A Princess of the Chameln (10 page)

“Oh, it is one of the Tulgai,” said Aidris. “They are nothing to fear, truly. I will go to the lake and wash. Make up the fire . . . Loeke will come back.”

Aidris took fresh clothes and took her sword. She went down the path wrapped in her cloak. She was sore and stiff and dared not think of what had passed. She did not wish to see Ric Loeke again and wondered how they could travel together after what he had done. She went along the lake shore a little beyond the place where the path ended and washed as thoroughly as she could in the icy water of the tarn. She climbed shivering into her leather breeches and her tunic.

It had rained heavily in the night; now the sky was clear, but there was a stiff wind blowing. It whipped up small black billows on the lake and tore among the pines by the shore. Aidris had one instant of foreboding, like the tolling of a bell. As she turned back towards the camp, she saw a dark trough in the leaves beside the path . . . on her way down it had been hidden by a sapling. She stepped warily across the damp ground: a pit had opened. It was a hunting-fall of the Tulgai, cunningly roofed with leaves and boughs. She looked in and knew what she would find.

Ric Loeke lay at the bottom of the pit, his face deep in muddy water. Aidris looked up and saw Sabeth at the top of the path, peering fearfully.

“Come here!” she called.

She leaped down into the pit, heaving at the stiffened limbs, lifting up the damp head. Sabeth looked down and gave a glad cry.

“He is dead,” said Aidris. “He fell into the trap and could not get up again.”

Loeke's eyes were glazed, a froth of bubbles oozed from his nostrils. He was cold, and his arms and legs were stiffening against the sides of the pit. Aidris climbed out and sat in the leaves. She felt a black wave of nausea and guilt; she had wished the man dead, and now he lay at her feet. She wondered then if this was all some evil working pursuing her, as it had done all her life.

Sabeth had gone down into the pit. Now she dragged herself out and fell into a passion of weeping. Aidris put her arms around her, but she would not be comforted.

“Was he your sweetheart?” asked Aidris helplessly.

“He was our guide!”
cried Sabeth. “We are lost. He is dead, and we are lost in the forest!”

Then Aidris felt a deep loss, a real regret for this useless death. Ric Loeke had known the forest; he had guided them well, as he had guided other travellers. Now there was no one to mourn for him; he was gone in a breath, in a few gulps of fiery spirit, one drunken night among many. They would come out of the forest, she felt certain of it, but he would never wake.

She helped Sabeth back to the camp. The fire had come up again, and they ate a little dried fruit and drank water. Aidris watered the horses and gave them some oats; she packed her own saddlebags and folded her tent as best she could, then went into the other tent and brought out Loeke's saddlebags and the sealed pouch and took them to Sabeth, by the fire.

Sabeth was more composed; she gave Aidris a very sharp look.

“The money,” she said. “His treasure.”

“What did he tell you about this journey?” asked Aidris.

It was one of the moments when she was ready to tell all. She had almost trusted Sabeth or expected her to guess the truth a hundred times.

“He was bringing a treasure into Athron,” said Sabeth with a queer light in her eyes.

“And about myself?”

“Why, that you are going to some Varda merchant's house to be trained as a kedran.”

Aidris was more deeply puzzled than ever. Loeke had kept his oath; he had told nothing to Sabeth. Perhaps he disregarded her as a mere singing-girl, or distrusted her. Perhaps he had talked, and Sabeth had simply not grasped the truth.

“The treasure in the pouch belongs to my house,” said Aidris. “It is my keep, in Varda. I am forced to go there because of the warriors of Mel'Nir; our family is loyal to the rulers of the Chameln.”

Whatever she thought of this, Aidris could see that Sabeth only half-believed the information about Loeke's treasure.

“Who can deny us the money?” she asked. “Did your people pay him to guide you?”

“I expect so,” said Aidris. “What was the sum?”

“Fifty silver dumps,” said Sabeth promptly. “Five gold gulden or four gold royals from Lien.”

“Did you pay so much?”

“Mother Lorse was his friend,” said Sabeth. “A friend to all the forest guides. I travelled free and bore him company.”

“Where are you going?”

“To a lady's house in Varda,” said Sabeth very precisely, “to be her waiting-woman.”

“Break the seal,” said Aidris, “and you will find in the treasure pouch gold and at least two strings of pearl beads and a golden apple on a chain.”

Sabeth went to work, breaking the seal, which showed the double oak trees of the Daindru, without examining it. She poured out gold and silver onto their table stone and held up pearls, three strings, and the apple on its chain.

“It
is
yours then,” she said with a pout.

Aidris packed the money away. She took a string of the pearls and slipped them over Sabeth's head.

“Yours,” she said. “And we will share the gold.”

Sabeth fingered the bubbled, milky pearls in wonder.

“They are freshwater pearls,” she said, “from the Dannermere. A string like this is worth a lot. I thought you meant mother-of-pearl beads, as they sell in Balufir. Your house is richer than I thought.”

“Hush,” said Aidris. “I am going into exile.”

She turned reluctantly to Ric Loeke's saddlebags.

“Master Loeke had kin in Achamar, that I know,” she said, “but did he have friends in Vigrund?”

“His fellow forest guides,” said Sabeth. “He lived in their guild house.”

“I will take out all the food and any maps,” said Aidris. “The rest should go back to the guild house, with his horse.”

“How?” exclaimed Sabeth angrily. “You are mad. We are lost. We will be robbed and murdered. We will never find our way.”

Aidris set her teeth and picked over Loeke's excellently neat and ordered possessions. She took out the maps and a letter, sealed with a butterfly in pink wax; Sabeth snatched it away, but not before Aidris had read the address in a fat sprawling merchant's script full of curlicues: At the sign of the dove, Fountain Court, Varda.

“It is from Mother Lorse to the lady of the house, the household, where I am going,” she said.

There were no ornaments, no mementoes, only the well-kept equipment of a guide. She was a carrion crow picking out a dead man's eyes. She found a purse of gold and added five gulden to it. Perhaps Nazran had already paid for her journey . . . she did not know. All had hung on Ric Loeke, and he was gone.

“I can get help,” said Aidris, “but you must be brave.”

“What do you mean?” asked Sabeth.

“You must wait here, alone, with the horses. I will go round the lake, on foot, and find the fairy-folk, the Tulgai.”

“No!” said Sabeth. “No, I must come with you. Why will you leave me? I cannot
guard
the horses. Please, please don't leave me here alone in this place, with the dead so close . . .”

“You don't understand,” said Aidris. “The Tulgai are a very shy and secret people. Even I cannot be sure of finding them, although I speak their language. But I must ask them to help us. It is our only hope.”

It was a bleak prospect, yet she could think of nothing else to do. They crept about the camp and packed up all their belongings. Sabeth had not even a tent to shelter in if it rained. She looked so woebegone, shivering by the miserable fire. The green cloak was too thin and had rents in it from the journey. Aidris took her new fur cloak, Bajan's gift, from where it lay on her saddlebag and put it around Sabeth's shoulders.

“You will be cold, later . . .” whispered Sabeth.

Aidris took up Ric Loeke's short riding cloak of dressed russet leather. It fitted well enough; she had already buckled on her sword.

“I will hurry,” she said. “Keep up the fire.”

Chapter Three

Before Sabeth could answer, Aidris ran off down the path. She dared not think of their helplessness. She turned aside to go round the head of Lake Tulna; the pointed spruce grew right down to the water's edge. There were no shallows, only a bed of sharp stones, shelving into icy depths. Aidris pushed into the trees, fought through their ranks and was driven out by bundles of thorns set between the trees. She crawled and scrambled around the barricade of trees on the very edge of the water.

Beyond lay a wide clearing where the forest had been thinned. The trees grew in clumps among the forest grasses, and there were thickets of berries: blackberry, blueberry, cranberry, beside a path. She was certain that this was the land of the Tulgai; there was an enclosure of undressed logs beside the path, but it was empty.

“Where are you, brave warriors?”
she called.

There was no answer, not even a rustle in the trees ahead. She hurried on down the path and came to a second rustic enclosure where six milch deer were grazing, with their fawns.

“Warriors of the Tulgai
—
I need your help!”
she cried again.

There was a flurry of movement in a tree, a burst of sound: bird-calls echoing over the quiet lake. She passed the second enclosure and saw ahead a grove of trees curiously shaped. Before she could call again, Aidris was surrounded. A ring of Tulgai warriors, swart and strong, appeared in a breath. Their long curled manes of hair glistened; they advanced with very long metal-tipped spears held shoulder high by two men.

“Stranger! Keep out!” cried a voice in the common speech. It was a gnarled old woman with a milk pail.

“
I need the help of the Tulgai,”
said Aidris keeping to the Old Speech and holding her ground.

A warrior laughed, and with his companion brought his spear very close.

“You are a longshanks woman!” he shouted.

Aidris felt a thrill of righteous anger; she struck the spear aside.

“Receive me in peace then!”

“Why should we?”
shouted the little man.
“You must fear us in this place. You have invaded our sanctuary.”

He gestured, and the ring of warriors began to grimace and to jump up and down. It was ridiculous and frightening.

“Stop!”
cried Aidris.

She drew her sword and flourished it. A beam of watery sunlight caught the blade, and it flashed fire.

“Do you read these runes? I am Aidris, Heir of the Firn!”

The movement stopped in mid-bounce; the Tulgai reacted, always, with a swiftness that was unnerving for a
kizho
, a longshanks. The hideous grins were frozen on their faces for a split second, then wiped away or transformed into timid smiles. The leader who had taunted her ran up to Aidris, glanced at the sword and stared into her eyes.

“Forgive me!”

He fell on his knees, but she quickly raised him up.

“Forgiven,”
she said.
“No ceremony.”

She held up the sword to the ring of warriors and said,
“Dear warriors of the Tulgai, I come in an evil hour, travelling into exile. I will have no rejoicing, only help for my journey. I will sheath the sword until a happier day when I return.”

She returned the sword to its sheath, and a ripple of sound, a sorrowful murmur, was drawn from those watching.

“What shall I call you?”
she asked the leader.

He was a youngish man, about thirty years old, so far as she could judge, with hair of rusty black confined by a bone clasp then falling in long curls to his boot heels. He had a broad, handsome brow and light hazel eyes.

“Akaranok!”
he said.
“First Watcher.”

“Good Akaranok
—
have you heard that a dead man lies by the lake shore, just beyond your barricade?”

“No such thing reported, Dan Aidris,”
he said.
“Who is this man?”

“Alas, it is Ric Loeke, a forest guide, who was leading another lady and myself into Athron.”

“Princess, how did he die?”

“By accident. In the night or early morning he stumbled into a pitfall. He had drink taken and could not come out of the trench again. He lay in water and drowned.”

The telling made her sick; she swayed on her feet and shut her eyes. There was a burst of concerned chatter. Many hands fastened upon her gently; she found herself urged forward and settled upon a pile of logs up against the fence of the deer pen. The old woman with the milk pail and another, sturdy and young, with red cheeks and hair fantastically braided, were tending her. They held a cup with fresh water to her lips and crushed a leaf of lemon balm for her to sniff, against faintness.

“Akaranok?”
she asked.

“Here, Princess.”

He stood before her again, their eyes on a level.

“You know what help I need. The poor man must be buried, his horse and gear returned to the guild-house at Vigrund town. Then I need a guide to bring me and my friend through the Wulfental Pass into Athron.”

“We will do all of this . . . all that we can,”
he said.

“My poor companion, the lady Sabeth, sits alone in our camp, near the lake. Our horses and baggage are unguarded
. . .”

“We will set a watch at once!”

“Akaranok,”
she said.
“Sabeth knows nothing of the forest or of your people. Do not frighten her, I pray.”

He gave one of his ferocious Tulgai smiles.

“Not a leaf will stir . . .”

“Then, let me go to the Balg, if he will receive me.”

“He waits . . . he waits . . .”

Akaranok gestured, and there was a bustling high and low, bursts of bird-calling, strange drum music and the music of Tulgai voices. She stood up, thanking the little women, and there was a carrying seat for her. A dozen warriors had made a frame with their spears. She sat on this platform, and they lifted her shoulder high.