Lyonesse

"The prospect has troubled us," said the smith. "Still, we at the village are too close; we know all each other's secrets and none could command a proper respect. We prefer a strong and honest stranger for the office: one of good heart and generous spirit, one who will mete fair justice, levy light rents and abuse his privileges no more than absolutely necessary. In short, we ask that you yourself, Sir Aillas, become the new lord of Fair Aprillion and its domains."

"Not I," said Aillas. "I have urgent deeds to do, and already I am late. Choose someone else to serve you."

"Sir Garstang then would be our choice!"

"Well chosen," said Aillas. "He is of noble blood; he is brave and generous."

"Not I," said Sir Garstang. "I have domains of my own elsewhere, which I am anxious to see once more."

"Well then, what of you others?"

"Not I," said Bode. "I am a restless man. What I seek is to be found in the far places."

"Not I," said Yane. "I am one for the tavern, not the hall. I would shame you with my wenching and revelry."

"Not I," said Cargus. "You would not wish a philosopher for your lord."

"Nor a bastard Goth," said Faurfisk.

Quails spoke in a thoughtful voice: "It would seem that I am the only qualified possibility. I am noble, like all Irishmen; I am just, forbearing, honorable; I also play the lute and sing, and so I can enliven the village festivals with frolics and antics. I am generous but not grandiose. At marriages and hangings I am sober and reverent; ordinarily I am easy, gay and lightsome.

Further—"

"Enough, enough!" cried Aillas. "Plainly, you are the man for the job. Lord Quails, give us leave to depart your domain!"

"Sir, the permission is yours, and my good wishes go with you. I will often wonder as to how you are faring, and my Irish wildness will give me a twinge, but on winter nights, when rain spits at the windows, I will hold my feet to the fire, drink red wine, and be happy that I am Lord Quails of Fair Aprillion."

The seven rode south along an old road which, according to folk at Vervold, swung southwest around the Forest of Tan-trevalles, then turned south eventually to become the Trompada. No one at Vervold had ventured far in this direction—nor any other direction in most cases—and no one could offer sensible information as to what might be encountered.

For a space the road went by haphazard curves and swoops; left, right, up hill, down dale, following a placid river for a time, then angling away through the dim forest. Peasants tilled the meadows and herded cattle. Ten miles from Vervold the peasants had become a different sort: dark of hair and eye, slight of physique, wary to the point of hostility.

As the day progressed the land became harsh, the hills abrupt, the meadows stony, the tillages were less frequent. Late in the afternoon they came to a hamlet, no more than a group of farmhouses built close together for mutual protection and simple conviviality. Aillas paid over a gold piece to the patriarch of one household; in return the troop was provided a great supper of pork grilled over vine cuttings, broad beans and onions, oat-bread and wine. The horses were fed hay and stabled in a barn. The patriarch sat for a time with the group to make sure that all ate well and relaxed his taciturnity, so much that he put questions to Aillas: "What sort of folk might you be?"

Aillas pointed around the group: "A Goth. A Celt. Ulfish yonder. There a Galician"—this was Cargus—"and a knight of Lyonesse. I am Troice. We are a mixed group, assembled, if the truth be known, against our will by the Ska."

"I have heard speak of the Ska," said the old man. "They will never dare set foot in these parts. We are not many, but we are furious when aroused."

"We wish you long life," said Aillas, "and many happy feasts like that you have set before us tonight."

"Bah, that was but a hasty collation arranged for unexpected guests. Next time give us notice of your coming."

"Nothing would suit us better," said Aillas. "Still, it is a long hard way, and we are not home yet. What lies along the road to the south?"

"We hear conflicting reports. Some speak of ghosts, others of ogres. Some have been harassed by bandits, others complain of imps riding like knights on armored herons. It is hard to separate fact from hysteria; I can only recommend caution."

The road became no more than a wide trail, winding south into hazy distance. The Forest of Tantrevalles could be seen to the left and the stone cliffs of the Teach tac Teach rose sheer to the right. The farmsteads finally disappeared, though occasional huts and a ruined castle used as a shelter for sheep testified to a sparse population. In one of the old huts the seven stopped to take shelter for the night.

The great forest here loomed close at hand. At intervals Aillas heard strange sounds from the forest which sent tingles along his skin. Scharis stood listening in fascination, and Aillas asked what he heard.

"Can you not hear it?" asked Scharis, his eyes glowing. "It is music; I have never heard its like before."

Aillas listened for a moment. "I hear nothing."

"It comes and goes. Now it has stopped."

"Are you sure it isn't the wind?"

"What wind? The night is calm."

"If it is music, you should not listen. In these parts magic is always close, to the peril of ordinary men."

With a trace of impatience Scharis asked: "How can I not listen to what I want to hear? When it tells me things I want to know?"

"This goes beyond me," said Aillas. He rose to his feet. "1 am for bed. Tomorrow we ride long and far."

Aillas set watches, marking off two-hour periods by the sweep of the stars. Bode took the first watch alone, then Garstang and Faurfisk, then Yane and Cargus and finally Aillas and Scharis; and the troop made themselves as comfortable as possible. Almost reluctantly Scharis settled himself, but quickly fell asleep and Aillas gratefully did the same.

When Arcturus reached its appointed place, Aillas and Scharis were aroused and began their sentry duty. Aillas noticed that Scharis no longer gave his attention to sounds from the night. Aillas asked softly: "What of the music? Do you hear it still?"

"No. It moved away even before I slept."

"I wish I might have heard it."

"That might not serve you well."

"How so?"

"You might become as I am, to your sorrow."

Aillas laughed, if somewhat uneasily. "You are not the worst of men. How could I so damage myself?"

Scharis stared into the fire. At last he spoke, half-musing. "For a fact, I am ordinary enough—if anything, much too ordinary. My fault is this: I am easily distracted by quirks and fancies. As you know, I hear inaudible music. Sometimes when I look across the landscape, I glimpse a flicker of motion; when I look in earnest it moves just past the edge of vision. If you were like me, your quest might be delayed or lost and so your question is answered."

Aillas stirred the fire. "I sometimes have sensations—whims, fancies, whatever you call them—of the same kind. I don't give them much thought. They are not so insistent as to cause me concern."

Scharis laughed humorlessly. "Sometimes I think I am mad. Sometimes I am afraid. There are beauties too large to be borne, unless one is eternal." He stared into the fire and gave a sudden nod. "Yes, that is the message of the music."

Aillas spoke uncomfortably. "Scharis, my dear fellow, I think you are having hallucinations. You are over-imaginative; it is as simple as that!"

"How could I imagine so grandly? I heard it, you did not. There are three possibilities. Either my mind is playing me tricks, as you suggest; or, secondly, my perceptions are more acute than yours; or, thirdly—and this is the frightening thought— the music is meant for me alone."

Aillas made a skeptical sound. "Truly, you would do best to put these strange sounds from your mind. If men were intended to probe such mysteries, or if such mysteries actually exist, surely we would know more about them."