“Well! Let’s see then.” With his finger against the first line, he leant in closer to the text. “We’ve got ptarmigan basted in a bacon-enriched sauce, pigeon and mushroom pie, frittered salmon with apple puree, pan fried turbot and eschalot, thin sliced stone-cooked beef, a variety of shellfish in a rich soup, dock and dandelion omelette - with water parsley mind you - then boiled crab served in the shell, or knuckles of pork with a mint jelly, cow’s foot and pig’s trotter broth…”
“Stor’? I suspect it’s a bit too long to announce.”
“Eh? Oh. Reet.”
“Perhaps you’d be so kind as to hand it to Lord Nephril. He can make his choice and then pass it on,” and so it was done.
Storbanther’s culinary oratory had at least had the advantage of filling the air with sound, something notably absent as the menu did the rounds. By the time Penolith was deciding hers, the room had fallen silent.
When Storbanther left for the kitchens, Nephril noted, “It doth strike me, what with the fatigue of our journey and the late hour, we are wont to lose some clarity of mind if we long forestall discussion concerning that which hath brought us so far, and to thine very door, dear Guardian.”
“You’re quite right, Lord Nephril. You’ve all had a long day and it is getting late. Perhaps it would open the issue if I were to make clear to you all what we in Galgaverre have already learnt. It’s come to our attention that yesterday an army of sorts was seen to come from the forest, across the Vale of Plenty, and engage the Ambecs before their village. We believe they were all slaughtered. What’s become of the army since, however, appears to be anybody’s guess. Oh, and it also appears the king has regained his senses, to a lesser or greater extent, and has called a council.” She paused but, when there were no comments, finally concluded, “Not much, I must admit, and hence why I’m interested in hearing what you have to say.”
It was Pettar who then said, “There’s little more we can add, I’m afraid, in fact, the king’s reinvigoration and his calling of a council is news to us. Our intention was simply to make you aware of what’s happened, but it seems we’ve been swiftly overtaken.”
“Then I must thank you for your concern for us, Pettar. It’s cheering to think you still hold Galgaverre in some regard.”
“I do, and it’s what’s made me critical, fretful indeed, that its insular outlook may one day lay it open and weak. Certainly now, what with this new threat. For all my harsh words, I’ve never taken Galgaverre for granted, have never belittled its great worth, nor the mine of knowledge it holds.” His eyes briefly flicked up to the library.
“I believe you, Pettar, and also see in your words another reason for your return.” Pettar said nothing. “Ah, but you were always an open face, like a book to read, honesty one of your clear virtues, the thing that always stayed my hand, thank the Certain Power.”
Nephril then obliquely asked, “The king is now back to his senses?” However, the door then burst open and Storbanther led in a line of young priests, all bearing dishes laden with fare, and so his question went unnoticed.
As their food was being set before them Falmeard gently coaxed Nephril from whatever remote precincts his mind had now taken him. He returned, looking somewhat startled, and peered hard at his roast partridge legs and broccoli. When the priests had finished serving, and had then left, Storbanther remained and took up a seat at the table, although nothing was set before him but a single goblet of wine. The others, though, soon began eating.
After a while, Storbanther announced, “Guardian’s kitchen ‘ope t’food’s ta yer liking, a sentiment I share an’ all, even though I’d nowt to do wi’ its cooking, like.” Each avowed their satisfaction and gratitude, at which Storbanther asked. “So, who ‘ere actually saw this army then?”
Falmeard immediately answered, having taken a genuine liking to Storbanther and feeling him less imposing than their esteemed Guardian. “Me and Nephril saw it, late yesterday morning. We were on Nephril’s terrace when we noticed it coming along the Lost Northern Way.”
“Oh aye, and did ya see ‘em wipe out t’Ambecs?”
Falmeard faltered at the question’s abruptness. Although the Ambecs weren’t a particularly likeable people, it did hurt him to think of their brutal demise.
Pettar took the liberty of answering for him. “Yes, Storbanther, yes, they both saw the deed, and yes, they’re first-hand witnesses.”
“Right! We can take it it’s true then? First-‘and, like?”
“You can.”
Penolith then suggested, “So, shall we address the other reason for your return, Pettar?”
He turned to her and grinned. “Never miss a clue and never forget anything. That’s what I always remember about you, Penolith, you never let go a thread. Very well. You bring me to our other reason for being here, and that’s the wealth of knowledge I’ve already mentioned, and you’ve so astutely picked up on, Lady.”
He tilted his head and swept his gaze along the many shelves on the gallery above.
“And to what end?” she asked, guardedly.
Pettar sat back in his chair as he pushed the remains of his meal away. “We’re assured there’s been an incursion on Dican lands, and that a severe hurt’s been done its people. We’ve first-hand knowledge of that, after all. What seemed the most obvious question, however, was not so much why but who. Who were the men of that army and where, in this seemingly empty world, did they spring from?”
He dared catch Penolith’s eye. “Where better to solve that question than here. Where better than your own unique collection, my sister. I’m sure its old Dican additions can unlock some answers.”
Penolith kept her gaze from them all and flicked absently at some bread crumbs on the table. After what seemed an age, she finally raised her head. “You may see gain in Galgaverre’s library, Pettar, may even see hidden answers there, but you’d be wrong, so very wrong.”
She stood so abruptly her chair fell back against the floor. “You hope it’ll point a finger at some Dican enemy, don’t you?” She seemed somehow frightened. “Well, you’d be wrong, so very wrong!” She pointed at the galley. “The foreign muck it’s accumulated is just Dican deceit, nothing but lies and subterfuge.”
Her eyes began to look a little wild. “It’s been made lair of a monster, a spiteful, hateful, loathsome monster. I’ll not allow its voice free, not even for you, Pettar, never, do you hear. Never in a million years.” Her voice dropped low. “I should have burnt it in the beginning, when I first saw what it peddled.” She swung her gaze at Storbanther. “I’ve sometimes wondered, sometimes suspected, but why? What were you thinking, Stor’?”
Quite by accident, her eyes became enmeshed with Nephril’s. He was smiling. His tranquil old face, set with its large and milky eyes, beamed comfortingly at her. Her tumbling mind stopped abruptly, as his words floated to her ears. “Thou hast seen beyond thy blood’s fashioning, beyond its remit, and it hast frightened thee, as it must. When blood thins, it can no longer keep out other realms. It no longer obscures to protect.”
Penolith was shaking a little and so Pettar righted her chair and eased her compliantly into it. He looked on, worried, as Nephril sat himself at her side and took her hands limply in his. His words once more flowed soothingly through her distraught mind. “Penolith, thou hast seen why thy blood be so thin now. The monster upstairs hast told thee why, hast shown thee even. Eh, Penolith, mine sorely used Guardian? Thou hast seen why Leiyatel no longer holds thy blood’s fashioning.”
Her face slowly turned to his and she tilted her head, as her eyes narrowed. “It is true then? The monster’s not lied when it said that Leiyatel has withered?”
“It hast not lied, Guardian, but neither has it been fault of Galgaverre. Nay, far from it. More devious cause has been at work, and for a very long time indeed.”
Her gaze had drifted to the fire’s glowing embers. “I may have been insular and cocooned, as all Galgaverrans are, but I’ve now seen beyond our walls, hav
e seen into the wider realm. I’ve seen its past through a great many eyes.” She looked shocked, almost alarmed. Her eyes slowly moved about the room but came to rest on the weight of books above.
The room was deathly silent before she intoned, “If you speak truly then I’ve seen the ruin and despoilment wrought on this once mighty and beautiful place, this once resplendent and glorious realm. I’ve seen it played out before my very own eyes, seen that which no single Galgaverran span should see. I’ve watched the fall of Dica and know what cast it down.”
15 Truth be Told
Falmeard and Nephril had chosen two of the beds nearest the fire, despite the whole room being quite warm. Although they were both tired by then they couldn’t sleep. Falmeard’s mind raced on the most and fair bubbled with thoughts and questions. Nephril, on the other hand, was quite content to stare at the ceiling with his own thoughts ambling by.
Falmeard lifted himself to one elbow and looked across at Nephril. “Are you asleep yet?”
One of Nephril’s eyes opened and regarded him. “I am twixt the here and now, and the there and then. What impetuous horse kicks at thy stable door then, eh, mine friend?”
“What I don’t understand is, why couldn’t Penolith see the realm’s decline before?”
Nephril turned his head and smiled, distantly. “Did thou but know, but thou art held fast within like trap to Penolith. Galgaverre’s insular life, and their closeness to Leiyatel, hath hidden the truth from them. One could expect no other. Galgaverre was bound to be the last to slip and sink, and they the least to see they were the last.”
Although he loved him dearly, Nephril was finding Falmeard more and more irritating. There was something about being back in Galgaverre that was making him increasingly tetchy and irascible, and making Falmeard’s honest queries seem so inane.
“The trap I placed thee in earlier, the one alike Penolith’s, doth mark the point well. Thou assume her nature be as thine own, as those akin to thee. Thou must remember that thee and me are not as Penolith and hers.” His tiredness was robbing him of caution and so he paused, and then started afresh.
“Galgaverran blood carries different outlooks than thou wilt find in the blood of others, it hath been mixed to deliver servants of the Certain Power, attendant to its needs only. Why she hath recently taken to reading the perennially unread I cannot imagine, but it hast certainly brought revelation, uncovered her dark monster. The Tree has lost hold and so her blood unravels.”
Falmeard sank back with his head resting softly on his pillow. He hadn’t understood a word but knew, from experience, that seeking clarity with Nephril usually brought obfuscation. He wondered if sense might come of its own accord were he simply to watch his thoughts chase themselves around his mind. With that aim, he settled back and closed his eyes, and soon drifted off to sleep.
Nephril, on the other hand, rested out of Morpheus’s reach, as was wont of his age. Instead, he closed his eyes and, in his mind, balanced that evening’s remembrances expressed with expressions remembered. What had happened, he knew, was a rare thing in Galgaverre.
It seemed the winds, blowing from the north, had finally come south. The north wind, eh? The wind of change. Insidious and seditious, and unstoppable. To Nephril, it brokered more of the hand of man than nature, had about it the presence of thought rather than physic. Yet here, furthest from its boreal birth, he’d felt no sense of its attendance, no glimpse of dark figures, no prickle of watching eyes. For that he felt relief, yet still did sleep deny him its embrace.
Sometimes he regretted his age, often in fact, an age that shortened his temper when remembering, that tripped reason with its fragmented terrain and swallowed confidence whole into its great dark chasms. He knew now, without a doubt, how urgent was their need to find a way forward. If only he could remember enough. Try as he might, though, he couldn’t.
The door latch creaked and, as he flicked his eyes open, he saw Pettar cautiously and quietly enter, careful not to disturb the sleepers. He crept to the one remaining bed, tested its softness, smiled gratefully and then caught sight of Nephril’s watching eyes. He whispered, “You not asleep yet, my friend?”
Nephril rolled onto his side and propped his head on his hand. “Nay, ‘tis not a pastime that befits me well these days, but I do find benefit in the rest, although mine mind still wanders. And the Lady Penolith? Is she abed now and resting?” Pettar was about to sit heavily on his own bed when he thought twice and then moved carefully, past Falmeard’s, to sit on the floor at Nephril’s side.
He looked exhausted, as he gathered his knees up between his arms. “The lady’s better than I’d hoped for. I’ve just left her in her apartments, with Storbanther.” He stopped and looked blankly ahead for a while, unseeing and distant, and Nephril waited. Pettar eventually just smiled back at him, weakly though.
“Pettar? I know thou art tired, mine friend, ‘tis plain to see, but ‘tis also plain that something troubles thee, something thou need get straight afore thee can sleep. Feel free to try mine worth.”
“When I was still with Penolith, I overheard Storbanther make mention … no, he forewarned her of something I couldn’t quite fathom. His words intrigued me for they were about you.”
Nephril remained passive, as he was wont to be. “Storbanther revealed something quite surprising.” Nephril’s continued silence made Pettar eye him closely. “I’ve always thought you an odd fish but this latest revelation makes you all the odder, if it’s true.” Nephril still didn’t answer. “Alright, immune to intrigue you may be but I’m nowhere near your age, and never will be, so I’ll show intrigue for us both.”
Pettar looked about them, as though concerned they’d be overheard. Their only company was Falmeard, now softly snoring. “Storbanther warned her that, if indeed you were Master of Ceremonies to the Kings of Dica, as I know you are, then she must keep in mind that you’re also her superior!”
Nephril still didn’t say anything. When it became obvious Pettar had finished, he did at last stir. “I am Master of Ceremonies, and have been for a very long time, that is true, and yes, I suppose ‘tis true within statute, that I have supremacy o’er the Guardian. I don’t, though, see reason for such arcane niceties to have significance now. ‘Tis more than likely their preoccupation with procedure. You know what they art like. No, the time for such things hath long since fallen to the Garden … to the Garden … to the Garden of … Garden of … the Forgotten.”
His own words had the very effect Pettar’s had failed to elicit, they sparked a small flame of interest in the tinder of his mind’s warm hearth. While Nephril lay there, trying to make sense from his mind’s fire, Pettar just simply sighed, feeling great weariness. He bade Nephril goodnight before finally retiring to his own bed.
Nephril only half heard and only absently answered. His mind was now slowly beginning to find ancient memories, long forgotten fragments. Amongst the tumble and slide of reminiscences, a ring featured, a dull, worthless trinket, but from which came the image of a tree, one set within a strange red lake.
Again, he felt that familiar frustration, of a reach just less than his grasp’s need. This time, the memories beyond his fingers were even more vibrant and sharp. That sudden recognition seemed to allay his frustration, and let his mind relax.
‘What had it been about the Garden of the Forgotten?’ he wondered. ‘What, in that innocent name, had brought metal against flint and struck spark? Why should tinder have caught so easily, and burned so brightly, bright enough to shine on ring and tree?’ By then, on his back once more, he’d let his eyes rest on the library above, and there sleep at last sneaked up and carried him away.
~o~
Still very much awake, Penolith sat on her bed staring at Storbanther as he too sat, eyes cast down, on the chair by its side. She’d denied him his strange request but he’d persisted, despite her reminding him that no statute existed to allow it. What place could she have in affairs of state? Her place was in Galgaverre, not abroad, n
ot upon some unformed premise tantamount to meddling. No, she couldn’t agree, and that was that, no more to be said.
Storbanther shifted and crossed his legs, placed both hands on his knee and sighed. “Well! Suppose that’s that then. Nowt more to be said. Still, opportunity lost.” She looked exasperated but didn’t reply. “Dican offices won’t be up to it, Guardian, that’s for sure. No longer t’safe ‘ands they’ve allas made out thee were. But, if yer adamant, then that’s it.”
For some reason Penolith felt sorry for him. He looked so forlorn all of a sudden, like a child, but one with an odd and ancient sparkle in its eyes. “Must’ve been wrong then,” he said. “Thought thee’d seen enough. Obviously not. Maybe there’s ‘ope elsewhere, eh, still chance to profit.”
Penolith felt very tired. Although Storbanther’s words had now lost her, she couldn’t find the energy to pursue them. “It’s not our place, Stor’, to go meddling.” She yawned. “Our place is here, where it’s always been. Our duty’s to the Certain Power, not politicking about the place.” He was about to speak. “And that’s my final word on the matter. I’m just too tired. Leave it for now, eh, Stor’?”
“Maybe in time,” Storbanther said to himself. “In time! But we ain’t got much o’ that left. Shame, but there we is. Needs must.” He rose and was about to take his leave when he turned back. “We’re but wheels in t’engine, mi Lady, wheels in t’engine.” Penolith looked at him, confused. He shook his head. “Thee’s no longer who thee were yesterday, thee knows, but thee’s still too much t’Guardian, more’s t’pity. Well, may still be hope, who knows,” and with that, he finally left.
16 A Threat Proven Real
The silence of the apartments was ruffled by a distant echoing clatter, the sound of many tired feet quickly stumbling along the passageway without. Namweed turned from his book in time to catch Laixac’s relieved glance at the door. The king secretly smiled his own relief before noting, “Would appear my Council are almost upon us, would it not?”
Leiyatel's Embrace (Dica Series Book 1) Page 14