Dark Remains

One It was in the final, burnished days of summer -- when cool mornings gave way to languid afternoons under hazy skies, when the wheat bowed in the fields, shafts heavy with fruit, and all the land was still as if drinking in one last, long draught of gold -- that the Mournish came to Ar-tolor. Through the window of her chamber, Aryn watched the line of wagons creep along the road that led to the castle. At this distance the wagons were smaller than toys, but the young woman's blue eyes were sharp, and she could make out many of the fantastical shapes into which they had been wrought. There were swans with high, curving prows and snowy wings folded against their sides, and snails painted pink with small round windows set into their spiraled shells. A lion crouched low to the road, as if ready to pounce on a hart crowned by tree-branch antlers, while an emerald frog bounced behind. More wagons rolled into view: tortoises, fish cresting carved blue waves, lizards, tawny hares, and a dozen other creatures that Aryn had never seen before, except perhaps coiled along the edges of pages in old books. One by one the wagons vanished beneath the green curve of the hill, and the road was empty again. But even at that moment, Aryn knew the wagons were coming to halt in the field outside the village, opening painted doors to release the spicy scent of incense, the cool clink of silver, and the undulating rhythms of music. The young woman turned from the window, her sapphire eyes bright. "Let's go see the Mournish!" Lirith, who sat in a chair on the other side of the small sitting room, did not look up from her embroidery. "And then let's get tossed in the dungeon and make the acquaintance of a few dozen rats. For you know as I do, sister, that Queen Ivalaine has made it plain she wishes no one in her court to associate with the wandering folk. Their entertainments are for villagers and farmers." Annoyed, but not surprised, Aryn indulged herself in a particularly noxious frown. "And what a fine baroness you'll make after your face freezes that way, sister," Lirith mused, her dark eyes still focused on the embroidery hoop in her lap. "Even bold dukes and proud knights will quail before you." "As well they should," Aryn said. Although she smoothed her features and made a quick glance at a silver mirror on the wall nearby to be sure she hadn't done permanent damage. "I saw that," Lirith said. Rather than reply, Aryn gazed back out the window. The most interesting sight she saw now was a flock of sheep dotting the side of a distant hill like flowers. She amused herself for a few moments, imagining plucking tiny sheep from the grass, weaving them into a squirming, bleating chain, and placing them around her neck. Then she considered the smell, and that fancy passed. "I'm bored," she said, not caring how petulant she sounded. She felt petulant. "All the better reason for you to stay and work on your embroidery." Aryn scowled at the black-haired witch. "I know perfectly well that you loathe embroidery, Lirith." "Indeed. And my loathing keeps me well occupied, so that I do not become bored. Now sew. Sister Tressa will be here soon, and she'll expect to see some progress." Aryn turned from the window, pulled close the wooden stand that held her embroidery hoop steady for her, and did her best to pretend that sewing unicorns was really more fascinating than buying packets of sugared nuts, laughing at performing monkeys, and watching men who swallowed knives and burning brands. Yrsaia knows, you should be more grateful for your boredom,Aryn of Elsandry,she scolded herself.Where are Grace and Goodman Travis and Lord Beltan now? Sitting in a comfortable chair in a safe castle with a cup of sweet wine at hand?Anthony, Mark is the author of 'Dark Remains' with ISBN 9780553381016 and ISBN 0553381016.