About the Story     Chapter One     Chapter Two

 

Talking With Winds
by L. Shelby

Chapter One
Lady's Day

Samanth studied Karemori Castle as she pulled the last necklace out of the saddlebag and fastened it around her neck. The castle was very pretty, for a building. The golden stone was stained pink by the rising sun, and the central keep looked like a stone blossom surrounded by the smaller buds of the attached towers. Elvan architect, she diagnosed, wondering if it could possibly be of any military value.

Military matters weren't usually of much interest to her, but with her tribe being pressed northward by Keymas' soldiers, they had recently become a constant concern. Nine days across the empty plains to get here, and another nine days to ride back, whether the Northman king says yea or nay to my petition. Will anyone remain to rejoice in my return?

A lone crow swooped around a tower, and turned in her direction, passing over the stubbly fields. The salt-scented wind carried its harsh cries towards her. [Food! Food!] Absently she fetched the last piece of jerky out of her belt pouch and held it up for him to snatch out of her fingers, her mind still on her preparations.

The worn toes of her riding boots, peeking incongruously out from underneath the hem of her crimson festival dress, troubled her. She never wore boots when gowned, and having them on now made her feel awkward and off-balance. When she had visited the Governor of Atisva with her father she had borrowed a pair of slippers, but this time, in her hurry to leave, she had forgotten them. Bare feet were what she was used to, and what was good enough for the elvish court at Tallûrridhera would just have to be good enough for a human king as well. Grabbing the saddle for balance, she worked off her boots one-handed. Tressa pivoted an ear around, wondering what all the jerking was about, and then went back to mouthing field stubble.

Samanth tucked the boots into the saddlebag, slipped a silver bangle about her ankle and patted Tressa on the shoulder, not at all certain that the stalwart pony would remain unperturbed at what was coming next. "Wait for me here."

Tressa's ears swiveled toward her, the angle indicating curiosity.

[Stay. Food!] Samanth told her, kicking at a particularly lush clump of grass that had somehow missed being harvested. She cursed the gift that only allowed her to communicate with animals as well as they could communicate with each other, and resorted to human speech. "I'm going inside." She knew the words would not be understood, but felt better for having said them. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

Tressa eyed the indicated clump of grass and moved toward it and began munching. Samanth pulled her cloak over the brightness of her jewelry, and then tightened it about her, already missing Tressa's warmth. She started toward the castle, keeping her eyes on her toes, and stepping carefully over the rows of harsh stubble. When she heard Tressa stop cropping, she whirled about and gave her faithful pony a gimlet glare. [Stay away.]

Tressa turned back to the grass, unoffended and accepting now that she understood what was wanted. If she is too tired to complain about being deserted, Samanth thought grimly as she turned back toward the front gate, then there is no hope of us departing today.

At the edge of the field Samanth increased her pace, ignoring as best she could the tiny dog that jumped out of a field a little further on, and raced towards her, yipping [Other! Other! Other!]. Thankfully, it soon indicated that it had discovered a fascinating smell in the field to the right and bounded away. Leaving Samanth free to concentrate on the people entering the castle. There was certainly a lot of them. They arrived in small groups -- some mounted on horses, or riding on carts, but most of them on foot, trudging along the road that wrapped around the castle and passed through the open gate into the keep itself.

Samanth knew that her own dark skin and slight stature would stand out in this realm of tall pale people, so she pulled her cloak down further over her face and strode with determined steps across the court, falling in behind a group of three men in leather tunics, and breeches of faded blues and greens. Step by step they led her across the cobbled court, past the indifferent guards, and into the wan dimness of the building. The dead air that engulfed her was all the more of a shock after the bright crispness of the autumn morning.

"Grant this building, O Protectress, that my arrival bless it and my departure bring no harm." Samanth whispered the familiar prayer under her breath as she looked up uneasily at the dark and heavy ceiling. Being inside always unsettled her, and the northmen around her made things worse. It was always difficult for her to feel comfortable around those not bound by the oaths of her people, and these particular unsworn were intimidatingly large.

The deeper she traveled into the castle, the more the space around her compressed until the people behind shoved her into the people in front and her nose had a far closer acquaintance with the sour smell of armpits than she could ever recall. At one point she was nudged so sharply from behind that she almost swallowed the end of the pale brown braid that drooped down the back of the man in front of her, and her bruised toes screamed out in ample evidence that she was the only one here whose feet were bare. She should have worn her boots.

Although there seemed no room whatsoever, somehow everyone continued to shuffle forward, carrying her helplessly along with them like a hen in the caravan coop.

"Petitioners to the right," a voice bellowed a short distance ahead, breaking through the din. "Observers to the left." At these words the staggered movements of the crowd shifted. Most of those pressed about her aimed toward their elfhand, clearly having come to observe, while she worked he way toward the right. As she did so the crush became less, and finally she could see two massive doors of pine set slightly ajar with a brave gleam of daylight fighting its way through the gap. They were three man-lengths high, carefully joined and covered with intricate knotwork, and as she slipped between them she caught a glimpse of a carved rabbit lurking among the entwining strands, so accurately and delicately fashioned that she almost expected to hear it speak. But this was no time to admire the workmanship: she had at last reached the Great Hall of Karemori Castle.

The room was large, and circular, with a ceiling that soared upwards, and light filtering downward from above. A row of liveried guards blocked her from advancing further, and beyond them another petitioner stood upright before a dais. Apparently excessive bowing and crawling was not required here, as it would be in Moseth.

The man was discoursing on farms and farming, and between the subject matter and the northmen's abbreviated style of speaking Samanth could make little sense of it. Her concern was not the petitioner, anyway, and her gaze was drawn onward to where Witherond of Agolith sat on an intricately carved wooden chair, his silver eyebrows low over his hard gray eyes. Samanth shivered, and forced her hands to stop shaking.

Beside the king stood a girl with a perfect oval face and azure eyes. This must be Witherond's famed daughter, the Gold Lady of the North, Samanth realized. Her face is not so long as the rest of the northmen, and her nose is not nearly so horse-like, she thought approvingly. I can see why some bard found her attractive enough to write a song about her. At the princess' feet was a smooth coated beast of mottled dun and copper with legs so long and skinny that until it whined in concern at its mistress, Samanth didn't quite realize it was a dog.

But she had no further leisure to examine the room.

The king barked something harsh and Samanth realized that he was dismissing the man who stood before him. The petitioner backed away through the row of guards and it was clearly Samanth's turn. She gathered up her courage and her dignity, flung her cloak dramatically over her shoulders, and stepped forward to make her plea.

"Witherond of Agolith, son of Therisand son of Risander, I have come to claim the life debt owed by your grandfather to the Trollguard tribe."

The king looked down his long nose and curled his lip. "I know of no such debt."

Samanth took a deep breath, but as she opened her mouth to spout off her rehearsed eloquence, a woman's voice, melodious and carrying, interrupted from the edge of the dais. "The claim is valid. Risander acknowledged the life debt in an epistle to his elder brother Risoltner, which can still be found in our archives, although admittedly its condition is poor."

Samanth forced her gaze to remain focused on the King, but out of the corner of her eye she noted that the speaker was a young woman reclining on a cot, a hulking young man in attendance beside her.

Samanth knew she should be grateful -- the first problem she had foreseen and prepared for had been set aside. But this gap in her rehearsed speeches left her feeling adrift and unsure, and she wasn't certain how to bring the direction the audience was traveling back to the course she had prepared for. Worse, Witherond's scowl seemed blacker than before.

"I see no reason to acknowledge a debt from before I was born, bard," the king barked at the reclining girl. "The Tamuls should have asked for repayment while my grandfather was yet around to respond. What is the lifedebt of a dead man worth?"

Samanth didn't dare acknowledge the soundness of the argument when the lives of all her people might rest in her hands. She tossed her head and responded in a clear voice. "Had my ancestor not saved his life, you would never have had a father to conceive you. To my people is owed the debt of your very existence."

"Not an existence that I ever recall asking for," Witherond sneered back. "I do not acknowledge the debt."

The utter finality of the declaration staggered her. She felt like she had been kicked in the stomach by a horse. Was that it then? She knew that her errand was uncertain, and full success unlikely, but surely she couldn't have failed completely as quickly as this?

How could this horrible housebound man so dismiss a claim his own bard had verified? He hadn't even listened long enough to hear the boon she desired of him. She glared up at him and heat burned in her chest. All I wanted was for you to write a letter. To throw around some of the political weight you bear as ruler of the largest of the petty city states of the north. It would have cost you next to nothing! The difference that little bit of meddling would make to her kinsman, however, was too great for her to abandon her errand so easily. She tried again.

"Your neighbor Keymas has wrongly accused my kin. With your influence you could easily turn him back to the path of justice, and so win the amity of my entire nation."

The shale gray eyes of the northman king held no softness, no hope. "Your bickerings with Keymas are no affair of mine, and I have no use the friendship of vagabonds. However mighty your nation, its affairs do not infringe upon my own. Your petition is denied. You may go."

Samanth blinked back angry tears and spun about, her chin held high. If you will not help us, I will sell my silver in Karemori's marketplace and I will use my gains to hire your armsmen away from you, she fumed. I will save my people with out your assistance! But although she had always intended to try hire fighting men, and to buy clothing and supplies suitable for a winter encampment, neither were what her people truly needed, and she knew it. She had failed.

 

# # #

 

During court functions Tomah's post of choice was always the far right side of the dais, it had the best view of the entire hall. That was why he had set Asolde's cot here. As bard, Asolde needed a good view of the proceedings. His own self-imposed charge, however, was to see that Asolde expended as little energy as possible, and so his attention remained fixed on her reclining form and he paid little attention to the Lady's Day petitioners, or the king's responses. It was her changing expression and the way she suddenly tensed that warned him something disastrous was about to happen, and he turned from her in time to see his Prince straighten from his lounging position at the far left side of the dais and take a few hasty steps toward the king.

"You may not be grateful for your existence, father, but I am grateful for mine."

Tomah supposed that some kind of rebellion from the prince was inevitable. The king's indifference to his only son had lately been driving the prince into a quiet rage. A rage so intense that it had been due to boil over some time soon.

Asolde grabbed at Tomah's arm, and he looked down into her pinched face. If, as a bard and a princess, she felt she could do nothing, then there wasn't anything he could do either, except wait and discover the full magnitude of the disaster before trying to clean up the resulting mess.

"What is the nature of your difficulty with Keymas?" the Prince was asking the vagabond girl, who was turning back to him, her expression incredulous and uncertain.

"Keymas is his least favorite of our sister's suitors," Asolde muttered too softly for anyone but Tomah to hear. "That's probably what pushed him over the edge."

"Keymas of Vernay, has wrongfully accused my people of cannibalism." The vagabond girl choked a bit on the final word. "We flee northward before his so-called justice, at the very time of year when it is most needful that we return south. All we want is safe passage through his lands for our caravans, so that our children need not face one of the north's infamous winters."

"Fool vagabond," King Witherond spat. "Go around the petty princeling."

"Keymas has been expanding his lands eastward," the Prince pointed out coldly. "He now claims territory all the way up into the mountains. If you attended to your own guests rather than requiring me to subject myself to their babblings, you would know that."

The vagabond girl was turning hopefully to the king. "Perhaps you could guarantee us passage around Vernay to the west?"

"Even if I hadn't already refused your petition I could hardly guarantee passage through lands not my own," the king answered dismissively, hardly taking his eyes off his son.

"You are Agolith," she responded. "You are the greatest of all the Kingdoms of the North, and your capital is one of the seven great cities of the world. Have you no influence as to the paths your neighbors take?"

Tomah knew his king could help her easily. That was what had triggered the prince's rage. Agolith had six times the armsmen Vernay did, and if Vernay could raise even a tenth of Agolith's militia it was news to Tomah. Worse, the king needed no army at all to sway Keymas' will. If Witherond said "cease persecuting the Tamuls or you may no longer court the Gold Lady of the North," Keymas would cease to persecute the Tamuls. But that was not the sort of thing the King of Agolith was likely to say.

"Do you intend to do nothing, father?" the Prince inquired sharply.

"There is no reason why I should."

The prince took a step toward the vagabond. "Fair lady. My father may feel no gratitude for his existence, but I do, and I acknowledge that debt to your people. I do not speak with the voice of Agolith, but what resources I have are at your service. I, Asond, swear this by all nine gods. May all here witness it."

"Any offer of assistance is gratefully accepted," she responded, stammering a bit.

And thus, as my life is sworn to the protection of Agolith's heir, my fate is decided. Asolde's hand clutched even tighter and Tomah slid it away from his arm and gently straightened out her fingers, willing her to relax. "There's nothing to worry about," he lied, "I can keep him safe."

He didn't think she believed him, but she smiled anyway, so that much he had accomplished. Unfortunately the king was unwilling to let his son's folly go unremarked.

"What do you think you can do, you and your ten men?" he demanded scornfully. "Beyond the lives of those sworn to your service you have nothing to offer that isn't under my authority."

Ten men, and myself. It was a bit odd how no one ever added Tomah to their accounting of his Prince's might. Almost as if, once the rightman's oath had been spoken, he had become an actual part of the prince, rather than just a special sort of bodyguard.

Prince Asond sneered back at the king. "She said, father, that any assistance would be gratefully accepted. Acceptance is in short supply here in Agolith. Why should it surprise you that I have decided to seek it elsewhere?"

"And if you should die in the service of these tattered vagabonds, what then will be the fate of your own people?" the king demanded. "You know there are rumors of trouble in the south. I may require your services elsewhere."

"As an heir I never seemed to please you. At my death you will be free to use my sister as a lure to bring you some successor that will suit you better, and send him on your errands."

Now Asolde was wincing on her sister's behalf as well. Tomah wished that he had been able to think of some reason for her to refrain from attending court this day. He wished it was allowable for him to shield her ears from the king's inevitable bellow.

"Son or no son I will not be so disrespectfully addressed in my own court, before my own subjects. You are banished from my presence, these halls, and the city I rule until Lady's Day next."

Tomah also wished that there was something that he could do to soothe the devastated look on Asolde's face as she watched her father stalk across the dais. The king's robes flapped furiously about his long legs and his older daughter was forced to undignified speed in an attempt to keep up. The soft thud of the guardsman easing the far door shut behind the departing royals seemed to offer Asolde some relief, however. She relaxed a little and turned back to him, her hand back on his arm in a silent, unobtrusive plea for assistance.

"Your will, highness?"

The watchers in the gallery who had been prudently silent during the unusual encounter, emitted a much more wholesome murmur now that the king had departed, and he could hardly hear her reply over their din. "My brother will never think to bring the Tamul over here to introduce her to me."

Of course not, when he bothers to think at all, it is only ever about his own concerns. Tomah gathered Asolde carefully in his arms, and turned towards where the tiny foreigner was addressing Asond with words of gratitude that were sure to be undeserved.

"May the Protectress bless you. On behalf of my people I offer you the deepest and most devoted gratitude. As for myself, there is nothing I wouldn't do in return for the lives of my people."

Tomah could feel Asolde stiffen sympathetically at the girl's unfortunate turn of phrase.

"Nothing," the prince responded flatly, and raised a single eyebrow, his eyes full of innuendo.

"Sworn to serve, but not to refrain from embarrassing her," Asolde noted with quiet regret.

Tomah had no time to pity the girl. Her errand and the prince's promise meant some other attendant would need to be found for Asolde, and he was running the list of available people over in his head, trying to think of someone dependable.

"What precisely is Keymas' witness against you?" the prince was inquiring of the girl.

Now he asks. Now when his vow is spoken, and it is too late to draw back, should her cause be unjust. It always astonished Tomah how his liege could be so bright and simultaneously so foolish.

"Keymas needs to people his new holdings. He has been telling his farmers that it is safe to move eastward," the girl explained. "He says that the old stories of trolls in the mountains are mere inventions -- an attempt of my people to achieve some kind of welcome in lands not our own."

"And so?"

"And so when some of his people turned up dead, and partially eaten, it couldn't have been a troll that was responsible, because that would have made him a liar," she answered bitterly. "So our people must have done it." She clenched her fists and spat on the ground. Prince Asond seemed to be pretending not to notice her solecism. Instead, he addressed his sister.

"You have words to say?"

"I don't need to tell you of the truth of her story," Asolde responded chidingly. "Keymas' claims you have heard yourself." She shifted in Tomah's arms, doubtless in an attempt to show the girl a friendlier face than she would ever see on the prince sworn to assist her.

Her brother frowned down at her, apparently unconvinced. "I've never seen a troll, and neither have you. What proof do we have of their existence beyond dusty old parchments of dubious authenticity."

The girl stamped and glared at what she obviously took to be a slight on her people. "The scars my father bears are neither dusty nor of dubious authenticity."

"Without your father here to display them, his scars are only hearsay, and you are hardly an impartial witness," her benefactor answered dismissively, his eyes remaining on Asolde.

Asolde sighed. "As I recall, you once did not believe in the Firebird. I assure you, until three cycles ago, the dusty parchments that mentioned it were much older and much more dubious than the ones that speak of trolls." Tomah almost smiled at the memory of the Prince's chagrin when the Firebird he had sworn could not exist was spotted by the Dog Tower sentry. If he could bring himself to listen to Asolde more often it would make life easier on everyone.

He did seem to be listening this time, for once, his sneer fading, his eyes directed pensively downward. "There is no way to settle this now," he said at last. One side of his mouth curved gently upward, marking one of his brief moments of humanity. "I have promised; I must believe that promise to be sound."

"Belief has never been one of your strengths," Asolde told him, "but I hope you succeed."

He nodded and turned back to the foreigner. "Keymas commands a hundred men-at-arms. How many armed men can your people supply?"

"We travel with eight families. About a score of men."

"A score of militia."

"All of our men are fully armed and trained," she answered sharply.

"With swords?" he inquired, startled.

"The Tamuls are a traveling folk," Asolde explained. "They must frequently find themselves in lands where steel is much more readily available than here. And even should they not, you could equip more than a score with what she wears around her neck."

Tomah hadn't really paid that much attention to what the girl was wearing, other than to note that it was shockingly bright, but now that it had been mentioned he could see that the heavy tangle of chains and profusion of painfully garish amulets about her neck must indeed be worth a considerable amount.

The prince also appeared to be examining the girl's adornments. "You should have tried buying Keymas' friendship," he recommended, then frowned. "No, that doesn't work, does it? Just makes him all the more covetous. Better cover those up. Not that it will do much good now that the whole country has seen them." He waved a hand at the watching peasantry in the gallery, still avidly following the drama below.

The girl looked up at the watchers, shocked, apparently not having been aware of the full size of her audience until that moment. Hastily she pulled the travel-stained cloak around her.

"Do not fear," Asolde told her. "No one would dare assault anyone in my father's castle. His justice is impartial and very swift indeed."

"Your father?" the girl asked confused. "I thought you were a lady bard?"

"She is a lady bard," Prince Asond answered. "But she is also my sister, the Princess Asolde. Very careless of my father to have let one of his pawns slip away from him like that. He can't very well offer her in a political alliance when she has sworn never to own land or govern people."

"Not that I would ever be as valuable a pawn as Asolind the Fair, Gold Lady of the North," Asolde answered wryly.

The vagabond was staring at her a dismayed expression on her face. "Asond. Asol.. Aso... Your names are all almost exactly the same," she protested. "How will I ever tell them apart?"

"How do you tell the difference between fortitude and fortune?" Prince Asond inquired.

"It is a tradition in the northlands for siblings to bear similar names," Asolde added.

"And, as my sisters will not accompany us, you need not be confused for long," the prince concluded nastily.

Asolde sighed, and Tomah frowned. She needed to get away from her brother. Trying to compensate for his lack always exhausted her, and she was tired enough already just from attending her father's court. "It's time you rested," he muttered hopefully.

"Yes," the word was a regretful sigh. "At least, I should lie down. I regret that our meeting will be brief," she said to the vagabond girl, but Tomah was in no mind to delay his departure, and he had turned toward the kitchen door before she had finished her apology.

As he passed by Asond he felt a hand touch his arm. "It looks like I will be needing you, Tomah."

Tomah gave him a curt nod to show he had heard, but did not pause-- the Prince could wait until his sister was settled.
 

Next Chapter
 


 
Quote from Talking With Winds
 
'Now you have conflicting orders -- an interesting dilemma for you. Why you might even have to think.'
 
-- Prince Asond
 
 
Copyright © Michelle Bottorff

Email mbottorff at lshelby period com