Morgan, Wil continued, “You have reason, Morgan, to be proud of your two daughters. They are both handsome in the extreme, each in her own very different way.” Morgan inclined his head in response, correctly assuming that Wil suspected different mothers.
“We have much to discuss,” Kemp said, taking the lead at that point, “but with all these people here, this is hardly the time or the place. There are far too many ears in Three Oaks at present, so let us share a meal and pleasant company this evening. Tomorrow morning will be soon enough for our needs and we can then enjoy the uninterrupted privacy needed for all that must be said.”
“Thisbe has arranged a private room in which to dine,” Morgan said, nodding his head toward the rear of the common room. In truth, the room was not much more than an alcove with a cloth which could be pulled across the opening if desired, and the noise of the common room came loudly through the opening, confirming the wisdom of delaying serious conversation until the following morning.
Thus it was that Wil came to know the personalities of the warrior and his two daughters, and there was much to admire about all three. Morgan had grown up within Castle Confirth, a companion of the old Duke’s son, and had been raised to a warrior’s life. He had caroused and wenched, but had always striven to maintain a personal code of honor and discipline that gave Wil pause as he compared it to his own aimless life. He told of Thisbe’s beautiful mother who had passed to the other side, consumed by her dependence on alcohol, then sidestepped the issue of Peg’s mother, saying only that he had secured Peg a position as a scullery maid in the duke’s kitchen because of her mother’s non-involvement in her life. Peg was silent for the most part and volunteered nothing about her past beyond what Morgan related. Wil accepted the little she offered as being the natural reaction of a young and shy person.
Thisbe spoke after Morgan had finished his tale. Looking to her father, she began relating all that had happened in the six years since they had last seen one another.
“After mother died,” she began, “I packed what little I had and set out on my own with no particular direction in mind. In that, I was much like you are now, father ... I had a past, but no discernible future.” She gave Morgan a sly smile. “Among those few things I carried was the knife that greeted you upon your arrival at Three Oaks.” Morgan’s nod acknowledged her skill as she continued. “I stood on the road and looked left and right, trying to decide which way to go when a breeze came up from the west, blowing toward the east. With nothing better to guide me, I simply followed the breeze. I was fortunate that it was the summer season, for I spent more nights than I care to remember under the stars before I found a place to stay, and there was more than one occasion when your gentle training saved my honor at the least, if not my life.” Again, the sly smile appeared as she winked at Morgan before continuing.
“An innkeeper found me behind his inn one morning going through the trash heap, looking for anything I could find that was not too spoiled to eat.” Her eyes grew distant at the memory. “I had not seen myself in a glass in many months and I didn’t know the waif looking back at me when I did. My hair was tangled and I was filthy beyond description. I was emaciated and with enormous circles around my eyes showing the want of sleep that was my constant companion. What that man saw in the pitiful child standing there holding the stump of a wilted carrot and a bone with a scrap of meat not yet scavenged by the dogs I will never know.”
Morgan reached out and took one of Thisbe’s hands in both of his own, holding it protectively as if he could now shield her from the hurt at this distance in time.
Thisbe looked at Peg as she continued. “We have some skills in common, Peg, for he set me to work in the scullery at the beginning until I had regained some of my strength and some of my weight. And he showed me how to dress and to present myself to best advantage.”
She looked with slight annoyance at Morgan who was squeezing her hand tightly enough that it was uncomfortable. “No, father,” she said, wincing slightly, “it was nothing like that. In fact, he would have thought you far more interesting than he found me.”
At that, Morgan relaxed the grip he was not aware of having tightened and looked sheepishly around the table as Kemp stifled a laugh and Peg blushed.
“Once I was presentable, he put me to work in the common room, serving and taking orders. I was good at it, too,” she said, “so good that the tips from the customers became more and more generous, and I’ll not deny that the change in my appearance as I matured encouraged more than one enamored customer to tip far too generously in the hopes of securing somewhat more than fine service.” Her face took on its wicked look. “And I’m human with human needs and wants. I’ll admit that on more than one occasion I rewarded the generosity of a customer who I found particularly attractive.” As she spoke, she snatched her hand from Morgan’s grasp lest he smash it in reaction to her revelation. She rubbed her hands together to restore the circulation in the one Morgan had held.
“I put almost every penny of it away and eventually offered to buy the inn, but he wasn’t interested in selling. In fact, he was loath to let me go, but he had no legal claim on me as I was not his indentured servant. In truth, he did truly care for me in his way, though he was certainly not in love with me.
“When the time came for me to leave, I gave him a kiss on the cheek and a generous consideration in his hand for the loss of income my departure would occasion, and I set out once more upon the road. Only this time, I set my face to the west and eventually ended up here in Wisdom at the end of winter to find Three Oaks conveniently for sale.” She winked again at Morgan. “And I must admit, old Melvin was very generous in accepting the offer I made him.” The wicked smile returned. “You men are so easy,” she laughed.
Looking around the table, she was amused by the range of expressions on the faces of the listeners: Morgan’s was one of indignation while Peg
looked uncomfortable, as if Thisbe’s story had hit too near a mark, and Kemp’s and Scrubby’s faces bore the look of embarrassed fascination.
The noise level in the common room had dropped during their meal and as they talked. Kemp looked out from the alcove and realized that there were only a few patrons lingering over their last tankards at the counter. He stood and stretched. “Let’s get some sleep,” he said as Scrubby yawned enormously, causing the others to join him, “and we’ll finish this in the morning before the inn opens for business.”
Scrubby and Wil trudged silently away from Three Oaks, turning over in their minds all they had seen and heard that night. As they turned into the path leading to his house, Scrubby spoke. “If I had the money and the nerve, I’d give Thisbe a big tip myself in hopes of a special reward.”
Wil smiled. “Who wouldn’t?” he replied, and was surprised at the conviction in his voice.
It was middle morning when Wil and Scrubby opened the door to the common room at Three Oaks and joined the others who sat at a table near the kitchen door. There were lots of sleepy looking faces and no conversation as they ate apples and pears from a bowl sitting next to a large pitcher of ale, similar pitchers of water and fresh milk, a loaf of bread, a small crock of yellow butter and a large wedge of cheese.
The sense of something rushing at Wil had ceased at some point during the previous evening’s conversation, although he could not identify when that moment was any more than he could tell you the point at which he fell asleep on his pallet after they had returned to Scrubby’s house.
After the two of them were seated and had each selected some fruit to eat, Kemp opened the conversation. “As I told you last night, there is much to tell and discuss of a nature that requires some quiet and a lack of curious ears other than those here.”
He looked to Wil. “I’ll not dissemble, Wil. We are here to discuss the threat that Greyleige presents to the Old Forest and to all those of good heart who live in this world. Morgan and his daughters know most everything about the conspiracy that I have previously discussed with you. I don’t know what confidences you and Scrubby share, and I wouldn’t dare to ask.”
Wil looked over at Scrubby who would have flushed had he not already turned red at his first sight of Thisbe’s daring cleavage even at this early hour as they walked through the front door. “Scrubby knows enough of my past that I doubt anything new will surprise or dismay him. He is the first and only true friend I have ever had in this life.” He looked quickly and apologetically to Kemp and added, “I count you as a friend, also, but Scrubby is the first and only one with no questions, no criticisms, no demands, no judgments.” Scrubby inspected his hands closely as Kemp nodded his understanding.
Morgan cleared his throat. “I think it only fair that you should know about our part in this.” And with that, he began their tale, with Kemp occasionally adding or correcting. Neither Thisbe nor Peg said anything, but they would nod from time to time as if verifying to Wil and Scrubby the accuracy of the two story tellers. There came a lull at the end of the telling while everyone at the table assessed the events leading up to this unlikely meeting in the obscure little village of Wisdom, hard against the Old Forest.
Wil waited, puzzled at where this was leading. At last Kemp sighed deeply and placed his large hands on the table with his palms up.
“There is more about me that I must tell all of you because it concerns you, Wil.”
All eyes swung briefly from Kemp to Wil, and now it was his turn to blush.
“I have told you I served as messenger for a group working to thwart Greyleige in what we know to be an almost fanatical obsession to gain control of the elven magics bottled up in the Old Forest.” Something in Kemp’s manner had changed and all attention focused totally on his words.
“The moment is at hand to tell you that I am more than a simple messenger. Princess Caron and I are the alpha and omega of the shadow group of which I told you.” None of the five listeners moved a muscle, seemingly almost not breathing.
“We met two years ago when her carriage broke down as it traveled through Wrensfalls. She is a most interesting and inquisitive lady. Far lesser ladies would have nothing to do with the inside of a blacksmith shop,” he continued, “but Caron sat as I worked, asking questions and surprising me with her knowledge of my trade.”
As he talked, Peg’s face paled slightly.
“During our conversation, it became apparent that we shared a common dislike and distrust of the present head of the Wizards’ Guild and she revealed to me that she wished to institute a network of like-minded folk to serve as messengers and spies. Thus was born our cause.”
Looking grave, Morgan spoke. “I hesitated to say it at the time, but the outlaws who attacked us on the road were no common bandits, though they were meant to appear so. At the time I thought they had been sent after me, but it appears you were the more likely target. Our visibility seems disturbingly high.”
“I was reasonably certain I was the target even then, knowing what I did about the events in Wrensfalls, Morgan, but I didn’t want to acknowledge it at the time for obvious reasons.” He looked away from the warrior as he continued.
“The princess has access to many ancient scrolls and manuscripts. She has determined that there is a way that Greyleige might gain control of the elven magics locked up in the Old Forest at our backs. For that to happen, he would need four things, and he is bending all his will toward finding them. The first is a talisman that must contain a certain rare alloy known to a mere handful of men in our lifetime.” He paused, cocking an eyebrow meaningfully. “My former master, Bork, was the only smith in the principality who knew how to create this alloy. For his refusal to cooperate, he was incinerated by Greyleige in his wrath.”
“Then the threat is gone,” Scrubby offered hopefully, “since your master is dead.”
“It might have been if Bork had not, at my urging, entrusted me with its secret several months ago in anticipation of just that occurrence.” At the questioning looks, he continued. “I know that wisdom might seem to dictate against the passing of the knowledge, but we could not be certain it did not exist somewhere else and, in fact, it seems almost certain that it does if Greyleige was willing to dispose of Bork. Even in his wrath he wouldn’t likely destroy one of the tools he needs to achieve his ends.
“More than that, though, we believe our knowledge of its composition will be crucial to our quest to beat the old wizard at his own game.”
“You said there are four things needed,” Wil observed suspiciously. “What of the other three?”
“The second is the aid of an elf,” Kemp said quietly.
Scrubby’s face lit up with relief. “The elves have been gone for hundreds of years. How could he possibly find an elf?”
“That, in fact, is where we found our first tool,” Kemp replied. “There is a principality in the five lands in which elven blood runs strongly in its rulers. So strongly, in fact, that they still retain some resemblance to their heritage. The Old Forest lies within the borders of this principality.”
At the looks of recognition on all the faces at the table, Kemp nodded. “That’s right. Either the Prince himself or Princess Caron might be the tool that Greyleige seeks, for the Gleneagle line runs true to its elven blood.” Morgan’s face turned even graver than before.
“The third thing Greyleige needs is the specific information contained on some scrolls written by the elves before their departure and hidden within the Old Forest.”
An unseen, unheard, unfelt force roared about Wil’s head and the blood pounded in his ears. You must come to me.
“So that’s why he’s been badgering the prince about gaining access to the Old Forest,” Thisbe observed. At Kemp’s questioning look, she shrugged, “That was the single biggest piece of news that Tingle shared at his recent visit.”
“It’s unclear what the information is or how it might be retrieved,” Kemp continued. “The only thing that is clear is
that the scrolls are somewhere in the Old Forest.”
The forces still flowed about Wil, but not as violently as previously and he was able to regain his focus on the conversation.
“The last required element was also somewhat of a mystery. It is named as ‘the key’ by the texts to which Caron has access and to which we assume Greyleige has somehow gained at least partial knowledge as well. At first we thought that was the nature of the implement Greyleige sought to have made, but further readings have convinced us that the key is a person, not a thing.”
Kemp now looked piercingly over at Wil, causing him to shrink back slightly as the others turned their gaze toward him.
“The Princess has told me the texts foretold that if the kind fates allow it to exist at the time of need, control of the magic within the Old Forest would be yielded to the one named as the key,” he said. “If events had not been moved along as quickly as they have recently, I would not be prepared to utter what I am about to reveal, although it appears the proof may be at hand.” A heartbeat, two heartbeats, then four. “Wil, we are certain, but unable to prove as yet, that you are the key to this game.”
The flowing force stopped altogether and the only thing Wil was aware of was Kemp’s voice as he continued. “What do you know of your childhood, Wil?”
“I don’t know. I suppose the same things most people know.” He shrugged as he struggled to remember. “I never knew my real mother. I was told that after she died my father moved from wherever we were living at the time to the village outside Castle Gleneagle’s walls. After a year or two he married a widow who had two daughters of her own upon whom she doted. She was very strict but she mostly ignored me until I was past my teens. That’s when she arranged for me to enter university, but I never did well and dropped out after a couple of years. Then she arranged a marriage which was without love. Oh, the girl was pretty and all, but there was nothing really there and I felt only a little guilt at my relief when she and our daughter died in childbirth. I pretty much just started drifting from place to place and job to job after that.”