Once across the bridge, they trotted for a short distance down the road winding along the east bank of the Bentwide. Robby leaned in and gave Anerath a bit of a nudge. The stallion instantly shot to a gallop, and they quickly angled off the road and blazed up the hillside fields and headed across Barley toward Boskland. The sky was clear and the sun warm, but the cool breezes of the waning year kept him from getting hot, and he felt good. He let Anerath gallop at an easy pace for a league or so, sensing that the steed put little effort into it, and Robby was in wonder at the speed Anerath must be capable of if urged. After a while, not wanting to be too quick to end his private joy, he slowed the horse to a walk and enjoyed the day. The clouds and the rain of the previous night had cleared, and the sky overhead was of that particular early autumn blue that is so clear and clean that one almost feels one is breathing the sky itself, color and all, so crisp it is. Certainly, Robby felt that way, lost to his thoughts while crossing country, between fields, up through hilltop copses and down through cool streams. Hardly had he noticed the passage of time and distance before he had gone halfway, and the sun was an afternoon angle. Stopping, he dismounted and led Anerath along most of the final leg, rising upward through the woods until at last he came to the low hilltop overlooking Boskland. He could clearly see Bosk Manor rising on the distant hill on the far side of the valley before him, brown and gold fields neatly arrayed below and between.
"Well, my friend," said Robby as he climbed back into the saddle, "let's go to Boskland."
Not wanting to seem too urgent, he let Anerath set the pace down into the fields. Much of the harvest was already in, but, here and there, gleaners worked and elsewhere teams of plowmen turned over the stubble.
"Hail, soldier!" one fellow called to Robby, "whence come ye? Wherefore bound?"
"From Passdale," he called in return. "To see the master of Bosk Manor."
He saw and passed more workers along the way, and many hailed him. He recognized most of them and knew many of their names. But if any recognized Robby, their faces did not show it, and the satisfaction of that made it difficult for Robby to keep to only a narrow smile. Indeed, he wanted to grin so badly that to hold his face in check actually hurt. Catching a distant note, he turned, looked to the northwest, and saw, on the top of a bald hill, a piper at practice, his tune wavering down the hill and across the breeze to Robby. The somber aire filled his heart with a sudden sternness so that he halted Anerath and listened to the refrain before continuing on.
He remembered the prowlers of the night before and thought again of how his mother had been there all alone. And he thought of the Dragonkind man and the wolves. All desire to smile left him. He tried to stiffen his shoulders and not let them sag with the new weight of these sober thoughts, and, as he neared the gate, he put his left hand on the pommel of his sword. Over the gate were the grisly remains of the severed heads of the raiders. Just as Billy had described, the head of the Dragonkind was deep, rusty red. Two men emerged from behind the gate, wearing Boskland colors, one bearing a pike and the other gird with sword. They stood in Robby's path, gesturing him to halt.
"Who goes?"
"Ribbon of the Passdale Militia," Robby said sternly. "On business to see the Master of Boskland."
"Ribbon, eh?" the one with the sword said, coming alongside the horse and peering up at him. "Might ye be Master Ribbon? The mayor's boy?"
"I am."
"An' yer with the militiamen of Passdale, now?"
"That's right."
"Well, then!" said the other. "Any news of me kinsman, Billy Bosk? He's me cousin, an' I ain't seen him since he went off to join yer townfolk."
"He is well," Robby answered, nudging Anerath on between them.
"Hold on thar! We ain't given ye leave to pass, yet!"
Robby reined Anerath to a stop and twisted around in the saddle to look back at the two awkward fellows.
"Well, I reckon ye can pass on, now," said the one.
"Seein' as how ye done did, anyways," muttered the other.
Robby moved on toward the manor, and all along the way, workmen and charwomen came out to take a look at him, or peered from the windows or doorways of their cottages as he passed. He urged Anerath to a canter and rode jauntily along until at last they came up before the steps of the manor house. An ancient man nimbly hobbled up, elbows flying and knees a-bowed, his feet pointing right and left as he approached.
"I won't be long, Jamie," Robby said, dismounting.
The man took the reins, bending his head as if trying to see past the nose guard on Robby's helmet. A look of recognition began to cross his grizzled face.
"Master Robby?" he asked. "Why, ye be a soldier, now? Ooo, mighty stars! All with yer arms an' great steed!"
"Yes," Robby grinned as he removed his helmet. "I'm with the Passdale Militia."
"Oh, what a fine outfit it must be, what with such fine accoutrements for battle, an' all. Ye got ye helmet, an' ye sard, an' all!"
"Yes, sir. Is Mr. Bosk around?"
Frizella Bosk rounded the side of the house carrying a basket full of fresh herbs, halting when she saw Robby. She burst into a happy jog.
"Robby! Me, oh my! Lord, look at ye!" she cried, putting down the basket and wiping her hands on her apron as she approached. "All growed up into a soldier!"
She stopped herself from giving her customary hug.
"I hope me Billy's half so handsome!"
"I'm sure he is."
"How's he gettin' on? The place just ain't right without his antics an' his gettin' into everthin'. An' ain't nobody near so ready to lend a hand than Ibin. How're me boys doin'?"
"They are both getting on well, and we're lucky to have them."
"Oh, wonderful. Tell 'em they must come home ever once an' awhile, so's I can have a look at 'em."
"I will."
"I takes it yer all mended?"
"Pretty much, thanks."
"Good, good! An' so is it business yer on? Or did ye come to see Sheila? She's missed ye somethin' terrible, I can tell ye, an' sometime's takin' to mopin' about, too. Though she's done her work trainin' our boys well, so I'm told."
"Both, actually. I'm here to see your husband and also to fetch Sheila back to Passdale if he can spare her."
"Oh, I see. Well, Mr. Bosk's over in the southeast fields, seein' to a bridge. An' Sheila's down at the carpenter's place lookin' after some bows bein' made. I'll send for Sheila an' Mr. Bosk, an' ye can talk to him whilst I help Sheila put her things together. Why don't ye come inside to some tea whilst ye wait?"
"Thank you for offering, but I think I'll ride out to see your husband. I know the way well enough. But could you see after Sheila? I'd rather get on back to Passdale as soon as possible."
"Oh, certainly!" Mrs. Bosk said as Robby put on his helmet and climbed back onto Anerath.
Indeed, Robby knew the way from so many stays with Billy. He took Anerath through the gate at a keen gallop and then on up the hill and through the copse that topped it, overlooking the Manor. He circled the crown of the hill then plunged down into the farther fields beyond. Fewer workers were in these fields, as many of the crops had been ruined by the recent floods, but Robby could see swaths where some harvesting had been possible. Less than a league farther along the narrow track, he saw a group of men working along a path that led off from the lane and downward between two fields. A wagon was there, and the men were unloading stones and square-cut timbers. Another group labored nearby, clearing away the remains of a washed-out bridge. This new bridge was to be more substantial than the old one, and it appeared to Robby that it was to be wider, as well.
Seeing the colorful rider and glossy brown horse approaching, the men stopped their work and looked on. Mr. Bosk's head popped up over the pile of stone he was laying on the other side of the ditch, a quizzical look on his face.
"Mr. Bosk!" Robby called out, pulling Anerath up as the laird crawled out of the ditch and wiped his muddy hands on his shirt.
"Aye?
"
"I have dispatches from Passdale," Robby said. He eased Anerath down through the ditch, past the gaping workmen up to their shins in mud, and up the other side where Bosk was standing. He dismounted, and pulled the messages from his bag. And here's a message from the Mayor."
"Aye? Robby Ribbon?" Mr. Bosk asked, taking the packet from him. "I see ye got yer outfits at last."
"Yes, sir," Robby said, handing him the note from his father.
"What d'ye think of last night's goin's on?"
"I think it was a good showing, sir, by Boskland and Passdale alike, and a good test. I wish it had been during the daytime, though."
"Me, too," Mr. Bosk chuckled. "Me, too."
"I am to await your answer on that." Robby gestured to the orders that Mr. Bosk was now reading. The other men stood in a little closer, and Robby felt a bit of tension amongst them.
"Fancy dress don't make no soldier," said one of the men.
"Whar's yer toothpick?" smirked another.
"Bosklanders don't like lances, I take it," Robby replied, smiling.
"It whar a mean trick, to get us all riled an' off on a hunt for shadows in the middle of the night," said another.
"It was not of my making," Robby stated.
"Who d'yer ol' man think he is, orderin' about us Boskmen?"
"Enough of that!" snapped Mr. Bosk. "Robby here was just follerin' orders. No need to blame him. 'Sides, Passdale an' Boskland both showed the stuff well 'nough, if ye ask me. Can't 'spect no enemy to come callin' when it's convenient, like it was for tea or somethin'."
To Robby he said, "Aye, a good test, though I was angry enough 'bout it last night. But I soon seen the light of it. As for this, I figure we can let her go for awhile. She's got us goin', an' now it's up to practice, I reckon, though I'd like her to come back soon an' sort of foller up on us. Bad habits an' flyin' arrows don't mix too well, if ye take me meanin'."
"Yes, sir, I'll pass that along. And I'll go ahead and escort her back to Passdale, by your leave. Do you have any dispatches that I can take back for you?"
"I do. Was gonna send 'em along later. Ask Mrs. Bosk to look on me desk. They're all sealed an' ready."
"Very well," Robby said, remounting Anerath. "Then I'll be on my way. Good day to you all!"
"Good day, Militiaman!"
" 'At's a fine horse ye got thar," called one of the workmen. "Er, or mebbe yer horse has got ye, instead?"
"Ye shore ye can handle him, laddie-boy?" called another one, setting the men laughing in spite of Mr. Bosk's glare.
"Aye," added another. "Mebbe ye should stick to foot soldierin'."
Anerath huffed and kicked the air as Robby, leaning forward, pulled him around. Red-faced, he trotted Anerath off several yards.
"Ho, boy!" he cried, giving Anerath a good prod of the heels. Anerath immediately whirled around, breaking into a gallop right back at the workers in the ditch. Their mirth quickly changed to panic as Anerath bore down on them, hooves pounding sod high into the air behind him. With defiant ease, Anerath and Robby soared over the ditch and continued at a gallop up the hill. At its top, Robby reined Anerath around. As the stallion reared, he saw the workmen picking themselves out of the mud where they had flung themselves atop of each other. Meanwhile, aside and above them leaning over the bank, Mr. Bosk held his side with one hand to keep his laughter from splitting it, while he slapped his knee with the other.
• • •
Sheila was not at the carpenter's, but having finished her work there, she walked up the hill above the shop, picking wildflowers as she went, until she came to a small cairn barely a foot tall. There she knelt, and carefully arranged the flowers around it. She leaned back and studied the arrangement for a long while. Hearing footfalls behind her, she turned and saw Frizella huffing up the hill. Sheila threw another glance at the tiny grave, then stood and walked down to meet Mrs. Bosk halfway.
"Thar's a soldier come from Passdale to fetch ye back," Frizella said.
"Oh?"
"An' it must be for somethin' important, for he's all handsome-dressed, an' armed."
"Oh?"
"That's right," Frizella said, leading Sheila quickly back to the house. "He's gone to see Mr. Bosk over in the fields, but he's sure to be right back. Go get yer things packed, I doubt if ye'll be comin' back real soon. Hurry along. I've got to see to Mr. Bosk's letters to send along with ye. I've already told Jamie to saddle up a horse for ye. Run along."
Somewhat flustered, Sheila did as she was told. It did not take long, for she had little to pack. And when she came back out, indeed, Jamie was bringing a horse around. She thanked him, then slung her packs and bags behind her saddle and tied them down, along with her bow and quiver. Walking around to the other side, she checked the cinches, wondering at the changes that must have taken place in Passdale since her departure. All of the Bosk-folk had been talking that day of last night's stir, of Ashlord's sudden appearance that stopped what would have been a calamity, and of the bright light he showed that nearly blinded them. Mr. Bosk called it a flare, and said they burned most amazingly bright. The men were disgruntled, to say the least, at being roused up and made to charge all over Barley in the middle of the night. And then nearly blundering into what—a few of them at least admitted—would have been certain harm at the lance-ends of "them Passdale boys."
Sheila had gone on about her business of the day, working mainly with the carpenter on the new bows, all the while feeling rather smug at the good showing of the Passdale Militia, even though she was a Barley girl, herself. Now that her gear was all cinched down, she kept eyeing the bend in the road at the top of the hill, a hopeful flutter in her heart. But when she saw the spirited horse with its head up, prancing down the way with the unfamiliar soldier in saddle, she was awed and disappointed at the same time. The rider and horse seemed unreal, like out of a story, so fine they looked. Not tall enough for him to be Ullin, she thought, nor lean enough for Billy, yet not stocky enough for Robby. She was intrigued by the approaching figure. When Robby passed the east gate at last, and she could see his broad unrestrained grin, she recognized him. He saw the look of surprise and unmistakable joy on her face, and he wanted to leap down and take her up in his arms.
Leap down, he did, and she fairly ran up to him.
"Robby!" she cried, laughing and grabbing his hand. "At first, I did not know you! What a fine outfit! Is that your horse?"
"Well, it is me," he said squeezing her hand and then removing his helmet. "Same old me. But a borrowed horse," he added, giving Anerath an affectionate pat. "Finer than I deserve to ride."
"I don't know about that." She smiled with her head tilted. "You look different. Besides the clothes, I mean. Are you taller?"
"Well, maybe all the militia training has moved my weight around some," he nodded, looking down at himself, "and maybe got rid of some. And all this get-up," he tapped the cuirass, "makes me look bigger than I am, I think."
"Your hair is longer, too," she said. "You look fine to me! I'm so glad to see you."
"I've missed you, too. Even though we hardly got a chance to speak, coming and going only, while you were staying with us. That is, those times we did get to chat, and those brief glimpses of you, well, I mean to say, our house seems a bit empty without you."
"Thank you for saying so."
"It's the truth," he said, wanting so much to kiss her, but only taking up her hand again. She looked at him, and he could feel her attraction to him, her eyes alight in a way that put a moth in his chest, and his yearning for her was almost more than he could bear. "Yes, I mean it. So much so that I'm here to fetch you back."
"I've heard. But why?"
"To have you train us, just as you've been training the Bosklanders."
"I reckon ye need to be gettin' right off," said Mrs. Bosk, her approach undetected by either, and, with a bit of embarrassment, they turned to their horses.
"Yes, we ought to be on our way," said Robby, harnessing his helmet to his saddle
bag and stuffing the arming cap into it.
"Well, here's a bag of victuals for yer lunches," she said knowingly. "Oh an' I packed the letters an' such off of me husband's desk, as I know he means to have 'em taken to Passdale."
"Yes, thank you. And thank you for the food, too. You shouldn't have."
"Nuthin' of it, Robby." She hung the bag on his saddle hook beside his helmet. She turned to Sheila. "I've been mighty happy to have ye with me, darlin'. I'm gonna sorely miss ye."
"Thank you, as always, for taking such good care of me. And say goodbye to Raenelle and Mr. Bosk for me."
They hugged as Robby mounted up, then Sheila climbed into her saddle. As they reined away, Mrs. Bosk called out after Robby.
"Tell them boys of mine to behave themselves. An' to come see me!"
"Yes, ma'am!"
Soon they had passed through the outer gate, the guards waving them through this time, and only then did they speak again.
"Tell me about your stay," Robby said. "Have you trained the Boskmen?"
"Yes, I think they are well on their way," she said. "But it took some doing, at first, to convince some of them they needed lessons."
"Oh?"
"Yes, a lot of them look at bows and arrows as dishonorable weapons, for killing at a distance. Even some of the hunters amongst them had to be convinced that archery would be good for all to know. There were some, too, that just thought of archery as silly toy-stuff, not able to do much harm. It took putting a few arrows through heavy leather to show them, and a lot of yelling on the part of Mr. Bosk to convince the others. He's good at yelling."
"Yes, he certainly is. I hope our militia won't give you as hard a time!"
"Oh, I've learned a few lessons about giving lessons!" she laughed. "And I daresay there's not a Bosklander who'll want to face archers, now, or be without them."
"I expect we'll take longer to get going along with that, though."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, the Boskmen have a long tradition of arms, at least, and we're just getting started, with little experience and no traditions at all to take inspiration from," Robby tugged at his surcoat. "This rig looks mighty nice, I suppose, but we're a rag-tag bunch, mostly just trying to keep up with Ullin."
The Bellringer Page 44