The Silver Sun (27 page)

A little way ahead of them, a man dropped from a tree to the center of the path, facing them with nocked arrow. At once other outlaws dropped to both sides of the path, until an even dozen stood poised for combat. The first man, a tanned, country fellow of middle age, knitted his brows in consternation. Hal's grin broadened even as his eyes grew damp.

“Trigg,” he chided, “don't you know me?"

The man's jaw dropped and his bow clattered to the ground. In an instant Hal was off of Arun, and the two friends were hugging and pommeling each other's backs. Trigg's cheeks were wet.

“Dear Hal!” he gasped. “Who would ha’ thought it!"

“If you could not recognize me,” Hal teased, “I should think at least you might have known Arundel!"

“Ye've both grown,” Trigg marveled, “but ye the most. A warrior knight, in mail and all, with the muscles of one of them whatchacallums—dragon slayers! Y'know, ye were scarce more'n a lad when I last saw ye, though mighty enough e'en then —"

“Spare my blushes, Trigg!” Hal protested, laughing. “This is Alan, my brother in blood."

Trigg gripped Alan's hand and scanned his face under the helm with an intensity strange in one so slow seeming. “I'd scarce ha’ thought there could be more'n one,” he murmured.

“There is not,” Alan answered. “Are you not the friend who gave Hal his sword? Where did you get it?"

“No credit t'me,” Trigg shrugged. “A minstrel fellow traded it f'r food, said he'd no use f'r it—but I thought ‘twas a pretty thing."

“It is, indeed.” Hal raised the shining weapon.

“He would not give it up even for a king's brand,” Alan said, and Trigg's eyes sparkled with pleasure.

He directed them to the outlaws’ base camp, where they found Craig the Grim sitting at the entrance of his hut, apparently watching the trees grow. He was a hatchet-faced man, worn and honed by weather and enemies. His eyes were sharp as flint, but subtle nevertheless. Craig greeted Hal with composure, but Alan could see his pleasure, warm like a hidden fire behind the mask of his face.

Hal and Alan stayed three days, spending most of the time in close talk with Craig, catching up on the events of two years, laying plans, setting up signals. Alan soon found that, unless he had reason to be otherwise, Craig was as shelly and inscrutable as an oyster. When he chose to command, his men obeyed him implicitly. Alan was glad he was on their side.

“I have heard news of you now and then, Hal, since you left us,” he remarked on the third day. A hint of a smile showed at the corners of his straight mouth as be watched their surprise.

“News came to us from Ket's camp by the woodland ways, so that I knew you had found a friend in Alan here. Then rumor came of a handsome reward offered by Gar of Whitewater for a couple of rogues so bold I knew they could only be you two. Again, the Forest ways brought me news from the Gypsy camps. But after that, all is confused. From all quarters, vague rumors came of two noble youths, poorly clad, but mounted, and armed with swords and skill, who fought the armed henchmen of the rich oppressors for the sake of common folk. There were tales of kindness, of healing herbs and strength-giving meat. And lately there are whispers that the Very King had returned, a King that the Speaking Stone would have proclaimed, before it cracked, ages gone by, and was destroyed by the invaders."

“Then how has it been proclaimed, now?” Alan asked. Hal looked too thunderstruck to speak.

“Why, your shields, to be sure! All parts of you, indeed....” Craig showed scarcely a hint of a smile. “There are many old jingles, and stories, and all of them have to do with rising sun and setting sun, silver and gold, and many other omens besides. The peasants hum old singsongs that a year ago were thought fit only for children, and every time you're seen the word runs like fire. All over Isle you are said to have traveled, fearlessly, like living legends, and wherever you went the oppressors were foiled and the poor folk blessed. So you see,” Craig concluded, “I was not entirely surprised when you came here."

“It is all nonsense!” Hal sputtered. “We left Welas only two months ago, and we have traveled no farther than here. We helped a lass with her cow, once, and once we saved a fellow from a scourging by happening past.... And there was that sick child near the Western Way, and that burning cottage at Lee; we had to fight a few lordsmen there. But that is all. We are not legends; only men trying to do what we must."

“It is of such men that legends are made,” replied Craig gravely. “And I think it is not
all
nonsense.” He ran his appraising eyes over them both.

“I do not wear this shield in policy, Craig,” Hal told him sharply. “It was given to me."

“I did not think otherwise,” Craig declared.

An old woman stumbled along a Forest track, her eyes dull and vacant, her mouth hanging slack. Fearful of outlaws, she hastened her plodding feet. But when a golden steed stepped from the underbrush to block her path, she could only gasp. Her eyes traveled upward from the horse's hooves to a shield with a sunburst design, and then to blue eyes beneath a golden helm. The eyes were kind, and reminded her of some she had once known. Speechlessly she allowed Alan to place her in the saddle, and he took her through the leafy Forest wall. In a cool space under a giant silver beech, a silver-gray horse grazed by a still figure with eyes of gray. Hal waited to welcome the dear nurse of his childhood.

“Oh, Halsey! Oh, my poor little princeling!” she wept as she flung her arms around this broad-shouldered warrior; her head scarcely reached his chest. Alan had to grin. Still, he swallowed hard as Hal bent to kiss her.

“Strange chance, Nana,” Hal marveled, “that sent you our way. It was merest luck that we saw you."

“Strange chance, indeed,” she faltered, wiping her face, “for I have not been out of Nemeton in many years. I have been to see my cousin.... But you do not need that news."

“You speak wisely, as ever.” Hal helped her to a seat on the ground. “Rest awhile, Nana. Eat with us and tell me what I must know. How is the health of the King?"

“He is a sick man, though he manages to present an appearance of health. I believe he will not last longer than a year."

She went on, acquainting Hal with circumstances at court. Alan was startled by the change in her manner. Her eyes were now bright and clear, her words rapid and to the point, her movements sure and purposeful. He began to realize that her doddering stupidity was only a protective device. How else could she, formerly the Queen's favorite, have survived so long in the hostile court? Her repulsive senility placed her beyond suspicion. She went everywhere and saw everything, but none of the great ones noticed or cared.

“I have nosed about these three long years,” she explained, “trying to find out what had become of you, my poppet. But nary a sign of you could I spy, and I did not know what to think."

“I knew you would be hunting and grieving, Nana,” Hal said regretfully. “And now I must ask you to labor for me."

“Willingly! Since I have seen you, my heart is as light as if I were a girl again."

“You must make shift, then, to let me know every month how the King fares. When he takes to his bed, I must come to Nemeton. But how is this to be done?"

She thought awhile. “I cannot do it myself,” she said at last. “To leave the castle often is to invite suspicion. But there are others who remember you. I believe Tod, the master of hounds, will serve. Once every fortnight, or month at the longest, he takes the dogs out to the wealds, to romp and roll and stretch their muscles."

“That will do admirably,” Hal agreed. “Tell him not to expect me, but a messenger. He must wear a quail's feather in his hat, and the messenger will carry a bow and bird-tipped arrows feathered with quail."

When they had finished their meal, Hal finally asked the question that haunted him. “The Dark Tower, Nana, is it as full as ever?"

“Many poor wretches have met the misfortune of attracting Iscovar's notice,” Nana replied. “Why, the very day I left, a bold lord came from the north to pay his tribute, and begged the King to curb that robber, Arrok of Rodsen. By my poor old eyes, the King's answer was to clap him and his son and all their retainers into the Tower, and there they'll stay until he takes it into his head to either free them, torture them, or kill them. There's no reason for it, no reason at all, just cruel whim and the excuse of the Sacred Son —"

“Who was that lord?” demanded Hal. Alan's face was pale.

“Some strange northlandish name.... Ror—Roran—of the town of Firth."

They bid the old nurse farewell and set her far enough upon her way to make up for the time she had lost. “Put on your sulky look, Nana,” Hal reminded her as he kissed her. When Alan looked back, she was once again a sullen, shambling old woman.

They set off at a gallop into the Forest. By dark they had found Craig the Grim, and Hal informed him that he intended, at whatever risk, to free Roran and his men from the Tower.

“You're mad, Hal, mad!” entreated Craig more earnestly than Alan had thought be could speak. “You can in no way succeed. Even if you escape with your life, the kingsmen will be after you like hornets out of a hive. Think well; it is not only yourself that you risk. You are the only hope of all the poor folk in this land. Would you plunge them into another long age of misery, for the sake of some who are already as good as lost? Think of the stakes!"

“If I thought of the stakes on my life,” Hal replied quietly, “I would not stir from bed. So I pay no heed, but do what I must do to be a man. I shall succeed, Craig, and the kingsmen will not know where to look for me. You fear too much for me! I know secrets unknown even to you, and have powers you have not seen."

Craig shook his head distractedly and took breath to argue, but Hal silenced him with a flash of his gray eyes. “There is no time to talk! Just keep your men on the watch to help any poor wretches that may wander this way."

Craig stood frozen by the icy intensity of that glance. His vision went black for a moment, and he rubbed his sleeve across his eyes. When he looked up, Hal was off his horse, grasping him anxiously by the shoulders. For the first time, Craig noticed that Hal had to stoop slightly to meet his eyes.

“Are you all right, Craig?” Hal asked. “I am sorry, but perhaps now you understand."

Craig reached out and touched Hal's arm, as if to make sure he was real. “So that is the power of a Very King,” he whispered with a tinge of awe.

Trigg had stood silently by during this strange scene, understanding little except that Hal was going into great danger. “Master,” he broke in now, “let me go with ’em."

“You have no horse,” Craig said.

“We shall get him one,” Hal put in. “Craig, if you can spare him for a few days, I would be glad of his help."

“Hal,” asked Craig slowly, “can you possibly have a plan?"

“Of course I have a plan! Do you think I would take Trigg to his death? He will be back within the week."

“'Twill comfort me that he goes along to keep an eye on this harebrained venture. Go, then, all of you, with my blessing.” He turned and stumped off into the Forest.

Chapter Two

They borrowed a few things from Craig's stores: a lantern, bandages, extra blankets. Then, with Trigg on Arundel behind Hal, they rode through the night. By dawn they had reached the southern end of the Forest and forded the Black River. Before them stretched the wealds, the empty, grassy uplands that Iscovar reserved for the cavortings of the royal hounds and hunters. Though no one stirred for as far as they could see, they camped on the fringes of the Forest for the day, taking watch by turns.

In late afternoon they broke camp and left the shelter of the Forest. By the time they reached the little villages beyond the wealds, dark had fallen, and they breathed easier. They traveled quickly but quietly, following the furrows of the country roads by the faint light of stars and crescent moon. At the first light of dawn they started searching for cover, and daybreak found them hidden in a copse of trees. On the road not far away passed the King's patrols. Hal and Alan had to force themselves to rest.

With dark, they took up their journey once more, pressing silently through the murky night. Time passed with grudging slowness, like a sullen stream. The three travelers had lost hope for dawn's dim coming when Trigg gave a startled gasp, and Hal signaled the horses to a sudden stop. Not too far ahead, black shapes of walls and towers loomed against a graying sky.

“Nemeton!” Hal muttered.

They stared at the lowering walls with mingled apprehension and relief. Nemeton squatted toadlike, a dark hulk upon the plain. Bats circled ominously above it, flitting toward a patch of woods that surrounded a jutting crag of rock.

“There is our journey's end.” Hal pointed out the shelter and led them quickly toward it.

They worked their way deep into the woods and made camp at the bottom of the bluff. Directly across from them, beyond the trees and the city wall, rose the Dark Tower. Bright day had dawned by now, but they all felt shadowed by the Tower's presence. Trigg offered to take the first watch. Hal had different plans.

“Today we all should sleep,” he said. “We are well hidden, and Arundel is as good a guard as any man.” He spoke to the steed in the Old Language, and Trigg marveled to see the answer which sprang up in Arundel's eyes. Hal smiled and turned away.