Prophecy: Child of Earth

31

The snowcaps of the high crags in the Teeth caught the late morning sun and turned the color of fire against the clear sky. Prudence pulled the coach’s window curtain further aside to take in the view, closing her eyes for a moment and letting the warmth of the wind ripple across her face. Then she rose slightly from the cushioned seat and leaned out of the window.

For the fourth time that morning the coachman and the guard were showing the traveling papers under Tristan’s seal to yet another set of Firbolg soldiers who had stopped them. Prudence’s gaze returned to the mountains. This land was so strangely beautiful and threatening, dusky, multicolored peaks scratching the sky at the horizon like the fangs of a great beast that lay in the near distance. Having never before left the wide plains of Bethany, she was mesmerized by the dark magic she felt in this place, Ylorc, the mountainous land of monsters.

She felt eyes upon her, and turned inadvertently to meet the gaze of one of those monsters. Like the other Firbolg soldiers she had seen since they had crossed the border at Bethe Corbair, his face was dark and hirsute, his build wiry, but not particularly grotesque. The man was studying her with an expression that was direct but not insolent. Embarrassment crept into Prudence’s cheeks as she realized his expression must mirror the one she wore herself.

They’re monsters, humanoid beasts that eat rats and each other, Tristan had said. And any human they can catch as well, by the way. And yet now, seeing them up close, it seemed an exaggeration worthy of a child’s tale. The Bolg had appeared each time as if from thin air, stopping the carriage silently, crossbow-like weapons,trained on the horses. Once satisfied with the intent of the mission they motioned wordlessly for the coach to continue on its way, then disappeared again. Prudence couldn’t help but wonder if the Bolg were only humoring them.

The carriage shuddered and began to roll again. Prudence settled back against the cushioned seat, the place where she and Tristan had made secretive love on numerous occasions. After a moment the tiny slat door in the wall across from her slid open, and the upper part of the guard’s face appeared.

“Not too much longer, miss. We’re within an hour of the main outpost, the place where the mail caravans enter.”

Prudence nodded, and the small door slid shut again. She glanced out the window one last time and saw the Firbolg scout still staring at her as the carriage rolled away. There was a look in his eyes that worried her.

After a time the road beneath the carriage wheels seemed to smooth out somewhat, offering her a less bumpy ride. Prudence pulled the curtain aside, then reached forward quickly and banged on the little slat door.

“Stop, please.”

The carriage rolled to a slow halt, and Prudence opened the outside door, rising as she did. The coachman was still descending from his perch and was not quick enough to offer her his assistance in alighting from the step. She gathered her skirts and jumped down to the road, then crossed to the wide meadow beyond.

Before her stretched a great bowl-like amphitheater, cut into the earth by time and nature, though it seemed to have been enhanced by the work of men. Now forgotten by all but history, the structure seemed to have at one time been a gathering place for an enormous number of people. A twisting rock formation in the dead center of the far slanted wall looked for all the world like a speaker’s podium. The amphitheater was vast in size and breadth, surrounded by rocky ledges and rimmed internally in gradated rings that leveled out onto a wide, flat floor, all overgrown with highgrass and brushy scrub. Prudence recognized it from the descriptions Tristan had read her once from a Cymrian history text.

“The Moot,” she murmured to herself. It was the place that Tristan’s strange, all-but-immortal ancestors had once convened their meetings, intending to keep peace within the Cymrian realm. The failed intention had been a good one, at least.

“Excuse me, miss?” the coachman asked.

Prudence turned to him. “Gwylliam’s Moot,” she repeated, excitement creeping into her voice. The natural wonder was bigger than the Fire basilica and Tristan’s palace together.

The coachman and the guard exchanged a smirk, then the coachman opened the door again.

“Yes, miss, whatever you say. Please, now, make haste and come back inside. We need to be at the post in no more than an hour so we can leave before dark, or we won’t meet up with the second-week caravan three days hence.”

Prudence took the man’s outstretched hand and climbed back into the carriage, a look of displeasure darkening her features. She had seen that smirk several times since she had left Bethany, and knew its genesis. The coachman and the guard thought of her as Tristan’s peasant whore, and it amused them to be driving her about alone in splendor generally reserved for royalty, or at least nobility. She heard the coachman chuckle as he closed the door behind her.

With a jolt the carriage lurched forward again. Prudence cast one last look back at the ancient marvel, lying forgotten in the endless rich green of the foothills. Then she took out her looking glass and began to polish her face, preparing to do yet one more ridiculous favor for the man she loved.

“First Woman?”

The midwives and Rhapsody looked up simultaneously. The guard took an involuntary step back at the expressions on the faces of the Bolg women at his interruption.

“Yes?”

“Messenger here for you. Woman. From Bethany.”

“Really?” Rhapsody handed one of the midwives an herb they had been examining together. “What does she want?”

“Talk with you.”

“Hmm. Where is she?”

“Griwen post.”

“Very well. Thank you, Jurt. Please tell her I’ll be down directly.” Rhapsody gathered the remaining herbs and medicines and passed them to each of the thirteen midwives, some of the most powerful Bolg in all of Ylorc. “Are we finished, then?” she asked. The broad-shouldered women nodded and Rhapsody rose. “Thank you for coming. I’ll check in with you at week’s end to see how those tonics are working. Please excuse me.”

Prudence waited in the shadow of the bay geldings, feeling safer next to the enormous horses than inside the guard quarters where she had been offered shelter. She swallowed hard. While she was waiting she had been steeling herself for the meeting, and she had been waiting for quite some time, but was still unprepared for the sight of what was approaching.

A giant Firbolg dressed in battle armor walked beside a much smaller figure, cloaked from head to mid-shin in a gray hooded cape, despite the blistering heat of summer. From behind the giant’s back a plethora of blade hilts protruded, making him appear to have a mane of thorns.

The smaller figure remained hooded until it had reached her, then took down its mantle. The face that emerged from the hood was the most singularly beautiful Prudence had ever seen, crowned with shining golden hair pulled loosely back in a black ribbon. The woman was attired in a simple shirt of white linen and soft brown trousers, and it was all Prudence could do to keep from bursting into tears at the sight of her.

Suddenly Tristan’s words made sense. Looking into this woman’s face was much like staring into a crackling fire, hypnotic and compelling on a level she could feel in her soul.

“Hello,” said the golden-haired woman, smiling and extending a small hand. “My name is Rhapsody. Did you ask to see me?”

“Ye—yes,” stammered Prudence. She looked down at the woman’s open palm, then recovered her wits and shook hands. The woman’s hand was deliciously warm, and Prudence had to struggle to pull her own away. To cover the awkward jerking motion, she dug quickly within the pouch Tristan had given her and produced two vellum sheets folded neatly and sealed with gold. “His Highness, Lord Tristan Steward, Prince of Bethany, asked that I deliver these invitations to you personally.”

Rhapsody’s brow furrowed, and Prudence felt her heart sink suddenly.

“Invitations?”

“Yes,” Prudence said, her words falling over each other. “To his wedding, on the eve of the first day of Spring, this year to come.”

“There are two of them?”

“Yes. One for His—er, Majesty, the King of Ylorc, and one for you.”

The woman’s emerald eyes opened in astonishment. “For me?”

Hot blood rushed to Prudence’s cheeks. “Yes.” She watched nervously as Rhapsody turned the folded card over in her hand and stared down at it. “You seem surprised.”

The giant beside her let out a roaring laugh, causing Prudence to go pale in fright. “Well, well, Duchess, listen to that. The Prince wants you at ’is weddin’. Isn’t that lovely?”

Rhapsody handed one of the invitations back. “There must be a mistake. Why would the Lord Roland send me an invitation?”

Prudence ran her hand over her throat, and felt herself trembling. “Duchess? I do beg your pardon, I hadn’t realized. I hope you will forgive me any offense in addressing you improperly, m’lady.”

“No, no,” Rhapsody said hastily. “He’s just joking.”

The giant’s amber eyes twinkled merrily. “What are you talkin’ about? The Duchess of Elysian she is, miss. The ’ighest horn Lady in Ylorc.” Prudence nodded, the expression in her eyes changing.

“I don’t think you understand how little that means,” Rhapsody said, casting an annoyed glance at Grunthor. “To your Lord I am still a peasant. My role to his court has been that of messenger for the king of Ylorc. And while our last meeting was civil, on the whole our intercourse has been somewhat strained. So for all those reasons I am astonished that he would send me an invitation to such an auspicious event. I’m sure this was merely an error.”

“You been ’avin’ intercourze with ’im?” Grunthor gasped in mock horror. “You said he was a dolt!”

Rhapsody elbowed him as subtly as she could, then looked back at Prudence, who now was trembling visibly. The look of irritation on her face melted into one of concern. She reached out and touched the servant woman’s arm.

“Are you unwell?” she asked.

Prudence looked up into the golden woman’s face and felt herself warmed by the worry she saw there. “No, I’m fine,” she said, awkwardly patting Rhapsody’s hand.

“Here, let’s get out of the sun,” Rhapsody said, pulling Prudence’s thin hand into the crook of her arm. “I’ve been a terrible host thus far—I haven’t even asked your name.”

“Prudence.”

“Well, please forgive my discourtesy, Prudence. Allow me to welcome you to Ylorc properly. Would you and your escort like something to—”

Suddenly the world shifted. Rhapsody’s ears filled with the pounding of her own blood, and her eyes clouded over. Grunthor’s hand shot out quickly as she pitched forward onto her face and grabbed her before she hit the ground. He turned her quickly over in his arms to see her face contorted in fear, and something more.

“Ya all right, Duchess?” he asked anxiously, patting her smooth cheek with an enormous hand.

Rhapsody blinked rapidly, trying to stave off the sensation that the sky was closing in on her. She looked up past Grunthor into the Orlandan messenger’s face. Prudence was a pretty woman with pale skin and strawberry-blond curls, Rhapsody noted absently. Something approaching panic was glittering in her dark-brown eyes.

Then, as Rhapsody watched Prudence’s face, it began to rip away, as if being torn by the claws of a brutal wind, leaving gouges of exposed bone and muscle. Her eyes vanished from the sockets, leaving dark holes filled with dried blood. Rhapsody gasped.

“M’lady?” Prudence voice was shaking.

Rhapsody blinked again. Prudence’s face was as it had been.

“I’m—I’m very sorry,” she said. Grunthor gently pulled her to a stand, and she brushed the dirt from her clothes. She gave the frightened messenger a weak smile. “Perhaps the sun is getting to me as well. Inside Griwen post there is a place we can sit and cool down. Would you come inside with us?”

Prudence glanced over at the guard post, where six Firbolg guards were watching her with interest. One of them smiled at her, a grisly expression that approximated a leer. She shuddered.

“I—I really must be getting back,” she stammered. “The mail caravan is three days ahead of us, and we should make haste to meet up with them.”

Rhapsody’s expression grew serious. “You did not come with the guarded caravan?”

Prudence swallowed. Tristan had been quite specific about the need for discretion and secrecy in her mission.

“No,” she said.

“Do you mean to tell me that the Lord Roland sent a civilian woman into Ylorc without the protection of the weekly armed caravan?”

“I have a guard, and the driver is an Orlandan soldier as well,” Prudence answered. Ironic, she thought. She and Tristan had had this same discussion. It was bitterly amusing to be defending the position now that she had objected to then.

Rhapsody’s expression grew thoughtful for a moment, then resolved suddenly. She put out her hand to Prudence. “Please come inside with me,” she said. “I promise you will be safe.”

The words had such a clear tone of truth to them the Prudence could feel their veracity in her soul. Almost involuntarily she took the woman’s hand, and allowed Rhapsody to lead her into the post.

Griwen post was a guard tower hollowed out of the mountainside that eventually culminated in one of Ylorc’s tallest peaks. Inside the rocky structure the walls were honed smooth and straight, with floors of polished stone. Above them stretched a many-tiered tower taller than Avonderre’s lighthouse, built into a low crag with inner rings of wood on three sides facing the west, north and south. These platforms were connected by ladders so tall she could not see their tops, cemented to the walls. Prudence looked around in amazement as she followed the giant Firbolg and the small woman through the outpost’s barricades scored with rows of hidden windows and lined with hundreds of mounted crossbows.

They passed offices and barracks and several large meeting halls, Prudence’s wonder growing by the moment. She had lived her entire life in Tristan’s keep, and knew the ramparts of his stronghold were only a fraction of the size of this. And this was just an outpost, not part of the main mountain fortress. She made note to tell Tristan how seriously he was outmatched.

Finally Rhapsody stopped before a heavy door, lacquered and bound in black iron. She swung the door open and gestured inside.

“Please come in,” she said.

Prudence obeyed, her eyes taking in the weapons racks that flanked the door. Inside the room was a long, heavy table of roughhewn pine surrounded by crude chairs. Rhapsody lingered in the hall long enough to exchange some words with the Firbolg giant, then came into the room as well. She gestured to the table.

“Please, Prudence, make yourself comfortable.”

Prudence complied as Rhapsody removed her long gray cloak and hung it on a peg near the door. She sat down in a chair facing Prudence.

“I’m sorry I didn’t have the opportunity to properly introduce Grunthor,” she said. “He’s gone to arrange some refreshments for us.” Prudence nodded. “Now, then, while we’re alone, why don’t you tell me why you really came here?”

Prudence looked away. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Forgive me, but I believe you do. Although the Lord Roland and I have had a few unpleasant exchanges, and despite the fact that he has made several serious errors in judgment, I can hardly believe he would be so foolish as a matter of routine to send a special messenger who is obviously not a soldier to deliver a wedding invitation, particularly when there is a weekly caravan that makes these sorts of deliveries, escorted by two score and ten armed guards. Why are you really here, Prudence?”

The tone in Rhapsody’s voice was gentle and filled with understanding. Prudence looked back into the woman’s eyes, and found a look of consummate sympathy there. She was beginning to understand what Tristan meant about being unable to break away from the thought of her. There was something compelling about this woman, whether in the music of her words or just in the warmth that exuded from her. Either way, Prudence found herself struggling to keep from being drawn in to it.

“The Lord Roland regrets his past transgressions with you,” she said haltingly. “He is, frankly, embarrassed by the way he has treated you.”

“He has no need to be.”

“Nonetheless, he wishes to make amends. To that end he asked me to invite you to Bethany for a visit, so that he might apologize in person, and further demonstrate his good intentions toward the kingdom of Ylorc. He also would like to show you the city, and promises a tour with all appropriate protocol and guard.”

Rhapsody hid a smile. The first time she had been to Bethany she had accidentally caused a riot in the street and had almost been seized by both Tristan’s soldiers and the town guard.

“That’s very kind, but I’m still not certain I understand. Why didn’t he send this invitation to me in writing, or at least have you travel with the caravan? These are unsafe times, not just in Ylorc, but everywhere.”

“I know.” Prudence sighed heavily. “I’m just doing my lord’s bidding, m’lady.”

The golden-haired woman considered for a moment, then nodded. “Please, just call me Rhapsody. I’m afraid I’ve just returned from a rather lengthy sojourn, and I need to spend some time tending to my duties here in Ylorc. So as much as I might like to accept your Lord’s invitation, I’m afraid I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Prudence’s throat went dry, envisioning Tristan’s disappointment. “I’m sorry to hear that. I hope you won’t be declining the wedding invitation as well.”

Rhapsody sat back in her chair. “I’m not sure what to say about that. It still seems very strange to me that the High Regent of Roland would want a commoner at his nuptials.”

“I assure you, he was most sincere.”

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