The Luck of Brin's Five (28 page)

“The cause has an absolute priority,” said the Herald. “It is a double claim of Life and Bond against the Great Elder and the Council of Five.” Then the Herald gave the sign, and again the conch shells brayed out with that call of seven notes.

Through the arch onto the glittering pavement there came four persons; they had some marks of substance, but in that place they stood out plainly for what they were: weavers of Torin, the members of a mountain Five. The leader stood tall, supporting the ancient upon her arm; one male carried a harp slung across his back, and the other wore a hunting knife.

“Speak your names and face the accused with your claim!” bade the Herald.

“Brin Brinroyan!”

“Gwin Uto-Tarroyan.”

“Roy Turugan.”

“Mamor.”

The voices rang out plainly, and the silence in the Corr Pavilion rolled back again, without another whisper.

“I am Brin Brinroyan and this is our charge of Life and Bond against those named and assembled here. The eldest child of our family, Dorn Brinroyan, is held here and must be returned to us . . .”

“The child has been held as a Witness, together with the apprentice from Cullin,” said Tiath impatiently. “There they stand unharmed, and they may both be returned. You live upon Pentroy lands, Brinroyan Family, and may return there when you will.”

“Highness,” said Brin, in a loud voice, “the charge is not complete. The child Dorn we take back, in right and bond, and we will gladly see the apprentice to his home. But we seek one other. Escott Garl Brinroyan, who stands there, is our Bonded Luck, and by every thread of law, we must have him back again!”

Then the silence was shattered, the Hundred talking eagerly until the conch was sounded. Tiath would have spoken first, but the Herald made the formal reply. “There is the charge stated, but have you a Speaker, known to the Council, if any dispute the charge?”

“We have!”

Vel Ragan came in, wearing his scribe's robe and a narrow hood, so that his scarred face was almost hidden.

“I dispute this cause!” shouted Tiath. “And I do not know this speaker!”

“Vel Ragan is my name, Highness, and I am known.”

“He is known to me,” said Orn Margan slowly.

“And to me,” snapped Guno Deg.

Murmurs of assent rose from the clansfolk of Dohtroy and a few others.

“Yet I say I dispute this cause,” said Tiath, “and I will not be told the threads by a scribe from the Fire-Town who has cozened these simple folk!”

“We stand here of our own will, every one of us!” said Brin.

“I doubt that,” said Tiath. “You are suborned! Stand forth the hunter—you with the scar on your cheek. That is the brand given to runaways, I think. How dare you stand before us?”

“Anyone will dare to stand forth in a just cause, Highness,” said Mamor. “We need our child back and our Luck. And the scar on my face came from a mountain wolf.”

A voice called, “Try again, Gargan. He doesn't scare easily!”

“What says the Harper?” asked Blind Marl.

“Truly, Highness,” said Roy, “I stand here to claim Dorn, our child, and Garl, our Luck. As the song says . . .” He reached over his shoulder in the way he had and struck four notes on the harp. Blind Marl chuckled approvingly; the four notes were from an old song, and they said, “True bond is best . . .”

“Let that ancient stand forth if it can,” snapped Tiath. “Old Mother, what brings you from the mountain to stand before my face and before this Great Council?”

Old Gwin let go of Brin's arm and stepped forward, peering up to left and right at the assembly. There were a few soft cries of “Shame” and “Let it alone.”

“I see the child of our family here,” she said in a strong quavering voice, “and I see poor Diver, as we call him, our Luck, who came in answer to our prayers, and that is reason enough . . .” She looked up at Tiath Pentroy, then turned aside and made the averting sign.

Vel Ragan said, “There is only one question to be asked, and I put it to Garl Brinroyan: Are you here of your own free will?”

Diver stepped forward to the rail and answered strongly, “No, I am not.”

“Then the Luck must be returned, according to bond.”

“By no means . . .” said Tiath. “What is this bond? Have we seen it? Scott Gale, have you understood this bond? Think of all that I have said to you and answer carefully.”

“I have understood the bond,” said Diver.

“I have the skein here,” said Brin, “and the name Diver is on it, for Garl Brinroyan, our Luck. I guided his hand, but he knew the ceremony.”

Leeth Galtroy broke in angrily, “Witness! Here is the Great Elder questioned in the Pavilion itself and who knows by what humble creatures! It is a strong thread in this proceeding that there must be a clan Witness or at least a person of more worth than these I see. The devil Garl has been no more than half a season on Torin—who has known him to be the Luck of this Five?”

“There is one,” said Vel Ragan, “a clan Witness who saw Garl Brinroyan at the first.”

“I have seen him!” said a voice. It was the Wentroy pilot again.

“I have seen him,” said Guno Deg.

“Thank you, Highnesses,” said Vel Ragan, “but there are yet two others. I will not say the names but I leave it upon their honor.”

There was a further call for silence. I had not taken my eyes from my Family, but now I allowed myself to look at Diver and smile. We began looking at the rows of grandees, but it was hard to single out faces.

Gordo Beethan whispered in my ear, “Who are they?”

Then there was a movement among the Hundred.

“I dare say I am one of the persons you mean, scribe.”

“Yes, Highness?”

“My partner and I were done some service by the Harper here and the child and the one called Diver,” said Rilpo Rilproyan Galtroy. “But I will say I had not the least idea it was such a valuable creature.”

There were exclamations of shock and excitement; I heard a grandee say to a neighbor, “That will cost Rilpo dear with the Pentroy.” Tiath had a dangerous look.

“Friend Galtroy,” he said, “are you sure of this?”

“Quite sure, alas,” said Rilpo. “This is the Luck of Brin's Five. In fact dear Tewl and I made an offer for this visitor, by Cullin, to be
our
Luck.”

“That would have saved a bale of trouble!” shouted some wit from the spectators. And the whole Pavilion dissolved into nervous laughter, rocking and fluttering, until the call for silence came again.

The Great Elder rose up again, his face still clouded. “The Elders are charged with holding this Man, and we do hold him and we must. This is no ordinary cause. Scott Gale is not a Moruian; he comes from a distant place; he cannot form a true bond with a family of weavers. All this has been mere foolery. He is of a different race and blood; he cannot partake of our customs. I have been strong in his pursuit because I will not have Torin divided and polluted with his new magic. He cannot be returned to this Five because there was never a true bond. A Moruian cannot enter into a bond with a foreigner.”

The words seemed too strong for our cause. I thought, in that moment, that we had lost, when it seemed we must win after all. I heard words of approval and of dispute among the grandees. Then Gordo gripped my hand, and I saw that his eyes were bright. He leaned over the rail and beckoned eagerly to Vel Ragan, who limped across and raised his face to us.

“Dorn . . .” He smiled at me. “And is this Gordo Beethan?”

“Scribe, scribe,” gasped Gordo. “I have a word for you that wins all!”

He leaned far over and gave Vel Ragan the word; and I saw that it was a good one, for the scribe's face lit up.

“What say you, Speaker?” called the Herald. “Will you dispute still or let the Hundred vote on the justice of the claim?”

“I will dispute,” said Vel Ragan. “Scott Gale can partake of our customs, and he has indeed done so and the threads of hospitality apply to all. I say he formed a true bond and intended to keep it.”

“Not so!” said Tiath. “Come now, Scott Gale . . . you have travelled with these folk and been their friend, but you are Man. Answer truthfully, did it ever occur to you to stay with Brin's Five longer than this journey from the north?”

“Truly, Highness, it has occurred to me,” said Diver. “I am alone, as a Man, on Torin. The chances of finding my fellow creatures are less with every day. I must tell you I am under rule from my world to live out my life, if need be, in a new place. Brin's Five
are
my Family . . . the only one I have. If I cannot partake of your customs, I am lost.”

“The more reason for Secret Hand! A protective custody. A Moruian cannot form a bond with a foreigner.”

“Yet it has been done before and even more closely,” said Vel Ragan, “unless the ancient mysteries of the clans are to be worth nothing . . .”

“What do you mean?” asked Tiath.

“The clans formed bonds with creatures of another race,” said Vel Ragan. “Your own ancestor, Highness, is Eenath the Spirit-Warrior!”

There was a gentle stir through the Pavilion; Tiath Pentroy stood still, gaping at the scribe; he began to speak, then thought better of it.

“Would you deny Eenath?” demanded Blind Marl, slyly.

Then Orn Margan Dohtroy lumbered slowly, almost reluctantly, to his feet. “I believe the scribe has made out his case,” he said, “and these folk, from the mountains, have shown us plainly how strangers and foreigners
should
be treated upon Torin. The Man comes in peace, I hope, and can live amongst us. In legend lies always a grain of truth: Clan Dohtroy numbers Vuruno the Spirit-Warrior in its line. I hope that I will not dishonor
my
ancestor by the pursuit of a stranger and the imprisonment of young Witnesses. I know, better than most of you, that Moruians are hard to govern and that great leaders resort to the secret exercise of power, in exasperation, to have their will. I believe Brin's Five should have their Luck again; I will not vote for Secret Hand.”

“A vote!” said Guno Deg, “by the turning of the cloaks. If this bond be a true one—”

“Then our Luck must be returned!” said Brin.

“I am conspired against!” said Tiath Gargan.

“A vote is called,” said the Herald, “and the speaking must stop!”

The trumpeters made a wild, long call, and there was a rustling as the Hundred began to turn their cloaks, slowly at first, then more and more, until whole rows had gone from white to blue. I did not know what the colors signified, but I could see it upon the faces of Tiath Pentroy and the scribe Vel Ragan. The numbers were called and stood at sixty votes for a true bond, forty against and not all of them from Pentroy and Galtroy.

Guno Deg, who had called for the vote, stood up and addressed Diver. “Give us assurance that you will live here in peace, Garl Brinroyan, and you may go with Brin's Five.”

“I give that assurance gladly,” he said. “And I leave my engines, so-called, with the Great Elder.”

A last call was blown, and the Pavilion was full of noise as the grandees filed out.

Diver vaulted lightly over the low rail and came to help down Gordo Beethan and myself, onto the pavement. I ran into Brin's arms. We stood all together in the Corr Pavilion and watched the Five Elders departing. Tiath Pentroy had been standing by his throne, but now he kept his eyes fixed on Vel Ragan and came slowly to the rail.

“Take care,” he said in a terrible soft voice, “there is a special fire for those who say too much.”

“Fire does not frighten me, Highness,” said the scribe, “Since I stood in the path of an assassin . . .” He turned his head, and the Great Elder stared in silence at the scars on his face.

“Stand beside a leader who is less . . . headstrong,” said Tiath slowly, “and do not go hunting shadows.”

So the name Tsorl-U-Tsorl hung between these two and was not spoken; Tiath Pentroy turned and strode out of the Pavilion.

We came out of the hall into the long porch where grandees and their vassals and servants were milling about in great numbers. A surprising number of those waiting had to do with Brin's Five. There stood Ablo, with his head bandaged, holding Tomar by one hand and Narneen by the other; I went and greeted them and hugged Ablo around the waist.

“Oh Ablo . . . I thought you were dead!”

“So did I, Dorn Brinroyan, so did I. But it turns out I am not, and I have been given a nickname, a thing I never had before. . . . I am Ablo Binigan!”

This was a name that suited him very well, for it meant Ablo the Fixer, the Helper, the one who picks up dropped stitches.

I saw that Onnar was there, waiting for Vel Ragan; a Wentroy house servant brought a luck skein from Guno Deg. The Wentroy pilot came up and shook Diver by the hands and presented several grandees of other clans, who spoke curiously to him and asked more impertinent questions. He answered them all with good humor.

I felt a dig in the ribs and spun round to see an omor in crimson livery. “Not so cold here, mountain child!”

“Burn me,” said the Harper, at my elbow, “it is Tsammet!”

“The same,” she grinned. “You had us fooled, Harper, with this fine devil of yours!”

“I hope your lieges have no trouble on our account,” I said.

“Winds forbid!” said Tsammet. “It will blow over. Do you not know that Tewl is the Pentroy's near kin?

Ah, but to think that I have ridden on the devil's back! I could hire out as a Luck myself on the strength of it.” She winked at the crowd of servants and porters and swaggered up to Diver who recognized her at once.

“Tsammet!”

Then she shook his hands proudly and went back to her fellows.

Brin and Mamor gathered us up then, and we went through the thinning ranks of the crowd to the canal steps where a pay-boat was waiting, among the boats of the grandees. As Old Gwin went down the broad steps she faltered and almost fell; the Harper caught her in his arms.