Hero's Song Read online

  As he fished in his pack for food, Collun suddenly felt someone was watching him. He looked sharply up and down the empty road. There was nobody in sight. Then he heard a sound from above. He gazed up and saw a large black bird in the branches over his head. It was opening and closing its wings slowly, as though readying itself for flight. Yet it remained in the tree.

  At first he thought it was a raven, but it was slightly smaller and its black feathers had a bluish gleam to them. A scald-crow, he guessed. He had never seen one before, but he knew of them. They were not common in the south of Eirren.

  Collun quickly finished his meal and repacked his bag. He stood, and as he moved away from the tree, so did the scald-crow. It slowly mounted into the sky and, making a graceful curl in the air, headed down the road toward Temair.

  Collun gave a fleeting thought to the ill-tempered messenger from Temair who had been convinced black birds were omens of ill fortune. Reminding himself that he did not believe in foolish superstitions, he shrugged his pack into a more comfortable position on his back and followed in the same direction as the scald-crow.

  His thoughts drifted back to Talisen, who was always one to believe in bad omens or good-luck charms. If Collun so much as scratched his nose, Talisen would immediately claim, "You're about to meet a stranger." Or kiss a fool, or walk into danger, depending on Talisen's whim of the moment.

  ***

  When the sun went down, the air grew cold. Collun breathed in the crisp air, wondering when the first frost would come. He started to think about the work that needed to be done at Aonarach, but then remembered he was on the road, away from Inkberrow and his garden and fields.

  As twilight deepened Collun began to look for a spot to make camp for the night. The moon was new, a bright crescent shining in the night, and Collun could see the faint outline of the full moon behind it. The old moon in the arms of the new, as Talisen would say, calling it a lucky omen. Abruptly Collun caught the sound of footsteps behind him. He stopped and listened. Nothing. But as he began walking, he heard the sound again. He stopped again. And the footsteps stopped as well. Collun peered back over his shoulder and thought he could see a muffled, dark shape behind him. Fear made his mouth go dry. He wet his lips and thought of the dagger that had been a trine, buried deep within his pack. "Little good it will do you there," Goban had said.

  Collun kept walking, faster and faster, while he reached behind him and fumbled at the opening of his pack. It was no use. In order to get at its contents he would first have to take the bag off his back and then unloose the thongs that held it closed.

  He was almost running now. Quickly he swung the bag off his shoulder, but even as he tugged desperately at the thongs, an arm wrapped around his shoulders. He swung his head around to face his attacker, but instead of a Scathian, he was looking into the laughing face of Talisen.

  "What's in the bag that's so precious?" Talisen said, brushing his black hair out of eyes that were narrowed in mock greed.

  "Talisen!" Collun cried, caught between relief and anger.

  "Sorry, Collun, I couldn't help myself. But you deserve it for running off without me, without even saying good-bye. Is that any way to treat your old friend?"

  "I am sorry, but there was no time."

  "I will forgive you for that, perhaps, but never for keeping the news about Nessa from me." Talisen's face, for once, was grave. "I wondered why I had not seen you for some days. I would have come out to you, but Farmer Whicklow was working me from dawn to dark, paying him back for his missing pig, which of course had nothing to do with me. But is it true? Has Nessa really disappeared from Temair?"

  "Yes. I am going there to find her, if I can." While he spoke, Collun rummaged in his pack for the dagger his father had forged. When he found it, he resolutely fastened the sheath to his belt.

  "That's the stone that was in the handle of your trine," Talisen said, eyebrows raised. "Is your trine now a dagger?"

  Collun nodded.

  "You expect danger?"

  "Yes."

  "Then I am glad I have come prepared." Talisen drew a blade from the sheath at his own hip.

  Collun shook his head. "No. You are not coming with me, Talisen."

  "Of course I am."

  "This is no tale out of one of your old songs. The danger is real."

  "Then all the more reason. Besides, Collun, you will need a bard along to chronicle your adventures."

  Talisen began to pull the harp from his back, but as he did so another bundle fell to the ground with a dull thud.

  "What is that?" asked Collun, momentarily distracted.

  "This? Why, it is Farmer Whicklow's biggest and fattest goose, of course."

  Collun shook his head in dismay. "You will spend the rest of your days repaying your debt to Farmer Whicklow."

  "Spend the rest of my days working for big-bellied, tightfisted Farmer Whicklow?" Talisen threw back his head and laughed. "You know this is what I have been waiting for, Collun: a reason to leave Inkberrow for good!"

  They found a place to sleep under a stand of alder trees. Collun kindled a fire using the teine stone he always carried with him, while Talisen plucked and cleaned the goose. They built a makeshift spit and soon the fowl was giving off a delicious aroma as it sizzled over the fire.

  Later, when their stomachs were full, Talisen let out a contented burp and reached for his harp.

  "How shall we begin the tale?" Talisen mused. "'The Lay of Collun and Talisen on the Road to Temair'? No, something more poetic. It will come to me. These are early days yet." His fingers began to weave a melody from the strings. Collun recognized it as one of his friend's favorites, about the bard Amergin and the gemstone called Cailceadon Lir that he used to save Eirren from the evil wizard Cruachan.

  Talisen sang, and Collun listened sleepily to the familiar words, pulling his cloak close around him.

  The haunting final note hung in the air for several moments, then was fractured by the harsh call of a bird. Collun shivered slightly, remembering the scald-crow. He looked over at Talisen, who had not noticed the sound. He was already beginning a new song, his fingers nimble on the harp strings despite the coolness of the night air. Collun was suddenly very glad Talisen had joined him.

  FOUR

  Scald-crow

  Collun woke early, his body stiff from sleeping on the ground. He rekindled the fire. The sky was overcast and the air damp.

  When Talisen awoke he gave a loud groan. "My feet hurt, my back hurts, my neck hurts, and I hardly slept a wink." He pulled off his boots and displayed three angry blisters for Collun's sympathy.

  "It will only get worse," Collun said, rummaging in his wallet of herbs. He handed Talisen several beech leaves to press against the blisters. "We're at least four weeks from Temair, probably more if we meet bad weather, as I have no doubt we will."

  Talisen gave a sudden grin and stuffed his feet back into his boots. "You'll not be getting rid of me that easily. If I have to crawl on my stomach through the gates of Temair, I shall. Temair ... Just think of it, Collun. We shall see the royal dun itself!" He paused, then added with a wink, "I shall no doubt be the queen's favorite bard in no time at all."

  "No doubt," Collun replied with a smile. In Inkberrow Talisen was much admired for his musical skill. But Collun had heard that to be a true bard in Eirren one must have the skill for making songs as well as playing them. He knew Talisen had not yet been able to master the art of making songs. He acted as if it did not matter to him, but Collun knew it did.

  "So," Talisen said, breaking into Collun's thoughts, "what delicacies have we for breakfast? A little goose flesh, perhaps?"

  They supplemented the fowl with small pieces of cheese and bread, and, heating a panful of water from a nearby stream, Collun brewed some chicory tea to wash it all down. After they had eaten, they wrapped the rest of the goose in leaves.

  Just as they were about to set out, Collun felt a rush of air on his face. A black shape swept by within inches of
his nose. It circled once then settled on the ground a short distance away.

  Another scald-crow. Or perhaps it was the one he had seen before. Collun wasn't sure. He could see its eyes this time; they were the color of fresh blood.

  The bird appeared to be looking at him, its head cocked to one side. Then it began to move. It took a few steps to the side, flapped its wings, took a few more steps, and then flapped its wings again. It moved in a circle around them, performing a kind of hopping dance.

  Talisen had not noticed the bird. Collun laid a hand on his shoulder and pointed, feeling he should not speak aloud.

  "What is it?" Talisen's voice broke the eerie quiet. "What's that bird doing? Must be after our food ... Shoo! Go away!" He waved his hands at the scald-crow.

  Collun clutched Talisen's shoulder tightly. "Stop," he whispered. "Something is wrong."

  "What? You mean it's injured?"

  "No. There is ... danger. I'm sure of it."

  Talisen laughed. "You're in a state, aren't you? It's just a bird. Here, go away, nasty bird." He picked up a charred stick from the campfire and threw it at the scald-crow.

  The crow stepped aside easily. Then it turned, trained its eyes on them, and began flapping its wings with a steadily increasing tempo. Suddenly it was airborne and heading straight for Talisen's face.

  Collun's blood went cold, but he somehow managed to jerk his shoulders forward in a clumsy thrust, knocking Talisen off balance and toppling him to his knees. The crow sliced by, missing Talisen. But its feathers brushed Collun's forehead as it passed, leaving a line of bitter cold where they touched. Collun rubbed his forehead and watched, dazed and frightened, as the scald-crow sped off, heading north toward Temair.

  Talisen heaved himself to his feet, grumbling and brushing himself off.

  "Clumsy oaf. What's gotten into you?"

  Collun did not reply. His fingers tried to rub some heat back into the numb spot where the scald-crow's feathers had touched him.

  "What's wrong? Did it scratch you? I don't see anything." Talisen peered at Collun's forehead.

  "Its feathers. They've made my forehead numb."

  "What? How could a bird's feathers do that? You're imagining things."

  "No, Talisen." Collun's voice shook slightly. "There is something happening ... something I do not understand."

  "What are you talking about?"

  And so Collun told Talisen about the kesil and about Emer's warning. When he finished, Collun dropped his hand from his forehead. The rubbing had not helped. It still ached with cold.

  Talisen was silent for a moment. "Well, there's nothing I like better than a mystery. It's like a riddle, and you know how good I am at riddles," he said with enthusiasm. "If you wish, I will also be careful not to speak of Emer. I wonder why, though," he added with a speculative look.

  Collun nodded absently, looking off across the land that lay to the north. "I have decided to go on that way, away from the high road"—he pointed in the direction he was gazing—"as the kesil suggested." Then he looked straight at Talisen, adding, "And I will go alone."

  "Don't be an idiot," Talisen replied with a groan. "We have been over this before. I journey with you and let that be the end of it."

  Collun shook his head, but he did not protest further. As they left the campsite, Collun thought he heard the harsh call of a bird again, but when he looked around, he saw no sign of one.

  ***

  After leaving the road, they traveled along gently sloping moorland overgrown with bracken, heather, and rushes. The perpetual drizzle did not abate, and by the fifth night their tempers had begun to fray. Collun was unable to kindle a fire. With a disgusted sound Talisen spat a mouthful of stale bread into the rain-soaked grass.

  "We have precious little food to be wasting it like that," snapped Collun.

  "Here, you can have it all," said Talisen, thrusting his portion of the hard bread toward Collun, who ignored him. Talisen lapsed into a sulky silence.

  "I know what we need," Talisen said finally, breaking the silence.

  "What's that?"

  "A song," Talisen responded with a sudden grin.

  He unwrapped his harp from its protective leather covering and examined it with concern to make sure the damp had not harmed it. Satisfied, he touched the strings. A row of clear, true notes sounded, and Talisen's voice, vibrant and deep, filled the damp night.

  "Sing cuckoo, cuckoo-o,

  The spring is coming-o.

  The daffadowndilly, the quince,

  and the rose,

  Underneath the earth, the tiny

  bud grows."

  Collun lay back, his wet clothing and cold limbs forgotten for the moment. As he watched the familiar expression of joy that transformed Talisen's face when he played, Collun felt his body relax.

  Just as Collun was falling asleep, he thought he heard a bird call out. He remembered the scald-crow and its bloodred eyes. Idly he ran his finger over the line on his forehead where its feathers had touched him. The chill was less but the numbness remained.

  He slept fitfully. Sometime in the middle of the night he came fully awake, body sweating and eyes wide open. He had been dreaming of Nessa. She was screaming in horror as a scald-crow pecked at her neck. It took Collun a long time to get back to sleep.

  ***

  When he woke again at dawn he felt jittery and cold, and all that day he kept remembering the dream.

  The drizzle that had plagued them for days gradually changed into a hard, wind-driven rain. The sky became so dark that Collun often lost sight of the sun entirely.

  As the rain-soaked days began blending into each other, Collun couldn't shake the feeling that they were heading in the wrong direction. The moors became harder to navigate the wetter the ground got and offered no protection from the wind.

  Early one evening Talisen came to an abrupt stop, swearing he could not move another step. Looking out over the bleak, rain-swept moor, Collun not very hopefully suggested they find a place to stop and finish the last of their food.

  "Look!" exclaimed Talisen.

  Collun peered through the gloom and saw what appeared to be a light.

  "Come on," urged Talisen. "It must be a farm."

  They trudged forward through the rain, every inch of them chilled through. As they drew closer they saw that the light emanated from a long, two-story building with several smaller buildings adjoining it. Just beyond the structures Collun could see a wide road.

  With a sinking heart, he realized this was the Traveler's Rest, an inn that served those who journeyed on the high road to Temair. Somehow they had made their way back to the road.

  Talisen let out a whoop of pleasure. "Traveler's Rest! I hear they have the finest ale this side of Temair. And warm beds and good food. I think I will survive after all."

  Remembering the kesil's words, Collun was on the verge of protesting, but the temptation of hot food and a chance to dry off was too overwhelming to resist. Wearily he followed Talisen in the direction of the brightly lit inn.

  FIVE

  Mister Urlacan

  The Traveler's Rest had been built of large blocks of stone, with mullioned windows that were now fogged from the warmth inside. The inn looked as if it had stood where it was for many hundreds of years, surviving the bleakness of its surroundings by sheer stubbornness.

  Its sign blew crazily on creaking hinges. The semblance of a puff-cheeked man in a striped nightcap sleeping in a snug bed was faintly visible despite the peeling paint.

  When Collun and Talisen opened the door, a warm blast of air blew into their faces. Closing the door behind them, they stood still for several moments, savoring the warmth.

  A small boy, dressed in worn but clean clothing, ran into the entranceway. He skidded slightly in the pools of water that were forming as their soaked garments dripped onto the floor.

  Talisen steadied the boy with a wink and a friendly hand, but the boy drew back and looked at them with wary, bright eyes.

>   "You be wanting a bed for the night?"

  "Indeed we do. Your softest beds and your hottest water, and then as much good food and ale as your table can hold," Talisen said with gusto.

  "And have you the gold to pay for it?" boomed a deep voice. A large stomach appeared around the corner, followed by its owner, a mountain of a man with a head that was large and round and completely bald. His eyes were not small, but they seemed so, lost as they were in the expanse of flesh that surrounded them. He wore a small gold hoop in one substantial earlobe. Like the boy, the large man's eyes held a guarded expression, as if he was used to encountering trouble.

  "Are you the esteemed landlord of this legendary inn?" Talisen queried in his most engaging manner.

  "That I am. Job Wall is my name, and I'm asking you again: Have you the means to pay for your lodging?"

  Collun was about to ask the huge man the cost of his smallest room, thinking of the three silver pieces in his pocket, which was all the money he possessed in the world, but Talisen spoke first.

  "Will this be adequate?" Pulling a leather pouch from his pocket, Talisen dropped a large gold coin into the landlord's hand. Collun stared.

  The landlord peered at the coin, then put it between his yellow teeth and bit down. Satisfied, he nodded. "Aye. Have you horses to stable?"

  They shook their heads. The landlord raised his eyebrows but made no comment. "Rince, show them to the top room on the end, with the two beds, and make sure they get hot water. Mind you hurry, boy. We've got a fair crowd in the main room tonight."

  The boy called Rince showed them to a small room on the second floor. It was plain but cozy. Though the two swaybacked beds looked ancient, there were several blankets at the foot of each.

  Rince said he would fetch the hot water. When the door closed behind him, Collun said sharply, "Where did you get the gold?"

  "Oh, that. Just another parting gift from dear Farmer Whicklow," Talisen responded cheerfully, sitting on the edge of one rickety bed to take off his damp boots.