The Silver Sun (18 page)

As the fiddlers struck up a lively tune, and as the volunteers surrounded Rafe to welcome him back to their fellowship, Hal walked slowly toward Rosemary. He was grieved to see the pallor of her face. She had been pierced by the sight of his scars and the thought of the torment he must have withstood. She had been faint with terror when he flicked his knife into the rafters and moved empty-handed against Rafe. When the dagger was at Rafe's throat, many had turned their faces away, but she had watched stonily; a moment later she chided herself for her fear. Now that the fight was over, Rosemary felt weak. And still ringing in the back of her mind, pushed there by the pressure of recent events, was the echo of that timeless moment with Hal.

He did not know what to say to her. He came to her with saddened heart, met her eyes, and suddenly the memory of that moment came back to both of them. Its warmth glowed in their faces and lifted their heads. Nothing needed to be said; they clasped hands to dance once more.

Thus it was that Hal did what he had vowed he would not do. The seed of love was planted in the young heart of the lady of Celydon.

Chapter Four

The next day Rafe came back to the barracks and the practice yard, for Pelys had let him know quite certainly that he was to do so. But he was hanging his head, though not sullenly, and all the volunteers tried so hard to welcome him that he grew more abashed by the moment. Will even offered to return his captain's badge, but he shook his head in red-faced shame. He could not face Alan or Hal.

After a few days of this, Alan grew anxious to talk to him. Many other people had the same thought, and Alan was finally forced to follow Rafe through the courtyard in order to speak to him alone. He cornered him against a buttress.

“First you were tireless in rage,” he scolded, “and now you are as persistent in sorrow. When will I know your smile, Rafe?"

But Rafe looked more likely to cry. Alan gesticulated helplessly.

“Rafe, whatever is the matter? Can you not see that everyone likes you, even when you are being bull-headed?"

“Bullheaded!” Rafe burst out. “I must have been insane, Alan! I was like a rabid dog. And what if it happens again? I—I could have killed him, and I am not worthy to clean his boots."

“He cleans his own boots, and you are as worthy of that task as he.” Alan settled back against the wall, seeing he had a long talk ahead of him. “Rafe, everything that happened is quite understandable."

“Understandablel” Rafe shouted.

Alan waved him into silence and plunged on. “Rafe, do you believe in goblins and nixies and that sort of thing?"

“Believe?” Rafe stared, not comprehending that there was an alternative. “I have lived with the unseen folk since I was born. What of it?"

“Well, think, Rafe! What was the day that Hal and I came?"

“The eve of November, when the denizens of the dark .... Ay, I thought that of him then, Alan, but no more! I —"

“Believe your senses, Rafe!” Alan interrupted. “What happened, that day?"

“You saved my life,” Rafe said miserably.

“And you were angry, frightened perhaps. Why? What happened as I dragged you away from Arundel?"

Rafe covered his face with his hands.

“Rafe!” Alan urged him.

“Hal's eyes,” he whispered. “They flashed like cold fire, like spook lights. I thought I was mad then, but perhaps I am mad now."

Alan nodded in satisfaction. “He spoke to the steed in the language of power, and you saw. No one else saw, or perhaps no one else had eyes to see, Rafe. Now let me tell you a tale."

They sat down on the cobblestones; Rafe was limp with unbelieving relief. Alan told him about his first meeting with Hal. “The horses ran away,” he explained, “and perhaps I would have run too, if I had the strength—I can't say; it is hard to know what we might do when we are put to the test. But I held no credence in any things of Other then, whether gods, demons, warlocks or whatever. So I told myself that I had seen nothing, I was faint and confused. Hal took me into the Forest, to safety, and nursed me."

“To the Forest?” Rafe asked weakly. The Forest was a dark haunt of terror to him.

“Ay, the Forest. The touch of the Lady lies on it, Rafe.” Alan told him more, something of the Gypsies, and the spirits, and Veran's flower. Rafe listened in awe. Hal himself came and sat down quietly with them as Alan finished.

“So, having seen what you saw, and believing what you believed—do you still think you were mad, Rafe?"

“But I was wrong,” Rafe protested. “He is—he is good."

“I dare say I am not entirely evil,” Hal acknowledged softly, “but I do not know all of myself, Rafe. Often I am afraid.” He was thinking, Alan knew, of his sire, King Iscovar.

“And you had been taught, Rafe, that things of Other are evil,” Alan pointed out.

“Things of Other!” Hal exclaimed wryly. “Is that what I have become now? Truly, I want only to be a man."

“You are all of that, and more!” Rafe defended him hotly.

“And I am your friend?” Hal inquired.

“And my friend.” Rafe smiled sheepishly.

“Then do me a favor, Rafe, as a friend,” Hal requested equably, “and forget pain awhile. No more gloom."

Rafe squared his shoulders and met Hal's eyes. “No more gloom,” he promised, and they touched hands on it.

They talked again in days that followed, and became better friends than they would have previously believed possible. One day Rafe showed Hal something he had kept secret from almost everyone else, hidden among the tall thickets of his grandfather's overgrown pasturage.

“What a splendid horse!” Hal exclaimed. “And big! He will make you a charger, Rafe. What do you call him?"

“Night Storm. I have had him since he was a tiny foal. The mare dropped him and died, out in the dark and the thunder and pouring rain, up yonder, near the Forest. I carried him here and nursed him on goats’ milk, day and night, all but diapered him. His mother was not one of Pelys's mares, of course; he cares for his animals better than that. I'm not sure where she came from, and I didn't try too hard to find out.” Rafe smiled guiltily. “I hid the carcass."

The colt raised his sleek head and regarded them with

a kingly, appraising glance. He was more stallion than colt by now, coal black in color, long-legged, with a thick, highcrested neck and a strong spring to his haunches. “He's a runner,” Hal murmured. “What are you going to do with him, Rafe? You can't keep him here forever."

“I know it. He's over three years old now, and never been ridden, because I don't know how to start. I love horses, Hal, always have; it was the child in me that longed to touch Arundel, that first day. And how I envy you your ease with him! But there's been little riding for me since my father died. One by one, his steeds were sold to keep us in food.” Rafe looked away from Hal; his cheeks were flushed. “Now I am afraid someone will try to take this one from me, say I stole him. All because—because he is beautiful."

“No one will say that who knows you well.” Hal glanced at him fondly. “And your rearing of him has given you the labor-right, Rafe. Take your horse to the castle, and let Flann help you with him. He is bored here, restless; can you not see it in him? He is thinking of kicking his way out of that tumbledown shed."

“Really?” Rafe stared at Hal with half-superstitious alarm. Though Alan had not told him so, he sensed that Hal could communicate with animals in some way he could not understand. He chewed his lip a moment, then made his decision. “Well, my name is black enough already, I suppose it can stand a little more scandal .... Come on then, Stormy.” He reached for a rope, and the horse came gently to his hand.

“Will you help me with him, too?” Rafe asked politely as they led the jet-black steed back to Celydon.

“If you like.” Hal eyed him humorously. “But you will do well enough without me, and then you will know you have trained him yourself, with only ordinary help. No wizardry."

“I never said that,” Rafe murmured, ashamed to admit his relief.

“Small blame if you did. And anyway,” Hal added lightly, “I have enough to keep me busy.” An undertone of warmth crept into his voice, for he spent most of his time with Rosemary and Asfala, these days.

Rosemary was thrilled by the new turn in her life, and spent hours in the stables. She had everything to learn about horses, and Hal was very glad to teach her. He was touched to watch the communion that grew between the lady and the filly. Rosemary found her horse to be willful but loving, spirited and free but dependent on her for sustenance and comfort, a creature of moods and emotions like herself. In time, she grew fond of Alfie and Arundel also, and better understood the loving bonds between the beasts and their masters.

As Rosemary became a proficient rider, all three of them took long jaunts across the snow-covered meadows around Celydon, as far as the Forest rim. That encircling barrier embraced the manor as if the Lady of the Forest had given it her love; Hal and Alan felt safe from any harm in Celydon. They taught Rosemary how to jump her filly over low bushes. The icy winter air brightened her eyes and put blooms of color in her cheeks; Hal looked at her as if he could not look away. Sometimes Alan made excuses to stay behind, thinking to take himself out of the way of wooing, but Hal always insisted that he come along.

“Don't tempt me, Alan!” he would say earnestly. “You'll have Pelys after me with a mace."

Pelys looked on his daughter with pleasure. He had never seen her so glowing and happy. He reflected that this was not entirely due to the bracing outdoor exercise, for her eyes rested most often on Hal. But he also knew that Rosemary was hardly aware of her own happiness, and he trusted Hal with her innocence.

Hal also was as happy as he could find it in his moody nature to be, and he had regained his ability to sleep. Seeing so much of Rosemary, he had found contentment in learning to know her better every day. He liked her matter-of-fact approach to life, her warmth and fun-loving spirit, her patience and cheerfulness, her impulsive tenderness and even her occasional outbursts of temper. He loved the grace of her hair and face, her dress and movements. And he loved the poetry of her mind and soul. Yet, as sensitive and intelligent as she was, Rosemary was only dimly aware of what was happening to her, like a sleeper just drifting out of dreaminess.

The vernal Feast of Fires, the quarter-day, went by, and February drew to a close. Hal and Alan became aware that their stay at Celydon must soon end. Once more Hal woke shaking in the night, and once more he prowled the dark courtyard, torn between his desire to stay and the knowledge that he must go. His days passed in a trance of waiting. It no longer snowed, and the earth lay frozen, breathless for the spring thaw. Everyone caught cold, and longed for warmer weather. Hal paced restlessly through the shortening nights, sniffing the air like a creature of the wilds.

“The wind is warm, and out of the west,” he told Alan one morning. “It will not be long now."

The next day the spring rains came and washed the snow away. For the next week the earth was a gurgling morass, and anyone who ventured beyond the courtyard was wet to the skin and muddy to the knees. But the rain was warm, and the softened earth smelled like spring. Slender green blades of grass started to appear.

One night the rain stopped, and the morning dawned clear and fine. It was traveling weather, and still Hal could not bring himself to leave. He vaulted onto Arundel and cantered out of the gates, fleeing toward the solitude of the upper meadows. Alan looked after him with anxious eyes, unable to help him.

As it chanced, however, Hal was not alone for long. As he neared the Forest, he heard a birdlike whistle, and a wondering smile spread across his face. It was not yet the season for birdsong. He answered the whistle and rode into the woods. There, standing in his path and smiling, was Ket, red hair blazing under his leather cap.

“Ye look sad, Hal,” he greeted him cheerfully.

“No more,” answered Hal as he sprang down from Arun. “Well met, Ket, you fox!” They gripped hands, laughing.

“Aren't you a bit far from home?” asked Hal.

“No home for the outcast,” mourned Ket. He explained that he and his men had left their old haunts; they found game more plentiful on this side of the Forest, and life more peaceful. Pelys's folk were kind. But Ket had a warning for Hal.

“Ye would do well not to ride alone, lad,” he said soberly. “There are kingsmen about."

Hal was stunned. It was as if a bloody corpse had been thrown into the peaceful pool that was Celydon. “What?” he stammered. “I—I have heard nothing about them."

“Oh, they leave off their pumpkin hats before they ride,” Ket growled. “They have been spying about at the alehouses, looking for a fellow with a sword much like yers, Hal.” Ket eyed the black and silver blade meditatively. “But they say he is a fair-haired man of middle years, perhaps carrying a kind of lute.... Still, they may have heard talk, as my men have, of a young blood with more scars than anyone deserves. Ye must be wary, Hal."

“Ay, well,” Hal sighed, “I will be gone by the morrow, Ket."

“I have seen ye often, riding with Alan and the lady Rosemary,” Ket remarked obliquely. “Ye wished to stay?"