The Bitterbynde Trilogy (188 page)

It suddenly struck Ashalind that her lifespan and his would be unevenly matched. Mortal years could be prolonged in the Fair Realm, but humankind could not become immortal. He might continue to walk the green hills of Erith for many lives of kings, long after she rested beneath them. She dismissed the thought, vexed that she had allowed it to mar happiness.

A soft breeze stirred the tent's fabric, causing shadows to waver as though underwater. The wind carried the sounds of the bivouacked armies more clearly through the thin sendal partitions—songs of victory, laughter, the jingle of harness. Flaring campfires threw the shadows of armed men on the rippling walls. Sentries marched along their circuits, messengers went to and fro.

‘Long have I searched for thee,' Angavar said gently, ‘sending birds and beasts and eldritch wights to the task. All that time, every road and byway was watched. Every city and village in the populous regions was under the surveillance of my servants. Thou didst confound them with both thy fragrant disguise and the unexpected path thou didst pursue. Of recent days, thy bodyservant has told me much concerning thy travels. Would that I had known then what I know now. Time after time my searchers returned, having failed to gain so much as a hint of thy whereabouts, and tumult would surge again within my heart. It seemed thou hadst vanished out of all knowledge. Fain would I have sought thee myself, yet I could not be spared from the effort of the Legions. What makes thee so clever at concealing thyself from me? Few could achieve such artfulness! I have dominion over the sea, the sky and all the corners of the land. The Royal Raven may hide from me, for the nonce, but no mortal could do it—save thee. And twice thou hast done so!'

Ashalind shook her head. ‘I know not why, unless due to luck, or ill luck, or fate. Alas, would that thou hadst been able to save Tamhania from destruction!'

‘I knew naught of the isle's danger until too late. No one at Tana heeded the warning signs, therefore they sent no early plea for help. When at last the ill tidings came to my ears I sped there forthwith, but by the time my Skyhorse reached the latitude of the Royal Isle, all was in ruins.

‘After the island was drowned, didst thou not presume I had perished during its fall?'

‘The denizens of the sea reported thou wert not numbered among the dead. Yet then, for a time, I did think thy life had ended, for my servants had scoured Erith and thy absence appeared to indicate thy total destruction. Shouldst thou have been slain, and thy body rendered unrecognisable then they would never have discovered thee.'

‘Unrecognisable? In what manner?'

‘Crushed, dissolved, incinerated, eaten. But let us speak no more of hateful matters. I have found thee, Goldhair. That compensates for all.'

‘Now at last we may enjoy the company of one another,' she whispered, somewhat shyly.

‘Even so!' he replied. ‘And share our full histories as previously we could not and did not!'

In a corner of the Royal Pavilion, Errantry roosted on a tall stand. At the centre stood a table carved of walnut and oak, inlaid with hawthorn wood. Ashalind found Thomas of Ercildoune and Tamlain of Roxburgh seated at this table with Richard of Esgair Garthen and Istoren Giltornyr, battle-weary yet unwounded—or if they had been wounded there was now no sign of it.

‘It is a joy to meet again with the Royal Attriod,' said she.

They bowed, murmuring their greetings. True Thomas kissed her hand.

‘Valiantly you fought,' she said to them.

Roxburgh's face was grim. ‘Aye, lady, but our success was not timely enough.'

He fell silent.

‘Drumdunach and Ogier are sorely missed,' said Ashalind, seating herself at the table.

‘Those who slew them have paid the price,' answered Roxburgh heavily. ‘Now at last peace has returned to Erith—' He glanced at Ashalind and she saw in his look that same hunger she knew so well. ‘And there is a way back …'

She nodded. ‘Yes. There is a way. I shall find it again.'

A page poured wine, but the goblets stood untouched.

‘They say you have discovered our secret, my lady,' softly said Ercildoune, ‘as we have discovered yours. For if you are a thousand years old, we are older. Our exploits of yore are the stuff of legend.'

‘Indeed,' Ashalind replied. ‘I recall, when I was a child in Avlantia my nurse used to tell me tales of the Bard who dwelled half in the Fair Realm and half in Erith. Even then it was thought to be naught but moonshine, a fabrication of the Storytellers to while away long Winter nights. But what of you, sir?' she said to Tamlain Conmor. ‘I surmise that you also were once in that place, but I cannot fathom how it came to pass.'

‘A distraction from our present grief would be welcome,' said the Bard, before Roxburgh could reply. ‘Allow me to regale you with that story.' She nodded, and he proceeded.

‘There is on Roxburgh land a green vale called Carterhaugh,' he began. ‘In that vale lies a secret bower, filled with wild roses in Springtime. Long ago, before the Closing, strange things began happening at Carterhaugh. It came to pass that roses bloomed there all year round, even through the snows of Winter, and they were double roses, gorgeous blooms with richly coloured petals like flounced silk underskirts, the like of which had never before been seen in Erith. The fragrance alone, it was said, was enough to intoxicate anyone who went near.

‘Few dared approach them, for this unseasonable burgeoning was a sure sign of supernatural activity in the area. Indeed, parents forbade their children to travel to Carterhaugh, lest some harm overtake them. But the attraction proved too strong for some, especially for young maidens who wished to pluck these extraordinary roses for their sweetness, in order to strew the petals amongst their linen or wear the flowers twined in their hair.

‘After a time a rumour began to fly about. It was whispered that any mortal maiden who strayed in Carterhaugh would be captured by a young knight who appeared as the guardian of the roses. He would not let her go free until she gave him a token, and that token was either her cloak or her maidenhead. Knowing that if they returned home without their mantles they would incur their parents' wrath and inquisition, and perceiving this strange knight so well made and bonny, many a maiden came home with her mantle still upon her shoulders and nobody the wiser.

‘Yet truth has a way of revealing itself.

‘Soon the infamy of the unknown knight of Carterhaugh became widely known. It was said that he was one of the Faêran, and now with even greater urgency and direr threats, fathers forbade their daughters to go anywhere near that enchanted rosy grove. But one headstrong—and some would say foolish—maid, the daughter of a nobleman, decided to venture there despite the warnings, or because of them, for she wanted to see this comely knight for herself. This was somewhat of a contrary wench. She was wont to wear green and flaunt it, just to show her indomitable spirit. Without breathing a word to anyone, she went to Carterhaugh alone.

‘When she arrived at the bower of roses, the scent of them filled her with a joyous languor. She looked about amongst the nodding stems, which bowed almost to the ground beneath the weight of those heady blooms, but no sign could she see of any living thing.

‘Greatly daring, she began to gather the roses. She had not plucked more than two when the young knight stood before her.

‘“Lady, gather no more,” said he. “Why come you to Carterhaugh without permission from me?”

‘Boldly this saucy maiden planted her hands on her hips and looked him in the eye. “I'll come and go,” she replied, “and ask no leave of you!”

‘She returned to her father's hall that night with her mantle still wrapped about her, but her gown was crumpled and there were small rents in it as though it had caught on some briars. Nobody thought anything of it, for this maiden was not one to care overmuch for the daintiness of her garments. But she went often to Carterhaugh after that, and no one suspected.

‘Then one day her father summoned her. He was a kindly gentleman and he loved his daughter well—perhaps too well, for that was why she had been able to get her own way for so long.

‘“Alas, daughter,” said he, not angry but mild and meek, “By the signs, I fear you are with child. Name the father and if he be one of my knights you shall have him to wed.”

‘“Well, if I am with child,” she made reply, “myself shall bear the blame, for there's not a knight about your hall, father, who shall give his name to the baby. I'll not exchange my own true love for any knight you have.”

‘“Then who is your love?” her father appealed.

‘“Alas!” cried the daughter in her turn. “He is not of Erith, but a knight of the Fair Realm. The steed he rides is lighter than the wind. Its forehooves are shod with silver and the hindhooves with gold.”

‘Then the father bowed his head in sorrow, for there was naught he could do.

‘As soon as she could, this young gentlewoman combed her hair, put on her golden snood and hastened back to Carterhaugh. There she saw the young knight's steed grazing alone, but there was no sign of its rider until she had plucked a rose or two, and then he stood before her, and he was full bonny, there was no denying.

‘“Lady, gather no more!” said he. “Why do you come here breaking roses? For to lie with me might kill the bonny babe we made between us.”

‘She was not afraid.

‘“Tell me, my love,” she begged, “were you ever a knight of Erith? Are you a mortal man?”

‘“Aye,” said he. “I was out hunting in the greenwood, and I rode swifter than the rest and outstripped them. I was alone, and eventide had fallen, when I spied a strange and splendid procession riding at leisure through the trees. At its centre was a green silk canopy borne on four spears by four mounted knights, gloriously accoutred. Under the canopy rode a Queen of the Fair Ones, on a white palfrey. At once all sense of peril deserted me and it seemed that I must catch up with her. Spurring my horse, I rode furiously, but no matter how fast I galloped, I could not catch the slow-trotting pageant.

‘When at last I came near my heart's appetence, my horse stumbled and I fell from its back. I might have died from the fall, but that she caught me—a Queen among the Faêran, Leilieln of the Yellow-Flowered Broom. She took me to the Fair Realm to bide with her, for she saw I was comely of face and strong and lithe, and there I have stayed for nigh on seven years. Pleasant it is to dwell there, but now I have reason to wish to leave, and that reason stands before me now.

‘“A right-of-way opens from the Fair Realm into Carterhaugh,” he said. “I am permitted to pass through it and linger awhile, here in the world of mortals. But I must not stray too far, for my task is to guard the roses of Leilieln, exacting a pledge from thieves. But tonight is Jack o' Lantern Eve,” the knight continued, “the night when the Faêran Court ride at the murk-and-midnight hour. Those who would win their true love must go to the well at the crossroads, and bide there.”

‘“The Faêran will perceive I am by,” said she, “and will try to conceal you in their midst. How shall I know you amongst all those brave and gallant knights of Faêrie?”

‘“Lady,” says he, “first let pass the black horses and then let pass the brown. Quickly run to the milk-white steed and pull down the rider. I shall ride on the white steed, nearest to the town, for I was a knight of Erith—they give me that fame. My right hand will be gloved, lady, and the left hand will be bare. My hat shall have a feather in it and combed down shall be my hair. Those are the tokens I give you. I shall be there.”

‘“How will they try to foil my purpose?” said she.

‘“They will turn me in your arms into a newt or a snake, but hold me fast and fear not, for I am your baby's father.”

‘“I will hold you fast!” said she bravely.

‘“Then they will turn me in your arms into a bear and then a roaring lion, but hold me fast as you shall hold our child, and fear me not.”

‘“I'll not be afraid!” she said.

‘“Then they will turn me in your arms into a red-hot cauldron of iron, but hold me fast and fear not for I'll do you no harm.”

‘“Their tricks shall not drive me away,” declared she.

‘“Then,” said he, “they will turn me in your arms into a burning sword. Throw me into the well-water and I'll be a naked knight. Cover me with your mantle and keep me out of sight.”

‘“I heed all you have said,” she answered him.

‘That evening she went alone to the well at the crossroads and hid herself. All was deadly still and silent. The face of the silver moon was the only other face she saw. In the middle of the night, she heard the ringing of bells and bridles, and after the silence of Jack o' Lantern Eve, she was as glad of that sound as of any
lorraly
noise. The Faêran Rade came by, riding at a trot. Richly caparisoned they were, and many fair ladies and comely knights rode among them. First the black horses passed by the well, and then the brown. As soon as she saw the white horse, the girl ran and pulled the rider from its back.

‘When the Faêran Queen turned and saw what had happened, a storm of gramarye arose. This mortal damsel, Alys, she was no laggard, no milksop. She had heeded well what the enchanted knight had told her and she held him fast throughout all the shapes of horror they put upon him, and when at last she won him she covered him with her mantle.

‘Then Queen Leilieln of the Yellow-Flowered Broom spoke in anger, saying: “She that has got this knight has got a stately groom. Woe betide her ill-faur'd face! An ill death may she die! If I had known what now this night I see, I'd have looked him in the eye and turned him to a tree.” So pronouncing this curse, she rode off, with her Faêran company following behind her.

‘But Tamlain Conmor wed his victorious sweetheart, and the child that was conceived in the blossomy bower—a traverse between Faerie and the realm of mortals, where numinous roses bloomed, touched by gramarye—that child they named “Rosamonde”.'