by K. C. Herbel
Hugh nodded.
“You have lost something very important, something given you by one very close to your heart. When you have recovered it, you will be empowered to reclaim your former self.”
Hugh thought for a moment. “My sword! … Is it my sword?”
“Perhaps. I do not know. Now, swear that you will never seek me out.”
“My sword was lost at sea. It is impossible! I will never recover it.”
“My message is one of hope, Sir. It only seems impossible, for in my vision, I foresaw that what was lost will be recovered. Now, swear what I have asked of you.”
“My father’s sword.” Hugh stared into the smoldering fire and watched as a thin wisp of smoke formed into the shape of a sword. “Father left it behind for me, and Mother kept it safe until I was ready to wield it ... and I lost it. I broke faith. That is why I have failed ...”
“Swear it.”
“Why, I am damned.” Hugh’s eyes snapped up from the fire. “I must get it back!”
“And you will.” Precilla scooted away until she was half out the small opening.
Aeth held out two coins to her, but she refused them. “The people of Lyonesse have shown me much kindness. When he is restored, he will more than settle the debt with this lot of Gwythies, for me and all my friends.” Then she turned to Hugh. “Now, please, Sir, swear to what I have asked.”
Hugh looked at the frightened woman hesitating in the doorway. “I am sorry, but first, I must understand one thing, then I will swear never to seek you out for as long as I have life in me.”
“What is it?”
“Why are you so frightened of me?”
“Because Death has taken you under his dark wing.”
“But I am alive!”
“You are not the Holy Son, nor one of His blessed miracles, and so you are here by most vile, unnatural means. Necromancy! You do not belong here. You belong to the grave.”
Hugh looked down from the woman’s face and noticed for the first time the tiny cross hanging from her neck. “You are a Christian?”
“Yes, but the blessed Savior still allows me my visions. Now, please, I beg of you, swear for me and let me go.”
“Thank you.” Hugh looked into the curious woman’s black eyes and held up his hand. “I swear with my own blood, before the Spirit of the All Mighty, that I will not seek you out in any way.”
Precilla’s taut features relaxed slightly, and she pulled back to leave. However, before she could clear the canvas flap, she stopped and stared at Hugh. She squinted, and he could see her mind trying to grasp something.
At last, she spoke. “I can see you are a good man. At least, you believe yourself to be, and that is a hopeful beginning. So, I will give you a bit of advice.”
“Please.”
“As I said before, I saw in your palm that your destiny had come to an end. Your future—your new destiny—be it for good or evil, is yours to choose. There is an ancient saying among my people that a man given a second chance should be given a third if he uses the second for the good of another. But be warned, I also see The Reaper’s owl riding upon your shoulder. You could easily be made to serve him.”
Without another cryptic word, the flap dropped and Precilla disappeared. Her escape was so hasty that even her shadow failed to appear on the canvas stage.
Hugh laid back on the floor. The pain in his middle had lessened somewhat, but the weariness in his bones had increased. He rested on his back and stared at the ceiling until Aeth’s face appeared over him.
“There, that should staunch the bleeding.”
Hugh tried to make eye contact with Aeth, but the boy kept his eye on the wound or the fire. Finally, Hugh reached up, grabbed his nurse’s ragged tunic, and pulled him close. The former knight stared at the keen but tired eye and marveled at the boy’s bravery.
“You gave your eye so that I could live. I won’t forget that. Somehow, someway, I’ll find a way to make it up to you.”
“Free Lyonesse.”
“What?”
“That’s really why I done what I done. I knowed you was the only one who’d rid us of these cursed Gwythies.”
“But I can’t …”
“But you will.”
“I am nothing!”
“You are the greatest knight in the kingdom.”
“Not anymore.”
“But you will be again. Now, I know you will.”
Hugh looked the former cutpurse in the eye and remembered Precilla’s words about a second chance. Aeth’s request was, indeed, the only way to make this reprieve count for something.
But how? I don’t have a horse or a sword, and I don’t have the strength anymore. God has abandoned me. But maybe ... maybe if I could somehow recover my father’s sword. ... Then God might restore my courage, and allow me to save my beloved Lyonesse and Myrredith. Yeah, and maybe the devil’s a flounder, this hole is a palace, and Billy’s still alive.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Return of the Gyldan Mene
“So, you can see …” The captain of the Dragonfly had his mouth full of apple. “… I couldn’t possibly take on a journey to Lyonesse.”
Thortan scowled at him. “But you just sailed in here two days ago, ya green-skinned, flop-eared oaf!”
“Precisely.” The captain nodded.
Billy’s mind strayed as he allowed his eyes to wander over the marvelous ship docked behind the captain. From her pale chestnut woods and delicate gold railings to her silvery spider-silk ropes and iridescent gossamer sails, the Dragonfly was utterly breathtaking. She was nothing close to the clunky ships of men, and much more than their shipwrights could hope to achieve. She floated on the water as still as a cloud on the horizon, and as inviting and patient as Billy’s old climbing tree.
Elzgig’s irritated but restrained voice yanked Billy back to the business at hand.
“I don’t think you understand. Take a good look about you, Toady Brimstone. Go ahead. Tirn Aill is going into winter for the first time in memory!”
The captain scrunched up the right side of his face, closing up his steel-grey eye. Then, with his mint-green left eye, he looked around from face to face and scratched his scaly neck. “Yeahr.” He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t.”
Onian leaned over Billy’s shoulder. “It is! Have you not seen the forest or Shiny Brook? Nothing but brown leaves and frozen water.”
“Ice,” Thortan said.
“Whatever!” The lean elf sighed. “The water isn’t moving!”
“And our future king, here …” Elzgig strained to remain calm. “He needs to get to the world of men so that he can bring back what will fix it all.”
The captain seemed more interested in slicing his apple than in what they were telling him. He cut out a piece in the shape of a star, and then ate it from the point of his knife. Then, with slow, deliberate actions, he looked Billy over, starting from his feet and moving up. “Seems to me,” he mumbled through the apple, “that a future king could come up with a better way to get to the world of men if he really is—”
“Billy is Eleanor’s son.”
“See.” Thortan pushed Billy’s hand forward. “He’s wearin’ the ring.”
“Oooo.” Brimstone rolled his eyes. “I’m all impressed.”
Elzgig stepped in front of Billy. “He hasn’t yet learned the ways of his power.”
The captain said nothing.
“Oh, it’s hopeless talking to his kind.” Thortan threw his hands up and turned away. “Let’s go. Maybe the Witan will have a suggestion.”
Onian turned and followed Thortan, leaving Billy and Elzgig with the stubborn captain. Billy watched curiously, as the captain continued the odd dissection of his fruit. Elzgig took a deep breath and opened his mouth, but then sighed and walked away.
Now, Billy stood alone before the captain, his arms crossed. He rummaged through his mind for something that might convince the old sea dog, but Elzgig had alread
y exhausted everything, and to no avail. Billy was about to give up and walk away when the captain spoke.
“Well, boy—” Suddenly, he jumped forward and thrust his knife at Billy. “Why don’t you get out o’ here?”
Billy didn’t budge. Instead, he stared directly into the strange faerie’s eyes.
The captain held the knife steady, and a wide, green-toothed smile spread itself across his face. Then he chuckled.
“Humph. Perhaps more than a boy. I knew me a pirate once, named Billy.”
Toady withdrew his knife and ran it over one of his droopy, pig-like ears. The numerous rings all along its edge tinkled when the blade touched them. He stopped on a large gold ring and held it up with the knifepoint.
“I stole this from him while he slept.” Toady laughed and leaned back against a mooring post.
Upon seeing the captain relax, Billy laughed too. The innocent, joyous sound of it struck the warty little sea captain like a sack of grain and took the wind out of him. He stared up at Billy, his hands hanging by his side.
“What is it?”
“You’ve got yer mother’s laugh,” Toady muttered. “And I never dreamed that I’d hear it again.”
“You knew my mother?”
“Quite well, don’t ya know. She picked me to take her to Lyonesse. Damned awful place, but she insisted. There’s another good reason for me not to go there, and you should do the same.”
“But I must.”
“Look, Your Highness.” Toady took Billy by the arm. “I’m an old sea lover, see? And I’ve seen much in my time at sea. This winter-thing, it’ll pass. You’ll see, and then we can get back to the way things were before.”
The captain seemed quite friendly now, and so Billy risked being a little familiar. “I don’t know, Toady.”
“Look, just because I’m talkin’ to ya doesn’t make us friends. See?”
“Yeah, I see. But regardless of what you think of me, or what you think of the others, this ‘winter-thing’ as you call it, is not just gonna blow over. I know it isn’t. I’ve seen it.”
The captain’s head tilted to one side and once again he closed his grey eye to stare at Billy. “Do ya have the sight, boy?”
“Aye.” It was an odd thought to him, even now. However, there was no denying it: he had precognitive visions. Many of them he didn’t understand, but they felt real and were often more disturbing than nightmares. It was most unsettling when they became reality.
Billy’s mind flashed with images of a barren, icy wasteland. Frozen faerie corpses, like frosty statues clenched in eternal agony, littered the landscape. It was a painful vision, made doubly so by the uncanny surety that it was their future. Billy had decided not to share this vision with anyone. He didn’t want to start a panic. Tirn Aill was topsy-turvy enough already.
Billy measured his words, balancing secrecy against the needs of his mission. “I have seen the future of Tirn Aill, Captain,” he whispered. “And it’s a cold, dead place.”
Toady Brimstone, master of the Dragonfly and sailor of the ancient seas, stared candidly with both eyes into Billy’s face. Through the facade of his jaded, rough exterior, Billy could see the bones of fear maneuvering under the captain’s greenish skin.
Finally, the captain spoke, “I can’t see the future. For all my years, I can barely predict the sea from the evening sky.”
Thortan shouted from the end of the dock. “Come along, Your Majesty. I could build you a ship before that wart farm will give you a ride on that leak-trap of his!”
Captain Brimstone stiffened and peered around Billy to scowl at the dwarf leader. “The Dragonfly does not leak, you filthy old digger! … Not that you would know a leak from a twig in your ear.” He turned his eyes back to Billy and shouted out the side of his mouth, “And Billy—that is, His Highness—will have the pleasure to witness that for himself ... on our journey to Lyonesse!”
***
Billy and Brimstone agreed that they would sail for Lyonesse on the morning tide, and then went their separate ways. While the captain prepared the Dragonfly, Billy returned with Elzgig to the wizard’s humble cave and made ready, collecting provisions for his trip.
“I wish I were going with you,” Elzgig said.
“No, it’s already decided. I need you here, to watch over things and keep the peace until I return.”
“Aye.” The wizard nodded.
Thortan barged in with a large pack on his back. “Ready to go, Your Majesty.”
“Thortan.” Billy looked up. “You are leader of the dwarves.”
“And they will go wherever I say. We are yours to command, Sire.”
“No. I need you and your dwarves here as well. Who else will keep Gulch in check?”
Thortan scowled at Elzgig. “I can see you’ve mucked up his head with politics. Do you know how long it’s been since I went on an adventure? How long it’s been since I had a real battle?” Thortan rattled his armaments and growled.
“Calm yourself. Look, my old friend, Billy is quite right. You are needed here.”
“But ...”
Elzgig placed his hand on Thortan’s arm. “There will be other days for you, I know, but this is Billy’s quest.”
Thortan dropped his head with a grunt and stepped to the door. Then he turned to face Billy.
“I shall not fail you, Your Majesty.” The dwarf bowed to one knee.
“I know you won’t.”
Thortan rose and drew a dagger from his belt. Gold wire wrapped the grip, and a black sapphire sat in the pommel. The stone matched three others, set in gold down the length of the black scabbard. Thortan reluctantly extended the weapon to Billy.
“Here. You might need this.”
“I don’t intend to do any fighting.”
“Aye.” The dwarf nodded. “But you’re not the only one who can start a fight. Better to be safe.”
Billy reached out and gripped the dagger. It’s warm! That’s odd; it should be chilled.
“Your Majesty.” Thortan made eye contact. His hand still held the dagger tight. “This blade has served me well. It will bring you luck.”
“Thank you.” Billy lifted the weapon from the dwarf’s hand. “I’m sure it will.”
With that, Thortan bowed and left. Billy looked at the glittering weapon and drew it slowly from the sheath. Nearly ten inches of gleaming curved steel flashed in the firelight. The blade was unusually wide near the hilt but tapered along its sweeping curve to a deadly double-edged point. He strained his eyes to examine the finely honed edges and caught a glimpse of numerous infinitesimal lines running along the blade like hundreds of tiny black waves on a silvery beach. Billy’s eyes were captivated by the blade’s mesmerizing pattern. He also noted the peculiar markings inscribed at the base of the spine.
Elzgig looked up from his packing. “Its name is Lura Zahn.”
“Its name?”
“Aye. A dwarfish craftsman, such as Thortan’s father, always names his best work.”
“And what are these marks?”
“The runes that make up its name. It means Star Tooth.”
“Star Tooth? Why?”
Elzgig sat and placed his hands on the insides of his thighs as if he were readying himself for a long-winded tale. “Well … the story goes that the metal Fjorel used to make that blade, fell from the night sky.”
Billy’s eyes shone as he inspected the runes. “Lura Zahn,” he whispered reverently.
As if to answer, the dagger vibrated in Billy’s hand. The sensation startled him into dropping the weapon, but before he could blink, the dagger was resting in its scabbard. He stared at it for an instant before setting it down on the stone table and stepping back.
Elzgig chuckled and slapped his leg. “The Rune Quencher’s blade has some surprises for you, Your Majesty, as I’m sure you have for it.”
Billy returned to the table, still eyeing the dagger suspiciously. After a moment, he reached out to take it, and it leapt from the scabbard into his
hand.
“It’s … it’s … Wow!” Billy couldn’t take his eyes from the weapon.
“I’d say that Lura Zahn has taken a likin’ to ya.”
“You think so?” He put it back in the scabbard.
“I should say so.” Onian made his usual stealthy appearance.
Billy and Elzgig’s heads snapped around to look at the elf. Billy was getting used to Onian’s sudden, unannounced arrival, but it still startled him. The only comfort was in the knowledge that it had the same effect on others.
“Oh no! I’ll tell you what I told the others. I can’t take you with me.”
“I know.”
“Oh. Then why have you come?”
“I have come to wish you a good journey, for Thortan and I must be off on a mission of our own.”
Elzgig frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“Goblins are massing in the forest.”
“Massing?” Billy and Elzgig spoke in unison.
Onian held up his hands to calm them. “I don’t know what they’re up to, but I will by dawn.”
Onian started to bow, but Billy grasped his hand and shook it. The elf stiffly returned the shake.
“Thank you, Onian. I don’t know what I’ll do without you.”
“You will do fine.” The lanky elf smiled with a twinkle in his eyes. “Shaldra will protect you. I have already spoken to him.”
“Perhaps he should stay here with you.”
“No, Your Highness. I have warriors aplenty, but only one king.”
Billy grinned.
“Your Highness, if you are set on going to Erin, remember King Finvarra is a crafty one. As I have told you, the Daoine Sidhe are especially well versed in battle, but I don’t think asking them for an army is wise.”
“Why?”
“Finvarra will more than likely challenge you to a contest for such a favor. Usually, that means combat.”
“But aren’t we allies?”
“Aye,” Elzgig said. “Although Finvarra seldom sees it that way.”