The Land of the Silver Apples

Chapter Forty-four ETHNE

King Yffi’s soldiers had been dragging a scullery boy, caught stealing a chicken, to the dungeons. They’d been none too pleased to be ordered out in such weather, and finding an escapee (as they thought) made them no happier. They threw Jack to the ground. The captain tried to put his foot on Jack’s chest, but he twisted out of the way and swung his staff at the man’s leg with a resounding thwack.

Before the others could react, Father Severus stepped through the door. “Hold!” he commanded, his voice rising above the torrent of rain and wind. Everyone froze—Jack on the ground, the captain holding his injured leg, the two guards grasping the scullery boy’s arms, the boy himself, who had been trying to bite. Water splashed all around, pouring off their heads and soaking them to the skin.

Jack recovered first. “King Yffi will be pleased. We have brought back the water,” he said, climbing to his feet and holding his staff out to the side. He hoped he looked properly bardlike.

“You’re the brat we threw down the well,” snarled the captain, rubbing his leg. “Never expected to see you again.”

Probably not, since you sealed the well, thought Jack.

Behind the monk, still sheltered in the doorway, appeared Pega, Thorgil, and Ethne. “Who’s that?” said one of the soldiers.

“We had no women prisoners,” said the captain.

“Begging your pardon, sir,” said the soldier, “but that be no mere woman. That be a lady, sure as I’m standing here.”

“Aye, a right fair one,” marveled the other soldier. “Not a mark of the pox on her or a tooth missing.” The scullery boy tried to squirm free, and the soldier banged him on the top of his head.

Thorgil and Pega might have been invisible for all the attention paid to them. The captain hobbled over to Ethne and bowed deeply. “Welcome to our keep, noble fair one. Please forgive this wretched weather and allow us to conduct you to more suitable quarters.”

The elf lady laughed, a sound like little silver bells. The captain and his men were enchanted.

“Ratface! Off with that shirt!” barked the captain. Lickety-split, the soldiers had the shirt off the poor scullery boy. They held it over Ethne’s head while the captain held her hand to escort her. The only good result was that they forgot about Ratface’s punishment and left him to shiver in the rain.

The shirt didn’t really protect Ethne, but it was a well-meant gesture. The soldiers and the captain escorted her tenderly, lifting her over the deeper puddles. Thorgil, Pega, Father Severus, and Jack followed, sloshing up to their knees, but no one cared about their comfort.

On the other side of the courtyard they were conducted up and up through a maze of winding hallways to a chamber Jack recognized as the Bard’s room. His heart lifted at the prospect of seeing the old man through the open door, but the room was deserted. Perhaps he’s visiting King Yffi, Jack thought. Very quickly, the soldiers lit a brazier for warmth. Back and forth they went, hauling rugs, tables, chairs, beds, and mattresses stuffed with goose down into the room. They brought food from the kitchen and clean, dry robes for Ethne.

“I’ll tell the king you’re here,” said the captain, blushing when Ethne impulsively kissed his grizzled cheek. “I forgot to ask. What is your name, fair one?”

“Princess Ethne,” said Father Severus in his sepulchral voice, before Ethne could respond.

“A princess!” said the captain, impressed. “I should have guessed. No mere lady would be so graceful, so—so—”

“Excuse me,” said Jack, before the captain could think up more compliments. “Where’s the Bard? And my father? And Brother Aiden?”

“Giles Crookleg is in the infirmary at St. Filian’s,” said the captain, still staring at Ethne’s dimples. “Brother Aiden was put in charge of the monastery, much good that’ll do him. Those monks will ride over him like a herd of highland cattle. As for Dragon Tongue, I’m happy to say he’s joined them. You could never relax when he was around. Now, don’t you worry about a thing, my Princess.” The captain turned back to Ethne. “I’ll bring you some sweeties, see if I don’t.”

“She needs a good rest,” Father Severus said witheringly. “Not sweeties.”

They were left alone, to feast and dry out. Pega was delighted by the food—pigeon pie, roast pork and oysters, bread hot from the oven with a slab of butter. There was also a bowl of apples. “Poor Bugaboo and Nemesis,” she said. “I wish I could take them something.”

“It would be unwise,” Father Severus said. “I, too, feel for them, but they must not be discovered.”

“What should we do now?” said Jack. “We need the Bard’s help.”

“I could go to St. Filian’s, but I hesitate to leave you alone. There is evil abroad here.”

Silence fell on the group as they ate. Ethne disappeared into an adjoining chamber to try on her new clothes. It was barely past noon, but the sky was almost as dark as nightfall. Lightning forked across the heavens. “I’ve never seen a storm this bad,” Thorgil remarked. “It’s as if Thor were casting his bolts at us.”

“Or God is,” said Father Severus.

“No,” said Jack as an idea came to him. “I think the old gods are laying siege to Din Guardi. The Forest Lord and the Sea God seek to enter. Perhaps whoever ruled the sky has joined them.”

“Someone’s definitely having a snit,” observed Thorgil, licking grease from her fingers. “Let’s hope he—or she—gets tired before we all lose our hearing.” Almost as though the “someone” had heard her, thunder shook the walls so fiercely then that plaster fell from the ceiling. Everyone cringed. Having made this statement, the storm withdrew. They could hear it grumbling as it moved out to sea.

“Saints preserve us!” cried Father Severus. Jack saw Ethne dance into the room in the dry clothes the captain had brought her. She was floating as lightly as a dandelion puff, exactly as Lucy had done in the meadows near the village. Ethne’s dress glittered with jewels, but the really spectacular garment was her cloak. Jack had never seen the like of it. The rich, creamy cloth was embroidered with grapevines in which animals were hidden. Jack couldn’t tell what they were—deer, hunting dogs, or cats, perhaps—but they were as long and graceful as the vines. In the center, hovering over this green world, was a white dove with a small twig in its beak.

“Take that off at once! No! Not the dress,” roared the monk as the elf lady lifted her skirts above her knees. “The cloak! The cloak!” Puzzled, Ethne let it drop. Father Severus swept it up before it touched the floor. He sank into a chair and covered his face with his hands. Ethne, taking a cue from his distress, burst into tears.

“Sir, are you ill?” said Jack, kneeling beside the chair.

“It’s only shock,” the monk said. “Dear Ethne, I’m not angry at you. Please stop crying. I know you meant no harm.” The elf lady’s tears dried up at once. She smiled and resumed her dance around the room. Her emotions shifted with the eerie swiftness Jack had noticed in Lucy.

“Do you recognize the cloak?” Jack asked.

“It isn’t a cloak.” Father Severus took a deep breath and smoothed the cloth with his hands. “It’s the altar cloth from the Holy Isle. I remember Sister Agnes and Sister Eowyn embroidering it. Poor, gentle ladies, they’re both dead, thrown into the sea by those foul, murdering Hell-fiends….”

“How did it get here?” said Jack with a nervous look at Thorgil. She had been one of the Hell-fiends.

“I don’t know. Some of the treasures might have been saved. I imagine they were taken to St. Filian’s.”

Jack said nothing. He didn’t have to. St. Filian’s existed to fleece the gullible. Whatever treasures the monks there gained were shared with King Yffi. “I swear,” Father Severus said slowly, “that if I get my hands on those thieving monks, they will learn the meaning of repentance once and for all.”

What Father Severus had in mind, he didn’t have time to say, for the captain of the guard rapped on the door. The man had changed his shirt, his helmet had been polished, and his beard was trimmed. “Fair Princess, I bid you welcome to Din Guardi. My master, the king, eagerly awaits you,” he cried, giving Ethne a deep bow.

“And the rest of us?” Father Severus said.

“He didn’t mention you,” the captain replied rudely.

“It would be a dire insult to allow Her Highness to go forth without her retinue. Wars have been declared over less.”

Jack admired the monk’s skill. The captain had no idea that Ethne was only the cast-off daughter of the Queen of Elfland. Partholis probably didn’t even remember her. She certainly didn’t recall Ethne’s father. Yet Father Severus had given the impression that she was cherished and that an army existed.

He didn’t lie. He’d merely said, Wars have been declared over less and let the captain draw his own conclusions. It didn’t hurt, either, that Ethne fairly sparkled with glamour.

“Of course, of course. All of you must come,” said the captain, mesmerized.

An honor guard waited outside. They snapped to attention and followed smartly as the group walked through the halls. Though the storm had gone, the sky was still dark. What little light found its way into the fortress was swallowed up by gloom.

A permanent sadness hangs over this place, Jack thought. He couldn’t imagine Lancelot and his knights making merry here, but perhaps they’d been as thick-skinned as Brutus. Brutus was impervious to atmosphere. Come to think of it, where was that untrustworthy slave? He was the true ruler of Din Guardi, but Jack couldn’t see him ousting Yffi, or even Ratface.

The first time Jack had met King Yffi, he’d been too frightened to observe him closely. Now the boy looked for signs of the ruler’s kelpie ancestry. Yffi was taller and bulkier than his men, and his body filled the gilded throne. His feet were encased in very large boots. What lay inside? Claws? Could the king shift his form? And if he did, what happened to his clothes?

Yffi was swathed from head to toe, and even his head was concealed by a leather helmet that covered his face. The only visible part of him were his eyes, sunk like pebbles in a bowl of oatmeal. The effect was extremely unpleasant.

The creature—Jack couldn’t think of him as a man—must have been cold, for braziers burned all along the walls, making the atmosphere breathless. Sweat ran down the soldiers’ faces and into their beards.

“The Princess Ethne,” announced Father Severus before the captain could speak. A murmur ran round the room.

“Ooh, the pretty thing,” murmured one of the men, who was immediately cuffed by his superior. But it was clear they all thought Ethne was extraordinary. She curtsied and twirled around to bestow her smile on the entire company. The men smiled back, not coarsely as they might have grinned at a tavern wench, but with innocent delight. They might have been boys at a fair on a summer day.

King Yffi’s reaction was more difficult to guess. He gazed at her steadily, and for some reason Jack was reminded of a toad watching a butterfly. “How did you get into my dungeons?” he said at last.

“We came by the Hollow Road,” Father Severus said.

Several men gasped. “That be the way of wraiths,” said the captain. “But you be no wraith, Princess,” he added loyally.

“Wraiths may not cross our borders,” said King Yffi, “yet other things enter by the Low Road.” The king’s eyes were as emotionless as a spider’s. “Some of our prisoners have disappeared from the dungeons. We find their chains empty, though unlocked.”

Jack thought of the Bugaboo and the Nemesis hiding down there in the shadows.

“The Hollow Road is used by many, both fair and foul. We have journeyed from Elfland,” said Father Severus. The reaction was immediate and gratifying. The men knelt before Ethne, and those who were wearing helmets removed them.

She smiled, dazzlingly. There were times when Ethne seemed human. Jack liked her best then. She was endearing and oddly familiar, though he couldn’t think why. There were times when she was fully the daughter of Queen Partholis, such as now. She radiated glamour, and not one of Yffi’s men could withstand it.

“An elf maiden! I should have known!” cried the captain. “Such beauty could not be mortal.”

“I saw elves dance on the green when I was a lad,” a grizzled old warrior declared. “Makes me feel young to think of it.”

“I heard them singing,” another said wistfully. “I lay out all night in the dew and nearly caught my death of cold. But it was worth it.”

“Silence! All of you!” roared King Yffi. The men scrambled to their feet and jammed on their helmets. “This fortress is under siege, and all who enter unannounced are suspect. Why didn’t she come by the front gate?”

“Well, you see, Your Majesty, that’s a bit difficult with the Hedge,” began the man who had listened to the elves singing.

“Silence! She crept in like a thief. How do you know she’s not planning an invasion?”

“She could invade my house anytime,” said the man.

“Guards! Take this fool out and give him six of the best. No, make that twelve of the best. Any questions?”

“No, sir. No, Your Majesty. Not a word,” muttered the men as two burly guards dragged the unfortunate soldier away.

“You’ve been far too comfortable,” the king said to his men. “You spend your days drinking and gambling and have grown careless. We invaded this fortress from below. Others could do the same. Elves, kelpies, hobgoblins—”

“Oh, that reminds me. Could you invite our hobgoblin friends in?” Ethne broke in.

“Ethne! No!” cried Father Severus.

“It’s nasty down there. I’m sure they’d like this place better,” she said with a pout.

Yffi signaled, and a soldier swiftly put a knife to the monk’s throat. “Not another word, wretch. The rest of you be quiet too, or he dies. Now, my pretty fay. What were you telling me about hobgoblins?”

“They rescued us from Elfland—Mother was ever so cross when Pega lit the candle. Besides, I have a soul now and want to be a nun. It’s ever so exciting! Anyhow, the hobgoblins knew how to get here, but they hid in the dungeon because they weren’t sure of their welcome. But I know you won’t mind, being a king and all. Or if you do, could you put us out the front door? Although a party would be nice.”

Yffi frowned, trying to strain the meaning out of Ethne’s words. One thing did make itself clear: “You say there are hobgoblins in my dungeons?”

Jack started to object, but the soldier pressed the knife harder against Father Severus’ windpipe.

“Oh, yes! At the bottom of the stairs.”

“Why, I thank you, Princess. Your friends are most welcome,” said the king in a soft voice. “I haven’t had hobgoblin since—I must prepare a feast! Yes! Yes! It’s an opportunity that cannot be missed! Hurry, lads, and fetch me those guests before they leave. We must have wine and ale, cheeses and tarts. Send me the cook and the boy Ratface, if he’s still alive. Let me see, hobgoblin stuffed with hazelnuts. Hobgoblin on a bed of mushrooms. So many choices…”