Eneas pulled back his hood, prompting the Kallikans to more gasps and murmurs, loud as a covey of flushed birds. Several of them got down from their benches and prostrated themselves; even the highwarden removed his tall hat and began to clamber down from his chair to bow to the prince.
“Forgive us, Highness,” he cried. “We did not know! We meant no disrepect to you or your father!”
Briony was a little sickened to see the change that had come over people who only moments before had been calm, careful, and subtle. “This is my fault!” she said.
“No, it is mine,” countered Eneas. “I thought to stay out of this and let Princess Briony do what she needed to do. I should not have hidden my face from my father’s subjects. I ask your pardon.”
All of the Kallikans were relieved by the prince’s words. Some were even nodding and smiling as they made their way back to their seats, as if the whole thing had been an amusing, if slightly frightening, jest.
“You are very kind, Prince Eneas, very kind.” Dolomite looked anxiously between Briony and Eneas. “Of course, we will do whatever the princess asks of us, Highness.”
Now Briony felt heavy and sick in the pit of her stomach. By bringing Eneas she had forced the Kallikans into a position where they had no choice but to do her bidding. That was a way to get what one wanted, but not a way to make real allies.
“I tell you in all honesty,” she said to Dolomite and the other Kallikans, “I asked the prince to accompany me only because he is one of my few friends here in Syan and I could not leave the court without some kind of escort.”
“Surely the big folk in Broadhall palace do not think us a danger to noblewomen? ” piped up a particularly wizened little Kallikan sitting next to Dolomite. He almost sounded flattered by the thought.
“I am certain you would be dangerous to Syan’s enemies,” Briony said. “But it was not your people I feared. One of my countrymen was attacked in the streets of Tessis only a short time gone, so my friends here do not want me to travel without a companion even in the city.”
“And what better companion for a young woman than our famous prince?” said Dolomite. “We are ashamed not to have recognized you, Prince Eneas.”
“And I should have made myself known to you immediately, Highwarden Dolomite, but I am glad we have met at last. I have heard your name spoken well of before, and from men I trust.”
“Your highness is too kind.” Dolomite looked as though he might swell up and start booming with pride like a frog during the spring floods.
Briony let her breath out all the way for the first time in a while. Despite mistakes, they had crept past the first obstacle. “Let me waste no more of your time, Highwarden,” she said. “Here is what I’ve come to ask. Please, can you show me your oldest drum?”
“Drum? ” The smile on Dolomite’s face began fading—he looked genuinely surprised and confused. “Our oldest… drum?”
“That’s all I know. I was told by… by someone important to ask for it.”
The silence gave way to another series of murmured conversations, including several of the Kallikans in the front row around the highwarden, but the common tone seemed to be one of confoundment.
The little wrinkled fellow next to the highwarden suddenly began wiggling his fingers in agitation. “Ooh, scarp me, I’ve just had a thought,” he began, then frowned so hard that his face almost curled away into his beard and vanished. “But no, that’s foolish!… it wouldn’t… would it… ?”
“By the Earth’s Eldest!” sputtered Dolomite, “Would you be good enough to share your idea with us, Whitelead?”
“Just… I thought…” The old Kallikan waggled his fingers even faster beside his face, so that he looked like a river mudfish; at last he noticed what he was doing and stopped. “That… perhaps what she means… this drum… could it be… the drumstones? ”
At these words even the last few whispers trailed off and the hall fell completely silent. All eyes turned toward Briony in astonishment.
I must make the very gods despair, she thought. What have I done now?
The days were getting long, Theron Pilgrimer noted with satisfaction: even hours past the evening meal the sun settling into the hills beyond the river was still high enough to turn the whole length of the Pellos bright copper. That boded well for his desire to reach Onsilpia’s Veil, the most important pilgrimage site in the north, well before the Midsummer Penance Festival began—and that would mean satisfied customers. He had been leading these pilgrim caravans since he was a young man, but for all Theron’s experience things could still catch him by surprise. For that reason, he had guided this caravan far to the south of Brenn’s Bay. He wanted nothing to do with the mad things he had heard about Southmarch, besieged by fairy armies, its royal family scattered to the winds.
He had just finished discussing food supplies with Avidel, his apprentice, when the cripple’s boy appeared. “He wants to talk to you,” the boy told him.
Theron cursed quietly under his breath and looked around for the tattered, ill-omened figure of the beggar. But no, Theron reminded himself, he should call the man by a different name: you couldn’t very well name someone a beggar who was paying you an entire gold dolphin to join your pilgrimage for a fraction of its journey.
Theron followed the boy to the low hill where the cripple stood waiting, well away from the rest of the caravaners. The hooded man, whose blackened, bandaged face Theron had never seen properly, didn’t show the least signs of interest in his fellow travelers except to share their fire and the meals they ate out of the communal pot. He spoke only through the boy, and that seldomly, so it was surprising he should ask to speak with Theron now.
The cripple seemed to be gazing out across the rolling land toward the broad sweep of the Pellos. Distant as an ant on a branch, an ox towed a barge from a path along the bank and several small rowboats bobbed in the backwater at the bend of the river as Silverside fishermen cast out their nets.
“Lovely evening, eh?” Theron said as he approached. He was looking forward to getting into his bedroll and paying his respects to the flask of wine hidden in his travel chest. It was not that the other pilgrims would disapprove, but rather that as long as it was hidden he didn’t have to share it. He would not be able to fill it again until they reached Onsipia’s Veil, which was still days away.
The hooded man waved his bandaged hand and his child servant stood on tiptoe to hear his muttered words. “How far away is Southmarch?” the boy asked.
“Southmarch?” Theron frowned. “At least a tennight, riding most of the day. For a group like ours, closer to a month. But of course we aren’t going anywhere near it.”
The bent man murmured again and the boy listened. “He wants you to take him there.”
“What?” Theron laughed. “I thought your master was just crippled in his body, not simple-minded, but it seems I was wrong! We talked of this when he first joined us back at Onir Plessos. This caravan is not going to Southmarch nor anywhere near it. In fact, this is the closest we shall come.” He waved his hands. “If your master wants to strike out on his own I will not stop him, of course. I will even pray for him, and all the gods know he will need it, and so will you, child. The lands between here and there are said to be full of not just the usual cutpurses and bandits, but worse things—far worse.” He leaned toward the boy. “Goblins, they say. Elves and boggles. Things that will steal not just your money but your very soul.” Theron straightened up. “So if he has sense to go with his money, he will stay with us until we reach the Veil. I know he keeps what’s wrong with him a secret, but I have my guesses. Tell him there’s a leper house there that treats its wards with true kindness.”