The Call of the Crown (Book 1) (6 page)

“That is enough, Ealian.” Elspeth’s shout came from inside Gobin’s, the blacksmith—she was often in there, sharpening knives or arrow tips.

Ealian turned, or rather swayed, in her direction. “This has nothing to do with you, sister,” he said, pointing at where he must have thought she stood, though his aim was off by a good span.

“Go home, Ealian. You’re making a complete fool of yourself. Astin, take him home.” Astin Barrair raised an eyebrow. “Yes, you heard me, Astin.” Elspeth pointed directly at him. “Take him home before I tell your mother you
’ve been at the ale.”

Startled, Astin nodded furiously in Elspeth’s direction. He wheeled Ealian around—ignoring his complaints—and together with the other three marched the drunken fool in the direction of home.

Elspeth stood with her hands on her hips and her jaw clenched, watching as they disappeared around the corner.

“You shouldn
’t let them treat you like that, Re’adh,” she said, taking a pace towards the well.

Gialyn raised his head slowly to look at her. For once, he wasn’t nervous, despite how close she was. The events of the evening had overshadowed his usual butterfly stomach. “Only a fool fights a fool’s battle,” he said in a clear, firm tone.

Elspeth looked taken aback by his comment. She didn’t speak to Gialyn very often, and when she did, she probably expected to hear little more than an incoherent, nervous prattle. The surprise reached her eyes and she giggled. “Where did that come from?”

“It is one of my father’s. He has dozens of them.” He laughed a little, too, although his grin never reached farther than his mouth. He dipped his head and slowly bit at his lip. A strange sense of calm had come over him since leaving his home, almost a
dazed
calm, as if he were walking in a dream. He fished through his pockets, looking for a sweetroll he thought he had—nothing. Sighing, he turned to the large wooded bucket hanging from the rope of the well winch. Pulling the bucket to him, he picked up the ladle and took a sip before emptying some of the water into his hand. Slowly, he washed the water over his face. It was hot
. Why did I bring this coat?

Elspeth looked puzzled. Doubtless, she was accustomed to having folk’s full attention. Yet,
Gialyn
, of all people, was turning his back on her. She walked over and sat on the wall next to him.

After a few moments, she spoke. “Are you looking forward to seeing Bailryn again?” The smile on her face said
she
certainly was—Gialyn knew Elspeth had been to Bailryn before, but just the once, and then only passing through. She had spoken of the tall towers, the white marble, the pristine fountains, and polished cobbles of the palace square. The smile on her face lit up her eyes; she sighed like a girl waiting for her first dance at the ball.

Gialyn huffed. For a second, he wondered if he should sit down next to her. What would she think? Would she assume him too presumptuous, too bold, maybe? He decided he didn’t care and sat down anyway.

“Lightfoots, Shrillers, the Black Hand, open sewers, food shortages, rats, and the blight—what is there to look forward to?” Gialyn asked.

Elspeth looked at him askance, open mouthed, as if about to say something. Folding her arms, she appeared to think for a moment, every now and then creasing her brow as though puzzling through a problem. “What are
Shrillers?” she finally asked.

“Beggars—but none like you have ever seen. They will plant themselves in front of you, bar your way, scream how their children are starving and will die without food. On the other hand, they might say their mother is sick, and if you don’t give them a silver bit or some coppers
… Then, once your back is turned, they run into the nearest tavern and buy ale with the money you gave.”

“So why do people give it to them if they know that is all they do with it?”

Elspeth looked straight at Gialyn, straight into his eyes. Her stare cracked through his dazed disposition. For a second, he began to remember he was supposed to be nervous around her.

“Most people don’t. Nevertheless, enough
give in
to keep them at it. I suppose they think a few coppers are a small price to pay to be rid of them.”

“And what are these
… Lightfoots?”

“Local thieves
. Groups of them roam around the streets in search of easy victims—single women with a child, too busy protecting them to fight back; rich men too fat to chase them; hawkers and peddlers too busy with customers to notice thieving. They will filch from anybody.”

“Gods, where are the guards? Why doesn’t someone do something about it?”

Gialyn laughed. “The guards only patrol the palace square; the rest of Bailryn fends for itself. A few inns and taverns hire men to keep order, but often enough, the men they hire are little better. the Black Hand was the worst of them. My father thought Lord Breen—patron and founder of the Black Hand—was actually working with the Lightfoots to force folk into paying for protection.”

“I see. Of course, I wasn’t expecting it to be all roses.” Elspeth lifted her chin—there was that arrogance again. “I expected it to be difficult. I mean, after all, it is the
palace
guards.” A self-absorbed grin covered her face.

Gialyn thought she was imagining herself clad in shinning dress uniform, a palace guard captain’s insignia on her shoulder.
I wonder if she knows what the barracks looks like.
He laughed at the thought.

“Now what?” Elspeth sat up, staring.

“Nothing. I—I think you’re going to be in for a surprise.” Gialyn laughed nervously. The calm daze was wearing off.

“I’m sure
I
will be able to handle anything.” Elspeth’s chin rose even higher. She crossed her legs and folded her arms tight. Blinking, she turned her gaze away and looked towards the blacksmiths. “I expect I will do very well. Of all the women chosen to guard the court, I’m sure none will be able to shoot like me.”

“Doubt you will have much chance,” Gialyn mumbled.

“What was that?” Elspeth asked. She sounded annoyed now. “You really should speak up.”

Gialyn huffed indignantly. Damn her if she thought to get the better of him
—not tonight, of all nights. “Most of the women who guard at the courts are little more than housemaids who know how to fight. You will probably spend most of your time fetching and carrying for one of the ladies of the court. You might be lucky and be assigned to a princess. But then, I don’t know if you would call that
luck
; she will probably have you hemming her dresses.”

“
Pft
… I won’t do it!”

“You will do what you are told!”

“I… argh… I don’t believe you.”

Gialyn felt strangely empowered, using his knowledge of Bailryn to get the better of her.
No. Stop it. Stop teasing, you fool.

He lowered his tone. “All the guards do their share of fetching and carrying, Elspeth. Even my father did, and
he
was a captain. And if there is a war…
If
there is a war, you will fight alongside the men—and die alongside them, too.” He whispered the last part.

Elspeth bit her lip. Her face flattened at his last comment. She stood, brushed down her breeches, and straightened her blouse. “I should be getting back. It’s late.”

Gialyn stood, too, and bowed, then immediately wished he had not.
Why do I keep doing that? They don’t bow around here.
He coughed in embarrassment.

Elspeth laughed a little. Once
again, she mimicked a curtsy—f it wasn’t so dark, he might have seen the red in her cheeks and the glint in her eye. He did another half bow before turning for home. Now and then, he watched her over his shoulder. Elspeth walked back over to Gobin’s, probably to gather her belongings. A second later and she was gone. She didn’t turn back.

Gialyn sighed before he, too, turned back toward the road. He wondered if he could sneak around back without anyone noticing, he didn’t want any more talk, not tonight at least

CHAPTER 4

The path to the footbridge was hard-baked—same as all the rest—by the seemingly ever-present sun. The thickening afternoon air lay still and heavy around Gialyn, making him blink dusty pollen away as he eyed the early shoots of lemon grass that lined the edge of the field. They stood tall in their roadside battle for the sun, a contrast to the short-cropped grass of the king’s pastureland, which lay beyond the colourful border. Silky dogwood grew along the boundary, too. Their green-topped leaves with silver bellies flickered in the high sun. White blossoms hung in clusters, dancing at the faintest unfelt breeze, as if poked by an invisible finger. The buds of their pale fruit—a rare feast for the birds come summer—were just beginning to show on the thinly-lined, green-stick branches.

The path rose in a gentle incline as it turned slowly north towards the fork in the road, the place where Gialyn and his father had arranged to meet the Tanners. The track was never busy at this time of day. Indeed, it was never particularly busy at anytime. A horse and cart, now a hundred paces ahead, had thrown up a thin mist of dust that still lingered where they walked. Yet neither the noise of the horse’s footfalls nor the clattering of cart wheels was heard above the Geddy River as it surged—still fat with the spring melt—down through the weirs of the Alber canal, scarcely ten feet to the right of the path.

Afternoon rays from the late-spring sun sent shards of brilliant light prancing off the Geddy’s mirrored surface. The patterns they made danced frantically in the shadows of the steep riverbank. At the base of the weir, white foaming crests formed where rocks stood proud above the surface. A pale mist twisted airily above them. The indiscernible breeze caught the vapours, lightening the heavy air around it. Gialyn was grateful for the cool spray—brief though it was.

Any other day, he would be happy to take in the view
. The Geddy Vale was his solace, his place of consolation, his guardian against the impractical imaginings of his youth. No matter what disappointment he met with, the valley was
always
there. He would always lose his troubles on a walk along the river—but not today! Today, he was low, depressed, and too miserable to pay the Geddy its well-earned admiration. Today, the vale seemed to taunt him, as if to say, “Look what you will be missing, you fool!”

Gialyn turned away from it and fixed his eye on the distant horizon. The sight of it was nothing new or unusual. Yet, somehow, the view left him cold. The hills, valleys, and meadows—once a familiar backdrop—seemed strangely alien. Looking at them now made his palms sweat and his stomach churn, forcing him to catch a breath. Why should the view make him feel such dread? Was it a fear of the unknown? Again, he turned away.

The state of Gialyn’s backpack was doing nothing to ease his present mood, either.
Do we really need all this?
Twisting from side to side, he hitched it up, adjusted the straps, twisting his neck and shoulders to find comfort, but couldn’t make it balance nicely on his back. Making do, he pushed his thumbs under the shoulder straps and let it be.

Daric
eyed his struggle. “You should have tied the bedroll to the bottom, like I said.”

Gods, that is all I need,
thought Gialyn.
Barely ten minutes in and he’s already picking fault
. He huffed under his breath, giving his pack another tug up his shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it now,” Daric said. “You can fix it when we get to the footbridge. We should have some time
. Likely as not, that girl, Elspeth, will be late.”

“I doubt it.” Gialyn turned away from his father, mumbling a curse that Daric couldn’t hear—he hoped.

“What makes you say that?”

“She is the only one who actually
wants
to come on this trip.” The pain in his shoulders distracted Gialyn, as he had resolved to stay silent for a while after his father’s jibe about the bedroll. He saw his father raise a brow and then sarcastically mimic him by shuffling his own pack, smiling as he did so.
Gods, this is just…

“What do you think about that?” His father interrupted his thought.

“Think about what?” Gialyn asked. He renewed his grip on his pack, wondering if his father was talking about that or about Elspeth. He hoped he was talking about his backpack.

“About spending nigh on six weeks with that girl you like, maybe more.”

Gialyn sighed. Of course, his father must know about his feelings for Elspeth—it was hardly a secret; half the town knew, probably Elspeth, too—yet he had never spoken to him about it before, and Gialyn was thankful for that. So why now? Why the sudden interest? Was he trying to make up for lost time? Had mother mentioned something?

“I doubt she will notice. She is always too busy with her—”

What am I doing? Why are we talking about his? Bad enough he wants to talk at all, but not this, not Elspeth… Please, gods, no!
Gialyn glanced nervously to his side, wondering if his father would continue.

“You are going to be stuck in close quarters with the girl
. There will be no escaping it. You had best figure out a way to deal with it—and quick—before it turns into a problem,” Daric said.

“What do you mean, ‘deal with it?’” Gialyn asked. Then, once more, immediately wondered why he did.

Daric put a hand on Gialyn’s shoulder and moved closer. With a half-smile on his face, he spoke. “Decide how you’re going to treat her beforehand. I would go for the practical approach if I were you. Keep everything simple. If you need to ask her something, then ask her as though she were a work mate. If you need to tell her something, just come out and say it, as though you were talking to Meric or one of your other friends.” Daric squeezed Gialyn’s shoulder; his expression took a more serious tone. “Whatever you do, do not react to her moods. I promise you, whatever is causing it; chances are it will have nothing whatsoever to do with you. Learn how to bite your lip, you know what I mean.” He patted Gialyn on his shoulder and straightened up.

“Oh.” Gialyn was surprised he was actually listening to his father and even more surprised he seemed to be making sense. “I
… I will try that, thank you.” He really didn’t want to agree.
Gods, he’ll be talking to me about where babies come from next! Stop agreeing with him.

Daric pulled up at his straps and put a little bounce in his step. He seemed pleased that he’d had his little talk
. Perhaps he thought that was one less problem to worry about—at least for now.

“By the gods, I remember when I met your mother. I’m surprised she didn’t run at the sight of me.” Daric laughed so hard his backpack shook. He grinned while slowly shaking his head, amused, it seemed, at his own recollections.

Gialyn wondered whether he should ask the obvious question. He balanced his curiosity with the anguish of holding a personal conversation with his father. After some apprehensive pondering, his curiosity finally got the better of him. “Why, what did you do that was so bad?”

“What
didn’t
I do? I was such a foolish, hard-headed young man back in those days; I thought I knew everything.” Daric shook his head again and smiled as he stared along the path. “Let me put it simply, without too many details.” He gave a wry, sideways glance at Gialyn, apparently mindful that his son was fishing for controversy—and he was right, of course. “You should approach love with three simple rules: never lie, never pretend, and most importantly, never presume!”

Gialyn was puzzled. “What do you mean by
… ‘presume?’”

His father suddenly grew a little flushed and fidgety, perhaps realizing he had opened the door to an awkward subject and had stuck his big foot right in the middle of it. Serves him right. “Well
… uh… without being
too
blunt,” Daric said. “‘Never presume’ means be respectful and wait or even ask permission.”

“Oh!” Gialyn was horrified
. He wasn’t expecting that at all.
Oh no… Gods, get me out of this conversation, quickly!
He knew exactly what his father meant by “ask permission.” He answered quickly with a simple “I see” and quickly looked over at the river… to the sky… to his feet… to the bush drooping sidelong against the edge of the path—anywhere but at his father.

Daric looked as if he was just about to continue when his attention was drawn to something up ahead. He pointed along the track towards the fork in the road. “Is that
… Grady up there?” he asked, cupping his hands around his eyes to get a clearer view.

Gialyn creased his eyes and then—silently praising the gods for the timely change of subject—he laughed. “Yes, I think it is
… Come to say good-bye. That is good of him.”

Daric stood, one fist on his hip, the other scratching his chin. He blinked and looked again. “He has not come to say good-bye
. There is a backpack on the ground next to him.” He shook his head, mouth half open in bewilderment. “Where is he going?”

The crease of a smile crossed Gialyn’s lips
. He knew the reason Grady had his pack with him—at least he hoped he did.
Please, gods, let him be coming! Please, gods, let him be coming!
The thought kept repeating all the way to the fork in the road. If nothing else, Grady’s presence would keep his father off his back.

*  *  *

The cart that was ahead of them was now parked by the side of the track. The driver stood by the wheel on the far side, mallet in one hand, scratching his head with the other. He looked puzzled and in a dim mood.

Daric gave him a nod. “Is everything all right?”

The driver shook his head. “The cotter pin is split. Nothing I can do here. I’ll just shore it up. I will have to go back and fetch Gobin to fix it.”

“He was at the canal half an hour ago, shoeing one of the pit
ponies.”

“Oh, thank you
… Daric, is it?”

“Yes, Daric Re’adh.” Daric gave a shallow nodding bow.

“Harnon Gaulman.” He put his hand to his chest and returned Daric’s nod. “The canal, you say. Good, at least I do not have to walk all the way back to Alber.”

Daric nodded again before continuing on to where Grady stood. “And what is all this?” Daric asked, pointing at the pack resting against the back of Grady’s legs. He, too, realised what was going on. “Are you coming all the way to Bailryn?”

Grady tittered. “Ah, so you figured me out. Well, you didn’t think I was going to let you have all the fun, did you?”

Daric’s mind spun
. For three days, he had considered how he was going to handle three youngsters by himself on such a long trip. It had not been an easy thought. A flash of relief sparked in his eyes when Grady confirmed he was joining them for the entire journey. Nevertheless, he was still puzzled. “You can’t just pick up and leave. What about work? Your home! What abo—”

Grady interrupted. “Slow down. I have it all under control. The new man, Arlen, is staying at my house and taking on some of my shifts at the canal. He was more than happy to help. Good man that Arlen.”

Daric still looked unconvinced.

“I have cleared it with Tanner,” Grady said. “He was more than happy.
‘An extra escort cannot hurt.’” Grady did a fair impression of the emissary
. “He
even called me by name, and he’s paying me, too. It is all arranged, Daric. Don’t you go worrying about it.” Grady folded his arms and waited for a response.

“If you
’re sure,” Daric said.

Grady stilted his smile; his expression became serious. “To be honest, friend, I need a change. Things have gone a bit
… stale… of late, too much like one long day running into another. Why not take a trip, get away for a few months?” Again, he waited. Daric wondered why. He didn’t need his permission to join them. Nevertheless… “It is all right with you, isn’t it?”

“Are you joking? I would have paid you myself if I had the money.” Daric leaned forward and shook Grady by his shoulders. The wide grin on his face told all how happy he was at the idea. “I think it wi—”

CRACK!

Daric and Grady spun round towards the noise.

SNAP!

The cart began to list to the right. Harnon slipped on the incline, almost falling into the river. He gathered himself and ran to the front. Frantically, he tried to loosen the harness before the cart slipped down the bank and took the horse with it into the river.

“Help! Help me!”

Daric, Grady, and Gialyn were already halfway there. Daric pointed to the horse. “Help him with the strapping, Gialyn.”

Gialyn joined Harnon. The horse was panicking. Its eyes bulged. It whickered frantically, pulling its harness tighter and tighter. Gialyn couldn’t get a finger under it, never mind undoing the buckles.

“With any luck, he’ll snap it,” Harnon said. “It’s too bloody tight to undo, and I cannot get close enough to calm him.”

The horse whickered frantically and kicked out at Harnon. Panic flashed in its eyes. Every kick of its hind legs scraped the broken wheel against the hard ground. The spokes shattered and splintered, and with each snap of a spoke, it tilted more towards the steep bank and the rushing weir of the Geddy River.