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must still be there."
"And how will I find this place?"
"Go up to the Old Street, then east to Little Saffield. Here take the side
road north to Tawn Timble, and thence to the village Glymwode. There you must
ask for Graithe the woodcutter and Wynes, his wife."
Aillas looked into his pouch and brought out a necklace of pink pearls. He
gave it to Ehirme, who accepted it without enthusiasm. "This was Suldrun's
necklace. When I reach Troicinet I will send for you, and you will live out
your years in comfort and as much content as may be possible."
Ehirme produced a low quacking sound.
"She says that it is kind of you to make the offer, but that she does not know
if the men would wish to leave their land."
"We will settle such affairs later. Here I am only Aillas the vagabond, and I
have nothing to give except my gratitude."
"So it may be."
Late in the day Aillas arrived at Little Saffield, a market town beside the
River Timble, built all of ocher-gray country stone. At the center of town
Aillas found the Black Ox Inn, where he took lodging for the night.
In the morning he set off along a lane which followed the River Timble north,
in the shade of poplar trees along the riverbank. Crows soared over the
fields, notifying all who would listen of his presence.
Sunlight burnt through the early mist and warmed his face; already he was
losing the haunted pallor of his captivity. As he walked an odd thought passed
through his mind: "Some day I must return and visit my twelve good friends..."
He uttered a grim sound. What an idea! Return into the dark hole? Never... He
calculated. Today Zerling would drop the bucket with his rations. The bread
and water would remain in the basket and the poor underground wight would be
deemed dead. Zerling might perhaps report as much to King Casmir. How would
the king react to the news? An indifferent shrug? A twitch of curiosity as to
the father of his daughter's child? Aillas smiled a thin hard smile and for a
space amused himself with possible directions of the future.
The landscape to the north ended at a dark loom across the northern horizon:
the Forest of Tantrevalles. As Aillas approached, the countryside altered, to
become ever more thoroughly steeped in time. Colors seemed richer and heavier;
shadows were more emphatic and showed curious colors of their own. The River
Timble, shaded under willows and poplars, wandered away in stately meanders;
the road turned and entered the town Tawn Timble.
At the inn Aillas ate a dish of broad beans and drank an earthenware mug of
beer.
The way to Glymwode led across the meadows, ever closer to the gloom of the
forest, sometimes skirting the verge, sometimes passing under outlying copses.
Halfway through the afternoon Aillas trudged into Glymwode. The landlord at
the Yellow Man Inn directed him to the cottage of Graithe the woodcutter. He
asked in puzzlement: "What brings so many fine folk to visit Graithe? He's but
a common man and no more than a woodcutter."
"The explanation is simple enough," said Aillas. "Certain grand folk at
Lyonesse Town wanted a child brought up quietly, if you get my meaning, and
then they changed their minds."
"Ah!" The landlord laid a sly finger alongside his nose. "Now it's clear.
Still, a far way just to veil an indiscretion."
"Bah! One cannot judge the high-born by sensible standards!"
"That is a basic truth!" declared the landlord. "They live with their heads
above the clouds! Well then, you know the way. Don't stray into the woods,
especially after nightfall; you might find things you weren't seeking."
"In all likelihood I'll be back here before sunset. Will you have a bed for
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me?"
"Aye. If nothing better, you'll have a pallet in the loft."
Aillas departed the inn, and in due course found the cottage of Graithe and
Wynes: a small two-room hut built of stone and timber, with a thatched roof,
at the very edge of the forest. A spare old man with a white beard worked to
split a log with maul and wedges. A stocky woman in a homespun smock and shawl
tilled the garden. At Aillas' approach both drew erect and in silence watched
him come.
Aillas halted in the dooryard and waited while the man and woman slowly
approached.
"You are Graithe and Wynes?" asked Aillas.
The man gave his head a terse nod. "Who are you? What do you want?"
"Your daughter Ehirme sent me here."
The two stood, watching him, still as statues. Aillas sensed the psychic reek
of fear. He said: "I haven't come to trouble you; quite the contrary. I am
Suldrun's husband and the father of our child. It was a boy named Dhrun.
Ehirme sent him here; King Casmir's soldiers brought back a girl named Madouc.
So then, where is my son Dhrun?"
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