[Part four of the Tale of Redbird. Click on the link on the right and scroll down for the earlier posts]
For the first few hours of the journey, Redbird stayed alert, her mind buzzing with all the possibilities of her new situation. Since she was almost certain that a mistake had been made- for who could possibly believe that the Elves of Faelen needed the help of Redbird?- she kept very quiet and tried to make her presence as unobtrusive as possible, lest the elf should discover that he had committed an error and insist on returning her to the Hock. She succeeded in this so well that, twice, the elf looked behind him to check if she had fallen off the horse.
Eventually, the novelty of galloping through the night in the company of a supernatural being, mounted upon an animal that moved as swift as thought, faded, and she fell asleep. When she woke, it was late afternoon and the sun was shining golden and green through the leaves of the trees.
She woke slowly, and after a few minutes of wondering why her bed was rocking backward and forward in a way that was making her slightly nauseous, she remembered the events of the previous night. Looking around her, she saw only unfamiliar landscape stretching for miles in every direction. She wished to ask the elf how far they had traveled, but was unsure of how to address him.
"Sir," she said, finally. "What is your name?"
"I am Estwyn, Lady Redbird," he said, over his shoulder. "A servant of Lady Ariel, of the House of Fael."
Redbird fell to pondering the next conundrum- what honorific should she use for this elven messenger?
"Master Estwyn," she said a few moments later, after much thought. "How much distance now lies between us and the Hock?"
"We ride very near to the town of Aidel."
Redbird's knowledge of geography was nearly negligible. All she knew was that Aidel was the furthest away from the Hock any villager had ever traveled, and those who had done so were considered to have ventured forth to the very ends of the earth. Beyond Aidel, she had always supposed, lay either the edge of the world, or a barren wilderness not worth exploring.
"And for how many meals have we been travelling?" she asked, speaking of the unit of time that was popularly accepted and used in the Hock.
"I do not know what a meal is, Lady Redbird," the elf replied, much to her amazement.
Redbird wondered how she could correct this baffling ignorance. Explaining meals, the knowledge and understanding of which was absorbed by a Hockian child along with its mother's milk, seemed as impossible as describing the colour of the sky.
"How many meals have we missed by traveling?" she said, speaking slowly and enunciating each word.
"We have missed no meals at all," the elf said, sounding as surprised as she.
Since at least twelve hours had obviously passed since they had begun their journey, Redbird was now presented with the interesting problem of determining whether elves ate at all, or were, in fact, capable of existing on mere light and air, as some of the stories would have it. Consequently, and even more interestingly, the question arose in her mind as to whether or not she would, due to the elves' apparent ability to survive upon insubstantial fare that would certainly not fill her own stomach, starve to death before they reached their destination.
Her stomach, increasingly alarmed by this line of thought, let out a rumble of protest, which she could not hope passed unheard by the elf's sharp ears.
Estwyn pulled his mount to a stop immediately, and turned to face her. "Did you make that sound, Lady Redbird?" he asked, sounding alarmed in the extreme. "Are you unwell?"
"It's not a sickness," said Redbird, the tips of her ears turning hot. "Ride on, please."
"If you are in discomfort, my lady, you must tell me," insisted the elf. "Lady Ariel gave strict instructions to me to protect you to the best of my ability. Are you afflicted by the Dreaded Kelsumple, which I have heard humans are prone to, or the plague?"
"My stomach rumbled!" said Redbird, exasperated. "I'm hungry!"
The elf looked both horrified and intrigued. "Forgive me, Lady Redbird. I am unaccustomed to bearing humans, and have neglected your needs. Your stomach rumbled, did you say? Like thunder?"
"It's been a long time since dinner," muttered Redbird. The prospect of stopping, even to eat, filled her with alarm. She was determined to get at least to Faelen, and the Halls of the Elves, before the elf discovered that he was conveying the wrong person, and she supposed it would be harder for him to shake her off when she was on the horse than on the ground.
"I carry no food that would fill your stomach," said the elf, spurring his horse on again, "But we will stop at the town of Aidel for sustenance, and I pray you will overlook my carelessness."
They were soon at Aidel which Redbird discovered, much to her disappointment, was very like the Hock, with the same surly, uninterested faces lining the streets, and the same weather-beaten buildings that were more like shacks than anything else. However, Aidel boasted of no less than three water pumps in the town square, which Redbird tended to consider a luxury indicative of the greatest progress and invention.
The town was unwelcoming and bare. Although they were in the midst of the summer, the doors were shut, the windows barred, and watchful eyes observed their progress through the town from behind dirty shutters. They finally decided to patronize the least disreputable of the establishments they passed, dubiously entitled 'The Surly Morgan', an inn a little way off from the town square.
A stocky man with blood-shot eyes and an unkempt appearance moved forward to greet them as they entered the inn and Redbird wondered whether this was the Morgan after whom the establishment was named. He certainly seemed surly enough.
"Lunch for two, please," said the elf to Surly Morgan, as Redbird decided he was, and he grunted unbecomingly.
"Let's see yer silver," he said, glaring at Estwyn as though he had just caught him trying to pick the till.
Estwyn, apparently, had no silver, but he pulled out a fistful of gold that seemed to satisfy the man, whose grubby hands immediately tried to grab at the money. The elf's fingers closed over the coins, and he smiled pleasantly at the now overly welcoming inn-keeper.
"You shall receive your payment after we have had our meal," he said.
"Of course, Your Worship," said Morgan, making a sort of curtsey with his apron. "Please to be seated with the missus."
He led them to a table, and even did them the service of giving the greasy surface a quick rub with his apron, which, in Redbird's opinion, increased rather than lessened its filthiness.
"Grub will be ready in just a mo, Your Excellencies," he said, with an oily grimace that he apparently supposed to be a winning grin.
The door to 'the Surly Morgan' opened then, and was shut with a bang. Redbird turned, and saw several large, hairy men enter the inn, bearing with them a strong smell of fertilizer. The most beautiful of all of them was quite hideous, the ugliest was the stuff of nightmares. As she watched, the largest detached himself from the group and walked towards the counter of the inn, banging his fist, more reminiscent of a small ham than anything else, down on the wood.
"Inn-keeper!" he roared, "Nine pints of the best!"
Morgan turned, wiping his hands on his apron. "Oh, it's you, Hedwin," he grunted, with no outward appearance of ecstasy at this realization. "Can you and your lads pay tonight, or is it to be laid to the account again?"
Hedwin bared tombstone-like teeth in a ferocious grimace. "I said nine pints of the best," he grunted, threatening as well as repetitive, beady eyes narrowing into slits. "You'll get your filthy money."
Morgan thus vanquished, the lads made themselves at home, talking and laughing raucously. Hedwin, after some internal deliberation, stumped over to the table where Redbird and Estwyn were seated, and lowered himself on to one of the chairs placed around it with a grunt. The chair creaked in protest, but held up his impressive weight. Redbird wished he had chosen another seat- the smell emanating from him was making her eyes water slightly.
Morgan approached their table then, adding to the colourful odours that surrounded it, and placed before them plates laden with steak and oily chips, along with what was presumably a pint of the best for Hedwin. Although she had seen better fare, the food was mostly clean, and the sight of the chips was nearly irresistible in her present famished state. Picking up the questionable cutlery, she tucked in. The elf eyed the food askance and, apparently deciding that haughty disdain was the wisest way to deal with a substance that was clearly offensive to him, refreshed himself instead from the pitcher of water Morgan had supplied them with. Hedwin sipped his beer.
"You folks from outter town?" the goon asked eventually, breaking the silence that had fallen upon the ill-matched trio.
Redbird noticed that the room fell ominously quiet as he spoke, and the intensity with which its occupants were eavesdropping on their conversation warned her of danger.
"We are," she said, "Ridden all the way over from the Hock."
"Not him," Hedwin said, narrowing his eyes at Estwyn, who stared back impassively. "You'll never make me believe e's from that dump of a village."
Redbird, feeling this was reasonable, declined to test his statement. "He's ridden from far away," she said, pleasantly, "He's my cousin- he's taking me to my uncle's house."
Hedwin snorted. "What, cousins? With your muddy skin, and him as fair as a full moon?" he said, contemptuously.
Redbird had forgotten, as she often did, that her brown skin was very different from the paler hues that surrounded her. "We're very distant cousins," she said, lamely.
"Rich too, no doubt," he said, eyeing them up and down in a way that Redbird thought unpleasant in the extreme. "Saw that brute of a horse outside- that's no common animal."
This was even harder to deny. Hedwin was dressed in a coarse fabric that closely resembled buffalo skin, and Redbird herself was modestly attired in a gown of homespun cotton. The elf, on the other hand, wore a fine tunic of silken material, the threads of which shimmered as the light caught them. The white hand that he rested on the table bore a silver ring on its little finger, and he emanated an aura of quality that was hard to overlook.
"Oh, aye, Alfred here's as well-off as a merchant," she said casually, re-christening the elf with every appearance of nonchalance. "Matter of fact is, he's in a rather specialized trade and it brings in the coffers, sure enough."
"Oh?" said Hedwin, his pig-like eyes narrowing greedily. Redbird could feel the tension thickening in the room and she knew that open assault was imminent. "What trade's that, small wench?"
Redbird raised her eyebrows coolly. "He's a prize-fighter," she said, "So, you'd better watch what tone you take with me."
There was a moment of hesitation- of caution- before Hedwin burst into a fit of bellowing laughter that shook both the table and his enormous frame. "A prize fighter?" he gasped, rubbing his streaming eyes. "Him? A strong wind'ud break him in half!"
"Don't be fooled by his size," warned Redbird. "That's what his opponents think- they look down on him, see? And before they know it, he's turned them inside out with his bare hands."
Hedwin eyed Estwyn with growing unease. "Is he famous, then?" he asked.
"Course!" said Redbird. "I'm surprised you don't recognize him! Why, he's the reigning champion of the southern islands! We're travelling north right now, he's got a big fight coming up with Ellie the Giant soon. Lots of lords and the like going to be watching- expect we'll make a packet."
"I dun believe it," said Hedwin, although his breathing was turning shallow. "He's the size of a toothpick, he is. He couldn't fight my ten year old nephew."
Redbird uttered a scornful laugh. "Here, Alfie," she said, throwing a spoon to the elf, who was listening to the conversation impassively. "Show this great lummox what a toothpick can do."
Redbird knew a moment of tension when she wondered whether the rumoured strength of the elves was a fable, in which case they would shortly be attacked by nine men each the size of small elephants, but then the elf, with no outward sign of strain, picked up the spoon and bent the metal easily into a neat circle.
"Proof enough, for you?" Redbird asked Hedwin calmly, although her heart was thumping with relief. "You're sitting across the table from Alfie the Undefeated, and I'd shut my mouth about toothpicks, if I were you."
Hedwin grunted and finished his ale with startling rapidity. The lads seemed less inclined to stay in the inn after this startling disclosure and they left quickly, without many backward looks. Redbird and Estwyn finished their lunch at a leisurely pace, and were soon on their way again. Neither of them spoke of the incident- but Redbird glowed inside with pride. Only the first few hours of her adventure- and she had experienced her first triumph.
For the first few hours of the journey, Redbird stayed alert, her mind buzzing with all the possibilities of her new situation. Since she was almost certain that a mistake had been made- for who could possibly believe that the Elves of Faelen needed the help of Redbird?- she kept very quiet and tried to make her presence as unobtrusive as possible, lest the elf should discover that he had committed an error and insist on returning her to the Hock. She succeeded in this so well that, twice, the elf looked behind him to check if she had fallen off the horse.
Eventually, the novelty of galloping through the night in the company of a supernatural being, mounted upon an animal that moved as swift as thought, faded, and she fell asleep. When she woke, it was late afternoon and the sun was shining golden and green through the leaves of the trees.
She woke slowly, and after a few minutes of wondering why her bed was rocking backward and forward in a way that was making her slightly nauseous, she remembered the events of the previous night. Looking around her, she saw only unfamiliar landscape stretching for miles in every direction. She wished to ask the elf how far they had traveled, but was unsure of how to address him.
"Sir," she said, finally. "What is your name?"
"I am Estwyn, Lady Redbird," he said, over his shoulder. "A servant of Lady Ariel, of the House of Fael."
Redbird fell to pondering the next conundrum- what honorific should she use for this elven messenger?
"Master Estwyn," she said a few moments later, after much thought. "How much distance now lies between us and the Hock?"
"We ride very near to the town of Aidel."
Redbird's knowledge of geography was nearly negligible. All she knew was that Aidel was the furthest away from the Hock any villager had ever traveled, and those who had done so were considered to have ventured forth to the very ends of the earth. Beyond Aidel, she had always supposed, lay either the edge of the world, or a barren wilderness not worth exploring.
"And for how many meals have we been travelling?" she asked, speaking of the unit of time that was popularly accepted and used in the Hock.
"I do not know what a meal is, Lady Redbird," the elf replied, much to her amazement.
Redbird wondered how she could correct this baffling ignorance. Explaining meals, the knowledge and understanding of which was absorbed by a Hockian child along with its mother's milk, seemed as impossible as describing the colour of the sky.
"How many meals have we missed by traveling?" she said, speaking slowly and enunciating each word.
"We have missed no meals at all," the elf said, sounding as surprised as she.
Since at least twelve hours had obviously passed since they had begun their journey, Redbird was now presented with the interesting problem of determining whether elves ate at all, or were, in fact, capable of existing on mere light and air, as some of the stories would have it. Consequently, and even more interestingly, the question arose in her mind as to whether or not she would, due to the elves' apparent ability to survive upon insubstantial fare that would certainly not fill her own stomach, starve to death before they reached their destination.
Her stomach, increasingly alarmed by this line of thought, let out a rumble of protest, which she could not hope passed unheard by the elf's sharp ears.
Estwyn pulled his mount to a stop immediately, and turned to face her. "Did you make that sound, Lady Redbird?" he asked, sounding alarmed in the extreme. "Are you unwell?"
"It's not a sickness," said Redbird, the tips of her ears turning hot. "Ride on, please."
"If you are in discomfort, my lady, you must tell me," insisted the elf. "Lady Ariel gave strict instructions to me to protect you to the best of my ability. Are you afflicted by the Dreaded Kelsumple, which I have heard humans are prone to, or the plague?"
"My stomach rumbled!" said Redbird, exasperated. "I'm hungry!"
The elf looked both horrified and intrigued. "Forgive me, Lady Redbird. I am unaccustomed to bearing humans, and have neglected your needs. Your stomach rumbled, did you say? Like thunder?"
"It's been a long time since dinner," muttered Redbird. The prospect of stopping, even to eat, filled her with alarm. She was determined to get at least to Faelen, and the Halls of the Elves, before the elf discovered that he was conveying the wrong person, and she supposed it would be harder for him to shake her off when she was on the horse than on the ground.
"I carry no food that would fill your stomach," said the elf, spurring his horse on again, "But we will stop at the town of Aidel for sustenance, and I pray you will overlook my carelessness."
They were soon at Aidel which Redbird discovered, much to her disappointment, was very like the Hock, with the same surly, uninterested faces lining the streets, and the same weather-beaten buildings that were more like shacks than anything else. However, Aidel boasted of no less than three water pumps in the town square, which Redbird tended to consider a luxury indicative of the greatest progress and invention.
The town was unwelcoming and bare. Although they were in the midst of the summer, the doors were shut, the windows barred, and watchful eyes observed their progress through the town from behind dirty shutters. They finally decided to patronize the least disreputable of the establishments they passed, dubiously entitled 'The Surly Morgan', an inn a little way off from the town square.
A stocky man with blood-shot eyes and an unkempt appearance moved forward to greet them as they entered the inn and Redbird wondered whether this was the Morgan after whom the establishment was named. He certainly seemed surly enough.
"Lunch for two, please," said the elf to Surly Morgan, as Redbird decided he was, and he grunted unbecomingly.
"Let's see yer silver," he said, glaring at Estwyn as though he had just caught him trying to pick the till.
Estwyn, apparently, had no silver, but he pulled out a fistful of gold that seemed to satisfy the man, whose grubby hands immediately tried to grab at the money. The elf's fingers closed over the coins, and he smiled pleasantly at the now overly welcoming inn-keeper.
"You shall receive your payment after we have had our meal," he said.
"Of course, Your Worship," said Morgan, making a sort of curtsey with his apron. "Please to be seated with the missus."
He led them to a table, and even did them the service of giving the greasy surface a quick rub with his apron, which, in Redbird's opinion, increased rather than lessened its filthiness.
"Grub will be ready in just a mo, Your Excellencies," he said, with an oily grimace that he apparently supposed to be a winning grin.
The door to 'the Surly Morgan' opened then, and was shut with a bang. Redbird turned, and saw several large, hairy men enter the inn, bearing with them a strong smell of fertilizer. The most beautiful of all of them was quite hideous, the ugliest was the stuff of nightmares. As she watched, the largest detached himself from the group and walked towards the counter of the inn, banging his fist, more reminiscent of a small ham than anything else, down on the wood.
"Inn-keeper!" he roared, "Nine pints of the best!"
Morgan turned, wiping his hands on his apron. "Oh, it's you, Hedwin," he grunted, with no outward appearance of ecstasy at this realization. "Can you and your lads pay tonight, or is it to be laid to the account again?"
Hedwin bared tombstone-like teeth in a ferocious grimace. "I said nine pints of the best," he grunted, threatening as well as repetitive, beady eyes narrowing into slits. "You'll get your filthy money."
Morgan thus vanquished, the lads made themselves at home, talking and laughing raucously. Hedwin, after some internal deliberation, stumped over to the table where Redbird and Estwyn were seated, and lowered himself on to one of the chairs placed around it with a grunt. The chair creaked in protest, but held up his impressive weight. Redbird wished he had chosen another seat- the smell emanating from him was making her eyes water slightly.
Morgan approached their table then, adding to the colourful odours that surrounded it, and placed before them plates laden with steak and oily chips, along with what was presumably a pint of the best for Hedwin. Although she had seen better fare, the food was mostly clean, and the sight of the chips was nearly irresistible in her present famished state. Picking up the questionable cutlery, she tucked in. The elf eyed the food askance and, apparently deciding that haughty disdain was the wisest way to deal with a substance that was clearly offensive to him, refreshed himself instead from the pitcher of water Morgan had supplied them with. Hedwin sipped his beer.
"You folks from outter town?" the goon asked eventually, breaking the silence that had fallen upon the ill-matched trio.
Redbird noticed that the room fell ominously quiet as he spoke, and the intensity with which its occupants were eavesdropping on their conversation warned her of danger.
"We are," she said, "Ridden all the way over from the Hock."
"Not him," Hedwin said, narrowing his eyes at Estwyn, who stared back impassively. "You'll never make me believe e's from that dump of a village."
Redbird, feeling this was reasonable, declined to test his statement. "He's ridden from far away," she said, pleasantly, "He's my cousin- he's taking me to my uncle's house."
Hedwin snorted. "What, cousins? With your muddy skin, and him as fair as a full moon?" he said, contemptuously.
Redbird had forgotten, as she often did, that her brown skin was very different from the paler hues that surrounded her. "We're very distant cousins," she said, lamely.
"Rich too, no doubt," he said, eyeing them up and down in a way that Redbird thought unpleasant in the extreme. "Saw that brute of a horse outside- that's no common animal."
This was even harder to deny. Hedwin was dressed in a coarse fabric that closely resembled buffalo skin, and Redbird herself was modestly attired in a gown of homespun cotton. The elf, on the other hand, wore a fine tunic of silken material, the threads of which shimmered as the light caught them. The white hand that he rested on the table bore a silver ring on its little finger, and he emanated an aura of quality that was hard to overlook.
"Oh, aye, Alfred here's as well-off as a merchant," she said casually, re-christening the elf with every appearance of nonchalance. "Matter of fact is, he's in a rather specialized trade and it brings in the coffers, sure enough."
"Oh?" said Hedwin, his pig-like eyes narrowing greedily. Redbird could feel the tension thickening in the room and she knew that open assault was imminent. "What trade's that, small wench?"
Redbird raised her eyebrows coolly. "He's a prize-fighter," she said, "So, you'd better watch what tone you take with me."
There was a moment of hesitation- of caution- before Hedwin burst into a fit of bellowing laughter that shook both the table and his enormous frame. "A prize fighter?" he gasped, rubbing his streaming eyes. "Him? A strong wind'ud break him in half!"
"Don't be fooled by his size," warned Redbird. "That's what his opponents think- they look down on him, see? And before they know it, he's turned them inside out with his bare hands."
Hedwin eyed Estwyn with growing unease. "Is he famous, then?" he asked.
"Course!" said Redbird. "I'm surprised you don't recognize him! Why, he's the reigning champion of the southern islands! We're travelling north right now, he's got a big fight coming up with Ellie the Giant soon. Lots of lords and the like going to be watching- expect we'll make a packet."
"I dun believe it," said Hedwin, although his breathing was turning shallow. "He's the size of a toothpick, he is. He couldn't fight my ten year old nephew."
Redbird uttered a scornful laugh. "Here, Alfie," she said, throwing a spoon to the elf, who was listening to the conversation impassively. "Show this great lummox what a toothpick can do."
Redbird knew a moment of tension when she wondered whether the rumoured strength of the elves was a fable, in which case they would shortly be attacked by nine men each the size of small elephants, but then the elf, with no outward sign of strain, picked up the spoon and bent the metal easily into a neat circle.
"Proof enough, for you?" Redbird asked Hedwin calmly, although her heart was thumping with relief. "You're sitting across the table from Alfie the Undefeated, and I'd shut my mouth about toothpicks, if I were you."
Hedwin grunted and finished his ale with startling rapidity. The lads seemed less inclined to stay in the inn after this startling disclosure and they left quickly, without many backward looks. Redbird and Estwyn finished their lunch at a leisurely pace, and were soon on their way again. Neither of them spoke of the incident- but Redbird glowed inside with pride. Only the first few hours of her adventure- and she had experienced her first triumph.
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