Read Requiem for the Sun Online
Authors: Elizabeth Haydon
Requiem for the Sun (16 page)
“Why don't I believe that's the end of it?” Rhapsody said, rising from the ground and brushing the dry red clay from her gown.
“Because, your choice in husbands notwithstanding, you are not a fool. Now, come. I'm sure there is some stew or gruel left from dinner that you can have, so that you can properly thank Ihrman Karsrick for his hospitality when you return this evening.”
AT OPEN SEA
T
he seneschal's reeve spotted the continent even before the lookout in the crow's nest had opportunity to do so.
he seneschal's reeve spotted the continent even before the lookout in the crow's nest had opportunity to do so.
“Land, m'lord,” Fergus called, lifting his voice to be heard over the gusting sea breeze.
The seneschal nodded, staring over the starboard bow to the dim gray at the horizon's edge.
“How much longer?” he asked the captain, his voice dry and crackling in the wet air.
“We have to skirt the coast, m'lord; there's a dangerous reef between that barriers the Lirin lands between Sorbold and Avonderre. Five days to a week 'til Port Fallon, I would hazard.”
The seneschal nodded, struggling to keep the impatient voice in his head at bay. He listened to the scream of the wind, the snapping of the sails as they filled and slackened, then filled again, bringing him, moment by moment, closer, ever closer. He closed his eyes and let the sun beat down on them from a cloudless sky.
Soon.
11
TOWN SQUARE, YARIM PAAR
I
hrman Karsrick's efforts notwithstanding, when Achmed, Grunthor, and the Firbolg miners arrived in Yarim Paar that evening, the square was teeming with townspeople.
hrman Karsrick's efforts notwithstanding, when Achmed, Grunthor, and the Firbolg miners arrived in Yarim Paar that evening, the square was teeming with townspeople.
A fourth contingent of soldiers from the Yarimese army had been sent in to bolster the efforts of the three previously assigned divisions; they ringed the town square around the ancient obelisk and pushed the noisy horde back to the first ring of streets, away from the dry central fountainbed in which Entudenin
stood. But word that the Bolg were coming had spread like wildfire throughout the capital, so as the afternoon waned to evening, more and more of the populace of Yarim Paar continued to crowd the dusty roadways, hoping for a glance. By the time Tariz and the other escort troops reached the city center, Yarim Paar was in a state of barely controlled chaos, a carnival-like atmosphere of waving firebrands, shouting and curious merriment bordering on pandemonium.
stood. But word that the Bolg were coming had spread like wildfire throughout the capital, so as the afternoon waned to evening, more and more of the populace of Yarim Paar continued to crowd the dusty roadways, hoping for a glance. By the time Tariz and the other escort troops reached the city center, Yarim Paar was in a state of barely controlled chaos, a carnival-like atmosphere of waving firebrands, shouting and curious merriment bordering on pandemonium.
“Oh, lookee! A splendid buffet of fresh meat!” Grunthor said, loud enough for the escort to hear him, pointing to the clamoring throng. “Oi likes it when my dinner is 'appy, makes the taste sweeter. That Karsrick sure knows 'ow ta make a Bolg feel welcome and well fed. What an 'ost, eh, sir?”
Tariz, who rode at the fore, wheeled and stared at the giant Sergeant, then at the Bolg king.
“He's speaking in jest, I take it, Your Majesty?”
“Probably,” Achmed replied. “Grunthor doesn't tend to like dry meat, and Yarim has been without water for so long that you all seem a bit on the stringy side.”
“Too true,” the Sergeant agreed with a comic sigh. “Give me a nice, fresh Lirin! Now, that's a juicy treat, moist an' tasty. But ya never know. Ain't too many Lirin around 'ere. Local cuisine might be just fine.”
The escort troops looked at one another, then halted and dismounted quickly.
“Send an advance guard up the Marketway to the town square, meet up with the second division and bring back enough troops to open a corridor,” Tariz ordered his soldiers. “Push the peasants back; try not to bloody the fools too badly.”
Achmed's eyes narrowed in annoyance. His personal reasons for coming to Yarim, Rhapsody's assumptions of his altruism aside, had been to seek her assistance with translating the manuscripts and to find a stained-glass artisan who was a sealed master. In a city known for its tile manufacture, he reasoned, it was not impossible that one might be for hire. He had been assured by Omet that there were many masters from the old school, now scratching out their livings in more humble labors, longing for a return to the days when Yarim had supplied the ceramics, tile, and glass for the great cathedrals and buildings of state, back before the Cymrian War had put an end to all such things. With the swirling chaos filling the streets, however, it would be nearly impossible to find the opportunity to locate such an artisan.
He looked back over his shoulder at his own troops. The Bolg were standing at attention in their simple garb, which seemed grotesquely primitive by comparison with the red tunics, articulated leather armor, and horned helmets of
the Yarimese army. Every Firbolg face was set in a mask of stoicism, their eyes directly ahead, disregarding the uproar before them, but he could tell that they were unnerved by the wriggling mass of humanity crowding the streets, shouting and laughing and fighting for the chance to catch a glimpse of them.
the Yarimese army. Every Firbolg face was set in a mask of stoicism, their eyes directly ahead, disregarding the uproar before them, but he could tell that they were unnerved by the wriggling mass of humanity crowding the streets, shouting and laughing and fighting for the chance to catch a glimpse of them.
O
utside the enormous tents that surrounded Entudenin, Rhapsody was growing anxious.
utside the enormous tents that surrounded Entudenin, Rhapsody was growing anxious.
“It's a spectacle gone mad,” she said nervously to Ashe. “I am not certain they will be safe in the crowd, even with the guards. Right now the townspeople are just curious, but what if the atmosphere turns violent? If either group becomes more afraid than curious, there's no telling what could occur. If the citizens swarm them, the Bolg may panic, and they will be crushed.”
Ashe nodded in agreement, then turned and pulled the tent flap open and went inside. He came back a moment later, a length of rope in his hand.
“Ihrman,” he said to the duke, whose eyes were glazing in alarm, his skin mottled with sweat, “there is quite a bit of rope in this tent. Lash the lengths together â probably at least four street lengths here â and give it to the soldiers to demark a corridor through the city; open it right through the crowd, wide enough so the Bolg can pass comfortably. Position the soldiers inside the rope, and make the closest townspeople help them hold it. Beg the Firbolg king's pardon and indulgence; tell him we will have this problem cleared up in a few moments.”
The duke signaled to his captain of the guard, who carried the Lord Cymrian's orders to the rest of the troops. Ashe turned to Rhapsody.
“Step back inside the tent, Aria. There will be a good deal of shifting and pushing for a moment, but it will settle into a controllable chaos shortly.” He pulled the tent flap aside.
“What are you doing?”
“It's impossible to quell the curiosity that has been sparked by trying to hide the Bolg; they have become an irresistible attraction, thanks to Ihrman's bungling. But we can use it to our advantage.” He turned to the captain of the guard unit that was forming a barrier between the dais on which they stood and the crowds. “Captain, summon your best hornsman.”
A chain of shouted orders rippled over the building din, swallowed as it moved through the air. Within a few moments a trumpeter had appeared.
“M'lord.”
“Hornsman, make ready,” Ashe addressed the soldier. “Play a volley of welcome for a head of state.”
As the hornsman prepared himself, Ashe turned to the Duke of Yarim again.
“Once the Bolg have come into the work tent, have the original contingent
of soldiers continue to ring it, but keep adding as many as you can, gradually. If you gently insert a few troops here and there, the circle will expand slowly but resolutely, without necessitating any confrontation with overeager onlookers. Keep expanding the ring until the crowd is two street corners away from the work site. Then announce the times of the changing of each shift.”
of soldiers continue to ring it, but keep adding as many as you can, gradually. If you gently insert a few troops here and there, the circle will expand slowly but resolutely, without necessitating any confrontation with overeager onlookers. Keep expanding the ring until the crowd is two street corners away from the work site. Then announce the times of the changing of each shift.”
Karsrick's mouth dropped open. “Is that wise, m'lord? The townspeople will know when the Bolg are arriving and leaving, and will gather at those hours in these same unwieldy numbers.”
“Yes,” Ashe agreed, “and they will go back about their business during all the other hours. At first many of them will stay, hoping to catch a glimpse, but, being dissuaded that this will come to pass, they will settle for watching the changing of the guard. After a short time, even this will cease to be interesting to all but a few.” He clapped Karsrick on the shoulder encouragingly. “Buck up, Ihrman; this is temporary, though Rhapsody was right when she told you if you had just treated them like guests, instead of like monsters that needed to be guarded, and guarded against, this would not be a problem. Had you done that, you would never have incited this level of curiosity in the first place.”
“Yes, m'lord,” Karsrick muttered.
“All right, hornsman, set to,” Ashe instructed. “Play a lively tune that will make the Bolg feel welcome.”
Peering through the tent flap, Rhapsody chuckled.
“I suggest a rousing instrumental of âLeave No Limb Unbroken,'” she said. “Last I knew, that was their favorite march.”
O
nce the roped corridor was opened in the sea of onlookers, and the townspeople themselves enlisted in holding the barrier lines, the Bolg were able to hurry quickly into the work site without incident.
nce the roped corridor was opened in the sea of onlookers, and the townspeople themselves enlisted in holding the barrier lines, the Bolg were able to hurry quickly into the work site without incident.
When the flaps of the enormous tents had closed behind them, muting the noise of the rabble, and the soldiers established in a ring around it again, Achmed turned to the Lord and Lady Cymrian and the duke.
“Perhaps I misunderstood the invitation,” he said angrily. “I was under the impression you were hiring us to work on your dried-out shell of a geyser, in the hope that bringing our skills to bear on it might rescue your withering province from dying of thirst. Had I known you were recruiting for your menagerie, or a traveling circus, I would have remained in Ylorc and left you to shrivel in the heat. There are far more interesting freaks among your own subjects, Karsrick; you certainly don't need our help to fill your sideshow.”
“My deepest apologies, Your Majesty,” the duke said, bowing from the waist and struggling to appear sufficiently contrite. “We could not have foreseen
the interest that the townspeople of Yarim Paar would have in the arrival of their â neighbors from the southeast. Please forgive the rudeness of our welcome; it was not intended. Tell me what I can do to make it up to you.”
the interest that the townspeople of Yarim Paar would have in the arrival of their â neighbors from the southeast. Please forgive the rudeness of our welcome; it was not intended. Tell me what I can do to make it up to you.”
The Firbolg king's expression shifted slightly in the flickering shadows from the torches outside the tent, the light changing in his mismatched eyes. He lingered for a long, uncomfortable moment in silence before the duke; then finally, when he spoke, his voice was calm.
“You can find me a stained-glass artisan, a sealed master, who is willing to be hired at an extremely generous rate to work on a project in Ylorc.” He turned away from the duke as he took a few steps toward the Bolg assemblage, then looked back over his shoulder. “No ninnies. I've had enough of those today.”
The Duke of Yarim exhaled, looking doubtful. “I will put the word out to the guilds, sire, though I can't guarantee an artisan will come forward.”
Achmed walked over to Grunthor. “How do you want to proceed?” he asked the Sergeant.
The giant Bolg considered for a moment. “Clear the tent o' all unnecessaries, and let me examine the dry wellspring.”
Achmed walked back to the royal couple and the duke. “Get everyone out of here,” he said curtly, “except for yourselves.”
Ashe nodded, overriding the protest that was bubbling on the duke's lips. He turned to the Yarimese soldiers gathered under the tent.
“Out, gentlemen. Thank you.”
A
s the Bolg Sergeant came forward and stood before the obelisk, it was as if the rest of the people standing beneath the strung canvas in the town square faded into the gray darkness of oblivion, leaving only himself and Entudenin, alone together in the universe.
s the Bolg Sergeant came forward and stood before the obelisk, it was as if the rest of the people standing beneath the strung canvas in the town square faded into the gray darkness of oblivion, leaving only himself and Entudenin, alone together in the universe.
Even in its state of decay and petrification, the geyser was, like himself, a child of the Earth, one born of fire, the other of water, both unique creations that had known the magic of the Mother's touch.
As he walked around it in wonder, the first thing he felt was an overwhelming sense of loss. How beautiful it must have been in its living time, a towering pillar twice as tall as he was, arched at the top in an angle that jutted westward in the direction of the setting sun, beckoning to the wide ocean a thousand miles away. He could almost see how it was formed, and must have once looked, layer upon layer of multicolored rings and stripes in rich hues of vermilion and rose, deep russet, sulfurous yellow and aquamarine, mineral deposits that grew ever taller with the passage of time, until their height surpassed anything on the flat dry prairie of clay for as far as the eye could see.
Now the obelisk stood, lifeless but unbowed, shriveled and covered in a baked red clay, like the rest of Yarim.
Grunthor stepped over the broken stones of the fountainbed at its base and approached it slowly, almost reverently, wondering what could have happened to cause such a vibrant, growing source of life-giving water in the middle of the cold desert to suddenly cease, then fade this way. He put out a hand to touch its shrunken flesh.
Beneath the tips of his fingers, the desiccated clay felt surprisingly warm and supple. Grunthor blinked; his eyes told him that the geyser was dead, its once-moist clay now hard and inflexible, but a deeper part of him, the place where he and the Earth were indissolubly bonded, was taking over his sight, his senses.
From deep within the ground he could hear the voice of the Earth, the slow, melodious song that had first crept into his unconsciousness, permeating ever fiber of his being, when he, Achmed, and Rhapsody were crawling in the depths of the world, pulling themselves along the spidery roots of Sagia, the World Tree, fleeing from their hunters to this new, strange land. The song wound around his heart, whispered invisibly in his ear, and it told him the tale of Entudenin.
The song recounted the birth of the region known as Yarim in the language of men, a place forgotten by the trade winds, in the shadow of the mountain, at the base of the glacier, on the continental divide, where the ground was barren but the earth held riches, deep and hidden. Ore of copper and manganese, iron and rysin, the blue metal so beloved of the Bolg in the making of steel, healing mineral springs, opals and precious salt all were concealed beneath the thick red clay, but with no regular prevailing sea winds, no cool gusts from the mountains, the ground hardened stubbornly, refusing to give up its bounty easily.
Grunthor stood, rapt, transfixed, the tale forming images he could see inside his mind, as the song grew more melodious, more fluid. The tale changed to the story of the Erim Rus, the Blood River, a muddy red watercourse stained by the slough of the manganese-red mountains. The Erim Rus had eventually met up with a tributary of the mighty Tar'afel, and their marriage had formed a beautiful oasis at the riverhead. From that marriage Entudenin had been born.
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