Farewells were said, and a hug was had between Keezer and Ode, and at that Caewen and Ode climbed up atop Dapplegrim, and he mustered his speed.
They were soon passing whole trains of refugee wagons, and crowds of trudging, weary folks–if still at a distance. The canter continued until, at last, a great gaping ruin of ancient stone rose into view. It was grey, moss-studded, and dripping all over with moisture. It looked to Ode’s untained eye like the tumbled remnants of some old and grandiose castle. One of the larger of the valley rivers cut across the road here, and twisted almost the whole distance around the ruin, not quite forming a circle before hitting a cliff of hard stone that it could not erode, and so to be turned aside and churn itself away south-eastwards in foaming roils. Over the river stood four huge, old stone bridges: one at each cardinal of the compass rose. Presumably, these were as old as the ruins, but either the bridges had been better built or better repaired. They still stood sturdily and bore the weight of much traffic.
“The Fortress of the Four Bridges,” said Dapplegrim. “I visited here when it was a thriving market town, walled in strongly, and over-towered by three spires that could see as far as the brae-heads in the south, the woods in the west and north, and the sea in the east. Hurm. Or, so, I was told. I never climbed the steps myself.” He went on to explain, unnecessary, “I’m mostly a horse, you see.”
Caewen raised her eyebrows, and sighed, but still half-chuckled a little, despite herself. “Well, my mostly horse, let’s cross the bridge and see what there is to see.”
The space beyond was crowded. Mostly it was refugees and those driven from their homes. There were some few wandering tinkers, white-smiths, merchants and the like too. Some were trying to do trade. Others were packing their things, obviously intent on leaving.
“Here,” a man shouted. At his heel a dog growled. Three armed and armoured knights with war-torn tabards approached. One had a bandaged bloody arm. They wore a grey tower on a blue background. Ode did not know the device or what lord it belong to.
“What’s your business? Are you spies sent by Old Night and her Winter’s Child? Speak now.”
“Not spies,” replied Caewen, “though I’ve no way to prove it beyond my word. We are riding south to warn Brae.”
“Messengers have already been sent.”
She shook her head. “And yet we will arrive the quicker. Dapplegrim here will outpace any beast of mortal sinew. For whatever good it may do.”
The knight eyed Dapplegrim, and took in his size: a good half again taller than the largest warhorse. “Or you might be scouting troops and bastions for your lady and her whelp.”
“As I said, we’ve no proof but my word. Upon that I swear and give oath upon my blood and ancestors.”
The knight was mulling this when Ode spoke. “I’ve known Caewen and her beast for only a short part of my short life, but already I know for certain: you’ll never meet anyone so fair, and so opposed to war and strife and the rule of the unkind. True, they may bot look like shadow-born things: but would the Queen of Old Night send spies that looked like these two?”
Among themselves, the knights now murmured. At last, their leader replied. “I hope that my judgment is true in this. These are strange days, and strange journeyers are to be expected perhaps. You may pass, but I have my eye on you. And if you put anyone to fear, or cause any trouble whatsoever, they’ll be more trouble for you.” He nodded at Dapplegrim. “No matter how fearsome that thing might be.”
“Thank you,” said Dapplegrim, with a grin.
The knights started. Evidently, they hadn’t realised he could talk. “Um. On then. Move on. Just mind to keep your business to yourselves here.”
They passed on, edged through the crowds, and found a place to rest in a sheltered little alcove between two buttresses of worked stone. Caewen pulled her hood up over her head the moment she was afoot on the ground. “Dapple, Ode, you stay here. “I’ll be back as soon as I find a horse.”
She was gone into the crowd in a moment. “A horse?” said Ode, “why would she–?”
“You know why,” replied Dapplegrim. “Someone must travel east and find the broken fragment of the Old Great Spell. Someone must travel south and warn the men and women of Brae. I suspect we are that latter someones.”
“But–“
He shook his head and twitched an ear. “No point arguing. I’ve learned to just accept it, when she gets a notion in her head. There’s no arguing with her.”
“Oh.”
Dapplegrim looked around, sniffing the air. “I smell roast mutton. I wonder if we might be able to haggle a bite or two.”
Ode too felt hungry too. He took some coins from Dapplgrim’s saddle and by the time Caewen returned, they had some meat and old hard bread on plates. Dapplegrim had swallowed a hank of mutton like a lizard gulping down a moth. He was now idly chewing a big leg bone. The meal had cost five times what it was worth, but they had some coin to spare and Ode thought it worth the expense. Caewen returned leading a thin, skittish but otherwise serviceable looking greyish white riding horse. The saddle and reins were decorated with blue and gold thread and small white glinting stones, so that it gave the impression of a riding horse for jaunting about rather than fighting.
“Nice horse,” said Dapplegrim, a slight tone of something undefinable in his voice. It might have been jealousy, or something akin to it. But, not quite.
“Oh Dapple, you know that–“
“I know. I know. How much?”
“I gave them the sapphires we found in the trolde-hoard, way back when we passed through the Deepwode Glaelds.”
“You could have bought a small castle with those. Hurm.”
“I know,” she answered, perhaps a little sadly.
“So,” said Dapplegrim.”
“So,” she repeated.
“Hurm. I presume that I am to take the boy south, and we will present ourselves to the king?”
“Yes.”
“The king?” said Ode, incredulous. “I can’t–that is–I’m not fit for talking to kings.”
“You are and you will,” said Caewen, more softly and more kindly. “Besides, if you don’t, Dapplegrim will: and that is much less likely to go to plan.”
“Hey! Hur. Hur. I am a tower of refined etiquette and courtly pleasantries. When I want to be. Oh, my lady, how are the pickled quail tongues? Oh, delightful? And your uncle, the viscount of de la de la land? Oh, what exquisite wit you have.” He snorted. “And so on. You get the idea.”
She gave Dappelgrim a bit of a sidelong glance. “As I was saying, Ode, you’ll have to find it in you to speak with kings. Unless you want to let Dapplegrim have a go.”
“So its just you and your shadow-thing?” said Ode.
“That I feel less happy about,” muttered Dapplegrim.
“No. It’s just me. I’ve sent Fetch into the world of dreams, and away westward. There are people I still care about in my little home village, up in the stony hills. I’ve sent him to give warning to Dossel. Armies will marching in those lands soon, if not already.”
Now it was Dapplegrim’s turn to be taken aback. He paused, and chewed on this bit of information. “On the one hand, I do approve of this new–send the shadow-demon to the other side of the world–policy. On the other hand–er, hoof? Well, I strongly disapprove of the accompanying policy, best summarised as–without the shadow’s essence, spellwork will drink from your heart’s blood and kill you–or worse.”
“Relax, Dapple. I’m no fool and have no wish to walk the earth as a mindless witch-wight. I will go forward by my sword and by my wit. Magic, only when needs must.”
He shook his head. “Now I’ve really worried.”
She got up on tiptoes and gave him a hug around his big muscular neck. He grumbled under his breath.
“And you,” she said, turning to Ode. “look after Dapplegrim for me, will you? He needs a bit of encouragement, now and then. And when you arrive at High Brae Port, ask after a sorcerer, Samarkarantha. He is of the sun-gilt lands. You can’t miss him, if he is there. Dapplegrim knows him too. We have arranged to meet at High Brae, and exchange news and assistance, if we can.”
“How did you–“
“No time.” Her lips curled into a smile, and she bent down and gave Ode a light kiss on the forehead. “Good luck child. You have your name now. And you have more and other things aside. You have some belief in yourself, which is–I think–more important than gold or sapphires or great sorceries.” Her smile was kind. “You can do it.” The, she turned, and quickly, busily went about transferring various bundles of clothing, food, purses and satchels from Dapplegrim to the grey horse’s saddlery. Ode noticed that the ivory box was one of the objects that went with the other things into the saddle bags. She took one small purse of coins, but left the rest. Once this was done, Caewen put a foot into the stirrup of the thin, grey palfry, and swung a leg upon the saddle. “And you know what? I believe I can do it too.”
And with that, she rode off through the crowd, making for the archway that led to the western bridge.
“Well,” said Dapplegrim. “Just us then, for the time being.”
“Just us,” said Ode. “I suppose we ought to be on our way too.”
“Time is short,” said Dapplegrim. “Hurm. And running shorter by the hour.”
-oOo-
THE END
Here ends A Charm for the Nameless Child. The final volume (hopefully) of The King who Sings in Winter will follow.