Bardess of Rhulon

by Verna McKinnon

Hours later that night, she suffered nebulous dreams of that strange man in the red robes. A snowy mane of hair framed sharp, pale features and his black eyes full of ancient power. He was standing before the goblin armies and they bowed to him, even her husband! She jerked awake. Beleth knew who was in her dreams and felt doom fill her very soul. They were legend among her race, for they once served them! He was a Siabur. Shadow Fey. They were banished from the world millennia ago after a mystical battle with the Light Fey. Death always followed the Siabur. Death would take them all.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “Gerta, come quickly!” Jack Greenleaf shouted, walking into the kitchen. “Come see this!”

  The kitchen was a hard place to be these days. Every shelf and counter seemed always jammed with breads, pies, and cakes from Gerta’s daily baking. Peony helped deliver these goods to the needy and the church.

  “Who was it at the door” Gerta mumbled, without pausing from her bread kneading board. “Is it Peony? She knows I don’t want to see anyone right now. Tell her she can pick up the pies later for the church social. I just want to be left alone. I have so many things to do.”

  “Gerta, it’s a letter. It’s important. Stop and listen!”

  Gerta beat at the dough with her fists. “Is it from Rose again? Her last letter was lacking.”

  “No, but I think we should stop this silence nonsense and write to her.”

  “Never,” Gerta swore. She attacked the bread dough with the rolling pin, crushing it across the board. “All that dreadful wait and worry; not knowing if she was dead, or worse. And what does she write to us? Hardly anything! One meager letter! That’s all. And me being worried sick for weeks.”

  Jack braced himself. His wife’s turn of phrase often bothered him. What could be worse than dead? For weeks now, ever since their daughter ran away, he could not get Gerta to make sense. She rarely slept, and neither did he. The constant worry over Rose made him feel his years and he left the smithy, more often than not, in Simon’s hands.

  To Simon’s credit, he had not let what happened damage their partnership. He was not a bad boy; he just was not right for Rose. He should have realized that. Everyone should have realized that, including Gerta.

  Now Jack had just received a letter by special post. The letter received carried the Ironheart royal seal. He did not know whether to be glad or afraid. Jack glanced up from the mysterious dispatch, to see his wife continuing her tirade.

  “One would think a so-called bard could write a better letter to her suffering parents,” Gerta complained. “Rose flees a perfectly good marriage to do what? Work in a tavern like a common servant! She could have been married good and proper to Simonbut that was not good enough for Rose! She runs away like a criminal and abandons her family and tradition for a selfish whim. That girl will worry me to death! Ungrateful child! Changeling child!”

  “GERTA!” Jack shouted, startling his wife into silence. With Gerta’s mouth momentarily closed, Jack took a deep breath, and held up the letter. “This was just delivered by a royal messenger. It has the royal seal, Wife! And look at the special water stamp. That means it came by ship first. A private, not a regular postal, messenger delivered it to our door. This is important.”

  Gerta paused from her ferocious bread kneading to look at the golden letter with the red wax seal. “Why would we receive a royal letter?” she whispered, putting floury covered fingers to her quivering lips. “What could this possibly be about?”

  “I suggest we read it and find out,” Jack offered dryly.

  Jack considered it to be a near miracle that his wife chose to forego an immediate opinion on this unusual occurrence. For weeks, since Rose ran away from home, her mood had been fragile and he tolerated the erratic behavior, hoping Gerta would work through her anger and disappointment.

  The amount of baking and cleaning she had done these last weeks was gargantuan. Never stopping from dawn to dusk. Giving away pies and cakes she baked to anyone close at hand, because the kitchen was too crowded to contain them. The house sparkled like some enchanted fey cottage; smelling of roses or lemon oil, depending on which room you dared to wander into. Of course, upon Gerta’s standing orders, he had to take his shoes off on the porch so as not to dirty the floors she scrubbed daily.

  Jack seized a butter knife from the counter, wiped it on his trousers and carefully broke the seal, as though marring it too badly might be treason. He deftly unfolded the letter. Not even he was prepared for its contents.

  “Well, what is it!” Gerta cried. “What does it say?”

  Jack’s eyes skimmed over the letter, and gasped. “It’s from the Prince!”

  “What prince? A real prince? You’re not serious, Jack.”

  “An Ironheart prince!” Jack added gruffly.

  Gerta’s brow creased with wonder and at last pressed, “Well, which one? The King does have fifteen children! Or is it fourteen?”

  “It’s from Prince Culain Ironheart. I believe he is the youngest prince. You know that Queen Fiona has blessed this land with so many heirs the bishops actually want to make her a saint.”

  “That is true,” Gerta piously agreed.

  “Prince Culain says that upon receipt of a letter from an old family friend, and former Royal Bard to the house of Ironheart, Belenus Aylecross, he discovered the location of Rose Greenleaf in White Thorn. He has her safely in his employ as a bard in his household. Prince Culain! He is the new Rhulonese Ambassador to Tirangel, but he says he is returning to Rhulon for official business for his father, King Grimkel.”

  “Rose is working for the Prince?” Gerta gasped. “One of the Ironhearts! Are you sure?”

  “I can read woman!” Jack protested, clutching the letter to his chest. “And he also says Belenus actually knew the king! You never believed that!” Jack sniffed and resumed his reading, squinting to read the elaborate script in the fading afternoon light. “Not only knew him, but Belenus is apparently a close family friend and was confidant to King Grimkel for years.”

  Jack refrained from reminding Gerta how gravely she insulted a friend of the king, deciding to save it for an opportune time when it might carry some weight. This was too good. He loved his wife, but her opinions and forceful demands had all but ruined the Greenleaf family. He wanted Rose settled, but by pushing the marriage, and turning his back on her, he had lost his daughter. What Rose did was wrong, yes, but he was partly responsible for this wretched mess.

  “Well, go on,” Gerta insisted.

  Jacked cleared his throat, allowing time to find his place again before continuing.

  “The Prince says Rose was previously in the excellent care of a kindly tall folk family and has friends of good and noble rank. Members of the Imperial Rangers, who protected her and saw to her safety in this large city. She had managed to incorporate her bardic talent with the humble job of waiting on tables at the ‘Red Boar’ Inn.”

  “Waiting tables,” Gerta harrumphed. “A common serving girl!”

  Jack deliberately paused until Gerta quieted again before reading further.

  “Rose was found unharmed and healthy, her honor and good name intact. Her work for the tall folk family was ‘wholesome and respectable,’ the Prince assures. He adds that Rose is now safely at the palace in White Thorn under his care, as his official Bardess.”

  “Is that a real title?”

  “Would an Ironheart lie? Prince Culain goes on to say Belenus had praised her talent, but when he saw her perform and learned how truly gifted Rose was, he thought it best to bring her into the care of the Ironheart family. Such a talent should not be claimed only by the tall folk, but by her own people.”

  “He praised our Rose?”

  “Again, let me finish! The Prince ends the letter with, ‘So fear not, dear Greenleaf family, I shall watch over her as Belenus requested and keep her safe from harm.’”

  When he finished the letter, Gerta seemed, for what seemed to Jack the first time since knowing her, speechless. He neatly
folded the letter, put in his pocket and went to the foyer for his overcoat. He took one of the freshly baked apple pies.

  “Jack, where are you going? It’s almost dinner time.”

  “I am going to see Belenus, Wife, and I am going to apologize for any insult we have given him.”

  “Jack you wouldn’t!” Gerta begged.

  “And I am going to thank him for interceding with the King to help our daughter. After I make peace with the old bard, I am going to invite him to dinner tomorrow night.”

  “That old man caused us nothing but grief since he moved here last year. Filling my Rose’s head with all that barding and adventure nonsense. That’s why this all happened! It was all him! How could you even talk to that man?”

  Jack lifted his hand and gently put them to his wife’s lips to silence her.

  “That man’ likely saved our daughter’s life. She is now protected and in safe hands. We will thank Belenus for that; you will thank him tomorrow night, should he choose to accept my apology and our invitation.

  “Rose is not like other girls, Gerta. She has always been different. Trying to force her into someone she wasn’t would have broken her. I only agreed to that damned wedding because you insisted. Simon is a good boy, but he and Rose were poorly matched. I think she would have left us one day, no matter what, to pursue those foolish dreams; but it would not have been in the middle of the night, and not in secret, if we had just let her be!”

  Jack opened the door, balancing the pie with one hand. “Rose is alive, thank Ursas and Ishar. You should also offer a prayer of thanks. And then think about dinner, wife, but please, stop the damn baking.”

  * * *

  Belenus crammed his leather satchel with clothes, boots, journal and his writing utensils. He belted the straps closed and prayed the bulging bag would not explode. He chose his second favorite lute to take along. He carefully slid the lute into the soft leather case, patting it affectionately and calling it my name. “Fear not, Mathilda, you’re my new favorite.” He always appointed his lutes with feminine names, for they were much like women, mysterious and demanding.

  He gave Rose his favorite lute when she ran away. What a crazy night that was! He still did’t know what possessed him to this day to leave her the instrument that night.

  Gerta was a storm determined to have her daughter wed, even to a big oaf, to avoid the brand of spinster and breed grandbabies. Frankly, he never understood the appeal of babies. They were undeveloped and messy tiny creatures who smelled. Children were not interesting until they began to read and think for themselves.

  Most girls would have surrendered to their parent’s stern decree of matrimony, but he knew his Rose was made of stronger metal. She fought to the bitter end. Belenus wavered when he heard she had agreed to the marriage and hoped it was a ruse to give her time. The night before the wedding, he crept around like a thief in the night. He left his lute for Rose leaning against the house gate. If she was going to run away, this would be her last chance to do so. He prayed Rose would not submit to her mother’s will and marry the big onion boy, Simon. He waited in the dark for hours, his butt sore from sitting on the damp chilly earth, hidden behind a yew tree on the hill. He still had the grass stains on his trousers. He was not sure if she would truly leave her home, but she did. Rose needed that instrument if she were going to make her way in the world. He also suspected her parents might probably hide Rose’s lute away as punishment, especially her mother, Gerta. So he wanted Rose to have his lute, if she were brave enough to take it.

  He almost burst with pride when he watched Rose quietly leave the house dressed as boy and carrying her satchel. She found the lute and his letter, and she accepted the gift without a glance backward as she walked away. He should have tried to warn her about his suspicions. That she had the gift. He was not sure. Now he was, thanks to both Rose and Culain’s most recent letter. He would be able to help Rose soon enough with the glam rhapsodé.

  Of course, after she left home, Belenus worried like an old hen about Rose. That’s why he wrote to King Grimkel. When he received Rose’s letter from White Thorn, it made things easier. He was still relieved when Prince Culain found her. She was in White Thorn and apparently scrappier than he ever imagined. The reports of the changeling attack disturbed him. He would learn more later when he was back at Rhundoran Keep. Despite his latent feelings of guilt over sending her alone into the world, he was proud of her. It was mad of Rose to run away of course, but youth was the time to be mad.

  Belenus was years past his own mad juvenescence and considered a man of venerable years now. Belenus detested that term. It brought to mind creaky bones and wrinkles deep as the sea. Even the word venerable sounded dull, like he was already decrepit and gumming his porridge.

  He searched his cramped home one last time, fretful he had forgotten something. He cleaned out the cupboards so mice would not completely infest his cottage while he was gone. He swept the floor. He had his bag of gold tucked in a special belt he wore under his robes. What had he missed?

  He cursed and dropped into his musty velvet chair, exhausted. Age assaulted his body and mood. He loathed feeling so venerable. Maybe he would be gumming his food soon? Travel was simpler and easier when he was a young man living on the road, before he became a housebound antique. As an unencumbered boy, he possessed only a knapsack and his prized lute, without so much as a copper penny in his pocket. Too many sentimental artifacts of life wrapped in memories weighed heavy now in his grey years. It was damned indulgent of him to become so complacent and lazy.

  Someone knocked on the door, infringing on his sulking.

  Now what?

  Irritated, he shouted, “It’s unlocked,” and stuffed his pipe and tobacco into his pockets. “And if you’re Mrs. Butternip, go away! I’m not accepting any students, including your tone-deaf son.”

  Jack Greenleaf cautiously walked in, carrying a pie. “Good thing I’m not Mrs. Butternip.”

  “Ah, Mr. Greenleaf.”

  “Call me Jack.” He handed him the pie. “I brought a peace offering.”

  Belenus graciously accepted the edible gift, and realized he had forgotten something today. He forgot to eat! The pie tin was still warm to the touch. He sniffed the rich pastry and the intoxicating aroma of baked apples bathed in sugar and cinnamon filled his nostrils. “Thanks, Jack. Ah, apple pie! My favorite sin.” He squinted at Jack and whispered, “Gerta didn’t poison it, did she?”

  Jack laughed, “Only with her thoughts.”

  “Well then, Jack, come on in and sit. How’s the smithy doing?”

  “Simon is running things pretty well. I have more time for fishing. I wish I could say I missed the work more.”

  “I heard that boy has a new sweetheart. How’s your wife taking it?”

  “She’s coping. Gerta is still baking too much. Frankly, I’m surprised there’s even a bag of flour or sugar left in the village. But thank you, for looking after my Rose. I’m glad she is safe.”

  “I worried too. I’m sorry you had to be concerned for her. But it turns out she is tougher than either of us imagined.”

  “I heard in town that you’re leaving us for a while.”

  “For such a small village, folks here can spread news faster than a hummingbird. It’s true, Jack. I’m going to visit Rhungar for a spell. I’m going to see your daughter there. The Prince is returning on royal business and bringing Rose with him. Coach should be here in a couple days. Reminds me how much I hate to pack. Sit yourself down and share a drop of whiskey and a piece of pie. Don’t worry. I won’t tell the wife.”

  “Don’t mind if I do.”

  Belenus poured two whiskeys into ceramic mugs that were almost clean. He cut two large slabs of pie and grabbed a pair of forks. They sat sipping spirits and blissfully eating pie for a few moments in silence.

  “Is Rose going to Rhungar too?” Jack finally asked.

  “Yes,” Belenus confirmed. “She is accompanying Prince Culain as his official Ba
rdess. You know Jack, if you want me to take anything to her, I’m happy to do it.”

  “Thank you,” Jack replied, drinking down the whiskey and putting the mug down on the wobbly table. “Rose is special, isn’t she?”

  Belenus looked at Jack evenly. “That she is.”

  “It’s not just because she can sing, is it?”

  “No, Jack, it’s not. Don’t fear for our Rose. I will watch over her, but don’t ask me any questions, at least not yet.”

  His inner thoughts still tormented him. Should he tell Jack his daughter had the ancient bard magic? That she had the glam rhapsodé. Only a handful of bards in history possessed it. Poor Rose did not even know she had this gift when she ran away. Neither did he, not for certain. Now he did and he had to help her through it.

  “Keep her safe then. I will ask that of you.”

  “Done.”

  “And since you’re not hiking to Rhungar, would you mind taking her lute as well? I just want Rose to know that we love her.”

  “I will,” Belenus agreed quickly, fearing an outpour of parental recrimination. He chuckled, pouring more whiskey for them. “Me? Hike to Rhungar? Those fine days and strong limbs are long gone. My poor old hips would never carry me there now. My days of wandering are restricted now to coaches with padded seats.” He ate another forkful of pie and shook his head appreciably. “Do compliment your wife for me. This is scrumptious pie. I’d compose a song praising her baking, but she might get the wrong idea.”

  “I will. I must compliment you on this whiskey too,” Jack said.

  Belenus chuckled and poured more of a potent brew, which had been a birthday gift from Grimkel a few years ago. “Then have a drop more, Jack, and thank the Gods for wonderful whiskey that eases painful joints and lifts life’s sorrows.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Rose’s bright blue gown was the essence of spring, though the low cut bodice was a bit daring. A personal gift from Empress Isabeau, she insisted it was modest enough. Rose even put up her hair with Sally’s help and tucked in a few white flowers, but she was sure it would fall no matter how many hairpins she used.