by W. C. Conner
A guard that Tingle had known for many years held up his arm as a signal to stop. He was a career soldier who had not always regarded his career as the best choice he had ever made, and he had always tended to treat his duties with what could be generously called irreverence. “Your name and business,” he said in an uncharacteristically surly manner.
“And a good day to you, too, Rolf,” Tingle said in his usual playful way. “You know full well my name is Tingle, and the answer to the question you’ve not asked is that I’m astride Lily because I am serving as courier on a most important mission. I bear a letter from Prince Gleneagle to your master, the Duke.” Rolf’s closed expression increased Tingle’s wariness. “I would beg in the name of the Prince that you announce my presence and present my credentials to the duke as soon as practicable.”
He gave Rolf a mischievous wink in an attempt to draw him out of his unaccustomed stiffness. “You’ve often complained about the dullness of life as a soldier when we’ve talked in town over a pint, Rolf. Well, you can smile now because within my pouch is a way to relieve your boredom and earn some glory in the bargain.”
Rolf did, indeed, smile at that, but it was a grim smile. He reached out and took the credentials that Tingle held forth. “Wait over there,” he said, seeming to purposely omit Tingle’s name as if angry at him. Turning smartly, he disappeared into the doorway leading into the castle.
Tingle dismounted and led Lily to the area Rolf had indicated with his arm as he spoke. After allowing her a generous draft of water from the trough to one side, he tied her to a post set there for the purpose.
Perhaps I’ve simply never noticed before since they’ve always just waved me inside in the past, he thought as he looked about himself, but I don’t remember that there was ever a holding area here.
While he looked around, trying to get a better sense of any other changes since his last visit, Rolf appeared in the doorway, followed closely by a young man. “The duke will see you following his evening meal,” Rolf said. “He bids you stable your horse and take your ease with his guardsmen in their quarters.” Without looking Tingle in the eyes he added, “The boy here will show you where to put your things.” With that, he turned away as the young man came forward and unhitched Lily from the post and led the two of them toward the stables.
As they walked, Tingle spoke softly to the youth. “Well met, master Gramling,” he said. “How fares your family?”
“All is not well, Tingle,” he replied, but without turning his head to acknowledge the conversation. “Rumors abound of war between Gleneagle and Greyleige, but I fear Confirth will not march with the Prince.”
Tingle grunted and nodded in acknowledgment of the information. “I bring a letter summoning the duke to stand against Greyleige.”
“Then you would do well to leave now,” Gramling replied. “To present it would likely be your death warrant.”
“I have sensed that very thing,” Tingle said. After another moment, he asked, “Are you yet able to get messages out of Confirth?”
“Aye, we are able, and I will carry the message myself. I leave my mother here, but if the fates favor us, the message I carry will help free us all.”
“As you will,” Tingle said between clenched teeth. “I shall deliver the Prince’s message to the duke as charged. There must be no suspicion beyond me. You must leave as soon and as surreptitiously as you can – within the hour if possible. The sooner you are gone, the better our chances. You must get to the Prince and tell him of Confirth’s treason.” Tingle drew a signet ring from where it hung on a chain inside his shirt and handed it to the boy. “This was given to me by the Prince when he appointed me his courier. See that he gets this ring and tell him, ‘The tinker fixed this himself’. He will know the truth of your words from that.”
“Did you receive this commission from the Prince himself?” the young man asked, awe evident in his voice.
Tingle nodded. “I did indeed, and I have seen evidence of Greyleige’s evil that no man should ever have to see. We must succeed.”
Gramling repeated the phrase given him by Tingle and asked, “But what of you, Tingle? Your life is forfeit here.”
Tingle smiled grimly, “It is not for us to predict the future but to make of it what we can. It is in my mind to see to it that Confirth’s attention remains on me as you get safely away unremarked.” Gramling looked uncertain. “I will be but a distraction. While his eyes watch me like the pickpocket at the market square, you will lift his purse and be gone without his knowledge.”
Berlayne sat stiffly, re-reading the letter given him by Tingle. His eyes narrowed as he read. He had been inclined to believe this man presenting himself at the gate as an ambassador without portfolio was anything but, for he had been told of Tingle’s occupation and reputation and considered himself insulted that Gleneagle had sent such a lowly person on a mission of this importance, if indeed he truly had. But the signature upon the summons was clearly that of the Prince, and the seal impressed upon the parchment was just as clearly that of Gleneagle. “The Prince commands me?” he said, a hard edge sharpening the quietness of his voice. “Should he not entreat me instead?” Only his eyes turned toward Tingle, demanding an answer.
“The prince had hoped his liege-bound nobles would recognize the gravity of our common situation and respond hastily to his aid. I respectfully suggest that the wording of his summons does not constitute a command but, rather, a plea for cooperation and aid.”
The duke smiled unpleasantly and signaled to one of the guards at the door. “I am mindful of the conflict of which he writes. Sleep well this night. You will be given my reply on the morrow.”
The guard escorted Tingle to a private room off the guards’ quarters and closed the door behind him as he backed out. The metal grate covering the window told him this was not a guest room, but that it was a cell. The way the Duke of Confirth had couched his words to him made it clear that events would be falling out just as both he and Gramling had believed they would.
Tingle tried the handle shortly after the guard left and found the door unlocked. His eyebrow cocked in suspicion of what appeared to have been an oversight. Or was it? Perhaps the intention is to make it appear I am trying to escape if I leave this cell unescorted so that they may kill me as a dangerous saboteur trying to escape.
Deep in thought he sat down on the cot and leaned back against the wall to mull his situation over. After several minutes, he became aware of a growing commotion outside of the guards’ room. Standing up and stepping onto the cot, he could see the wavering shadows of fire and billowing smoke against the wall opposite the window through which he looked.
He turned and opened the door to his erstwhile cell to find the guardroom empty. I told you to leave within the hour, Gramling, he thought as he let himself out through the guardroom door. Thank the powers you are such a willful young man.
Moving carefully around the side of the building he realized the fire was coming from the stables. He froze in indecision. Lily was in there, but so were a dozen or more of the duke’s guards. Just as he made up his mind to make a dash for the stables, a hand reached out from behind to grasp him firmly by the shoulder. “Your horse is outside the east gate,” a woman’s voice said quietly. Tingle tried to look into the cowl of the heavily cloaked woman, but her averted face rebuffed him. “My son told me you’d need saving, Tingle. Remember us both proudly if you win through.” And with that she ran off toward the fire, bucket in hand to help save the horses.
How can we possibly lose with people like that on our side, he thought as he jogged toward the east gate where it appeared there were no guards on duty, or perhaps they had been pressed into fire duty. It suddenly occurred to Tingle that there were many more players on the board than he would have ever imagined. Caron, Kemp, Mitchal, Gramling, Gramling’s mother, and who knew how many more? His mind raced as he trotted and a shrewd smile crept across his face. Perhaps even the careless guard?
Just ahead h
e heard a low whickering of alarm at the smell of the smoke from the stables. There was Lily, just as Gramling’s mother had said, fully tacked and with extra provisions tied behind the cantle. Saying a quick prayer of thanks to the powers – as well as to Gramling and his mother – he leaped astride Lily and trotted toward the front gate of the castle. As he drew near, he spurred the little mare to a gallop, making certain her stride made as much noise as possible on the hard-packed earth at the center of the road.
The guards at the gate looked up at the sound of approaching hooves, then raised the cry when they saw Tingle astride Lily in the wavering light of the torches at the gates as they flew by. There was a minor amount of chaos as horses were hastily tacked in preparation for an organized pursuit. By the time the first riders were up, however, the only thing to be seen of Tingle and Lily was dust settling on the road. He smiled in grim satisfaction as he slowed her pace, steering her at uneven intervals into the softer earth at the side of the road as if searching for a faint or hidden track while making certain they could be easily followed. Selecting a likely spot, he left the road on a bearing that made it appear he was going to beat his way east on a cross country trek intended to avoid the duke’s likely patrols on the roads.
Encountering the expected obstacle after expected obstacle as he headed east, he was soon traveling almost due south along rocky ground that made tracking almost impossible before he entered the creek that allowed him to turn toward the west – toward Wisdom, his true destination throughout the pursuit. His thoughts turned to Gramling, hoping that his deception had gained the young co-conspirator the invisibility and time needed to see him safely on his way to Gleneagle.
The door of Three Oaks opened and Scrubby entered, followed closely by a person heavily cloaked against the persistent drizzle outside.
“Look who I found wandering the roads,” he announced proudly as Tingle drew off his cloak.
Peg looked up expectantly but managed only a thin smile of greeting when she realized it wasn’t Kemp. Thisbe didn’t move but her face clearly showed her pleasure at his appearance. “It seems all of our visitors these days need bathing and grooming before they’re fit for human company,” she said.
The mocking tone of her voice challenged Tingle as he raised his eyes to hers. He had almost forgotten how beautiful and desirable she was, and his eyebrow raised in weary yet lustful appreciation of what he had become infatuated with the first night he set eyes on her. Without a word he crossed the few feet remaining between them, caught her hair in his hand and turned her face to him. She fought his grip only briefly before he kissed her almost savagely and released her so quickly she staggered back a step.
With her eyes flashing fire, she stepped toward him and slapped him smartly across the cheek before grabbing his hair with both hands and returning the savage kiss he had given her. Her breath came quickly as she broke away from the kiss and gave his face a tender caress where she had slapped him. “Don’t ever do that again,” she said huskily, but a different kind of fire now leaped in her eyes in defiance of her own words.
Tingle sat heavily down on the bench next to the fireplace. “Where are the others?” he asked, the dull look of exhaustion in his eyes.
Caron crossed the room quietly and sat down beside him. She took his hands in hers. “It’s a long story, Tingle.”
25
Wil lay sleeping soundly on the thick grass of the Old Forest as night drew to a close. Behind his lids, his eyes moved rapidly as disjointed visions of the Forest’s past drifted through his mind. Now one of the visions coalesced into a coherent dream, a vision that seemed familiar, yet not familiar at the same time.
Despite the snow-white hair, the face bent over the scroll was that of a young man. He paused at his writing and lifted his eyes to the impossibly beautiful young woman with hair the color of white gold and a peaches and cream complexion sitting framed in the window of the little stone cottage. The soft swell of her pregnancy was obvious from her outline against the early morning glow outside. He smiled sadly, his heart too full of both love and hurt to speak, then bent back to his writing. His elvish senses had long since told him that the child she carried was a male. He had an heir, one that would represent the new world that this offspring of the two races represented, but his heir was one he would never know.
She turned from watching the silvery blush of the awakening morning. Tears of hopelessness trickled silently from her almost otherworldly cornflower blue eyes as she burned his angular face into her memory. His pointed eyebrows and ears marked him unmistakably as an elf. The thin circlet of gold on his head marked him just as unmistakably as royalty.
He was Gleneagle, the king of the elves. To him had fallen the leadership of his people as they prepared to leave the world of which they had been a part since its beginning. Following the immutable laws of nature which governed both man and elf, the world had been changing from the moment of its beginning. The elves had been there at its beginning, but they had found their role becoming less and less important, and less and less valued. It was a world which no longer depended upon their powers and skills as it had in the beginning. Man was in the ascendancy, and magic, though still a power to be reckoned with, had begun to slowly fade. It was no longer the world of faerie and high magic that it had been at its inception.
He sprinkled sand on the parchment, shook it off, and carefully rolled it up. After tying it with a silver-gray ribbon he placed it into an intricately carved wooden box which already held several other scrolls and a sparkling green gemstone.
“It is completed, Miriam,” he said. “One scroll is for our son alone. It tells him all that he needs to know of his heritage so that he will never believe himself an unwanted bastard.”
“Is there no way?” she asked, her voice shaky with her tears.
He stood as she crossed the room and wrapped her close within his arms and rocked her gently back and forth. “There is none, my beloved. You are human. You cannot depart with us. Were it in my power I would have you come, or I would stay, but I am their king and I must depart your world with my people.”
“But our son,” she began.
“Will become the prince of your people upon your father’s passing, for he has neither male heir nor siblings. The scrolls I have written will ensure your son’s royal heritage and his claim upon the throne.”
He looked down, the tears rising in his eyes mirroring hers. “I will never know my own son,” he said, his voice quavering. “You must be strong for both of us and for him, Miriam.”
“I don’t think I can face a future without you,” she said softly, her voice catching as she spoke.
“You must and you will, just as I must,” he sighed. “We both have enormous responsibilities to our peoples. Mine is obvious; yours is to the future of our son and this world I must soon leave.
“In the final scroll I have charged our son and his heirs with the responsibility to be watchful for a loss of balance between good and evil. The wizard classes of humans have grown larger and more powerful over the years. They have learned to work with the fading magic and will be doing much of what the elves have done in the past to preserve balance within nature.
“We are not unmindful of the limitations of human magic, however, and have locked a powerful storehouse of benign magics in the Old Forest in which this cottage stands. It will help offset the loss of the positive influences that the departure of the elves from this world will create.”
He lifted her chin to look once more into her cornflower blue eyes. “Evil is enduring. It is patient. It will wait until chance offers it unfettered access to this world. It will fall to the heirs of our son to recognize the threat and search for the counter to this shift in the balance. It is for that, if for no other reason, that you must be strong.”
Gleneagle tapped the scroll wrapped in the silver-gray ribbon. “This scroll charges our son and his heirs with the duty to attempt to find a counter-force at the unknowable time in the future that
the pendulum inevitably swings to where evil finds its opening. They must prepare for a confrontation with an evil which will be capable of bringing this world to an end.”
They looked toward the growing light outside the window, the desperate hearts of two souls who would soon be separated for all time beating softly against each other. “The signs are in disarray,” he murmured into her hair, “but if the kind fates favor us, an individual who has extraordinary potential and character will emerge to help from the wizard classes. He must be without arrogance and unspoiled by his power, and he will need all the accumulated wisdom of men to prevail.”
As he had one time before, Wil awoke with the annoyance of a shaft of sunlight creeping across his eyes, only this time there was no pounding headache and no stomach-turning stench of Scrubby’s hog sty. Instead, when he turned to avoid the light, his mind felt refreshed and cleansed, and the wholesome smell of rich earth and the lightly crushed grasses upon which he lay filled his nose. He was surrounded by the soothing whisper of gentle breezes blowing through the trees, mingled with the sound of singing birds, and he experienced a feeling of acceptance and safety that he had not known since before his father had died more than a half century before.
The nebulous memory of a dream of two desperate lovers floated through his mind. He was handsome; she was breathtakingly beautiful. What was it he had been saying? “...if the kind fates favor us, an individual who has extraordinary potential and character will emerge ... from the wizard classes ...”
You must come to me.
His eyes popped open as the words once more entered his head. This time, however, they were as a voice rather than a disembodied thought and he could discern a direction from which they came. He looked about himself in wonder, memories of his flight from Scrubby’s home floating vaguely through his mind. He was in the Old Forest, he knew, but not the dull, forbidding one normally seen by passing travelers. This was the Old Forest he had seen in flashes and visions, vivid and vibrant with the colors of youth and energy.