Authors: Nancy Springer
Hal rubbed the hardness of Alan's shoulders, feeling tight muscles slowly relax and tortured gasps turn to deep, quiet breathing. But the gray-eyed Prince did not think of the ash maiden. Instead, Torre's words, already forgotten by Alan, echoed joyously in Hal's mind: “...and he would be called Elf-friend, the Golden One, and Sunrise King...."
Chapter Five
Three days after the comrades came to Cair Indel, the eve of November was celebrated, the ancient Feast of Fires. Galin rode in for the occasion, and Hal took his plinset and sang the lays his mother had taught him. For the old King, it was the merriest holiday in many years. But to Hal and Alan it seemed a gloomy affair compared to the previous year's feast at Celydon. Food was scarce at Cair Indel, for these mountains were not farmed. The meal was acorn cakes and dried apples. Torre's chamber was dimly illuminated by torches and rushlights. Like all of the rooms at the fortress, it was bare of hangings or decoration. The stone was cold, and the rude furnishings few.
In the weeks that followed, Hal spent many hours with Torre. The old King was a deep well of history and all kinds of lore, but it was not only his learning that drew Hal to him. It was father love such as he had never known. Torre cherished his grandson, and Hal looked to him like a boy. Alan watched the two of them with a smile. All the bad humor had gone out of his system, and he marveled at the change in Torre. Years had dropped away from the old King since Hal's coming. He walked strongly, without support; his hands were steady, his voice clear and true. Torre, who did not bestow friendship lightly, treated Alan with a friendly distinction that was more than the politeness of a host. Alan justly felt honored, and he was glad of Hal's happiness. But even Alan did not know how often Hal's thoughts turned toward Celydon.
Winter came. The mountains put on thick cloaks of snow, and the air developed teeth. Torre came out often, even in the biting cold, to help Hal and Alan with the horses; he loved to look at Arundel. But one freezing day, Hal did not come to the exercise yard. Alan met Torre, frowning. Hal was on the battlements, he explained, staring eastward in a kind of a trance, and not at all reasonable. Torre did not seem put out. “Mothers, then let us go to him,” he remarked.
They climbed up the icy steps. Hal was gazing into the gray distances of winterbound Welas.
“What is it, Hal?” Torre asked. His voice caressed the name.
Hal did not answer, and Torre and Alan settled themselves to wait. Hal hardly seemed aware of their presence. After a few minutes, words burst from him, but not, they sensed, in answer to their query.
“Rosemary!” Hal cried. “She's in danger!"
“Where? How?” Alan demanded, but once again Hal seemed not to notice. His face was straining.
“The wolves!” he blurted a little later. “Why doesn't she see the wolves! Asfala sees them.... What can Pelys be thinking of, to let her ride out alone!"
“Thinking of you,” Alan murmured.
“She flees,” Hal said with immense relief. “But why into the Forest, into the trees? A horse cannot outdistance wolves among trees!” He grew tense again, biting his lip in consternation. “Asfala is small, she twists among the trees, but her legs are short, the snow is deep. Why did she go that way?” Hal panted; he was Asfala, and the wolves, and Rosemary, bent low over the filly's neck. To Torre and Alan, it seemed that the chase lasted an hour. They stood rigidly, waiting.
“A haven!” Hal shouted. “A refuge, a—a sacred grove....” His voice trailed away in sheer wonder, and his shoulders sagged as he went limp with ecstasy. “Of course, she went there,” he murmured. “It is her natal home, which she has never seen. Did the wolves drive her there, or was it she who led them?” His voice sank to a whisper; the listeners could hardly hear him.
“The lady has ridden her steed into the circle of rowan trees. The wolves cannot follow, for there she is mistress; more, she is essence. The wolves circle in the sacred dance. Now Ket and his men come, with bows and clubs, to drive them off. The wolves scud away, and the outlaws stand agape; they also cannot enter the Rowan circle. But, in time, the lady leaves it to join them.” Hal spoke in a dreamy chant, an onlooker aside from self. “Ket asks her name, though he knows it well enough, and she tells him: Rosemary, daughter of Rowana of Celydon. She senses that she is a daughter of her mother, in this place. Ket kneels at her feet. He loves her. He nearly weeps with love; he will love her until he dies. But she is mine; he knows she is mine. She is the Lady, and I am the Very King."
“Ay,” breathed Alan, remembering a dream he had forgotten, once seen on an ancient woman's loom. “Ay. The Lady of All Trees dwells on the Forest island of Celydon."
Hal turned to him, shocked out of his trance, shaking at his own words, terrified. “Name of Aene, Alan, what did I say?"
“Truth.” Alan put an arm around him.
“I called myself Very King!” Hal whispered, ashen.
“Merest truth, Mireldeyn,” Alan told him whimsically. “Think no more of it."
“Will the lass be all right?” Torre asked, bemused.
“Ay, Ket will see her home.” Hal turned to the old King remorsefully. “Grandfather, how long have you stood here while I babbled nonsense?"
“I heard no nonsense,” Torre retorted, “and I am not yet too old to stand for a while. Moreover, it has been said before now that the Lady of the Forest must wed the Very King, as the Forest is the soul of Isle and the Very King its heart. But what are the rites of this Lady? What must she do?"
“She does not do; she is.” Hal seemed to know the answer in spite of himself. “She lives, as the Forest lives."
“Why did she not tell us, or show us?” Alan murmured. “How blind we were then, Hal!"
“She does not know it herself, Alan! She is more being than knowing. She is the fruit tree and the dappled deer.” Hal shook his head, blinking back tears. “Aene's power go with her! Knowing is only pain."
“Come in to the fire,” said Torre gruffly.
It took Hal a few days to shake off the lethargy of his trance, and for a few nights he paced the corridors, afraid to sleep because of what his dreams might be. He hated the thought that Ket might someday kneel to him.... But the warmth of Torre's love drew him away from his fears more quickly than be would have believed possible. In the evenings he sat by the hearth and sang for the old man.
The quiet winter months passed slowly for Hal and Alan, in spite of their contentment. There was much to be done in the year ahead, and they longed to be on the road once again. If Iscovar's physician reckoned rightly, this would be their last year of preparation for the war to come. Hal paced for nearly a month at the thought of it, until one day be smelled spring even in the icy mountain air. “The snow is melting and the grass is green in the lowlands,” he said, “though the crags here are still white. It is time for us to go."
Torre came to watch them pack. “You roam about the land,” he chided, “without shields, helms or mail? Your fighting skills are great, but it is a wonder you have not both been killed."
“We have tried to avoid fighting,” Hal explained. “We could appear to be only wastrels, or farm lads, when we chose. Though truly it was not often a matter of choice."
Torre shook his head. “Two years ago, perhaps, you could do that; but no one would mistake you now for farm lads.” He studied their powerful shoulders and chests, noting their purposeful movements and steady bearing. “You are warriors, and leaders of warriors. There is no disguising it."
“Just as you say,” Hal acceded cheerfully. “But what are we to do about it?"
“We have gifts,” came a voice from the doorway. They turned in surprise to see Galin, but the King smiled. Galin's voice, as always, was somber. But Alan thought he saw a nicker of emotion in his black eyes.
From the corridor came a procession of servants, bringing Hal and Alan the accouterments of combat. Galin and Torre first presented tunics of fine chain mail, lightweight but very strong, crafted of the mountains’ best metal. Then they brought half-helms with a noseguard attached; these were much less hot and heavy than full helms, and could be stored in the saddlebags until needed. The mail could be worn under an outer garment, if Hal and Alan wished to hide it.
Last, Torre and Galin gifted the comrades with shields. These also were lightweight yet strong, and rather small, so as not to hamper freedom of movement. They were of a graceful shape, the point not too long but somewhat rounded. In the center of each was embossed a half-circle sunburst, like that on the plinset case, or like the emblem of Veran's crown in the heart of the green Elfstone. Hal's shield and helm shone silvery gray, like his sword and his steed. Alan's were of the same metal, but treated with an overlay which made them glow a brilliant gold, like sunlight.
The two soon gave up trying to express their thanks. They knew that Torre understood, and beneath Galin's toughened exterior they felt his love as well as his reluctance to show it. So in mutual silence and regard they saddled their steeds, slung on their bedrolls, and prepared to leave.
“I shall miss you both,” said King Torre. He stood tall, and in his eyes glowed the hope of a new dawn. As they rode down the gorge they looked back at him. With his dark eyes sparkling, his thin lips pressed tight, his snow-white hair bristling in the crisp air, he seemed a roused bird of prey, poised to strike his enemies, swift and deadly. In farewell he raised the clenched fist of war.
Galin rode with the brothers as far as the lower defenses. From the foothills they could see the lowlands in the hazy distance. Hal was right; green patches were beginning to appear.
“Farewell,” Galin said simply as they turned to leave. Then suddenly he added, “Hal, Alan, I never told you —"
“We know,” Hal assured him, smiling at the love in his thunder-dark eyes.
“Go with all blessing,” he said.
They left the mountains behind them and rode toward the lowlands, Iscovar's demesne. Galin watched them go. He was troubled by the emblem on their shields—was it the rising sun of a new dawn for his land and his people, or was it the setting of their sun forever? There was a mystery in Hal's eyes which he did not understand, but which caused him both hope and fear. Something in Hal, he knew, was more than man, even more than legend—but even an elf-man could be killed. With the difficulty that comes of pride, Galin bowed his head and begged the Mothers to keep his kinsman from harm.
Book four
THE DARK TOWER
* * *
Chapter One
Hal and Alan set their course straight toward Nemeton, for they needed to establish communication with the castle before they could lay their final plans. Hal hoped his old nurse was still alive. “She was always clever, and tough even in tenderness,” he grumbled, to temper his concern. “Still, I wish I knew what happened to her, after Rhys was killed."
Since they had to travel through the heart of the lowlands, they put the bold face to it, riding abreast of each other with jingling mail, helms on and shields at the ready. In this land of petty lords, they believed, few folk would pay them any mind. But they were mistaken. Peasants gaped at them from the fields, and once an ancient woman scuttled into their path and seized their hands. “The Mothers be praised that I have lived to see this day!” she cried, and kissed their hands, and wept. Hal and Alan did not know what to think. Another time, to their surprise and discomfiture, a group of peasants knelt by their road. “Why are you kneeling?” Hal demanded.
“Because you are the Very King,” a fellow answered huskily, “who comes to rid us of the oppressors, all gods be thanked!"
“But how can you know that?” Hal exclaimed.
“Why, the old song, my lords,” the man blurted, and recited:
"Silver sunset, golden dawn
Bid the fiend from Isle begone.
Silver steed and golden bay
Bring to Welas brighter day.
Two that from Cair Indel ride
Very Kings of both shall bide."
Hal smiled crookedly at Alan. “I should think Torre might have warned us."
“He knew just what he was doing!” Alan averred.
The lowland lordsmen also took note of then passing. Several times they outran groups of armed men, and twice they had to cut their way to freedom. Their new equipment stood them in good stead, for neither took any wounds. So they wore the gear when they forded the Gleaming River, wore it while they fought and fled and dared their way across Isle, and wore it still when, in early summer, they entered the southern Forest.
Deep within its green belly, they rode down a leafy corridor just wide enough for the horses to go abreast. For no reason Alan could discern, Hal stopped, signaling Alan to halt as well. Hal listened intently, and a slow smile spread on his face. He gave a chirping call.