The Swans' War 1 - The One Kingdom (2 page)

THE RUINED TOWER STOOD ABOVE THE OLD BATTLEFIELD AT TELANON Bridge, an empty-eyed sentinel overlooking a meadow of spring flowers and slumbering ghosts. A cooling breeze bore the scent of ice and snow down from the nearby mountains, and the trees bordering the old battlefield began the furtive whispering that haunted the winds by night.

From the crumbling battlements Tarn watched the shadow of great Eldhorn wash over the hills: night's tide flowing, silent and relentless. Shadows pooled in the valleys and made islands of hilltops still lit by the sun.

Below, a fire crackled, and Tarn heard the muffled voices of his cousin and Baore as they prepared the meal. Smoke, caught by eddies and drafts from the ancient stoneworks, drifted through the ruin like the spirit of regret that seemed to dwell in this place.” The young begin their journeys with joyful hearts," Tarn quoted to himself, "the old with regrets."Yet his heart was not filled with joy. The world beyond his home, the Vale of Lakes, was strange and not much spoken of by the people of the Vale—despite the fact that all of their ancestors had come from that outside world.

Driven here by war, Tarn reminded himself.

All the most important things you'll do in this life will exact a price in one way or another, his grandfather liked to say. Once you've made up your mind, pay the price and get on with it.

Of course, his grandfather had never traveled more than a day's walk from the Vale. To the south Tam could see the dark river twist and fall and then disappear behind the ragged edge of a wooded hill—the River Wynnd, gathering speed for its long journey to the sea. Tam closed his eyes and thought of the map he'd traced on his grandfather's table. Beyond the old tower lay the wildlands—league after league of deeply forested hills— which eventually gave way to rolling meadows, then fields in their frames of hedgerows and drystone walls. Here one would find the villages of the lowlanders, houses of weathered stone washed up along the riverbank. Tam opened his eyes and gazed into the distant south where small clouds blossomed on the horizon. No point getting ahead of himself. They would not go so far. Not halfway through the wildlands was a small, isolated village— Inniseth—and between there and here lay a fortnight of speeding, twisting river. Tam let his eye follow the river back; a brief, effortless journey. Immediately beneath him the delicate curve of the old bridge arced like an arrow's flight across the chasm, its stone lighter in color and harder than the rock of the cliffs— carried here from quarries far away.” The man who spends his time gazing at far horizons and not helping with the preparation of his meal shall soon hunger after more than distant lands." This was Tarn's cousin, Fynnol, calling up from below, another of his spontaneous pieces of "ancient" lore and wisdom.” I thought it was me who shot the grouse?" Tam called down.” Giving you a chance to show off your skill yet again. And when did we begin to count grouse hunting as work? It's play, and therefore doesn't go on the ledger." Tam could just make out his cousin staring up through the spray of new leaves, his face creased with humor, as it usually was. Fynnol of the quick wit and quicker laugh. Tam didn't think he could win this small duel of words. Few could best Fynnol there.” I shall be down immediately, then."Tam took one more look around the hills that were coming back to life after winter, and then climbed down from his perch. The three young men had made their camp here for five days in what they thought might once have been a dining hall, though the walls were now covered with lichen and wild ivy, and the roof was the vault of the ever-changing sky. Fynnol hunched over a fire burned down to coals, and with great concentration, turned a pair of spitted grouse. Ten feet away, Baore sat against the stone wall, carefully polishing a bronze dagger hilt unearthed that morning.

"Do you realize, Cousins," Fynnol said, "that we have escaped the Vale? We are free of it!" He laughed.” No more Wella Messt knowing every little thing we do—and sharing it with everyone beneath the living sun. No more cows to milk, hogs to slop, corn to plant. My only regret is that we plan to return so soon.""We shall likely not be back before midsummer's day," Tam said, "especially if we can't find what we want in Inniseth.""I want nothing more than to get away! Far, far away," Fynnol said, and then glanced over at his cousin Baore, who shifted uncomfortably. Tam crouched down by the fire, but Fynnol cocked his head toward the food bags.” Tubers await your attentions."Tam nodded, but his focus was on their companion. Baore was bent over, looking closely at the dagger handle in the fading light. He was a man whose hands could not be still. Even when they sat around the fire telling stories in the evening, Baore would be honing fishhooks or sewing a tear in a shirt. He was never without some small job of work in hand.

Quiet then, as each bent to his task. There was a bit of awkwardness between the three this evening, and Tam was not quite sure what the cause might be. Baore was silent— more so than usual—and Fynnol, ever aware of his cousin's moods, was more talkative and animated. Tam wondered if Baore might be having second thoughts about their journey down the river. After three years of talking endlessly about their plans, how could Baore say that the Vale looked fairer to him than any adventure? Certainly he didn't dare say it to Fynnol, whose judgments of their place of birth had become more and more harsh as their day of departure approached. It was ironic, Tam thought, for of the three of them Baore looked the most like an adventurer: large jawed and crooked nosed, with an impressive breadth of shoulder and a height that few men equaled. Appearance belied the truth, though, for Baore was gentle by nature and a bit slow and unsure when it came to speaking his mind. Just waiting for a good woman to make up his mind for him, Fynnol always said, and Tam feared that judgment was not far wrong. Fynnol called Baore "the draft horse," and it was more true than flattering—strong, easy of nature, loyal, and solid on the earth. If the gate is left open, our draft horse would not think to go out, Fynnol once said, and Baore appeared to be proving him right. Perhaps he would need to be led—or driven. Tam looked over at the big Valeman. With his blond hair (which Fynnol described as willful) and downy youth's beard, Baore brought to mind nothing so much as a hay mow battered by a windstorm. Conversation over dinner was a bit forced, Fynnol talking excitedly about the journey and taking wicked pleasure in mocking the people they were leaving behind. If Baore was their draft horse, then Tam thought Fynnol was the crow of the group—cunning and wary, but swift and filled with hidden purpose. And like the crow, Fynnol was little concerned with his effect on others. Tam looked from one to the other, marveling that these two were cousins. One clever and prone to scheming, the other solid and steady. And yet here they were, about to set out on this adventure together—Fynnol's adventure, for though Fynnol was not blessed with the personality of a leader, Tam knew it had been Fynnol's zeal that I had pressed them forward.

"I have decided," Fynnol said suddenly, "that I would like a gray mare that will be the envy of all the Vale and shall give j me foals that men will clamor to buy.""I thought you were set on a bay stallion with a star on his forehead?" Tam teased.

"That was before I thought it out straight, Tamlyn." Fynnol was eating a leg of grouse with greasy fingers, and waved the gnawed bone to make his point.” Gray is the color of early I morning, so shall bring me good luck, for it is about beginnings; and a mare will give me foals of which I shall take my pick, thereby being sure to have another horse just as good. | Or maybe better. A gray mare. That's what I shall have.""Well, you can't name a gray mare 'Evening Star' if gray is ; the color of morning," Baore said, forcing himself to join the banter, trying to shake off his mood, for he was not grave by nature.

"Baore speaks the truth. And why is gray not the color of evening as well?""Because the color of evening is purple, Tamlyn, as everyone who has ever read a book well knows. And as to the name, I have another just as good. 'Greystone,' after my grandmother's family. Solid as the earth, but light on the tongue. Greystone.""You always have things worked out so perfectly," Tam said.” And then, when you change your mind, you soon have them worked out just as perfectly again.""Oh, more perfectly, Cousin. More perfectly."To their left someone cleared his throat, and everyone turned to find a man standing just at the edge of the firelight. For an instant no one moved they were so surprised.

"As you have everything worked out to such perfection," the man said in a warm voice, "perhaps you will not mind sharing some of it with a stranger? The light of your fire would be welcome."All three Valemen were on their feet, Baore with a heavy staff in his hands. The man took one look at this giant who had risen before him, and stepped quickly into the light, extending both his hands palm outward.

"You've no reason to fear me," he said, a smile appearing from behind a neatly trimmed beard.” I'm a peaceful traveler, and shall gladly give my sword and bow into your keeping to prove it." He unbuckled a scabbard and held it out toward Baore.

"Keep your sword," Tam said after a second.” We make travelers welcome in this corner of the world."Despite Tarn's words the man stood his sword against the stone wall before approaching the fire. Tam thought him neatly turned out for a traveler. Not a hunter or trapper, he was quite sure. Though the stranger dressed for the wood and looked comfortable in his role, he had a hint of the city about him— or so Tam imagined, for he had never been to a city himself.

"I thought I heard the vowels of the Valemen here." He smiled again.” I'm Alaan, and you are Tam, I think, and Baore and Fynnol." He laughed at their reaction.” I apologize, but I sat and listened to you speak long enough to be sure you weren't brigands or fugitives. Most men you meet in the hills are kindly, honest men, such as yourselves, but not all, and I have become more cautious as I grow older."Tam gestured to a place by the fire.” It is a rough table we set, but we've more than enough on it to feed four.""I've a horse tethered out in the dark," Alaan said.” Let me find him and I'll be back."Fynnol cast a look over at the man's sword leaning against the stone.” Is that the weapon of a hunter, Cousin," he said quietly, "or is that the sword of a man-at-arms?"Tam looked over at the long blade, with its unadorned hilt and pommel." 'Tis as you say, but there are three of us and one of him, and if he wanted to rob us he would have only to empty our boat as we slept, as he must know if he's been listening."They sat back down to their meal, and in a moment Alaan reappeared, leading a heavily burdened horse. This he tended to and tethered outside the hall, speaking softly to the beast. When he came to the fire he bore a drinking skin and several bags.

"I have a wine here that has not killed me yet and some other things that I might offer to your fair table, for any table with kindly men about it seems fair to me. I can't tell you how often I've eaten my supper with only my horse for company these past months. He is intelligent for his kind, but still he talks only of food and mares and how much his hooves pain him at the end of each long day, and I have heard enough of that.""You may be disappointed here," Fynnol said.” We were just speaking of mares ourselves."The man smiled and poured them each some wine, which was far better than his claims, and shared some goat cheese mixed with herbs none of them knew, and by the time they had tasted his food and drink he was a welcome guest indeed. Polite questions were asked as they ate, though the food and wine took up much of their attention.

"Where is it you travel to, Alaan?" Fynnol asked as they sprawled about the fire after their meal.” Or do you come to visit us in the Vale of Lakes to see the beauty of the waters?"The man laughed pleasantly, like a man genuinely glad to find company.” I am not stopping in the Vale this time, though I have done so in the past. Does Delgert Gallon still dwell by the Neck?""He does indeed," Baore said, surprised, "though he's old and mostly deaf these days, and growing frail.""Gallon is Baore's aunt's cousin's brother, or some such thing," Fynnol added.

"I'm sorry to hear he is not hale." Alaan shook his head, the smile disappearing.” But I go south this time.""As do we," Fynnol said, "though we can't join you on your journey, for we go by boat." Tam saw Alaan's eyebrows lift a little.” You don't fear the river, then?" he said evenly.” If you're speaking of the fast water and gorges," Fynnol said, "we fear them as much as any man should. If you're talking about the old wives' tales ... We're more afraid of the old wives, to be honest." Alaan nodded but made an odd little grimace.” Then I shall not regale you with old wives' tales." There was a moment of silence, and then Baore said softly, "You don't believe these stories, do you?" Alaan kept his attention on his cup for a moment, his face impassive in the flickering firelight.” It is a strange old river, I'll tell you that," he said at last.” And I've been down it once. That is how I know old Gallon—he sold me a boat some years ago and I followed the river, though not quite to the sea as I'd hoped." He smeared a bit of bread in the juices in his bowl.” How far will you venture?" "To Inniseth." Alaan nodded, thinking.” You'll likely encounter few difficulties between here and there, that is, if you pass through the Lion's Maw without harm." He glanced at Fynnol.” Will you pay the Lion for passage, or is that an old wives' tale as well?" Before Fynnol could speak Baore interrupted.” I'll pay," he said." 'Tis only a coin, and many a man who's kept his silver has come to harm in the Maw." "It is only a coin!" Fynnol scoffed. Then said to Alaan, "I wouldn't throw any of my hard-earned money into the river, though Tam and Baore may do as they please." "And you, Alaan," Baore said, "did you pay the Lion for passage?" "I did, and I would do so again, were I to travel that way. And when you see the water racing through the Maw and hear the Lion's roar ... why, even Fynnol might change his mind." He smiled as though he jested.” But I'm sure you'll survive it. You've likely spent your lives in boats. Beware the River Wynnd, though, for it will take you places unexpected and show you things you might rather not see."The three Valemen glanced at one another, Baore uncertain, but Fynnol not quite suppressing a smirk.