The Land of the Silver Apples - Farmer Nancy - Страница 71

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And I would have no rival,thought Jack. He was ashamed of himself for thinking it. He’d never been jealous of Thorgil, although she often enraged him. She was a better warrior, but he didn’t want to be a warrior. He was a bard. Pega’s voice outshone his.

Jack’s smile faded. He didn’t like finding this ugly motive hidden in himself. Father Severus would call it sinful, and the Bard, whose opinion mattered more to him, would call it mean and petty. I’ll have to overcome it,Jack vowed.

He was almost at the door. What of Thorgil? He turned back to see her walking behind Father Severus, Pega, and Ethne, guarding them. What was he going to do with her? She wouldn’t be welcome at St. Filian’s. If she was recognized as a Northman, everyone on the coast would be out for her blood. As for her clothes…

For the first time Jack looked at Thorgil the way the villagers would. She was dressed in men’s clothes. Her hair was chopped off. She had a belligerent expression, and her manners were crude at the best of times. How was he ever going to explain her?

Using all his strength, Jack pushed open the heavy iron door. Rain blew into his face. A large arm reached through and yanked him outside.

King Yffi’s soldiers had been dragging a scullery boy, caught stealing a chicken, to the dungeons. They’d been none too pleased to be ordered out in such weather, and finding an escapee (as they thought) made them no happier. They threw Jack to the ground. The captain tried to put his foot on Jack’s chest, but he twisted out of the way and swung his staff at the man’s leg with a resounding thwack.

Before the others could react, Father Severus stepped through the door. “Hold!” he commanded, his voice rising above the torrent of rain and wind. Everyone froze—Jack on the ground, the captain holding his injured leg, the two guards grasping the scullery boy’s arms, the boy himself, who had been trying to bite. Water splashed all around, pouring off their heads and soaking them to the skin.

Jack recovered first. “King Yffi will be pleased. We have brought back the water,” he said, climbing to his feet and holding his staff out to the side. He hoped he looked properly bardlike.

“You’re the brat we threw down the well,” snarled the captain, rubbing his leg. “Never expected to see you again.”

Probably not, since you sealed the well,thought Jack.

Behind the monk, still sheltered in the doorway, appeared Pega, Thorgil, and Ethne. “Who’s that?” said one of the soldiers.

“We had no women prisoners,” said the captain.

“Begging your pardon, sir,” said the soldier, “but that be no mere woman. That be a lady, sure as I’m standing here.”

“Aye, a right fair one,” marveled the other soldier. “Not a mark of the pox on her or a tooth missing.” The scullery boy tried to squirm free, and the soldier banged him on the top of his head.

Thorgil and Pega might have been invisible for all the attention paid to them. The captain hobbled over to Ethne and bowed deeply. “Welcome to our keep, noble fair one. Please forgive this wretched weather and allow us to conduct you to more suitable quarters.”

The elf lady laughed, a sound like little silver bells. The captain and his men were enchanted.

“Ratface! Off with that shirt!” barked the captain. Lickety-split, the soldiers had the shirt off the poor scullery boy. They held it over Ethne’s head while the captain held her hand to escort her. The only good result was that they forgot about Ratface’s punishment and left him to shiver in the rain.

The shirt didn’t really protect Ethne, but it was a well-meant gesture. The soldiers and the captain escorted her tenderly, lifting her over the deeper puddles. Thorgil, Pega, Father Severus, and Jack followed, sloshing up to their knees, but no one cared about their comfort.

On the other side of the courtyard they were conducted up and up through a maze of winding hallways to a chamber Jack recognized as the Bard’s room. His heart lifted at the prospect of seeing the old man through the open door, but the room was deserted. Perhaps he’s visiting King Yffi,Jack thought. Very quickly, the soldiers lit a brazier for warmth. Back and forth they went, hauling rugs, tables, chairs, beds, and mattresses stuffed with goose down into the room. They brought food from the kitchen and clean, dry robes for Ethne.

“I’ll tell the king you’re here,” said the captain, blushing when Ethne impulsively kissed his grizzled cheek. “I forgot to ask. What is your name, fair one?”

“Princess Ethne,” said Father Severus in his sepulchral voice, before Ethne could respond.

“A princess!” said the captain, impressed. “I should have guessed. No mere lady would be so graceful, so—so—”

“Excuse me,” said Jack, before the captain could think up more compliments. “Where’s the Bard? And my father? And Brother Aiden?”

“Giles Crookleg is in the infirmary at St. Filian’s,” said the captain, still staring at Ethne’s dimples. “Brother Aiden was put in charge of the monastery, much good that’ll do him. Those monks will ride over him like a herd of highland cattle. As for Dragon Tongue, I’m happy to say he’s joined them. You could never relax when he was around. Now, don’t you worry about a thing, my Princess.” The captain turned back to Ethne. “I’ll bring you some sweeties, see if I don’t.”

“She needs a good rest,” Father Severus said witheringly. “Not sweeties.”

They were left alone, to feast and dry out. Pega was delighted by the food—pigeon pie, roast pork and oysters, bread hot from the oven with a slab of butter. There was also a bowl of apples. “Poor Bugaboo and Nemesis,” she said. “I wish I could take them something.”

“It would be unwise,” Father Severus said. “I, too, feel for them, but they must not be discovered.”

“What should we do now?” said Jack. “We need the Bard’s help.”

“I could go to St. Filian’s, but I hesitate to leave you alone. There is evil abroad here.”

Silence fell on the group as they ate. Ethne disappeared into an adjoining chamber to try on her new clothes. It was barely past noon, but the sky was almost as dark as nightfall. Lightning forked across the heavens. “I’ve never seen a storm this bad,” Thorgil remarked. “It’s as if Thor were casting his bolts at us.”

“Or God is,” said Father Severus.

“No,” said Jack as an idea came to him. “I think the old gods are laying siege to Din Guardi. The Forest Lord and the Sea God seek to enter. Perhaps whoever ruled the sky has joined them.”

“Someone’sdefinitely having a snit,” observed Thorgil, licking grease from her fingers. “Let’s hope he—or she—gets tired before we all lose our hearing.” Almost as though the “someone” had heard her, thunder shook the walls so fiercely then that plaster fell from the ceiling. Everyone cringed. Having made this statement, the storm withdrew. They could hear it grumbling as it moved out to sea.

“Saints preserve us!” cried Father Severus. Jack saw Ethne dance into the room in the dry clothes the captain had brought her. She was floating as lightly as a dandelion puff, exactly as Lucy had done in the meadows near the village. Ethne’s dress glittered with jewels, but the really spectacular garment was her cloak. Jack had never seen the like of it. The rich, creamy cloth was embroidered with grapevines in which animals were hidden. Jack couldn’t tell what they were—deer, hunting dogs, or cats, perhaps—but they were as long and graceful as the vines. In the center, hovering over this green world, was a white dove with a small twig in its beak.

“Take that off at once! No! Not the dress,” roared the monk as the elf lady lifted her skirts above her knees. “The cloak! The cloak!” Puzzled, Ethne let it drop. Father Severus swept it up before it touched the floor. He sank into a chair and covered his face with his hands. Ethne, taking a cue from his distress, burst into tears.

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