Дэйв Дункан - Magic Casement

“About five, sir.”

“You don’t need to sir me all the time, Rap. I’m only a minstrel. Punch me on the jaw if you want to. What happened to your mother then?”

Rap scowled at the question. He twisted around to look at the horses. Firedragon was grazing, and apparently play had not resumed yet. “The king took her into his household, and she was found to be a fine lace maker. I suppose she had been making the nets my father sold. She died of fever about five years later.”

Jalon rolled back on his side and stared at the sky. “No brothers or sisters?”

Rap shook his head, then said, “No.”

The minstrel pondered for a few minutes. “What sort of a person was your mother?”

“Loving!”

“I’m sure she was, Rap. You won’t tell me any more?”

“Sir, there is nothing to tell!” Rap was very close to losing his temper, and that awareness would only make him lose it faster. Jotnar had notorious tempers, and he was half jotunn, so he tried never to let himself get really mad about anything.

Jalon sighed. “You did not ask how I knew your name.”

No, he hadn’t. “How did you?”

“Why, yesterday it was being shouted all over the palace. There was a terrible row in the royal family. A week or so ago some idiot wagon driver apparently crossed the causeway at high tide—which is impossible, of course. It seems that the king had ordered him to leave the island and he had taken the orders a little too strictly for his own safety.”

Rap’s heart sank. He had hoped that his foolhardy escapade might have escaped notice, but of course Lin was a blabbermouth, and the crew of the fishing boat must have seen.

“It wasn’t high tide!”

Jalon ignored the interruption. “The king blamed the hostler, who delayed the man by requiring him to take a wagon, instead of just putting him on a horse as the king had expected. The hostler probably meant no harm, but the result was that the man did expose himself to… certain dangers. The word miracle was being tossed back and forth.”

Rap groaned.

“It was only yesterday that Princess Inosolan got wind of the affair. She scolded her father royally. In fact, I have seldom heard such a tantrum.”

“Oh, Gods!” Rap muttered. Why in the world would Inos have done such a thing? Then he said, “Gods!” much louder, and jumped to his feet.

Firedragon was moving his herd toward the top of the hill, heading west. It would be a long chase to cut him off now… unless he was still within earshot? The wind was behind Rap, so it was worth a try. He cupped his hands and bellowed. For a moment nothing seemed to happen, but he kept calling, choosing the horses that responded best. He was just about to give up, leap on Bluebottle, and give chase—knowing that the pursuit might last for days—when the herd faltered. Two mares split away and headed for Rap. Outraged, Firedragon rushed after them to restore discipline.

Now Rap switched his attention to the other side of the herd. Already they were almost too far off to recognize, but he thought he could identify some and he began calling them. By the time Firedragon had recovered the first pair, three more and a foal had departed.

For a little while the battle continued, the stallion roaring with fury as he pounded back and forth across the hillside, trying to bully his charges back on the right track, Rap calling them away again as soon as his tail was turned. Then the stallion swung to stare at this puny and audacious rival and even at that distance he could be seen to be dancing with rage, head down, teeth bared, tail arched. He bellowed a challenge and began a long, long charge.

Rap began to worry. He would rather face an angry bull than a mad stallion. At first he let the horse come, for the confused herd had ended its milling and begun to follow, but when Firedragon had covered about half the distance and was showing no signs of second thoughts, Rap decided that he had better try to do something. If he couldn’t, then herdman and minstrel would have to beat a very fast retreat.

“Firedragon!” he roared. “Cut that out! Go back! Back!”

Would it work? The stallion was very responsive to Rap, usually. He held his breath. Then the attack faltered. Firedragon veered away, bouncing and cavorting in frustrated fury. In a few minutes he seemed to calm down, then went cantering back to his herd. And apparently he had given up his attempt to sneak away over the hill. The horses seethed around briefly, then slowly settled down to eating once more. Bluebottle and Sunbeam had been watching with interest. Deciding that the show was over, they, too, went back to cropping the summer grass.

Rap rubbed his neck, for his throat felt raw. He sat down again to find Jalon staring glassily, his lunch forgotten.

“Thirsty work,” Rap said, uneasy at that wide blue gaze. “May I have another sip of that wine, sir?”

“Have the whole bottle!” Jalon continued to gape for a while, then added, “Why do you bother shouting? You didn’t believe they could hear you at that distance, surely?”

Rap considered that question while he drank. Not understanding it, he decided to ignore it. “Thank you.” He put down the bottle and resumed his lunch.

After a long silence the minstrel spoke, but in a whisper, although the hills were empty of people as far as eye could see. “Master Rap, would you consider sharing?”

“Sharing what, sir?”

Jalon looked surprised. “Your secret. What lets you do that… and cross the causeway when apparently no one else would even have tried. My singing is of the same essence.”

Rap wondered if soft brains were a necessary qualification for minstreling. He could see no connection between singing and causeway crossing, and very little resemblance to horse calling. This Jalon was a fine bard, but any man who let his horse wander away from him unintentionally in this country had clearly lost a few nails somewhere. Perhaps it went even farther than that. He might be a total lunatic.

“I call the horses' names, sir. They all know me and they trust me. I admit I wasn’t sure about calming the stallion… he does sort of like me, I think. The causeway story must have been exaggerated. The tide was coming in, but there was no danger.”

“So you can call mares away from a stallion?” Jalon nodded ironically. “Of course. You can journey where others can not. Kings are reprimanded for their treatment of you? Princesses want you to hold their hands…” He suddenly seemed depressed. “Is there anything I could ever possibly offer that would persuade you to share with me? I have wider resources than are presently apparent.”

“Sir?” Rap could make no sense of the conversation at all.

The minstrel shrugged. “Of course not! And why would you trust me? Would you be so kind as to call Sunbeam? I have far to go before dark.”

Rap hoped the man would not try to ride his horse until then. He would lame her for certain. But that was not Rap’s affair. He called Sunbeam over and adjusted her girths again and replaced the saddlebag. “I thank you for a fine lunch, minstrel,” he said. “May the Gods go with you.”

Jalon was still looking at him oddly. “Darad!” he said.

“Sir?”

“Darad,” repeated the minstrel. “There is a man called Darad. Remember the name. He is very dangerous and he will learn of you.”

“Thank you for the warning, sir,” Rap said politely.

Not just nails—the man was missing a few shoes, as well.

All things include

Both the Evil and the Good.

Inos repeated that sacred text a hundred times, but she still could not find the good in seasickness. It had to be totally evil. She desperately wanted to die.