The Bitterbynde Trilogy (77 page)

‘The wrath of Huon was, however, formidable, and upon other mortals he wrought vengeance for this trick. I always air this geste when Roxburgh wishes to dispute my tenet that the brain is mightier than the thew. Do you not agree the tale indicates, my lady, that wit wins where muscle fails?'

‘Why yes. The walls—how astute!'

‘Yea, verily,' said the Bard, nodding his head. ‘Walls and borders and marches are strange situations—neither of one place nor the other.'

Rohain looked up at the sky, now colourless. To the west, cumulus clouds converged, boiling in some disturbance of the upper atmosphere. She half-expected to see dark shapes sweep across them, howling for blood.

‘Pray, tell me of the Unseelie Attriod,' she said in a low voice. ‘Where I come from, they will not even speak of it, believing that the mere mention brings ill fortune.'

‘They may be right,' replied Thomas of Ercildoune, ‘under some circumstances; for things of eldritch mislike being spoken of and have ways of listening in. But I'll vouch we are safe enough here, mark you! In times past the Unseelie Attriod was the anathema of the Royal Attriod, of which I am currently a member, as you must be aware. An Attriod, of course, consists of seven members, one of whom leads and two of whom are the leader's second-in-command.'

He slid a jeweled dagger from a sheath at his belt and with the point scratched a pattern on the upright panels of the poop deck.

‘This is how an Attriod is shaped. If the leader is placed at the top and the others in a triangle, with four along the base, a very strong structure will be created—a self-supporting, self-contained framework with the leader at the pinnacle, at the fulcrum, from which he can see afar. It may be seen as an arrowhead, if you like. Each member must contribute particular talents to the whole, such that when locked into position, the structure lacks nothing. As Roxburgh and I now stand at the left and right shoulders of the King-Emperor, so, in macabre travesty, Huon the Hunter and the Each Uisge, the most malign of all waterhorses, once long ago flanked their leader.'

‘Who were the others?'

‘They were four terrible princes of unseelie: Gull, the Spriggan Chieftain; the Cearb who is called the Killing One—a monster who can shake the ground to its roots; Cuachag of the fuathan; and the Athach, the dark and monstrous shape-shifter. That is—or rather,
was
the Unseelie Attriod, whom some called the Nightmare Princes.'

‘What of their leader?'

‘The Waelghast was struck down. They are leaderless now, and scattered. Many centuries ago, the Waelghast made an enemy of the High King of the Faêran, but eventually it was a mortal who struck the deciding blow, putting an end to the power of that Lord of Unseelie.'

For a few moments a thoughtful silence hung between them.

‘Yet these Hunters are not the only scourges of the skies, sir,' said Rohain at last. ‘Mortal men can be as deadly. Do pirates frequent these regions?'

‘None have been sighted. If we encounter them 'twill be they who have the worst of it, for this frigate is heavily armed and those who sail in her are not unskilled in warriorship.'

‘There is a place …' Rohain hesitated.

‘Aye?' prompted the Bard.

‘There is a place in the mountains, a deep and narrow cleft. The sun rises over a peak shaped like three standing men. To the west stands a pile of great, flat stones atop a crag. As the sun's light hits the topmost stone, it turns around three times. Pirate ships shelter in that place.'

Ercildoune revealed no reaction to this astonishing news, not by the merest facial twitch.

‘A ravine, you say, between the Old Men of Torr and one of those
unlorraly
formations in stone they call a cheesewring,' he replied, ‘of which there are said to be several in the Lofties. This knowledge may prove to be of great use. How you came by it is your own affair, my dear. Be assured, it will be acted upon. But let us speak no more of wickedness. Let us to the cabin—the night grows cold.'

Just before they bent their heads to pass through the low door, Rohain saw the Bard glance over his shoulder toward the northern horizon. It was a gesture that was becoming familiar to her since her arrival at Court. The awareness of strange and hostile forces gathering in Namarre was never far away. It was always felt, even if not voiced.

Besides Captain Heath of the
thriesniun
, another Dainnan sailed aboard the frigate
Peregrine
. He was the ship's captain, a skyfarer with the Dainnan kenning of ‘Tide'. These two took supper with Ercildoune and their lady guide, dining in the Ertish manner, with total disregard for forks.

Conversation in the captain's mess was dominated by the kindly Bard, who was never at a loss for words. As she grew to know him better, Rohain noted some indefinable similarity between him and the Duke of Roxburgh.

‘How describe they us, in the Sorrow Isles?' he asked her.

‘With words of praise, sir. The name of Thomas, Duke of Ercildoune, is well-known and highly regarded.'

‘And no doubt many an anecdote is told thereof.'

‘All are tales of chivalry.'

‘And musicianship?'

‘Most assuredly!'

‘Since Thomas of Ercildoune is spoken of, perhaps you are aware of the geas he carries with him,' subjoined Sir Heath.

‘Is it true, then?' asked Rohain, recalling one of Brinkworth's histories concerning the Royal Bard. ‘I feared that to ask about it would appear discourteous.'

‘Yes, 'tis true,' answered the Bard. ‘I never utter a lie. This virtuous practice, if virtuous it can be called, is a bitterbynde I have sworn to, and shall never break.'

‘Such a quality,' said Rohain, ‘must be as a two-edged sword, for while His Grace's word is trusted by all, he likely finds himself in an unenviable position when obliged to comment upon the charms of a noblewoman whose aspect has not been graced by nature.'

The Dainnan captains grinned.

How glibly the words came to Rohain's lips! By rights, she thought, her tongue ought to have rusted from disuse. Wordsmithing came very easily, considering that she had been for so long mute. With the birth of a new persona, she could become whomsoever she pleased. But what manner of woman was she, this Rohain of the Sorrows? Given the power of speech, she had already used it to lie and flatter, to vent anger. Could this be the character that memory had suppressed?

‘Zounds, you are sympathetic!' The Bard smiled broadly at his demure guest. ‘Indeed, when it comes to flattery, I am not in the contest. As for hawking my own wares, exaggerated boasting is impossible—only in song and poesy have I license to give rein to fancy. Over the years, I have learned to avoid awkward dilemmas. Never was I a liar or a braggart, but I have come to be of the opinion, since I was gifted with this bitterbynde, that a little white lying, like a little white wine, can be good for one's constitution. Unfortunately, I am incapable of it.' He reached for the rosewood lute, and as an afterthought added, ‘Of course, there is a curb on truth as there is on every facility of man. That is, one can only speak the truth
as one believes it oneself
. If you were to tell me a lie and I were to believe it, I should repeat it to another as a veracity.' He plucked a string of the instrument. ‘I am for some song—what say you? I have one that I think shall please you.'

‘I should like to hear it!' exclaimed Rohain.

Experimentally, the Bard strummed a few chords, then began to sing:

‘One holds to one's ritual customs, one's intricate, adamant code;

One's strictly correct with one's manners, in line with the mode.

Real ladies are frugal when dining; to bulge at the waist would be vile!

Their forms must be slender as willows; of course, it's the style.

One's speech is quite blissingly novel—'tis far from colloquial brogue!

And common folk don't understand it; they're not in the vogue.

One's raiment's expensively lavish and drives ev'ry suitor quite mad.

One's tailors are paid to keep up with each glorious fad.

One's hairstyles defy all description; each strand is coiffed right to the end.

One needs to put up with the anguish to be in the trend.

We carefully choose whom to cherish with fine and fastidious passion;

'Tis seemly for one to be seen with the doyens of fashion!'

Between each verse he led a facetious chorus of
fal-lal-lals
in which, after the first time around, everyone joined, masters and servants alike. The song concluded amid general merriment.

Later, talk among the Dainnan captains turned to weightier matters, such as the strength and numbers of the rebels in the unquiet north. Rohain could only listen in growing consternation, untutored as she was in the ways of warfare.

‘And how do their tactics serve the barbarians of Namarre?' asked Sir Heath.

Ercildoune replied, ‘Reports say they are but loosely organised under their several chieftains. They shun pitched battles. Instead they use their speed and horsemanship to ride swiftly from location to location, assailing isolated detachments, intercepting convoys and plaguing columns on the march. Until they feel confident of winning, they try to avoid fullblown conflict.'

‘I have heard additionally,' said Sir Tide, ‘that their light horsemen also use the classic tactics of feigned flight, luring our troops into ambushes or doubling back at a prearranged position and charging the pursuers.'

The Bard nodded and went on to describe other maneuvers performed by the rebels in their constant harassment of northern Eldaraigne by land and sea. Of the unseelie wights being drawn to Namarre by a Summons undetectable to mortalkind, little was discussed. By this omission, Rohain guessed the true depth of the men's unease. The ways of eldritch wights were alien, often incomprehensible. Who could guess what horrors might come of such an unprecedented mustering?

Thus in conversation the evening passed, until it was time for the passengers to retire to their cabins.

The role of bard was one of the most important and highly regarded functions in society. Historian, record-keeper, song-maker, entertainer; a bard was an exalted figure and a good bard a treasured auxiliary to any person of high birth. ‘Second only to jesters in consequence,' Thomas of Ercildoune himself had drily proclaimed.

He being probably the most learned man in the five kingdoms, later in the voyage Rohain tapped him for information about the Talith: how many were known to dwell in Erith, where they were located, whether any Talith maidens had been reported lost or taken by wights during the past year or so. He gave her many details about the yellow-haired people, yet although he spoke at length, nothing he revealed gave any clue as to her origins.

But he was merry company, and the Dainnan captains, if sterner and more watchful, were also quick to smile and exchange banter. In song, story, and discussion of the foibles and quirks of courtiers, the voyage passed swiftly.

An unstorm rolled across land and sky, casting its crepuscular veil and lighting the dusky forests with jewels of multihued fires. By night, the
Peregrine
wandered through a cloudscape of long white ridges and blue-gray valleys, smooth snowfields like bleached velvet, frosted mountains, blue abysses and hoary cliffs occupied only by silent towers of ivory and flocks of teased-wool sheep. The rising sun crayoned bright gold edges on them all.

Before dawn on the eighteenth of Nethilmis, the Windship reached the snow-tipped Lofties and was onhebbed to a lower, more perilous altitude so that Rohain could view the dark landscape. The sky, pure violet in the zenith, shaded to pale gray in the south. Northeastward, the low red rim of the sun burned, rayless. The snowy peaks glistened brilliantly in appliqué against the dull sky.

When at last they drifted over the shadowy pine forest wherein she and Sianadh had been lured by the malignant waterhorse, Rohain was able to get her bearings. Rugged Bell-steeple reared its glistening head in the north. Below it, the line of the distant escarpment was dimly visible across the terrain. Westward, wild, wide
cuinocco
grasslands stretched as far as the eye could see. There was the gleaming slash of the river-gorge, gouged by the Cuinocco Road on its route to the Rysingspill in the south.

On board the Windship, all attention was directed toward Rohain.

‘This is the waterway we called “Cuinocco's Way”, which springs from Bellsteeple. Where the land begins to rise,' she stretched out an arm and pointed, ‘that is the Waterstair.'

Now the vessel flew up the river, directly above it, the hull's sildron repelling the shallow riverbed but unable to affect the water. In such narrow confines, Captain Tide ordered all sail to be furled. The
Peregrine
ran only on her quiet, well-oiled sildron engines. Progress was slow but inexorable. Below, jacarandas reached crooked fingers skyward, their cyanic glory now vanished. The firmament unrolled overhead like a sheet of beaten pewter.

Every memory of Sianadh threatened to overwhelm Rohain. She saw the river redgum trees lining the western shores where the walls of the gorge subsided; at this season the river, deprived of its lifeblood by ice's iron grip in the higher altitudes, ran at a low mark. Farther along, the tree-bridge still lay across the channel. There she and Sianadh had fled to safety and she had brought him water in a boot. Her mood grew melancholy.

In silence and despondence the refugee from Isse Tower came, for the second time, to Waterstair.

‘Before daylight grows,' said Sir Tide, ‘we shall onheb down to fifty feet and bring her in behind the trees. If any keep watch on this Waterstair, this ship shall not be seen by them.'

The wind dropped. Light as ash keys, those winged, wind-dispersed fruits of ash trees, the
Peregrine
settled down amid tall firs. The port and starboard anchors were tossed out noiselessly in the brittle air. The crew let down landing-pods on unrolling ropes, and Sir Heath led his
thriesniun
forth. Like shadows they melted into the greenwood.