That much money would keep a family in comfort for some years, or buy a large house or a small shop here at home. “My lord, II’ll have to borrow.”
“Against prospective earnings?” Sir Falcovan raised his brows. “Well, you can try. But don’t dawdle. The ships have begun loading at Croy. We must sail before autumn.”
“My … my wife, the wife I’ll have, she’s strong and willing the same as I,” Arvel begged. “We’ve talked about it. We’ll go indentured if we can’t find the money.” Lona had resisted that idea violently before she gave in, and he misliked it himself, but passage to the New Lands, to a reborn hope for the future, would be worth seven years of bondage.
The knight shook his head. “No, we’ve no dearth of such helpnigh more than we can find use for, to be frank. It’s capital we still need: that, and qualities of leadership.” His weathered visage softened. “I understand your feelings, lad. I was your age once. May the gods smile on you.”
They had not done so.
Abruptly Arvel could no longer stand in place. He spun about on his heel and resumed his flight.
The weariness that he sought, he won after a few more hours. He staggered up Cromlech Hill and flopped to the ground, his back against the warm side of a megalith. A forgotten tribe had
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The Unicorn Trade
raised this circle on the brow of this tor, unknown millennia ago, and practiced their rites, whatever those were, at the altar in the middle. Now the pillars stood alone, gray, worn, lich-enous, in grass that the waning summer had turned to hay, and held their stony memories to themselves. People shunned them. Arvel cared nothing. He thought that he’d welcome a bogle or a werewolf, anything he could rightfully kill. The heat, the redolence, a drowsy buzzing of insects, all entered him. He slept.
Chill awakened him. He sat up with a gasp and saw that the sun was down. Deep blue in the west, where the evenstar glowed lamplike, heaven darkened to purple overhead. It lightened again in the east, ahead of a full moon that would shortly rise, but murk already laired among the megaliths.
“Good fortune, mortal.” The voice, male, sang rather than spoke.
Arvel gaped. The form that loomed before him was tall, and huge slanty eyes caught what luminance there was and gave it back as the eyes of a cat do. Otherwise it was indistinct, more than this dimness could reasonably have caused. He thought he saw a cloak, its flaring collar suggestive of bat wings, and silvery hair around a narrow face; but he could not be sure.
He scrambled to his feet. “Joy to you, sir,” he said in haste while he stepped backward, hand on sword. His heart, that would have exulted to meet an avowed enemy, rattled, and his gullet tightened.
FAIRY GOLD
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Yet the stranger made no threatening move, but remained as quiet in the dusk as the cromlech. “Have no fear of me, Arvel Tarabine,” he -^enjoined. “Right welcome you are.”
The man wet his lips. “You have the advantage of me, sir,” he croaked. “I do not think I have had the pleasure of meeting you erenow.”
“No; for who remembers those who came to their cradles by night and drew runes in the air above them?” A fluid shrug. “Names are for mortals and for gods, not for the Fair Folk. But call me Irrendal if you wish.”
Arvel stiffened. His pulse roared in his ears. “No! Can’t be!”
Laughter purled. “Ah, you think Irrendal and his elves are mere figures in nursery tales? Well, you have forgotten this too; but know afresh, from me, that the culture of children is older than history and the lore which its tales preserve goes very deep.”
Arvel gathered nerve. “Forgive me, sir, but I have simply your word for that.”
“Granted. Nor will I offer you immediate evidence, because it must needs be of a nature harmful to you.” The other paused. “However,” he proposed slowly, “if you will follow me, you shall perceive evidence enough, aye, and receive it, too.”