The town square was quiet yet brightly lit. Every window of the Lesgar Inn shone with the flickering glow of oil lamps. It appeared not all had gone to their beds. Is drinking ale all day not enough? Do they have to stay out all night, too? Gialyn shook his head and made his way to the well. He pulled himself up onto the circular wall and sat watching through the inn’s front window as folk laughed and joked and danced. Somehow, it always irritated Gialyn how others could be happy while he was feeling miserable. Of course, he knew that made no sense. But still…
Ealian and his cronies waltzed into the square. Evidently, they had been drinking, too. Either that, or one of Ealian’s legs had suddenly grown a foot longer than the other.
“Here he is, the hill climber,” Ealian slurred. “That prize should have been mine, Re’adh.”
Gialyn sighed heavily.
“Wh-what was that for?” Ealian asked. Then staggered as he attempted to point at him. “Y-you think you deserved to win, do you? You cheated!”
Gialyn stood and began to walk towards the canal dock – where his father worked when he was not working in their fields. “Best way to avoid an argument is to not be there.” That was one of Daric’s sayings. For once, Gialyn agreed.
“Where are you going? Re’adh!”
Surprisingly, Ealian’s friends were not spurring him on. They had likely realised how drunk the fool was, and decided to keep their distance. Which, if true, was uncharacteristically sensible for that lot.
Their abstention, however, did not stop the emissary’s son throwing his quarter-full bottle of ale at Gialyn. Fortunately, he missed by a good hand – a lucky throw, in his current condition.
“That’s enough!” Elspeth’s shout came from inside Gobin the blacksmith’s shop – she was often in there, sharpening knives or arrow tips. Gobin often referred to her as his “silent apprentice.” Although she rarely worked on anything other than her own gear, and why he called her “silent” was a mystery, too; she was always talking. Maybe it was because no one was supposed to know she was working there, her being the emissary’s daughter and all.
Ealian turned – or rather swayed – in her direction. “This has nothing to do with you, sister,” he said, pointing to where he must have thought she was standing. His aim was off by a span.
“Go home, Ealian; you’re making a fool of yourself. And you were not far short of stupid to begin with. Astin, take him back home.”
Astin Barrair raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, you heard me, Astin.” Elspeth pointed directly at him. “Take him home, before I tell your mother you have been at the ale.”
Startled, Astin nodded furiously. He wheeled Ealian around – ignoring the fool’s complaints – and, together with the other three, marched the drunken clown in the direction of home.
Elspeth stood with her hands on her hips and jaw clenched, watching as the five disappeared around the corner. She was shaking her head and tutting. The sight of her reminded Gialyn of his mother when he had forgotten to feed the chickens… or clean the barn… or fill the water barrels… or one of a hundred other things his parents made him do.
“You shouldn’t let them treat you like that, Re’adh,” she said, taking a pace towards the well.
Gialyn walked back to the well and sat on the wall. For once, and despite how close Elspeth was, Gialyn did not feel nervous. The events of the evening had eclipsed his usual reaction.
“Only a fool fights a fool’s battle,” he said in a clear, firm tone.
Elspeth looked taken aback by his comment. She did not speak to Gialyn very often, and when she did, she likely expected to hear little more than an incoherent, nervous prattle. The surprise reached her eyes, and she laughed. “Where did that come from?”
“It is one of my father’s. He has dozens of them.”
Gialyn laughed, too, although his grin went no further than his lips.
A strange sense of calm had come over him since leaving the house – a half-dazed sense of calm as if he had been walking in a dream for the last ten minutes. Oddly enough, it was a good feeling. Liberating.
He fished through his pockets looking for a sweetroll he thought he had – nothing. Sighing, he turned to the large wooden bucket hanging from a rope on the well-winch. Pulling the bucket to him, he picked up the ladle and took a sip before emptying some of the water into his hand. Slowly, he washed the water over his face. It felt cool on his warm skin.
Why did I bring this coat?
Elspeth looked puzzled. Maybe she was accustomed to having folk’s full attention. She shuffled over and sat on the wall next to where Gialyn was standing.
After a moment, she spoke, “Are you looking forward to seeing Bailryn again?” Her smile said she was, no doubt there.
Gialyn knew Elspeth had been to Bailryn before, but just the once, and then only passing through. He had overheard her talking about the tall towers, the white marble, the pristine fountains and polished cobbles of the palace square. Again, the smile on her face lit up her eyes. She sighed like a girl waiting for her first dance at the ball.
For a moment, he wondered if he should sit back down next to her. What would she think? Would she assume him too presumptuous, too bold, maybe? He decided he did not care and sat down.
“Lightfoots, shrillers, the Black Hand, open sewers, food shortages, rats, and the blight: what is there to look forward to?” Gialyn asked.
Elspeth looked at him askance, open-mouthed, ready to speak, but no words came. Folding her arms, she appeared to think for a moment, now and then creasing her brow as though puzzling through a problem. “What are shrillers?” she finally asked.
“Beggars, but none like you have ever seen. They will plant themselves in front of you, bar your way, and scream; that’s why we call them shrillers. They scream their children are starving and will die without food, or say their mother is sick, and if you don’t hand over a krùn or some coppers… Then, once your back is turned, they run into the nearest tavern and buy ale with the money you gave.”
“So why do people give it to them if they know that’s all they do with it?”
Elspeth looked straight at Gialyn, straight into his eyes. Her stare cracked through his dazed disposition. He began to remember he was supposed to be nervous around her.
“Most people don’t,” he said, after clearing his throat. “But enough give in to keep them at it. I suppose some folk think a few coppers are a small price to pay to be rid of them.”
“And what are these… lightfoots?”
“Local thieves. Groups roam around the streets in search of easy victims: single women with a child, too busy protecting them to fight back; rich men, too fat to chase them; hawkers and peddlers, too busy with customers to notice thieving. They will filch from anyone.”
“Gods, where are the guards? Why doesn’t someone do something about it?”
Gialyn laughed. “The guards only patrol the palace square; the rest of Bailryn fends for itself. A few inns and taverns hire men to keep order, but often enough the men they hire are little better. The Black Hand were the worst of them. My father thought Lord Breen – he’s the patron of the Black Hand – was secretly working with the lightfoot gangs to force folk into paying for protection.”
“I see,” Elspeth said, although her expression said she did not see at all. “Of course, I was not expecting it to be all roses.” She lifted her chin: there was that arrogance again. “I expected it to be difficult. I mean, after all, it is the palace guards and, of course, I expect they will select me for officer training.” A self-absorbed grin lit up her face. She was probably imagining herself clad in a shining dress uniform, a Palace Guard Captain’s insignia on her shoulder. I wonder if she knows what the barracks look like. He laughed at the thought.
“Now what?” Elspeth sat up, staring.
“Nothing. I–I think you’re going to be in for a surprise.” Gialyn laughed nervously. The calming daze was wearing off.
“I’m sure I will be able to
handle anything.” Elspeth’s chin rose another notch. She crossed her legs and folded her arms tight. Blinking, she turned away and gazed at the wall in front of the blacksmith’s. “I expect I’ll do very well. Of all the women chosen to guard the court, I’m sure none will be able to shoot like me.”
“Doubt you will have much chance,” Gialyn mumbled.
“What was that?” Elspeth asked. She sounded annoyed now. “You really should speak up.”
Gialyn scoffed indignantly. Damn her if she thought to get the better of him; not tonight, of all nights. “The women guarding the palace are little more than maids who know how to fight. You’ll likely spend most of your time fetching and carrying for one of the ladies of the court. You might be lucky and be assigned to a princess. But then again, I doubt if you would call that luck. Likely as not, she’ll have you hemming her dresses.”
“Pft… I won’t do it!”
“You will do as you’re told!”
“I… argh… I don’t believe you.”
Gialyn felt strangely empowered, using his knowledge of Bailryn to bait her.
No. Stop it. Stop teasing, you fool.
He lowered his tone. “All the guards do their share of fetching and carrying, Elspeth. My father did, and he was a captain. And if there’s a war…” Gialyn blinked and pulled in a long breath; he knew what wars were about – nothing good. “If there’s a war, you will fight alongside the men… and die alongside them.” He whispered the last part.
Elspeth bit her lip. Her face flattened at his last comment. She stood, brushed down her breeches, and straightened her blouse. “I should be getting back. It’s late.”
Gialyn stood, too, and bowed.
Then immediately wished he had not. Why do I keep doing that? They don’t bow around here. He coughed to hide his embarrassment.
Elspeth laughed a little. Once again, she mimicked a curtsy. He did another half bow before turning for home.
As he walked, Gialyn looked over his shoulder. Elspeth was heading over to Gobin’s, likely to gather her belongings. She did not look back.
Gialyn paused for a moment. It had been, by far, the longest conversation he had had with Elspeth. Did she care about him at all? Did she give him a second thought? Likely not. At least he had stood up for himself, had a proper talk, without stumbling around for something to say. It was an improvement, a step in the right direction. Maybe he could spend more time talking to her on their way to Bailryn – and maybe going back to Bailryn would not be such a bad thing, after all.
Setting off again, he glanced up the road at the light shining from their kitchen and wondered if he could sneak around back without his parents noticing. He did not want any more talk; not tonight.
CHAPTER 6
New Friends
The road – if Gialyn could call it a road – to the footbridge had been hard-baked by the seemingly ever-present sun. The thick afternoon air lay still and heavy. Gialyn blinked away the dusty pollen as he eyed the early shoots of lemon grass which made a high, colourful border around the adjacent fields. Their buds stretched on their tall stalks as though fighting for the sun’s light. In contrast, the king’s pastureland was a flat blanket of green. Zayk Fellery’s goats had chewed the grass down to the pith. Silky dogwood grew along the boundary, too. Their green-topped leaves with silver bellies flickered in the high sun. White blossoms hung in clusters, dancing at the faintest breeze as if poked by an invisible finger. Apart from the heat, it was a grand day for a walk… if a walk was all it was. But Gialyn knew he would not be coming back this way, least not while the spring flowers still bloomed.
Their path rose in a gentle incline as the road slowly turned north towards the bridge – the place where Gialyn and his father had arranged to meet the Tanners. At this time of day, the road was seldom busy. Indeed, it was only busy in the evenings, when the carts brought the raw ore down from the mines. A horse and cart, now a hundred paces ahead, had thrown up a thin cloud of dust which still lingered where Gialyn and his father walked. It was the one disturbance in an otherwise tranquil scene. Yet, neither the noise of the horse’s footfalls, nor the clattering of cartwheels, was heard above the Geddy River. It surged, still fat with the spring melt, down through the weirs of the Alber canal, barely three paces to their right.
A pale mist twisted airily above the water. The indiscernible breeze caught the vapours, lightening the heavy air. Gialyn was grateful for the cool spray, brief though it was.
Any other day, Gialyn would have been happy to take in the view. Today, though, he was low, depressed, and too miserable to pay the Geddy its well-earned attention. Today, the vale seemed to taunt him, “Look what you will be missing,” it said.
Gialyn turned his head away from the view and fixed his gaze on the distant horizon. Even there, the image left him feeling cold inside. The hills, valleys and meadows, once a familiar backdrop, seemed strangely alien. Looking at them made his palms sweat and his stomach churn, forcing him to catch a breath. Why should the view make him feel such dread? Was it a fear of the unknown?
Again, he turned away.
The state of his backpack was doing nothing to aid Gialyn’s mood. Do we really need all this? Twisting from side to side, he hitched the heavy pack up and adjusted the straps, twisting his neck and shoulders to find comfort, but could not make it balance nicely on his back. Finally, having given up on the idea, he pushed his thumbs under the straps and let it be.
Daric had noticed him struggling. “You should have tied the bedroll to the bottom… like I said.”
Gods, that’s all I need. Barely ten minutes in, and already he’s picking faults. Gialyn sighed quietly. He gave his pack another tug and focused on the road ahead.
“Don’t fuss with it now,” Daric said. “You can fix it when we reach the footbridge. We should have some time; I’d bet the girl will be late.”
“I doubt it.” Gialyn turned away from his father, mumbling a curse which Daric would not hear, he hoped.
“What makes you say that?”
“She’s the only one who wants to go to Bailryn.”
He saw Daric raise his eyebrows and then sarcastically shuffle his pack from side to side, smiling as he did so. Gods, this is just…
Gialyn ignored the taunt. Instead, he looked down at the water, wondering what it would be like to go for a swim. How were they going to walk all the way to Bailryn in this heat? They could have taken horses some of the way… at least. The thought of riding made his shoulder ache more, and he yanked his pack up one last time. No, leave it alone, he’ll only—
“What do you think about that?” His father interrupted his thought.
“Think about what?” Gialyn asked. He renewed his grip, wondering if his father was talking about his pack or Elspeth. He hoped it was not Elspeth.
“About spending nigh on six weeks with that girl you like, maybe longer.”
If there was one thing Gialyn dreaded, it was talking about personal matters with his parents. It just wasn’t right. Yes, Daric would know how he felt, it was hardly a secret, but why did they have to talk about it? Had his mother mentioned something?
“I doubt she’ll notice. She’s always busy with—”
What am I doing? Gialyn thought. Bad enough he wants to talk at all, but not this, not Elspeth. Please, gods, no!
“You’ll be sharing a camp for most of the summer,” Daric said. “There’ll be no escaping. You’d best figure out a way to deal with her, and quickly, before it turns into a problem.”
“What do you mean, ‘deal with her’?” Gialyn asked. Then, once again, wondered why he had not kept his mouth shut.
Daric put a hand on Gialyn’s shoulder and moved closer. “Decide how you’re going to treat her,” he said. “I’d go for the practical approach if I were you. Keep everything simple: if you need to ask her something, then ask her as if she were a work mate; if you need to tell her something, then just come out and say it. She won’t bite.”
Daric squeezed Gi
alyn’s shoulder. His expression changed; he looked serious. “Whatever you do, don’t react to her moods. You know what she’s like; she’s as bad as her father for biting at the wrong end of the stick. I promise you, whatever’s causing her mood, chances are it will have nothing to do with you. But if she’s like most women, and I’d bet she is, she’ll be after someone to blame. Women are like that. Learn how to bite your lip. You know what I mean.” He patted Gialyn on his shoulder and straightened up.
“Oh.” Gialyn was surprised he was listening to his father, and more surprised Daric seemed to be making sense. “I–I will try that, thank you,” he said. But he didn’t want to. Gods, he’ll be talking about where babies come from next! Stop agreeing with him.
Daric pulled up at his straps and put a little bounce in his step. He seemed pleased to have had his little talk. Perhaps he thought there was now one less problem for him to worry about.
“By the gods, I remember when I met your mother. I’m surprised she did not run at the sight of me.” Daric laughed so hard his backpack shook.
Gialyn wondered whether he should ask the obvious question. He balanced his curiosity with the anguish of holding one of those conversations with his father. After some apprehensive pondering, his curiosity got the better of him. “Why? What did you do that was so bad?”
“What didn’t I do? I was such a foolish, hard-headed young man back in those days. I thought I knew everything.” Daric shook his head again and smiled as he gazed along the path. “Let me put it simply, without too many details.” He shot a wry sideways glance at Gialyn, apparently mindful that his son was fishing for controversy – and he was right, of course. “You should approach love with three simple rules: never lie, never pretend, and most importantly, never presume!”
Gialyn was puzzled. “What do you mean by ‘presume’?”
Suddenly, his father grew a little flushed and fidgety, perhaps realising he had opened the door to an awkward subject and had stuck his big foot right in the gap. Ha! Serves him right.
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