Jonathan Rogers - The Way of the Wilderking

“Father says we may be the only army Corenwald has.”

Southporter nodded his head. “He may be right. Darrow’s army was in terrible shape even before he tried to invade the Feechiefen. Since then, it’s been even worse. When the Pyrthens come…” Southporter broke off. He shook all over, as if from a sudden chill.

“So you think the Pyrthens are coming too?”

“How could they not be? The question isn’t if they’ll come; it’s when. And why they haven’t already is a mystery to me. I figured the two of you were Pyrthen spies or assassins when you rode up hooded. What are you doing in Tambluff anyway?”

“Seeing the sights,” said Dobro with admirable candor. “I ain’t never been to the city before, and I made Aidan bring me.”

“And I’m here,” Aidan began, “to meet with Lynwood Wertenson.”

A flicker of suspicion returned to Southporter’s eyes. “The rabble-rouser?”

Aidan raised an eyebrow.

“I got no use for that man,” said Southporter, “and I don’t care who knows it. What business do you have with him?”

“I’ve come to tell him that I don’t intend to lead his rebellion, Southporter.”

“That’s my boy,” whooped Southporter. “That’s my boy!”

Aidan wrote a quick note to Lynwood expressing his wish to see the Chair of the Committee at his earliest convenience. Southporter sent the note with his most trusted messenger, then settled in to give Aidan the news from Tambluff. He said he hadn’t seen King Darrow since the day he galloped home from Last Camp, after the aborted invasion of the Feechiefen.

“He come thundering through my gate on that beautiful black horse of his,” Southporter said, “face like a wild man.” He turned to Dobro. “No offense intended, of course.”

The wild man nodded and smiled greenly. “None taken.”

“Galloping so hard his mounted bodyguard couldn’t keep up with him. Galloped into the castle, and so far as anybody knows, he ain’t come out since. Hasn’t met with the Four and Twenty Nobles, hasn’t seen anybody besides his personal servants and Prince Steren.

“The servants say he raves and rages for whole days at a time. Goes back and forth between wanting to pardon you and wanting to hunt you down and kill you. So he ends up not doing anything.” Southporter shook his head. “I think your act of mercy-choosing not to kill him when you had the chance-got inside his mind and busted it up. He’s been hating so long he can’t make sense out of mercy. Sounds like he can’t make sense of nothing else either. He done the same thing in the days after you brought home the frog orchid. Tore up with guilt for hating a feller who always answers good for bad, but still hating you all the more for it.”

Aidan’s heart went out to his friend the prince. “What about Steren?” he asked. “What has he been doing?”

“He’s been away for three weeks. His father sent him out looking for you.”

Aidan thought on this. “It wouldn’t take three weeks to hunt me down. Doesn’t everybody in Corenwald know we’re in Sinking Canyons?”

Southporter laughed. “The children playing in the street out there know you’re in Sinking Canyons. Of course, they also think you’re in Sinking Canyons with an army of ten thousand feechiefolk, all foaming at the mouth and ready to tear down Tambluff brick by brick.”

Dobro managed to stifle a little smile, but he did sit up a little straighter.

“So Steren must not be trying very hard to find me,” said Aidan.

“Doesn’t sound like it,” said Southporter. “Sounds like he’s protecting his old friend. Or maybe,” he added after a brief reflection, “he’s afraid of what he might find if he does track you down.”

“When Steren comes back, Southporter, would you make sure he knows what I told you? That army in Sinking Canyons is his army-Corenwald’s army-not mine.”

Southporter smiled. “I’ll make sure he knows.”

By that time the messenger was back with Lynwood’s reply. He requested the honor of Aidan’s and Dobro’s presence at his supper table that evening. The supper hour was fast approaching, so Southporter loaded Aidan and Dobro into his pony cart and covered them with a blanket. It wouldn’t do for Southporter to be seen with these hooded strangers. Nor would it do for him to be seen at Lynwood’s house. So when he reached the street corner where Lynwood’s house stood, he stopped for a passing wagon and made a low whistle. Aidan and Dobro tumbled out the back of the cart, and Southporter rolled on without a backward look or a wave.

Try to blend in,” Aidan whispered as they mounted the marble steps to Lynwood’s house. Somehow he knew Dobro wouldn’t blend in. They were in the finest neighborhood in all of Tambluff. A gleaming carriage rattled by, pulled by a horse whose carefully groomed flanks shone in the afternoon sun. Lynwood’s massive front door was polished walnut. The brass of its great alligator-head knocker was so bright Aidan hated to touch it at all.

“Everything’s so shiny!” Dobro marveled.

The servant who answered Lynwood’s door was dressed as finely as a Pyrthen lord, in tailored silks and white hose and gold buckles on his shoes. Dobro whistled when he saw him and nudged Aidan. “Even the folks is shiny!”

The man hurried the two dusty travelers into the entry hall, peering out into the street to see if anyone had noticed them. “Follow me… gentlemen,” he said. There was that tiny pause, barely perceptible, before he said the word gentlemen. Ebbe used to do the same thing when ushering people he considered to be beneath the dignity of Errol’s house. Dobro, of course, didn’t notice.

The servant led them through wide arches, past great banks of windows, substantial fireplaces, gracefully appointed furniture, huge portraits in heavy frames, a suit of armor standing in a corner. Finely dressed servants swished through, turning around to stare at the strangers after they had passed.

“What’s your name?” Dobro asked the back of the servant.

The servant made not quite a quarter turn in Dobro’s direction without slacking his pace. “I’m the butler,” he said in a tone meant to convey that in his line of work he didn’t ask personal questions and shouldn’t be expected to answer any.

“Butler,” said Dobro. “That’s a nice name. I’m Dobro, and this here’s Aidan.”

The butler didn’t react to Dobro’s introductions. He opened a pair of very tall, narrow doors and gestured Aidan and Dobro into a high-ceilinged, airy room. A bearded man, probably in his fifties, his wife, and four beautiful young women, their daughters, all rose from richly embroidered chairs. Lynwood directed the butler from the room with an elegant nod, and when the servant had glided noiselessly away, he beamed an ingratiating smile at Aidan and bowed deeply. “Aidan Errolson,” he said, “I am honored to have you in my home.”

Aidan popped a quick bow, but his social graces were still rusty. “We are pleased to be here,” Aidan said, not altogether convincingly. In the Feechiefen and in Sinking Canyons, he had abandoned the habit of saying things he didn’t mean. “This is my very good friend Dobro Turtlebane.” Lynwood and his family, turning their attention to Dobro for the first time, all opened their eyes a little wider, realizing at once that the rumors of Aidan consorting with feechies were surely true. But they managed to maintain their composure.

Dobro gave a closed-lipped little smile. He remembered what Aidan had said about civilizer ladies not wanting to see his teeth. He tipped over in a bow that was even less graceful than Aidan’s. Dobro was truly awestruck in the presence of these five women-the mother no less than the daughters. The grandeur of the house had made but little impression on him. But these civilizer ladies-Dobro had no idea such exquisite creatures even existed.