The teen bared her teeth through painted lips and hissed a desperate, anguished whisper. “Shhh! Please! Please, just stop! You’re going to embarrass us, me, even more.” Her kid sister Lillyx looked on unsure and didn’t dare say a word.
But Mrs. Tynn continued anyway, paying no heed to her daughter’s pleas. “There’s also talk of conspiracy between this soldier and the leaver — not to mention the rest of his foreign force. That has to be why the Guard bring him here. To face the brother Treasuror’s justice…”
Nynn, in tears, spun on her heels. “I just want to die!” she cried, running off. “Someone, kill me now…”
The gossip girls didn’t know what to believe, though the Huggums were ready to disagree.
“But he’s such a strapping lad.”
“Too much of a man to be so bad.”
“And more of a dream than a nightmare.”
“A prince of some kind”
“To be sure.”
“So we think we’ve got it figured out,”
“At least the highlights of the plot…”
“Errant young knight meets his destiny while on a romantic mission of mercy.”
“Or —”
“Guy takes a walk on the wild side then gets love-struck and starry-eyed.”
“Either way, we don’t care.”
“It’s a fairy tale!”
“Straight from a once-upon-a time.”
“And our big love scene is coming up next”
“If we’ve guessed the storyline…”
“Fresh from his kingdom our hero comes to make one of us his princess bride,”
“Married to share his magic carpet, riding over the clouds so high,”
“Bound for his isle of sky blue eyes and happily-ever-after lives!”
“And did we forget to mention…”
“Babies?”
“Beautiful babies.”
“Our beautiful babies.”
“A castle full of our beautiful babies.”
“Um, just to preserve the line.”
“Naturally.”
“Anyway…”
“That’s what we have…”
“In mind.”
The tag-team contingent wrestling John Cap breached the perimeter of the tent, a downtrodden ring nearly worn to a trench.
“Halt there, henchmen!” ordered Taan-syr, taking the lead again.
Now folk took note of a stench that came with them, a hint of their time in the pit of the pen. It was a smell they knew too well and not the sort of thing you’d mention. Not if you knew what was good for you. Not to a Guard on a mission.
Moon-syr had his captive by the vine but looked like a child with a great big dog, trying to rein it in. “Aye sir!”
Guur-syr, working from behind, rebound the ruptured wrapture ropes around the prisoner’s he-man hands, which were graced with the grip of three men from Syland. “Consider it done. My sir!”
John Cap fought against the knots but all in vain, to no avail. For they were tied in an old-time way with the skill of an ancient mariner.
“Just to be sure this one’s secure and there are no surprises…” Taan-syr pulled a hefty chain of rusty ironwood from his pikeshaft. He weighed the length in his rawhide mitts then heaved it at his cohorts.
“Listen up, mateys! Look smart men! Anchor him here, this castaway, dry-docked and locked to our treasured ground. I’ll call for the landlubber when it’s time.” Taan-syr took a step toward the tent then stopped, jibbing starboard back around. “And don’t let him out of your sight till then.”
“Aye aye, captain!”
“We won’t sir! Arrr!”
At that their commander tacked northeast and gave a passing wave to the doorman — and the dark Guard’s pike. As luck would have it, a gust of wind just then raised the flap for him. He shot the old flag a salute and sailed right in.
Moon-syr and Guur-syr swashbuckled the stranger with the weighty ironwood links. Then they hooked his foot to a thick, black root protruding from the soil. It so happened the tent was tied to it too, to hold down its leeward side wall.
“Now then…”
“That should hold him!”
John Cap stood there on display, like some kind of animal.
Two crows watching from the wings flapped their lips, each commenting.
“I’d say we have a bird’s-eye view.”
“Welcome to the Syland Zoo!”
Two or three score — then a fair number more — of the Keep’s most curious people-folk formed a perfect semicircle that focused on this new attraction. The lion’s share of them were female, lamb-frocked damsels flocking in to get a closer look. They gawked like tots at their very first circus, angling toward the center ring to see the amazing feats of the strongman or hear shy Tarzan’s wild call. All were enthralled, none disappointed, by the muscular spectacle.
“Hurrr!”
John Cap made a loud groan or two trying to loosen up the ropes.
A thrill rippled through the swelling crowd.
“He speaks!”
“That’s news to me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Or is that…”
“Some sort of love song?”
“Or poem.”
“I wish I knew his foreign tongue.”
The chained male steeled himself to listen to the din, the talk about him. He stood there still in the morning sunlight, proving his mettle by keeping upright and squinting into the blinding beams that reflected off his shiny skin, so wet with sweat from the heat and the effort. A hint of stubble on his square chin glowed like gold dust encrusted with flecks of diamond, despite his mask of muck and grime.
The young man smiled wryly to himself.
The strains of a Guardsong came from the tent, audible but unclear. Folk automatically turned right toward it and lent or bent an ear.
Then a thick plume of smoke, a mushroom-shaped cloud, rose from some hole or vent in the roof. It hung black and ominous over the dome.
Boxbo and Ixit predicted the fallout.
“Looks like our council is almost done.”
“Just about time for the real fun!”
“Let’s find a blind spot to duck and cover.”
“Boxbo, you know there’s no shelter here…”
Suddenly something in the air made everyone u-turn and unspin around. But it was not due to a sight or sound. No, this time the cause was a swirl of wind — a twisted mistral or small cyclone — the kind that some call a dust devil. Surely not your average gust. It pelted the skin with sand and grit that it churned up from the sunburned ground and cast in handfuls at the crowd, briefly blinding them. Then in the blink of a bloodshot eye it blew by and met the unflappable tent, climbing the limberwood walls of it to make for the morning sky.
And there it found the mushroom cloud, which it swallowed up and flew away.
More than a few Keeple had a curse for the weather as they brushed clothes off and wiped the dust from rosy cheeks. Yet right on the heels of that ill whirlwind came something much more people-pleasing.
“It’s elderman Myne!” someone called, all athrill. “He’s back, alive and kicking!”
“And with his two fine offspring too!”
Out of a far corner of the wood, from a pass to the hotter, more arid southwest, there came an almost priestly man with a handful of followers in his wake. At his side, on the right, strode a strong young buck, just fresh from the hunt by his striking look, with a bloody black pelt slung over his back and a shiny talon blade in hand. And there on his left, a stunning young huntress, one with a walk to race the heart and a spear tinged in crimson in her fist.
The followers were just plain folk but growing by the minute.
“We missed you yesterday Mr. Minyon,” waved one woman, hailing him.
“Yes, we hope that all’s alright,” cooed another, quite concerned.
“Was it your health?”
“Or your four humors?”
More and more folk
-women, and some men, fluttered in like May moths to a flame.
“Did you catch the croup that’s going around?”
The man, Minyon Myne, pressed both palms to his breast and sighed as if truly touched. Then he gave a light wave back to the crowd. His lips, thin but firm, seemed to form the words, “Bless your precious hearts…”
“Pray tell you’re in good spirits now,” called someone from a far-flung row.
“Please, dear elderman, tell us so!”
Minyon Myne, the perfect gentle man, made a low, slow bow then looked up again. His face had the gloss of polished headstone.
“I am humbled, treasured friends, by your thoughtful concern for my own health and wellness.”
His voice poured out smooth as thick, silky snake’s milk.
“Rest assured that I’ve never been better, graced by a hand from the great beyond.”
Much relieved, his flock grew giddy, eager to share their news with him.
“Oh, you’ve missed some real excitement!”
“Have ya heard word of the goings on?”
“And we’ve wanted for your calm, sage counsel.”
“If just to survive the council’s return…”
Minyon let slip the slightest grin but then in an instant it was gone.
The entourage stopped, having met its match — the rapture around the stranger John Cap. And yet they hardly noticed that, or the fact that they’d come to a sudden halt. For such was their lingering wonder about the pious one’s prior whereabouts.
“If ya don’t mind sayin’ father Minyon, where in the wide world of Ayll have ya been?”
The elderman held his long hand high, as if about to testify.
Everyone pricked up an ear to hear him.
“Our path brings us back from a sacred trek, an annual mission, this day of remembrance.” He turned to his west and the broad-chested huntsman. “I think you know Axon, my righteous son.” Then he looked to the huntress at his east. “And bravehearted Eela, my daughter and sundial…” He smiled a