The River Ghasts of Lid and Other Stories

The Knight at the Bridge - 2

Gwynn returned from Helleth at nightfall, alone. The soldiers there had laughed at his tales of blue men walking from outside the world, but had agreed to send someone in a week's time. Sit Thomas didn't blame Gwynn. Instead, he set up a rota whereby he and Roderick would take turns to lead the watch, so that if the stranger returned he would be ready. Then, when the old knight wasn't at the gatehouse, he was combing his family's books, looking for clues about the stranger.

He was deeply troubled. He wasn't surprised that the soldiers hadn't believed Gwynn; he wouldn't have either. This was the very edge of everything. No one knew what was beyond the bridge, but whatever it was, it didn't involve blue men.

The days turned to weeks. He sent Roderick to ride to the Prince's palace at Hallen, because he felt that Roderick might have a chance of not being laughed out of court. He himself couldn't abandon his post, and so he took up residence in one of the cold stone rooms of the gatehouse itself. There, in that room which had no tapestries or glass in the windows, he was woken every morning by the crows chattering, and fell asleep to the sound of the sheep calling mournfully from the nearby pastures.

Two days after Roderick had left, Gwynn found what he thought might be the answer. It was an ancient scroll, forgotten under a pile of old books in a cellar in the castle. He brought it to the gatehouse in high excitement. When Sir Thomas unrolled it, the vellum was still smooth, and the writing was tiny and legible.

It was a deed of property, signed with an ancient seal, and it told his family legend.

The castle and the lands were indeed a gift from the King. The region was known as Kartzela, and his ancestor, that first knight, took the name. That man was also named Thomas, which was not a surprise, as the name was handed down from father to eldest son. The family was exempted from taxation and draft, and allowed to rule their land as they wished with no interference from even the Crown. It almost carved out the tiny region as an independent country. There were two stipulations: the first of which was to man the gatehouse and guard the border in perpetuity.

Sir Thomas was in the room at the top of the west tower, looking down at the bridge, reading by candle in the early evening. Well, he and his ancestors had been good for that, so far.

The second was that if the Kartzela line was ever to end, the King must know; and to that end, a record of every birth and death should be sent to his court in faraway Hiria.

Sir Thomas scratched his grey beard, and considered this. These days Hiria was under the control of another prince. His family must have stopped sending that information when the kingdom had fragmented after the death of the final king, a hundred years ago. And here he was, the last knight in Kartzela, with no way to fulfil his family's obligation.

He looked up at the grey sky. It would soon be night.

Something else worried him too, and it wormed at him all that time when he sat or lay in the cold, draughty rooms of the gatehouse, and even this document gave him only a partial answer for it.

How had the blue stranger known his name?