David Farland - Beyond the Gate

“You wouldn’t dare,” Gallen said. There was some shouting outside, townsmen arguing with sheriffs, and Gallen suddenly knew why the sheriff was getting nervous. The crowd was growing, becoming unmanageable.

“With fifty men to back me?” the sheriff said. “Oh, I’d dare.”

Just then, Thomas came up to the door behind the sheriff. “Say, Gallen,” Thomas chortled. “It looks as if you’re getting pretty thick with Sheriff Sully here. He’s the leader of this band of merry lawmakers, you know.”

He pushed past the sheriff, carrying his lute in its case of rosewood, leaving the door wide open. He sat on the couch, pulled out the lute.

“‘Why don’t you invite Sheriff Sully in, Gallen?” Thomas said. “I’ve been working on ballads about this meeting-the meeting of Gallen O’Day and Sheriff Sully-and I’d like you to hear them. They may be sung all over the world for many years, so I’d like your opinion.”

He began fingering his lute, then apologized. “This is an early draft of the song, as you’ll gather. It’s a bit simple, a bit crude, but I always think a song should reflect its subject matter, don’t you?”

Gallen looked to Sully, and he shrugged.

“Now, there is one point I want to be clear on,” Thomas said. “You’ve got a nasty scar on your face, Sheriff Sully, and with a man in your line of work, one might imagine that you got it fighting some notorious outlaw. But that’s not how you got the scar, is it?”

“No,” Sully said.

“As I understand from your townsmen out there, it came about through a whittling mishap?”

Sully squinted and nodded.

Thomas plucked a few notes on his lute, then sang sweetly,

“Come near and listen girls and listen boys,

Whether you be virtuous or bullies

Learn good from bad while you’re still young

Don’t let your name be Sullied.”

Sheriff Sully stiffened, reached for the haft of his sword, a sneer spreading across his face.

“Och, now!” Thomas stopped, looked up. “Do you know the penalty for drawing a blade against a minstrel?” Thomas said. “We carry a license for this work from the Lord Mayor, you know.”

“You can’t sing songs about me, unless a judge approves them!” Sully cried.

“I can’t sing songs in public ,” Thomas said. “But I can compose them in private. I’m sure I can clear the song through the review process before going public. It contains nothing slanderous, only the facts. Here’s how it goes.…” His hands strummed, and he continued in a sweet voice,

“Now, when Sheriff Sully was a lad often,

he slept in his own piddle.

He drowned young rats in his grandma’s well

And sliced his face up when he whittled.”

When Thomas sang the word “whittled,” he hit a sour note on his lute, smiled up at the two of them. “That’s the first verse. Sheriff Sully was a bed wetter, Gallen. Did you know that?” Sully’s face had turned a bright red, and he stood there mortified. Several other sheriffs were standing outside the door, and Thomas had sung loud enough for them to hear. Their guffaws reverberated through the room, and they pressed closer. “Anyway,” Thomas said, “here’s my idea for the chorus!” His voice took on a gravelly note as he pounded the strings of his lute and snarled,

“But who knew,

that when his body grew,

his mind would stay so damned little?

Yes, he wounds himself when he whittles!

And you never know where he’ll piddle!”

Thomas got up and strolled the room as he sang through the next two verses. And Sully’s eyes became more and more wild, more desperate and full of rage.

“Sully matured into a fearsome lad,

He turned his knife on others.

And as sheriffs go, he wasn’t bad,

at poking the wife of his own brother!

But who knew,

that when his body grew,

his soul would stay so damned little?

Yes, he wounds himself when he whittles!

And you never know where he’ll piddle!

And with his sister-in-law he diddles!

Now Sheriff Sully knew he was brave,

And he vowed to stamp out sin!

So he hunted that worthy Gallen O’Day

backed by only a hundred well-armed men!

But who knew

that when his body grew

his heart would stay so damned little?

Yes, he wounds himself when he whittles!

And you never know where he’ll piddle!

And with his sister-in-law he diddles!

And what he calls ‘valor’ is a riddle!”

“Enough!” Sheriff Sully screamed, reaching for his sword. But one of his men, who had been inching in through the open door, grabbed his arm and wrestled it behind his back.

“Oh, I don’t think it’s nearly enough.” Thomas grinned. “I’ve got several more verses.”

“I challenge you to a duel … you,” Sully roared. “You knave!”

“Oh, a duel, is it?” Thomas said. “Well, if you’re going to abuse me with language like that, then I accept.”

Gallen looked back and forth between the men for a moment. Sully was younger, bigger, and stronger than Thomas, and in any match, the minstrel was sure to lose.

“I accept your challenge,” Thomas said, “and since you’ve offered the duel, I shall choose the weapons!”

He walked over to the sheriff, who suddenly was glancing about worriedly, wondering what trick the minstrel was playing. Thomas glanced meaningfully at Gallen’s knives, looked over the swords of a couple of Sully’s men. “It shall be a duel … of tongues,” Thomas said. “You and I shall stand and hurl insults at each other for an evening, and we’ll find out who wilts first under the weight of a good tongue-lashing.”

“You … you bombastic, overdressed …” The sheriff could not think what next to say.

“Ah, how right you are!” Thomas said, looking down at his own peach colored shirt and purple trousers. ‘‘You wound me with your foulmouthed invectives, sir-mortally!”

Thomas plucked at his lute, a tune that was now becoming familiar, and Sully let out a scream of frustration. He shouted at his own men, herding them outside, and rushed from the house, slamming the door behind him. Gallen could hear Sully’s own men guffawing as he passed.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Gallen said. ‘‘You’ve only infuriated him.”

“No,” Thomas said, putting the lute away. “I’ve done right. Every man who abuses power as he does will come under scrutiny in time. He wants to be your judge and executioner, but his deeds here will be judged by others for years to come. My song only reminds him of this fact.”

“He might kill you for what you just did,” Gallen said.

“Very likely,” Thomas agreed. “And if I died tonight, every minstrel in the land would come to sing of it, and Sully’s fate would be far worse than he fears. Mere mortals cannot withstand the muse.” Gallen stared at the door a moment. “I find it odd that this Mister Sully should hate me so much. As far as I know, I’ve never harmed him or his kin.”

“You’re a great lawman, Gallen,” Thomas said. “And he’s not much of anything. You wound his pride just by being alive. You’ll find that he’s much like small men everywhere.”

Gallen studied Thomas, and found that he felt a new respect for the man. He’d just sliced Sheriff Sully to the core as easily as Gallen would gut a highwayman. There was no remorse, no fear of recourse, and now Gallen saw why Thomas carried himself with a lordly demeanor.