The Sword and the Flame (32 page)

Some way farther ahead on the road to Askelon, where Pelgrin thinned and gave way to farmland hills, a brown pony wandered riderless across a field of young corn, pausing now and then to nibble at the tender tops of the shoulder-high plants. This intrusion did not go unnoticed, for a pair of quick, sharp eyes had seen the animal from a distance, and the boy who looked out of those eyes was slowly and with utmost caution making his way across the field to intercept the horse.

Renny forced himself to steal along stalk by stalk, row by row, all the while his heart screaming at him to run and capture the wonderful creature before him. A horse! Who would have believed it? A horse wandering loose through his father's field. If he could catch it . . . no, he
would
catch it, and then he would have a horse of his very own!

Now he was close, very close. The pony stood nipping at the new leaves, unaware of the boy's presence. Renny crept near and waited. The brown horse plodded a few steps nearer and paused to munch some unripe ears of corn just forming on the stalk. “Shhh . . .” said the boy, as quietly as a sigh. “There, now. Shhh . . .”

He put out his hand to snag the animal's bridle. Tarky saw the movement, tossed his head up quickly, and backed away with a loud whinny. “Easy now,” soothed Renny. “Easy . . . I won't hurt 'ee. No need to fear. No harm'll come to 'ee.” He approached slowly, the pony backing away step by step, tossing his head stubbornly.

Renny moved closer, whispering endearments to the animal. But Tarky, skittish from his days of running wild in the forest, kept just out of reach, and at last tired of the game and turned to prance away. The boy realized it was now or never and lunged at the beast, diving head-long at it. Tarky gave a startled neigh and dodged away. But the youngster, with quick desperation and deft fingers, snatched up the dangling reins. The horse neighed in fright and reared, jerking its head away; but it was caught in the grasp of the most determined young master, and Renny refused to relinquish his find. He scrambled to his feet and grabbed the bridle, his heart thudding against his ribs with excitement.

Then, as if he had been doing it all his life, the farmer's son led his captured prize down the low sloping hillside to the house. Tarky gentled under the lad's touch and allowed himself to be led away peaceably.

When they reached the crude farmhouse, the boy loosed one wild whoop that brought his parents into the yard. “Look what I've got here,” Renny said proudly.

“Where did 'ee get that?” asked his father when he recovered from the sight of his son holding a fine horse, both saddled and bridled, in his own yard.

“Where on this green earth?” echoed his mother.

“I found him,” replied Renny. “Found him eating corn in our field.”

The farmer stared speechless at his wife, who returned his look with one of equal amazement. If the horse had materialized before them out of thin air, they could not have been any more surprised. And there stood their own flesh-and-blood son holding this creature—it sur-passed all belief.

Lest there should be any misunderstanding of his claim or intent, Renny announced, “'Ee's mine. I found him—'ee belongs to me, and I'm keeping him.”

His father came close and raised his hand to stroke the pony's flank. “'Tis a fairly fine horse—no doubt. But 'ee don't belong here.”

“'Ee's mine now.” Renny tightened his grip on the reins and thrust his jaw forward with determination. “I'm keeping him,” he repeated firmly.

“This must be a nobleman's mount,” said the farmer, examining now the fine leather of the saddle and tack. “Doesn't belong here.”

The boy darted a quick glance at his mother for help, his lower lip quivering. The kindly woman came close and placed her hand on her son's shoulder. “What your father means, Renny, is that this one must go back to his rightful owner.”

“Sooner the better,” added the farmer.

“I'm his owner now,” maintained Renny, his dark eyes filling up with tears. “'Es's
mine
.”

“No, son,” said his mother gently. She patted the slim shoulders and brushed his shock of hair from his eyes. “Someone's bound to come looking for him. If you keep him, they'll take him away.”

“But . . . I
found
him!” wailed Renny. The injustice of it stung bitterly. To have his horse so swiftly taken from him in the moment of his triumph—it was too much to bear.

The farmer frowned and turned stiffly away. Renny sobbed and his mother soothed, trying to ease the hurt. “I know what 'ee can do!” she said, brightening. “Take the horse to Askelon—people there will know who his master is. Methinks if 'ee return him hasty, there will be a reward in it for 'ee.”

At the mention of the reward Renny stopped sniffling and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Reward?”

“Maybe.”

His father turned and added, “Why, that's the answer! Take him to Askelon and claim your reward. Might bring a coin or two, a fine animal like this. A man'd be most hearty grateful to get him back, might give a good reward.”

“I could ride him?” asked Renny tentatively. “Ride him to Askelon?”

The farmer glanced at his wife and scratched his jaw. “Well, now, Renny, I don't be—”

“I know how to ride!” Renny said quickly. “The Dragon King him-self taught me, remember?”

“By my lights, 'ee did,” agreed his father. “But it's a far ride, and you'd have to walk back all alone.”

“I don't care,” shouted Renny. “Could I take him? Please?”

“If your mother says so, I say so,” hedged his father.

The woman looked at the light dancing in her son's eyes and did not have the heart to dash it out. She nodded slowly, “I'll fix 'ee a ruck-sack to take with 'ee so's 'ee won't get hungry on the way.” She turned and went into the low-built farmhouse.

“I'll ride him all the way to Askelon!” crowed Renny. “And I'll claim the reward!”

37

E
sme! Esme, wake up!” Bria exclaimed, shaking the arm of the sleeping woman.

“What? Oh!” Esme said, jerking awake with a start. “Oh, my! It was a dream!” She turned and gazed at Bria and Morwenna bending over her, and raised a shaking hand to her temple. “I must have fallen asleep . . . but it was so
real
—not like any other dream I've ever had.”

“You cried out.” Bria glanced at Morwenna, who nodded and took one of Esme's hands in her own.

“We did not know where you had gone, my dear,” said Morwenna. “When we turned around, you were no longer with us. We were looking for you when we heard your cry. How are you feeling now?”

Esme shook her head slowly, but the images of her dream remained as vivid as before. “I believe I am well. I was looking at the pictures and became sleepy; I rested my head on the bench for a moment and dreamed a very strange and unsettling dream.”

“Tell us, if you wish,” offered Bria. “Can you remember it?”

Esme nodded vigorously. “I am not likely soon to forget. I can still see it as if it happened right here moments ago.” She paused; her eyes looked past them and into the world of her dream once again. “I was standing on a high plateau . . . ,” she began. But Morwenna held up her hand.

“Wait, my lady,” Morwenna said. “There is one among us who is highly skilled in the unraveling of dreams and their meanings. Come, we will go to him at once, and he must hear your dream.”

Esme rose to her feet. “It is important? It was just a dream.”

Morwenna stopped and took Esme by both arms. “There are many ways in which Whist Orren chooses to speak to his children. Dreams are one of his most important means of revealing himself, and they are not treated lightly in Dekra.” She smiled quickly and added, “But come, we will hear what our dream reader has to say.”

The three left the Ariga library, passing among the tall ranks of honeycombed shelves and tables stacked with scrolls, back up the stair-way and through the narrow courtyard to the street. Morwenna led them a little way farther along the street to a blue-tiled arch in a white brick wall. She pushed open the gate and ushered them into a green expanse of garden filled with flowering shrubs of many kinds.

“What a wonderful garden,” said Bria. “Who lives here?”

She indicated the tiny house at the far end of the garden pathway.

“That you will see soon enough,” replied Morwenna. She raised her hand toward a huge, spreading sycamore standing in the center of the garden, and beneath it a figure propped up in a high, wide bed. Beside the bed another figure, that of a woman, bent near the one on the bed. This second figure Bria recognized as that of her mother.

“Mother, what are you doing here?” asked Bria with some surprise when they came up. Then she glanced at the figure lying in the bed beneath cool white linens. “Biorkis! Oh, forgive me.” She blushed, embarrassed, “I meant to come to you sooner. Please forgive me for shunning an old friend.”

Biorkis, bald as a coot now, but his beard longer and whiter than ever, squinted his eyes merrily and replied, “No need, no need! You have been very busy since you came, I know. A queen's time is not her own. Alinea has brought me your greetings, and I've met your daughters—lovely little creatures, I must say. Just like their mother.”

“I have only just sent them away with the other children to play,” said Alinea. “Biorkis and I were talking about”—she hesitated—“about the news of the kingdom.”

Biorkis started forward. “I am no stranger to trouble; there is no need to shelter me from its pain. I have lived long enough to know that fretting over it does no good.” He paused and favored them each with a long, appraising gaze. “Yes, here you are. And though trouble brought you, I am glad to see you, my friends. It has been a long time.”

“Too long,” said Bria, “and for that I am sorry. Sometimes we do not remember how much our friends mean to us until we see them again.”

“Do not be sorry for this old badger!” protested the aged priest. “I am not sorry for myself, nor should anyone be who is loved and cared for as I am here. Look! I am old and cannot walk anymore, so what do they do? They carry my bed outdoors for me! And in return I tell them stories and read to them from the old books. This, they claim, pleases them; so I am allowed to stay.”

Morwenna smiled and settled on the edge of the bed. “This one is a most highly regarded servant of the Most High. We would sooner turn out an elder than Biorkis. We would have made him an elder long ago, but he would not hear of it.”

Biorkis replied gleefully. “Preposterous! The former high priest of the Temple of Ariel an elder? That would never do! No, I am content as I am. But please, my ladies, sit down. I will have more chairs brought.”

“We can find places here,” said Bria, perching on the arm of her mother's chair. Esme sat down on the bed beside Morwenna. “The king—Quentin—would like to see you. I am certain he would have come with us, but—”

Biorkis held up his hands. “Your mother has already told me what has happened, and my prayers are with you all. I, too, feel the loss of Durwin even now. How much more must Quentin feel it? Not to mention the abduction of your son, my lady. But as I will be joining Durwin soon, I do not feel such grief as a younger man might. I cannot but think that the old rascal of a hermit will have some great work already in scheme for us to do when I get there. And so I will tarry here a little longer and make sure I am well rested.”

The old priest spoke so assuredly and with such calm conviction that Esme wondered at it. “You make it sound as if he has only gone on a brief journey to his home in Pelgrin Forest.”

“Aye, and so he has!” cried Biorkis. “But his journey was never to a place so humble as Pelgrin. No, my lady. He has joined the court of the Most High, Lord of All. If I feel sadness, it is only for the cruel way in which he was cut down. For all the goodness that was in him, Durwin should have ended his days like me, here, surrounded by friends and loved by all.”

Morwenna smiled and patted the pale hand that rested on the sheet. “I am glad to hear that you have decided to remain with us yet a little longer.”

Biorkis nodded happily, his clear eyes dancing at the sight of the women gathered around him. “I would remain always if I could be sur-rounded by such beauty as I see now.” He paused, then glanced around him, adding in a more solemn tone, “But this visit, as pleasant as it is, shares some more urgent purpose than merely to cheer a babbling old rattle-pate. What is it that brings you to me?”

Morwenna spoke first. “A dream. We would like you to hear it and tell us what it may mean.”

“Ah, a dream.” He nodded knowingly, and then turned to address Esme directly. “Why don't you tell me your dream then, my lady, and we will see what can be learned from it.”

Esme's jaw dropped. “How did you know it was me?”

Biorkis's eyes narrowed. “I saw it the moment I laid eyes on you. I said to myself, ‘This one wears the cloak of vision.'”

“You can see it?”

“These old eyes have lost none of their sharpness; in fact, they have gained some into the bargain. The veil between this world and the one beyond grows ever more transparent. Indeed, lately I have difficulty con-tenting myself with only looking at this world.

“But yes, I saw the aura of your dream still clinging to you when you entered the garden. A powerful dream it must have been. A vision!”

“Do you think so?” Esme pondered and then said, “It is true I have seldom had such an unusual and forceful dream. Perhaps it was a vision.” She seemed taken with this notion.

“Why not tell me and we shall see?” prodded Biorkis gently. The others looked on quietly as Esme gathered her thoughts, closing her eyes and entering once again into the dream that had so frightened her.