We descended to the next half-level, by steps; the omor left us, and when I looked back, gave a rueful grin and a wave. I never knew her name and her help came too late for the plans of the Great Elder. But I found out that she did in fact take her information to the Friends’ Round and was paid for it; I hoped she was able to buy freedom. Now the other vassal turned aside, opposite five different sleep-cells, and led me into a large place for washing and dressing, probably used by the servants and vassals. Two servants stood by a pool of water looking helplessly at a figure crumpled on the ground, weeping and shivering.
“We can hardly make it clean . . .” said one. I saw with horror that this creature with the matted hair and begrimed tunic was Gordo Beethan.
“This one is in better shape,” said my vassal. He pointed to a basin and a pile of fresh clothes, like the ones the servants wore, of fair quality.
I ran to Gordo and knelt by him. “Let me . . .” I said. “I can help him. He is my friend.” The servants shrugged and stood watching while I spoke into Gordo’s ear, soothing, coaxing.
“Oh, Dorn Brinroyan,” he said in a hollow whisper, “I thought they had killed you.”
“Have courage!” I said. “We will come alive out of this net, I know it. Let me wash your face.”
So he bent over the pool, and I sponged his face with the warmed, scented water that even the servants used in this place. Then the servants came with scissors and cut off his filthy tunic, and he stepped slowly into the pool. He was painfully thin but not marked with cuts or bruises, and the warm water revived him. We brushed at his hair, and the servants dried and dressed him while I washed and put on fresh clothes. I was careful to keep my own good leather boots and my Bird-Clan token—which I kept hidden—but I found new clothes of more or less the right size.
There were no mirrors, and I was glad of it. I did not want to see myself in Pentroy clothes; and it was better that Gordo did not see himself either. The Diviner’s apprentice was thin and strange; his captivity had done it all; perhaps his brain had a more delicate pattern, being the brain of a Witness. We were led through the washing room and out at its farthest corner. I was about to ask the vassal where we were going, but the words did not come out; we were on a skywalk in a stiff breeze. Gordo balked; the vassal laughed and prodded us with his short cane. I looked far out over the ocean sea, pearl white in the light of Esder, and stepped out as bravely as I could, tugging Gordo by the wrist.
“Keep looking at the ocean!” I shouted. “Step out for Cullin and Hingstull.” Gordo held up his head, and we crossed the skywalk. The air revived him; his eyes were not so shadowed. We were rounded up by the vassal on the other side of the walk, and he led us down a winding basket-way. I asked this time, “Where are we going?”
“To the Sea Flower Room.”
“What is there?”
“Oh, it is a small place where the Council meets sometimes.”
We entered the curtain walls of an old building with only two levels above ground and came to a beautiful, low-ceilinged, round room painted with sea flowers in an ancient style. All round the room was a wicker screen, about the height of a tall person, and set off-center there was a large oval table of wood, with comfortable chairs ranged at the edge. The vassal led us behind the screen and around the room until we were near the table; we sat on a wooden bench, and the vassal went away into the shadows.
“No tricks!” he said. “Listen well . . . hear how the old threads are woven.”
We sat drowsily on the bench, and I found myself thinking of food and of my Family, two things never far from my thoughts in captivity. Gordo leaned back and shut his eyes. Before we knew it there were persons sitting at the table; a rustling of garments, hawking and coughing; voices echoed curiously in the chamber. The chairs scraped, and there were greetings; I leaned forward and heard a voice reading a report. It was long and dull, but gradually the sense of it penetrated and I was listening to every word.
The plan was to dredge the Troon north of Otolor; there was a report on the bad state of the river, its snags and sandbanks, which I could have sworn to from my own experience. The sand would be lifted from the river and used to improve river fields and cropland surrounding the villages, including Wellin. The problem was labor and credits to do the work. A contribution was to be asked from every clan, from the town grandees of Otolor and the landholders in the smaller places. This seemed to me an excellent plan, but other voices were protesting or at least raising difficulties.
“Yes, yes, yes,” said one voice, “but the Old Bear will have its fur ruffled.”
“I can give you workers, but I’m burned if I send credits to the north,” said another voice.
“You have been burned before, Margan . . .”
Then I understood at last what was taking place and could not tell whether to laugh or cry. This was the Council of the Five Elders—or some of them at least. The old threads were being woven indeed, right there at the table. Most puzzling thing of all, the reader of the report, to whom the other voices seemed to defer, was the Great Elder himself. When I knew it, the old fear and loathing surged back, but I knew the report was still good, the plan excellent. Tiath Pentroy had been planning wisely for the north and surveying the river at the same time he harried innocent folk and spread his bane.
I could identify the others gradually—Orn Margan with his grumbling voice and the other on that side, only a dim shape through the screen, must be Blind Marl, Marl Udorn, Marl Noonroyan Luntroy, the Luck of Noon’s Five. Then there came Old Leeth—though indeed they were all old—Leeth Leethroyan Galtroy, who approved everything the Great Elder spoke, for her clan was closely allied with his own.
“Tiath Pentroy,” said Old Leeth now, “you must not keep us waiting, my dear. Bring it out, I pray.” There were sounds of interest and approval; the Elders were asking Tiath to show, to display, to set their minds at rest.
“Dear friends,” said Tiath in his strong velvety voice, “if I have spoken on this other matter, which is dear to me, it is partly to show that I do not go on a progress through the north in search of wonders. But here is a wonder and before anything is shown I will tell you plainly, as I am a plain speaker, that I need your help. I need a Ruling of Secret Hand and I need it within the hour, if the old threads are to remain unbroken.”
Orn Margan coughed and replied uneasily, “There are rumors enough in Rintoul. What will you do if we give you this ruling?”
“I will keep Torin from danger!” said Tiath.
“Are we talking about the same thing?” asked Blind Marl querulously. “Is this Tiath’s devil?”
“Blind Marl,” said Tiath, “make use of your vaunted insight now and take this matter seriously.”
“I would be blind indeed,” snapped Marl, “to give a Ruling of Secret Hand to a Strangler!”
“Easy now . . .” rumbled Orn Margan. “Tiath Pentroy . . . what do we have here? I will not easily believe that another race has reached Torin from the void.”
“We must believe it!” said Tiath. “But the danger will be averted if I get my ruling.”
“One devil . . .” said Leeth Galtroy. “It could be put down in a moment. Is it an intelligent being? Does it have a shape fit to look upon?”
“More or less,” said Tiath, “and its personal threat is negligible. I am talking of the security of the world and of the clans. Orn Margan, would you not be the last to precipitate another clan war? This creature has already travelled the length of Torin and been in certain contact with exiles and magicians.”
“You mean Nantgeeb,” said Blind Marl, “but this is your enemy, Tiath, not mine.”
“Arr, I can hardly believe all this,” growled the Peacemaker. “How did it come? How could it pass among us? Is it so dangerous and yet so harmless? Bring out your devil!”
“No!” squeaked Leeth. “Are we protected? They say its eyes are blue. Let the Great Elder have his ruling.”
“Give me my ruling now . . . lest its enchantme
nt work on you when you see it!” said Tiath, almost playfully.
“Oh if we must . . .” Orn Margan replied, humoring the Great Elder.
I was at the screen now, straining to see if Diver would be brought in.
“Dorn,” said Gordo in a firm whisper. “Your Luck is close by!” His head was erect and his eyes blazed in the shadow. It meant that his powers were returning. “Back,” he said. “They are coming to bring us forth.”
I had returned to the bench when two vassals came from our left and bade us follow to a door in the screen. Then we came out into the lovely swimming light of the Sea Flower Room, which filtered down from glass panels in the walls which concealed oil lamps. There sat the Five—or four of them at any rate—looking exactly like their voices.
“These are two country children,” said Old Leeth. “Are they the witnesses you mean? Child, what is your name?”
“Dorn Brinroyan, Highness,” I replied. “Of Brin’s Five and Gwin’s blood and the distant mothering of Abirin and Felm. I come from Hingstull Mountain.” The three elders laughed indulgently at this, as grown-ups do to hear a lesson well-learned; it made me furious and I determined that they would laugh no more.
“How came you here, child?” asked Blind Marl, reaching a hand in my direction.
I came a few steps forward and took his hand, gripped it, as is customary when speaking to blind persons. “Truly, Highness, I was set upon in the streets of Rintoul and taken, together with Garl Brinroyan, our Luck, by a Gulgarvor, set upon us by the Great Elder, Tiath Gargan.”
This time no one laughed, only the Great Elder smiled a little.
“You speak without respect!” cried Leeth. “Wretched child. Have you used this devil as your ‘Luck’ because it is so ugly?”
“I speak truth, Highness. Escott Garl Brinroyan is our Luck. We do not find him ugly. He comes from a distant place, but I swear by our Mother, the North Wind, he comes in peace.”
Orn Margan turned to Gordo Beethan. “What is this other youngster? Speak up, skinny one!”
“I am Gordo Beethan, apprentice diviner out of Cullin.” The reply rang out strongly.
“Have you seen this devil?”
“I have seen it once, Highness, and it is a tall, well-made, thinking creature, in everything like a Moruian.”
“Has it any magical powers?” put in Old Leeth.
“None, Highness. But you should ask it yourself—it is within earshot, behind the screen at your back, where the yellow sea flower is painted.”
Old Leeth spun around in her chair, and the other elders reacted almost as strongly, protesting to Tiath Pentroy. He rapped the table with a piece of rock shaped like an egg. “Do not be afraid,” he said, “but give me my ruling. Let us deal with the creature at our good pleasure.”
He gave a signal and another door opened in the screen. Two vassals brought in Diver; he was naked except for a breech-clout and barefoot, his wrists tied with strongest cord. There was a gasp from the watchers; he had not been able to shave for five or six days, and a thick black growth of hair covered the lower part of his face. His pale skin and body hair made him look outlandish. Two vassals stood at my back but they were unprepared; I dived forward, under the table, shot between the chairs and long clothes of the elders and ran to Diver’s side.
“Have they hurt you?” I gasped. “Oh, Diver . . .”
“Courage!” he said, and the flash of his blue eyes comforted me.
The vassals struck at me with their canes. “Leave the child alone!” said Diver.
“Great Wind!” exclaimed Blind Marl, “it speaks like a person!”
“Approach then,” said the Great Elder genially, “child and devil both. How are you faring, Scott Gale?”
“I am cold, Highness, without my clothes.”
“Have you taken to heart what we have discussed?”
“I have given it deep thought.”
“You see?” said Tiath to the others. “It is an intelligent being.”
“And trusting,” said Blind Marl, “very trusting. I will question it. Gale, if that is your name, where do you come from?”
“The system of another star, Highness. I came by accident to Hingstull Mountain and was cared for by a mountain family.”
“Do you have dealings with the magician Nantgeeb?”
“I believe I have spoken with this person, but I have never seen Nantgeeb face-to-face.”
“Ah, what a voice,” said the blind Elder. “It is truly not of this world. Can you sing, stranger?”
“A little, Highness.”
“Foolery . . .” said Orn Margan. “Yet it is a flaming odd-looking devil to speak so well.”
“Let me hear it sing,” begged Blind Marl.
Tiath Pentroy nodded, and a vassal touched Diver on the shoulder. He looked down at me and murmured the song’s name, and we sang together.
“Een Turugan arabor va-ban,
Gwerdolee ma na dobaggarnee,
Mor-roy anstar utothor ma-wen,
Turu geer da, tu-u-uru geer da!”
And when we had sung this, Diver sang the same part again in his own tongue.
“The Minstrel Boy to the war has gone,
In the ranks of death you’ll find him,
His father’s sword he has girded on,
And his wild harp slung behind him.”
Then, for the sweetness of this song, and for the sweet, safe time when Diver told it to the Harper, upon the Troon, I hung my head and felt the tears coursing down my cheeks.
The Elders were silent for a few pulse beats, and Blind Marl, at least, seemed disposed to applaud the singing.
“My ruling . . .” said the Great Elder softly. He made another sign, and a vassal set a cloak around Diver’s shoulders. Suddenly, at the other side of the Sea Flower Room, a whole section of the screen was wrenched aside and a short bustling figure in dark green burst angrily into the chamber.
“Not too late!” cried a harsh voice. Guno Deg strode or rather bounced to the table and thumped upon it with a closed fist.
“Here is no justice done! You are cozened and made into creatures of the clan Pentroy!”
“Hold your tongue, Old Spite!” said Tiath. “I call for my ruling.”
“If you ask for Secret Hand, you will not have it, Gargan!” cried Guno. “The thing has gone too far, beyond even the reach of your ropes and your murderers and your secret prisons. I heard a song sung as I came into this chamber, by this visitor Garl Brinroyan. I have heard the same song sung in the streets of this city. I have found this skein strung from every tree and rack in Rintoul.” She flung on to the table another orange message skein, and the Elders passed it quickly from hand to hand.
“Too far indeed!” said Tiath. His voice was hard as stone, and his face had that brooding look I had seen and known at the very first.
“The poison and madness this foreign creature brings is at the very springs of our life. It seems like one of us, but it is not . . . as we can plainly see when it is stripped of Moruian clothes. We must deal with it by Secret Hand . . .”
“That you may not do!” cried Guno Deg. She flung down upon the table a short white staff. “I have canvassed the Council of One Hundred, and our demand is that you bring the person called Garl Brinroyan before them in two hours, else the threads are broken and the Five Elders dishonored.”
Tiath Pentroy’s wrath was terrible to see. He turned on Guno Gunroyan Wentroy a look that should have withered her to ashes. “So be it,” he said. “But when the Council votes for Secret Hand, then even you must be satisfied. None can say that I do not follow the old threads.” He signed to his vassals. “Remove the Witnesses and the devil!”
“With your leave,” said Guno Deg, no whit softened, “I will add Wentroy vassals to their guard. I do not wish to hear in two hours that Garl flew untimely off a sky-walk.” She waved impatiently, and there were Wentroy vassals in the Sea Flower Room.
“Privilege!” cried Leeth Galtroy.
“Take the prisoners to the second gallery then,” said the Great Elder. “If it please clan Wentroy . . .”
Guno bowed her assent, and the Great Elder did not wait to see the order carried out but leaped up and swept from the chamber.
Guno raised her staff to Diver and myself, but neither she nor any of the other grandees attempted to speak to us. Gordo came to stand with us, and according to some prior command, one of the Pentroy guards untied Diver and let him replace his clothes. He asked for leave to shave his face, but they affected not to understand. We stood in the Sea Flower Room in a knot of clan vassals, and I felt so weary that I could have settled on the tiled floor, among the engraved sea shells and small fish. Then we were marched off again, with Pentroy behind and Wentroy before, through another basket-way and across a street on the lowest level and into the walls of that most famous of all buildings in Rintoul: “the crystal sanctuary,” “the rare shell,” “the wind’s own weft,” the Corr Pavilion, summer-house of the last Torlogan.
We were not alive to its beauties at that moment; we sat in the empty pinkish spaces of the second gallery, and I whispered with Diver.
“Where were you imprisoned?”
“Why, below that place—the Sea Flower Room,” he said in surprise. “There are floors below it . . . a labyrinth of old rooms, many used as prison cells, I think. Were you and Gordo somewhere else?”
“A little higher,” I said. “Diver, do you know where the Five are?”
He shook his head. “I know the Pentroy went to the wig house and found them gone. Tiath said they had returned to the north . . . He promised. . . .” Diver had a rueful look, as if he knew what Tiath Gargan’s promises were worth.
“What?”
“The Five would not be molested any more.”
“What did you promise in return?” asked Gordo Beethan sorrowfully.
“Information . . . the working of the engines. This ruling of Secret Hand means exile in some secret place here in the south.”
“He will have it yet . . .” I said. “Oh Diver . . .” I thought of our poor broken Five wandering back again towards the north, without their Luck and their eldest child.
The Luck of Brin's Five Page 20