Chapter 14: Meeting on the Mountain
If he had been endearingly pathetic before, Mistress Corday now found Tamlyn frighteningly addled, and brought his breakfast to the door of the men's sleeping chamber, to keep him away from the children. Gareth saw her cross herself as she left the chamber. She was polite and ingratiating to all her guests, but clearly disturbed by his presence in her home, and they prepared to leave as soon as possible.
Gareth rode in front with Bron Corday, who rode through the village with him importantly. A certain young darb was overtaken on the road with milkpails on her yoke, and he riding his lanky gelding beside a tall knight bearing sword and shield. Her eyes grew round and her cheeks flushed, and the sigh he drew when they had passed spoke satisfaction beyond words.
When they had cleared the village, they let the horses trot. With Bron riding next to Gareth, Margaret had managed to take the place beside Tamlyn. It worried her that he forgot to move with the horse, and jostled until the horse tossed its head in annoyance, and he remembered to tighten on the reins, which Gareth had knotted close to the horse's neck. Margaret knew that a good knight could about ride in his sleep; it seemed to her that Tamlyn did no more than that.
Margaret wrestled with anxiety and mortification. She had not eyes for the flowers surrounding thatched cottages, nor the ringleted children who played in the dooryards or helped their mothers weed the vegetable plots; for the orderly spread of the selions by the bottom of Hart Brook or the fragrant, new-mown timothy drying on the carpet of the sun. Where these things had solaced her yesterday, today she clung to God in her mind. Wretched in her heart, she had to keep on with the others. They were three days from Braewode. This will not be an easy journey for you, Maggie, in many ways… Rivanone's words.
Bron, after enjoying many stares from locals who rode or walked the roads, parted with them reluctantly after showing them the entrance to the forest road. Margaret was incredulous that they were to trust to this sometime logging trail, but Gareth and his men seemed unconcerned, and called farewell and rode on into the coppicelands.
These gave way in time to second-growth woods where the trail climbed steeply. By a brook that crossed the path, they watered the horses and ate bread still fragrant from Mistress Corday's oven, then continued. Margaret saw Willa wince as she mounted the dappled gelding she rode, helped up by John. Margaret was sore about the legs and back, too, but she was used to regular riding; Willa must be in misery. Their eyes met. Margaret leaned toward her and quietly said, "Are you well? I'm told the second day is the worst of it."
Willa's eyes rounded with self-consciousness. "Oh, no, my Lady, I thank you, I am fine, oh, never better my lady, thank you for inquiring. . ." She was flush, and embarrassment waltzed with gratification. Margaret suppressed an amused smile, substituting a polite one and looking away. She had caught Willa sighing earlier, regarding Margaret standing by Tamlyn and offering him a skin of water; Willa was infatuated, as many new serving-maids were, with her noble lady and her tragic knight. Rivanone had warned her about that, too. Her only advice was to be kind and not roll one's eyes when they were looking. She realized how much she missed her aunt with the lavender scent and the steady gaze.
The trail followed the shoulder of hills that lifted up, and up. The number of stumps they passed diminished and the forest thickened, yet the old-growth trees were also larger and wider-spaced. Beeches and oaks followed upon ferny glens and marshes and secretive tarns. The trail narrowed and the party now rode one by one. Margaret rode behind Tamlyn.
The forest suddenly changed to pines. There were several acres that had been cut and the regrowth and shrubs crowded the trail, which climbed more steeply. Margaret found that Star's cinch needed tightening and her saddle blanket needed straightening; she stopped and slid from Star's back. She called to Geven, who came to tighten the cinch while Margaret tugged at the blanket. The riders forward of them disappeared in the overgrowth.
Finally Geven gave her his knee to use for a step to jump to Star's back. Margaret urged her forward to catch up to the others. In a minute they passed from the cut-over area into thick evergreens. Ahead on the trail, Gareth was riding back to meet her.
"My horse's gear needed attending, Sir; we are well," she called to him. He looked beyond her, puzzled.
"Where is Sir Tame?" he said. No response. "He was behind me--"
"And ahead of me," said Margaret. Gareth cast his eyes about. He thrust his chin at Geven and John, who wheeled their horses around and went back along the trail. Margaret wanted to follow them. "Stay, Lady; he can't be far away and Squire John is an able tracker. I would go, but I promised your father I wouldn't let you out of my sight. Fine job I'm doing too. . ." He swore. "Forgive me, Lady," he said, but Margaret couldn't speak, but sat staring down the trail, listening to the men's calls. It grew very quiet but for leaves rustling and birds calling.
Minutes passed. Willa, thank God, was still and silent, as she had been taught to do in tense moments, but Margaret heard a surreptitious sniffle. Margaret was sure she would either scream at her or break down with her, when Willa looked up and said, "Hoofbeats--"
John came up the trail. "Geven's leading his horse. He must have wandered off, just where the overgrowth ended. He had no idea where he was going to," he said, and Geven rode up, leading Tamlyn's gray by the reins. Tamlyn was slumped but trouble was evident in his face.
As the group milled into position to continue, and no one was paying attention for a moment, John leaned into Gareth's ear. “We had to catch him, he seemed reluctant to come. He said, 'It's only me that he wants.’”
The afternoon was slipping away when they gained a woodsman's cottage which Bron had told them would make satisfactory lodgings for a night, but they found it full to brimming with the woodsman and crowds of his relations, who had come from Hartsfall to escape the pestilence. They were a cheerful bunch, as if on a lark; but it was clear that the tiny cottage could hold no more guests. Noises were made about clearing out the lean-to for the Lady of Aldene, but Margaret signaled to Gareth, Please, no.
They went on instead, after a friendly glass of ale and a bowl of stew with greens, toward a pleasant and dry spot, a grassy opening within the pines; hidden from the trail, it had a deeply cushioned floor from centuries of pine needle accumulation. To Margaret, this was a thrilling serendipity-- to sleep not in stone hall or brocaded bower, nor smoky wattled hut, but in a living depiction of Lady Varden's bower, with leaves and birds and deer and foxes all around. The men set watches, and around a good fire they bedded on their saddle blankets under their cloaks. Geven had shot a grouse and a hare along the way, being very quick with the bow, and they had had roasted meat on the last of the fresh bread for dinner. Gilling sang after dinner and John was persuaded to play his flute. To Margaret it was a wonder-- the diamonds glittering on the velvet heavens; the sparks flying up from the fire, whose heat and shifting, dancing lights lulled her to deep sleep on the horse blanket.
She awakened much later, thinking that she was dreaming. In the glow of embers, it was Tamlyn's face that hovered over her, gently calling her name and touching her shoulder.
"Margaret, awaken, love," he was saying. She stared at him, struggling to realize that it was not a dream. The fire flared with branches that Geven was laying on them. She sat up. Willa, John, Gilling and Gareth were now awake also. Her eyes returned to Tamlyn's face, and his eyes were voluble with emotions as they had been blank and impenetrable. With effort, he turned his body so that he was addressing the group. "There is one by whom I am oppressed, from whom I was escaping when I was found in Briardene. His name is Moruan. He draws me, against my will; but something has interrupted him. Even Elves must eventually rest, or face some distraction--"
"Elves!" said Margaret. "But you had said that they were without sin, like angels--"
"Aye, Margaret, and like angels they may also fall; but unlike us, for them there is no redemption. Moruan is proud as Lucifer was proud-- and beautiful to behold. I must
speak quickly, I know not how long until his mind again overarches mine; it is all I can do just to be as I have been, to resist as I have been resisting. But I have been only half aware of what goes on around me. I had no idea that I was dragging you, Lady Margaret" --spoken like a song-- "and this little maid, and you, Gareth, and these men, into danger with me, for Moruan is nearer than ever. You all must flee while you can, for he is a hater of men. He is only one, but a fearful enemy. It is me that he wants- that is, he thinks I have the thing he wants."
Tamlyn turned to Margaret. "Where is the ring I gave you? Do you have it with you?" She was puzzled beyond words, but turned to Willa, who reached into her wallet and pulled out a small pouch with some small jewelry items in it. "If you don't mind, Lady, give me the pouch."
From her hand he passed it to Gareth. "Reach in there, friend, and take a ring out of it". Gareth fingered the velvet, finding the shape of a ring, and putting in his large fingers, somewhat hesitantly. His eyes looked to Margaret, whose glance reassured him. He pulled the ring from the pouch. It flew from his fingers. "Aagh! What in--" Gareth blew on his fingers. "It felt hot!"
"Margaret, pick it up. It will not harm you." She reached for it, where it gleamed brightly in the grass near where Gareth squatted. The metal was cold. "Please give it to me." He took it. "It cannot be taken, only--" He took Gareth's hand, and placed it in his palm, where it lay, cool-- "given. Except by the Queen of Elvenkind, who gave it to me." The knight stared at his palm. After a moment Tamlyn held out his hand for the ring. Gareth fairly threw it back to him. Tamlyn put it into the grass, blew on it. The grass caught its brightening glow and shriveled away, smoldering. Tamlyn picked it up and handed it back to Margaret, his hand lingering on hers; the ring's only warmth that of his hand. He did not see Willa cross herself, her eyes transfixed on the blackened spot in the grass where a last wisp of smoke writhed and vanished.
"The ring was entrusted to me by Galorian, Queen of Elvenkind, when she also gave me mail, sword and shield. There is no sorcery in it; it is frozen fire, fastened in place by the stone in it. Moruan is willing me to give it to him, but he must not have it. His heart has turned to evil and for such would he use it."
He arose to standing, and all followed. "You must all get away from here. Get the maids out of this forest. I must ride in the opposite direction, to draw him away. There is no more time for explanations." He strode to the horses, picketed at the edge of the firelight. He found his own. Gareth picked his saddle from the stacks of gear, helped him outfit the gray. Then Tamlyn drew his mail coat and coif from the saddlebag. While he pulled it on, he called, "Don't wait till morning. The moon is up, move now." He disappeared behind the gray to mount.
Margaret ran around to him. He turned from the horse, wordlessly and breathlessly regarding her. She threw herself into his arms, and he clung fiercely, hurting her with the hardness of his ringmail, but she heeded it not. "God be with you, Sievan," she whispered tearlessly. She stepped back; her eyes were keen. Tamlyn stared, his mouth open, wanting to say so much, unable to say anything. He turned and leapt to his mount's back and vanished into the shadows of trees.
The men were outfitting the horses. Willa was just tucking the last of their things into the tooled wallets; she held them up for Geven to put in the saddlebag. Margaret stood, her eyes burning after her elf-knight. She realized that the sky was becoming azure; dew was chilling her uncovered hair. Still she stood. Willa was unwrapping oatcakes from a cloth and handing them to the knights, and to Margaret. She realized they were ready to go, and felt hollow and light and cold. The stars were disappearing, and birds waking. The men were talking quietly near her; Willa stood silently close to her.
"...I can't ask you men to go after him; neither can I leave the maids; I promised. Of course if it were just us…" Gareth's eyes met Margaret's, who turned to face him, her eyes still burning.
Willa surprised them all. "No knight should go to meet his death alone." Her eyes were bright and fixed demurely in the middle distance, her hands were folded, looking for all the world like old Elora, who had trained her; not like the freckled, round-faced girl she was.
Something broke free and almost laughed within Margaret, and she tossed her head up. "How soon will it be light enough to follow?" John whooped with delight. Gareth glared at him, his frown meant to abash, at least in show.
"Lady--"
"There goes the Lord-heir of Braewode, your friend and sword-fellow, Gareth, and my beloved. How shall we let him face his adversary while we run for safety?" Gareth heard the brittleness, the fear; but also the heartbreak which she did not speak. But a part of his heart had ridden off into the forest alone as well. His hesitation emboldened her. "What sort of Christians and Ardinéans are we, to flee while our lamb goes to slaughter?"
"Your point is made, Lady Margaret. God and Lord Gregory forgive me, but you have spoken well...John, whenever you can find his trail, we will go." With a short bow, he turned away, muttering under his breath. "Tamlyn Braewode, brother, I hope you know what you've got there."
John followed an easy spoor through grass bejeweled with dew. The pines gave way to beeches; they went up hills and down, but ever higher. The dew burned off and John at times dismounted to follow the trail, hunched over, leading his mount, but most of the time the lanky gray's hoofprints could have been followed by a child, for Tamlyn had ridden fleet when the ground allowed it. Despite her brave words, Willa was pale and stoically miserable, and Margaret knew it was not strictly for her saddle-soreness. Margaret felt strangely, for she did not know how she should feel. Fear, boldness, resignation, recklessness, desperation-- these roiled beneath the surface, but she was calm. Voices saying, Idiot, rushing into certain danger for the romance! And voices saying, Four armed men against one fey, and Tamlyn said the ring must be given, not taken. And she trusted neither voice within her, but recited again to herself, You shall not fear the death that walks in darkness...
It was past noon when Squire John turned to Gareth, stopping his horse and waiting for him to catch up. "For some time now, he has been riding slower and slower. Now his horse is meandering, not as before, in a straight line. But we continue east. My guess would be, he is back under the spell of that Moruan. At the rate we're going, we should catch him by day's end-- he still is well ahead of us. What shall we do, Sir?"
"We'll have a short rest now. Then we'll try to get closer to him. I'd like to be just far enough behind to surprise his enemy. When that happens," he glanced behind him, "You understand that I have to protect the maids even more than I am bound to look out for Tamlyn. Maybe we're all riding to our doom anyway. Honor notwithstanding, if something happens to me, for God's sake get the Lady out of here. Get her to give him the ring, or something. What can he do with that bauble that is worth lives?" He frowned, for this had unsettled him; why Tamlyn would sacrifice himself even for a magic ring was beyond him; there must be more to it that he hadn't had time to detail. But these Elven Folk had kept to their own business and humans to theirs for as long as humans had lived in Ardinéa. They could surely take care of this matter without human help. Or maybe that was the problem...human involvement in Fey business.
The group was not provisioned, having anticipated the hospitality of Lord Gregory's relatives and vassals along the way. The men refused the oatcakes that Willa offered; they were used to going without a meal frequently on their tours of duty to the borders. Margaret was a castle-raised creature used to a regular and abundant board and discovered she was ravenous. Oatcakes were filling and wholesome. She refused a second and indicated to Gareth that she was ready to move on.
After another hour or two of riding ever upward through the widely-spaced trees, the land grew scabby and the trees somewhat low and stunted. Gareth waved the group to a halt. "We are close to the top of this hill. John is riding ahead, and he'll tell us--" He stopped, because John had already returned.
"Just over that rise of stone over there, and a little ways on, Tamlyn is sittin
g, or kneeling. His horse is wandering around, unhobbled. There is no cover around, just a bare hilltop, rock and tufts of grass."
Gareth looked thoughtful. "If Moruan has him where he wants him, out in the open, then he must not be afraid to show himself either. But he is expecting a party of one to meet him-- one dazed man. Not four armed men to protect him. I can't leave the maids alone. The best place for them is in our midst. One can't get by four. Tamlyn said he was but one."
"Only a coward makes his enemy come to him, rather than going oneself to face him fairly," said Gilling. "Maybe he won't come out if he sees us."
"Aye, but neither can we make a charge with the maids in our midst, and there they must be, for their protection-- I will not leave them alone in the woods. No, let us go out and wait this rendezvous with Tamlyn." They rode in a knot over the top of the rise and Margaret caught her breath. To the East, mountains rolled away in majestic succession to snowcapped peaks; to the west, forested hills bowed to a hazy distance of golden plains she knew to be farms and fields, filigreed with creeks, hedges, and lines of trees edging fields. The sky opened hugely, giving her a wild feeling of freedom; great puffs of white clouds rolled over in the achingly blue sky. But her sense of dread returned when she saw Tamlyn bowed, kneeling on the bare rock. The group made for him. He was as heavy and closed and lamentable as the scene about him was bright and beautiful and open.
Gareth had arrayed himself in his mail that morning; now he pulled up his mail coif and checked all his gear. His eyes were like flint; Margaret wondered at the transformation from her family friend to the steely warrior she now saw before her. Gilling adjusted his quiver and rehearsed the grabbing of arrows, the nocking and drawing and aiming. He lamented that he had only his hunting-bow, for provisioning himself along his way, not the longbow with which he could have nailed this Moruan long before he reached them. Geven and John tightened their hauberks. They also had bow and arrows but chose instead their swords and bucklers. Margaret dismounted and went to Tamlyn. He wore his mail; she drew up his coif, laid his sword across his knees and propped his shield before him. Sweat was beading on his bowed face and dripped from his brow. She wished she could wipe the face with her silken kerchief. But she heard a noise.
A rumbling cloud swept over the sun. The wind blew up and several things happened at once. Tamlyn's horse whinnied and reared and ran away with clattering hooves on the rock. Gareth was yelling at John and Geven to follow a dark blur that roared by behind Margaret's back too fast for her to see what it was. Willa struggled to control her horse and Margaret's, whose reins she held. Gilling also took out after something that passed by with a clamor. Margaret grabbed Star's bridle and talked to her sternly and lovingly and managed to gain her peace, then Willa's pony's, but the pony shifted nervously.
Margaret heard hooves thudding and heard the clash of steel. She turned, wide-eyed, to see Gareth engaged with a knight on a huge smoke-colored stallion. The two closed, hacked and thrust with swords, wheeled around and closed again and again in a violent dance. As she watched, Gareth, his face contorted, yet strangely beautiful, beat back the knight, who feinted back away from the hilltop; they disappeared over the very knoll from which they had arrived.
Margaret, Willa, Tamlyn and the horses were alone on the windswept hilltop. There was no sign of the others. The clashing sound faded away. Willa slipped off her pony and stood there, between the horses. She bowed her head against the pony's flank and hid her face there, weeping. Margaret pressed Star's reins into Willa's hand and stepped away, in order to see something of what was going on. She cast about, panting with fear, seeing nothing. Where were the men? The trees began to toss in the wind.
Then she saw him.
An Elf- arrestingly beautiful. He approached, tall, so graceful, a slight smile on his lips. His black hair streamed on the wind. His skin was smooth, his face beardless, and his pale gray clothing floating on the wind. Margaret could not take her eyes from his seraphic face, but his amber eyes rested-- it seemed to Margaret, tenderly-- on Tamlyn.
"My brother, why is it that you have so resisted me? It is I who truly loves you, Sievan. I wished to set you free from the clutches of Galorian, that witch. But you would not have it. I asked nothing but your love and friendship. She imprisoned you, would have kept you from the one that you loved so well. Am I not the only one to whom you could pour out your heart and tell of your desire, the Lady Margaret? And even she has been turned against me by Galorian's lies; she who endured the agony and revulsion of Galorian's challenge, and bested her to win you.
"Sievan, will you not now give me that which would set us both free from the bondage which we now suffer? Come now, little brother. Let this thing be over between us. The ring belongs not in the mortal world. Nor with her who would have kept you bound to herself, within her arbitrary borders and boundaries. Go not here, touch not that. Even to cutting you off from your own family and the love of your Lady! No more. I would never bind you, but free you to be all that your heart could desire to be. Free to burn with the desire that is within you. . ."
As he spoke, he had approached Tamlyn, who now looked as though he would crumble into a heap over his shield. Moruan bent and lifted Tamlyn's hand from his lap. He examined it for a moment. Then he gently replaced it in Tamlyn's lap. His eyes rested for a few moments on Tamlyn, but seemed to look through him. Then he turned his gaze full on Margaret. Those eyes.
Frozen before with fear, she now felt an ease creeping upon her, silencing the voices within her that had tried to make sense of the scene before her. It was all too much, happening too quickly. But to look in those eyes of warm gold, stilling all the anxieties; to look upon the beautiful face coming closer... The wind that shook the trees softened to a welcome zephyr that caressed her, searched her, and found what it wanted. He was speaking, and the words wrapped around her mind, her vision swimming in a haze at the edge of his face. "He said that he loved you, beautiful Lady. Yet here you are, having followed him out to this place, alone in the howling wilderness. Far from your home, and those who care for you. Here he is, as wretched as he can be. Too cowardly to bear for himself that which was entrusted him." He stepped close enough to breathe upon her. She was unable to move away, nor, strangely, did she want to. "It is the ring. The ring is the key. He gave it to you. You don't want it! Poor Lady!" Moruan sighed, brushing back a strand of hair from Margaret's face. "To win your heart, and to give his awful burden to you."
Unthinking, Margaret's hand found the ring within her pocket. She withdrew it. Anything to end Tamlyn's bondage-- "It was never his to give. I am the one who can release its power. You and he can be free forever. Only give me the ring, and be free!" The wind was wild, warm and joyful, as before a summer storm.
Her hand was over his open palm. With Moruan's energies focused on Margaret, Tamlyn had roused and shaken his head. Now he was standing.
"Beloved," Tamlyn intoned softly toward Margaret, "Do not believe every spirit, but test the spirits, whether they are from God… For Satan himself can disguise himself as an angel of light -" The eyes turned to Tamlyn and a hissing sound escaped the Elf's lips, Tamlyn braced himself as if shoved backward. Moruan turned back to Margaret, his eyes gripping her mind again. "Free-ee," he promised. His whisper became in her mind a fierce wind, blowing other thoughts away, leaving her mind scoured of all, a blank gray landscape. Helplessly she stood, her hand hovering, her vision but a tunnel to his eyes, "to be all your heart desiresss."
"The heart is desperately wicked, and deceitful above all things. You shall know the truth, and the truth shall set you free," Tamlyn gasped, his hands on his head, now, in agony. Moruan with a wave of his hand thrust Tamlyn back, out of Margaret’s line of vision, where he fell with a thud against a rock. But Margaret, unseeing, had heard Tamlyn as a cry in a storm, and had all she could do now to set her will, to draw the ring back, setting the hand behind her back, and taking a step away from him, in agony and dread, as though a chasm yawned behind her. Morua
n stepped close again, bending his face- beautiful even in rage-- over hers, grasping her hair and yanking her head back.
All this time, Willa had cringed against the horses, but the tension overcame her. She rushed toward Margaret, and from the hand behind her Lady's back, she pried the ring, raised her arm and flung it at Moruan, shrilling, "Take it, and leave her alone!" Moruan flung Margaret backward by the hair and cried out in anger as his clothing burst into flame, a fierce flame as though a forge-bellows blasted it, and he seemed to explode upward. Margaret fell hard but her fall was broken by something that gave beneath her. Something hard bruised her side, she arched away from it and writhed to her side with a groan. She was laying on Tamlyn, whose body had cushioned her fall: his sword hilt had bruised her.
Willa ran to her side. Margaret heard an animal screeching; saw the ponies rear and run. "Willa, the ponies!" she called, and the maidservant ran obediently after them. The wind roared and trees began to break.
A burning shadow was soaring at her from the racing clouds, wings trimmed falcon-like. She pulled Tamlyn's heavy sword from the ground with her left hand, pointing it upright from where she lay, thoughtlessly steadying the blade with her right hand, at the flaming hulk that extended its talons to strike. Too late, Moruan saw the blade pointed at him, spread his wings to stall in the air. Screaming, he caught the blade in his black-feathered ribs, and danced over her, wings spread, with his golden, hooked maw trying to free himself of the blade. The talons stabbed this way and that, and Margaret on her knees, clutching her bleeding right hand to her chest, cringing one way and the other, trying to avoid the talons, her dress pinned down by them.
Tamlyn snapped awake to the sound of the shrieking, his mind completely alert. He saw the giant peregrine and the glint of his sword stuck in its side, and dove for the hilt, at the same time throwing his weight against the bird's body to knock him off of Margaret. As his hands closed upon the sword hilt, the peregrine's beak closed on his forearms, and wrenched him upward by them: but Tamlyn held the sword fast, and it ripped the great bird upward across the ribs to the keel. With an ear-splitting shriek Moruan dropped Tamlyn several feet on top of Margaret, and struggled to take flight.
Tamlyn jumped to his feet and stood over Margaret, sword at the ready, but Moruan had gone over the mountain. The wind was dying down, going cold.
Margaret was unconscious and covered in blood and shreds of dark feathers, her clothing shredded in places. He bent over her. He could feel breath on his cheek. He pressed his ear to her chest and felt the heart weakly galloping. He went over her body for wounds and found that her right hand was deeply and cleanly sliced open to the bones, and blood streamed from it. He pulled at the hem of her skirt and used his dagger to cut a long strip from it, and tourniquetted her right arm. As he did so, Gareth rode up, viewing with horror the Lady on the blood-soaked ground. Willa, shaking and pale, came crouching up to them. Tamlyn pointed to the trail of blood leading away, and Gareth spurred his horse in that direction. John also appeared and followed Gareth. Then rode up Gilling, his arrows spent, and looking confused. He was leading Tamlyn's horse, which he had found.
"Gilling! We have to get the maids out of here. There's not time now to tell what happened. Let's get them back the way we came. Willa, where is the ring?" the two looked around the area quickly until Tamlyn found it in the grass.
Tamlyn carried Margaret in front of him and Willa rode behind Gilling. They rode almost at a trot off the mountain height, west, down into the forest. They rode for some time and came to a brook where they had watered their horses earlier. Tamlyn dismounted and caught Margaret as she slid off. By now she was half awake. Tamlyn carried Margaret to the brookside and sat her down. He checked her arm and slowly loosened the tourniquet. "Willa, lass, can you help me?" Willa came over, but when she saw the blood-smutted riding habit, she blanched and began to cry. "Never you mind, but go sit you down. Soak your burned hand in the cold water." Tamlyn bit his lip and unlaced Margaret's frock himself, Margaret sitting with her hands in the air. Gilling helped pull the sleeves over the ends of her arms. Willa rallied and untied Margaret's boots and leggings and pulled them off, looking sheepish. Then Tamlyn removed his sword and mail, with Gilling's help, and stripped to his trousers. To Willa's consternation he lifted Margaret in only her bloodstained shift and strode into the middle of the brook with her, lowering her into the flowing water.
Margaret was suddenly wide awake, gasping with surprise. Tamlyn sat down in the water with her on his lap and smiled at her, glad for the clarity in her eyes, and she at that in his. He removed the bandages around her hands under the cold water, which cooled the pain, but Margaret paled and grimaced. "Blow through pursed lips," Tamlyn advised, noting how silent she was about her suffering; he knew how badly the sword wound must sting. His own arms were badly bruised, though the mail had protected them somewhat. Willa had regained herself and tossed Tamlyn a linen rag from the brookside. Although the wounds needed cleaning, Tamlyn used the clean towel to wipe Margaret's face of the blood and feather fragments. "Is it bad with you?" he asked. She looked up at him.
"If I didn't hurt so badly, I'd be thinking I was dead and in Heaven," she said, and tried to laugh weakly, but tears escaped from the corners of her eyes.
"Hush, my lady. Here, lay your head back, let me clean your hair...good. Now let's see to your hand." The water had dissolved the crusted blood and he swabbed it away gently. He lifted her right arm over his head. "Rest it up here on my shoulder, so it slows the bleeding." She caught the towel with her left hand and lifted it to his face, to an abrasion.
Then she just dropped the towel and snaked her arm around his neck. She pulled close, leaning her head against his neck. "You've come back from...wherever you were." There they sat for a moment, till she began to shiver.
Tamlyn again lifted her from the water. Margaret said, "I believe I can walk just fine, Sir."
"I know," he said, and deposited her on the bank. He forced his eyes away from her clinging-wet shift while he bound her right hand tightly, and left Willa to fuss over her clothing. He found a clean tunic and tore fresh bandages, and when Margaret had on a dry dress over her damp shift, he wound her hands in the linen. He made Willa take salve and a bandage on the burn on her palm where she had seized the ring. Gilling had found in his knapsack a flask of brandy and pressed it upon Margaret, who reluctantly but gratefully accepted, for her right hand grieved her.
The afternoon was getting late. Clouds were gathering. The group in the forest hovered uncertainly, looking up the way they had come from the mountaintop. Tamlyn turned to Gilling. "What did you see up there, Troubadour, when we were attacked?"
Gilling shook his head. "Nothing I've seen before, nor can I be sure how to tell it, except in song. You were on your knees, and Gareth said we should array ourselves around you. He was before you, John and Geven on either side. Two riders appeared-- and I say 'riders' for lack of knowing exactly what they were, but they were loud and fast and dark and they swooped by us, and turned as if to attack from the rear. Gareth sent John and Geven after them. Then another larger dark shape, and Gareth took that one on. Something came at me and I took aim with my bow. It swerved away. Thinking back on it I can see that it moved so as to pull me away from the mountaintop. When I maneuvered to return to you and the maids, it came at me. When I pursued, it turned away. When my last arrow left my bow, it vanished. By then I was in a hollow and it took me awhile to find my way back. I came across your horse and it followed me back. And here we are."
"Gareth contended with a knight, so it appeared to me," said Margaret. "When I think on it, it feinted away from the mountaintop as well, yet kept Gareth hotly engaged. I didn't see the other... attackers. My back was turned. You, Willa?" Willa only shook her head. “Never you mind,” said Margaret, for Willa was pale and shaken.
Margaret stared at Tamlyn, unable to talk of Moruan, not wanting to think about the way he had insinuated himself into her mind, and the horror
of his attack. Tamlyn picked up the narrative.
"Moruan came after that. Those riders- they were all tricks of his mind. He soon realized I didn't have the ring and turned to Margaret. The grip he had on me for a fortnight and longer, he now laid on her. Then Willa threw the ring at him, he attacked-- Margaret wounded him with my sword. Wounded, he lost his power over our minds and I was able to hurt him further, so that he flew away. Then you returned."
"Flew?" Gilling looked confused, but shook his head in wonder, and no one elaborated. "What a wondrous lay could come of this!"
Darkness had fallen while they talked and speculated what had become of the others. Tamlyn suggested they wait where they were until the morning. They could listen and watch best if they were still and in one place. So the group settled down with the horses picketed and fed oats from the saddlebags on Gilling's horse. Willa offered the last oatcakes, but no one would take them until Margaret saw how Willa wanted one, and she accepted one for Willa's sake, and then the men did as well. Tamlyn said they should rest, and took the first watch. They stretched out in cloaks so as to be ready to arise quickly. Gilling lay near the horses and Willa and Margaret lay nearer Tamlyn. Willa, exhausted, dropped off like a child, and Gilling, who could sleep anywhere, dozed as well.
Margaret lay in pain of her hand, unable to sleep, and eventually Tamlyn said quietly, "Have you had a good night of sleep since you met me, Margaret?"
Margaret turned her head to look at him, smiling. She rolled to her left side and sat up, wrapping her arms around her knees, holding the right hand up, where it throbbed less. She remembered the long nights awake by sickbeds, the restless nights awaiting Tamlyn's return from Braewode, the worse nights after he returned. Aunt Rivanone had often slipped into bed beside her to talk, then. Dear Rivanone seemed very far away, as did her sister, brother and father. Suddenly she turned to Tamlyn. "What of your family? Did you see them, was it well with them?"
He smiled, looking wistful. He moved close, so they could talk very low. "Aye, my parents are well. My brothers and sisters-- they were so much older. My oldest brother Coltram had a family...The youngest hardly knew me. Seven years is a long time for young ones to change. But we had time to know each other again."
He sighed. "I missed you every day. I was going to come back and ask to marry sooner, perhaps in Advent. Perhaps it wasn't wise, but I have loved you so long. Then Moruan was waiting for me, in the forest road. He greeted me as a friend, but soon his real intentions were clear." His brows were clouded. "I fought him hard and barely made my escape. But I didn't try to destroy him then because... he was at one time dear to the Queen. Of the Elves, that is. When I was part of their world he had no power over me. But as a mortal, I soon found there was no escape once he had set his mind on me and though I seemed to be asleep, every moment, I prayed and prayed. When I despaired and ceased to cry out to God, then I found myself drawn toward him. In a dark half-world I labored, as if when waking from a dream one struggles to open one's eyes, never sure what was real and what was illusion...Did I really play the pipes in a sunlit hall, and you were there?"
"That you did."
“And before that, you tried to reach me. But where?”
“In Caer Aldene, in Gareth’s chamber- I realize now that you tried to warn me, but I didn’t understand.”
"The next I remember, you and I were walking in the dark, you pulling me back. Then I woke, and we were all sleeping in the forest."
Margaret explained about the detour taken to avoid the pestilence-stricken town, and how they had followed him to the mountaintop. "Sir Gareth is a good man." Tamlyn was visibly moved. "God has given me friends who would lay down their lives...And here we are. How is it we have come to this pass, my Lady? How is it that you are here with me, on this road? What in God’s name are we doing here?"
Margaret realized that Tamlyn knew almost nothing of the last weeks, and their present predicament must seem strange indeed. "When you came back from Braewode, you were found laying in the road, marked from fighting. Everyone thought you had fallen from your horse and had a knock on the head. But days went by and you were the same. It was a hard time for me when you went away, for then I had to think of my cousins and the others who died, and I missed you too, and looked for you return. After you came back…" Her voice trailed off, quavering. She dabbed her eyes quickly on the linen wrapped around her hand, straightened her shoulders, and continued. "My lord my father told me that you should return to your father's house, that our betrothal must be ended. He was summoned to King's Leigh for settlement of matters having to do with the Vallardan prisoners, more problems in the south, and so on. I am sure that the King would have had a proud welcome for you as well for your part in the ambush of the Vallards, but no one knew what to do with you. Anyway, he was going to send you with a knight for protection and a letter-- a letter!-- explaining the withdrawal of the marriage offer. I told him that you deserved better and asked to go myself. He really had no other way of discharging his obligation of courtesy, so he consented.
"That is the truth. But the truth in my heart was that I could not say goodbye to you. I wished to be near you, to hold on to hope for as long as I could."
Tamlyn looked away. "And see where it has led you. I have been the greatest and most selfish of fools and I could never say how sorry I am, for many things."
"It was my choice to follow you. I have no regrets, even if we die tonight. How many noble ladies can thusly earn the love they ask?"
Tamlyn looked at her. The moon leapt from the clouds, striking the blue in his eyes. It was the same inviting sky into which she had once fallen, but night-dark, with stars. He pulled the mail gauntlet from his nearer hand and reached to touch her face.
"Ladylove, you had that long ere you ever saw my face."
They sat in silence for some time. Margaret swallowed more brandy from the flask which Tamlyn urged on her. Despite the stinging pain, she grew tired and laid down on the horse blanket. Then she turned to him.
"What were those words you spoke on the mountain? The truth shall set you free? I could find no answer to his smooth thoughts, but those words cut to the heart."
"God's words. From Scripture. Moruan is a master of half-truths. Only the mightiest of Elf-warriors- or Truth- can combat him. Scripture says that the word of God is alive, sharper than any two-edged sword, dividing soul from spirit, joints from marrow, it judges the very thoughts of your heart. That is a sword even you can and must learn to handle. Only that weapon kept me from falling completely under his thrall." But it will not keep me from the influence of you, he thought, My love, my friend, even my sword-fellow. If we come safely out of this, I hope you never have to fight my battles for me anymore.
It was Gilling's watch when Gareth and the squires returned. Gilling's sharp ears discerned their voices afar off and he woke Tamlyn. They met the men, who were leading their mounts, following John who traced their steps. They led one of the missing horses; sadly, Willa's had been found with a broken leg and they had cut its throat after removing its gear.
In hushed voices they compared their stories. It had been for the others as for Gareth; they had labored hard with a shadowy adversary only to have it vanish before their eyes. Said Gareth, "I had a moment of joy when my sword finally got past his and cut into him, but -whishh! The man and horse were gone, and I was unmarked, though I had taken many blows. I wheeled all around looking, and realized I was far from the mountaintop. I returned, met John, and saw you; I was sure the maids were dead and went to follow the blood trail, hoping for revenge. But the trail petered out. Returning, I found Geven, who said that he had ridden over the mountaintop and found it empty. The three of us turned back and searched for Moruan, but in vain. The trail just ended. So we turned back again and came after you."
Tamlyn stared at Gareth and finally said, "I am undecided, whether I want to strike you or embrace you. I would most likely lie dead on that mountaintop, and Moruan still at large and looking for the ring
, if you had not come after me. Instead, my Lady lies wounded on the cold forest floor. In Heaven's name, what possessed you to bring her and the girlchild out here?"
"I could say that it was her idea. She made the case that your rank, and honor, and our very Christian faith required it; but I knew that it was her heartbreak, more than concerns about honor, that moved her to speak so. You ought to be proud to find such esteem and honor and love from such a one as her. And when the time comes, brother, I'd like to see you find it in yourself to say no to her.
"You see, I've been fighting for Lord Gregory these years while you were hanging about Cloud Brook in your pretty Elf-mail. Just about the time I got my courage up to ask if I might court her, he started talking about what earl or duke he might marry her to, and for our friendship's sake, I had to put my heart away. But I haven't drawn my sword without whispering, for Margaret Aldene, for two years and more. So don't think I acted carelessly concerning my lord's daughter whom he put into my protection. Unwisely, perhaps. But it will be worthwhile to me when my Lady has her heart's desire.
"But it wasn't altogether her idea, and as far as that goes, I don't believe that I need to explain that to you, my friend."
The two men stood, tall Gareth looking slightly down on Tamlyn. Finally Tamlyn offered his right hand, and Gareth took it, pulling him in for a rough embrace.
Gilling put in, "Well, I'm glad to know I'm not the only one who ever looked on Lady Margaret, but at least I never thought I had a chance." The men stared at the Troubadour a moment, then laughed softly.
"So then, now what? Which is the wise path now?" said Tamlyn. "Moruan is weak and vulnerable, if he lives. If he has not come back for another attack, then he must be near death. But it may take days to find him, and we have no supplies-- not even arrows for hunting. Lady Margaret needs better than my battlefield doctoring; she needs shelter and cleanliness if her wound will heal again and not kill her with poison blood. We can go back to Sweetbriar, but I believe that Deermont, toward Braewode, is closer. If we leave now we could probably be to the upland road by nooning. In Deermont is the Abbey Saint Savior's. They would nurse her well there. Then we can decide what we need to do. Shall we leave now, or are you men in need of rest?"
Gareth looked at his squires. They looked back at him, alert. "We'll not die from a few more miles. But what is the need of pursuing Moruan any further?"
Tamlyn looked uneasy. "He has not only set eyes on Lady Margaret, but invaded her thoughts. He knows her now, and it would not be easy for him, but not impossible either, for him to oppress her as he did me. My life means nothing to me until I know for sure that he cannot or will not touch her."