The Skeleth

Chapter 39

The guardsman struck the butt of his spear to the ground. "The lord Tristan of Harthingdale!"

Tom placed his hand at Tristan's elbow. "By your leave, my lord."

They proceeded into the hall of Harold, Lord of Elverain. The fire in the great arched hearth blazed up tall, keeping the autumn draft outside. The tapestries on the walls displayed their ancient deeds of stern valor, but to Tom they seemed made for the moment, hung in celebration of bravery rewarded and hope renewed.

Harry stood from his great chair at the high table, surrounded by his knights, his councilors and clerks. He raised a hand bedecked with silver rings. "My lord Tristan, I welcome you to my home, to feast and council." His men gave way to allow Tristan's passage to the chair at his left hand.

Tom drew back the chair for Tristan. Harry's bright eyes fixed on him. "Ah, yes—Tom, is it? We in Elverain are very much in your debt." He shifted the heavy chain of office that he wore around his neck, and looked lost for what to say next. "Are you now my lord Tristan's servant? You may wait on him at the high table, if you wish."

Lord Tristan chuckled. "Young Tom here has other matters to which he must attend." He tapped Tom's arm. "Off you go."

Tom bowed before them both. "My lords." He stepped lightly down from the high table, slipping through ranks of attendants and servants busy setting up what looked to be the very finest of feasts. He found his place in the corner, far away from the crush, where a boy and a girl waited for him, his two dearest friends in all the world.

"So." Edmund shifted over to give Tom space on the bench. "Now what?"

"Now? Now we eat." Katherine handed Tom a trencher of bread stacked high with salt pork. Tom needed no further prompting.

"I mean what happens now?" Edmund passed Tom a bowl of lentil pottage. "What about Wolland, what about the other wizards Katherine heard about, the ones throwing kingdoms down far away? And what about . . ." He trailed away. The firelight threw shadows that seemed to tower over him, to menace him and him alone.

Worry clouded Katherine's eyes. She leaned across the table, gazing upon Edmund, but could not seem to find words. Then she glanced aside, up the hall at Harry—and then, back at Edmund. Her brows lowered, her gaze darkened, and she did not answer Tom's questioning look.

The guardsman struck his spear again. "Isembard of Garafraxa, Earl of Quentara. Make way!" Then, after a pause: "And make way for Thulina Drake, Revered Elder of the Ahidhan!"

"Lookie here, Tom." Lord Isembard seemed to care little for proper form, for he veered aside from the center aisle of the hall as soon as he entered. "Got someone for you."

Jumble landed on Tom but an instant later, springing into his lap in a burst of thorough glee. After he was done snuffling Tom up and down, he started on Edmund, and after a few giggling dodges Edmund started to look like himself again.

"Dogs have much to teach us." The Elder leaned in at the table, braced upon her walking stick. "Ah—this can only be Katherine Marshal and Edmund Bale."

Edmund and Katherine stood up to bow and curtsy. The Elder waved them down again.

"Just as I pictured them." She smiled at Tom, touched his shoulder, then hobbled onward down the aisle.

"Lord Isembard—Revered One." Harry coughed from the high table. "Will you attend our feast? We have much to discuss."

"Coming, my lord Harold, coming, in our best time." Lord Isembard offered his arm to the Elder. "We are not all so young as you."

Edmund turned to watch them go. "This will be a bit thorny for Harry. He did kill her sister, after all."

The folk at the high table fell into council, while those below fell to feasting. A file of folk hailed Tom and his friends, passing in clumps and packs throughout the feast. Nicky Bird slapped Tom's side, Bella Cooper pressed his hands, and even Edmund's father greeted him with solemn respect. Miles Twintree brought them a mug of sweet, spiced cider; Emma Russet brought them each a necklace she had made herself, each a different colored stone on a leather loop. Tom and Edmund took theirs at once, and each accepted a kiss on the cheek. Katherine already wore a necklace, one made of silver studded with real gems, but after a moment's hesitation she took it off and wore Emma's. Others came in their turns; Tom introduced his friends to Rahilda Redfield, then to her husband, Donston, and her sister Melicent. He found himself forced to tell the story of his retaking of Tristan's castle, with Melicent acting out the best parts in the aisles beside him. No one lingered long, though, not even Geoffrey. Everyone seemed to know that the three friends wanted themselves to themselves that night.

"Now, I think, we rest while we can." Tom poured out mugs of sweet cider for his friends, then for himself. "Now, I think, we feel sad for what we lost, but we don't let that make us forget the good that we have done."

Katherine thunked her mug against his. She looked to Edmund, who joined them after a moment's hesitation.

Edmund drank deeply. "If that was what we could do when we're apart, just think of what we can do when we're all together."

Tom felt the hackles on the back of his neck stand up. He turned around and saw his old master glaring at him from across the hall. Athelstan pointed at Tom and clenched his fist.

Katherine's eyes flashed dark. She stood up and looked ready to go right across the hall at Athelstan, but Tom held her back.

"Let it be," he said. "Let it be, for now."

Edmund flicked a disdainful glance across at Athelstan, then smirked at Tom. "You're friends with some important folk now. Let's see old Athelstan go up against Tristan, Isembard and the Elder all together."

"Never mind them," said Tom. "Let's see him try to get past Rahilda."

Lord Tristan's voice rose above the clamor in the hall. "With a glad heart will I aid you." He turned to Harry. "What wisdom I have, and what power remains to me, is yours in friendship."

Isembard clapped his hands. "Then so be it. We lords of north and west will stick as one!"

Tom lost what was said next at the high table amidst the cheers. "That sounds good."

"It is good," said Katherine. "If Harry works with Tristan, they'll have no trouble securing everything west of the Tamber until spring."

Edmund seemed to have gotten back his appetite. He plucked up the same piece of mutton as Tom, so they ripped it in half between them.

"I can't imagine Wolland staying long on the moors," said Katherine. "There's been no more sign of his army—they're likely on the way home already. All we have to do is watch the river, rebuild our strength, and wait out the winter. Come spring, I bet the king will march north, and woe to Wolland then."

There came another cheer—Nicky and Horsa started up on flute and fiddle, and even Lady Isabeau, seated at her son's side, seemed to warm at the sound of it.

"Child." John Marshal stopped at their table. "Are you enjoying the feast?"

Katherine turned at once, worry in her eyes again. "Are you, Papa?"

"I've just been in the stables." John's body bore no wounds, yet to Tom he still looked injured. "I think Indigo was pleased to see me, though it is always hard to tell with that horse." Jumble was happy to see him, though—that was not hard to tell at all.

John rubbed Jumble under the chin. "You took good care of Tom, did you not? Good lad." Jumble barked and licked his nose.

Edmund fidgeted, bit his lip, then spoke. "Master Marshal, I've been looking through everything I can find about the Skeleth, and you must know that there was nothing you could have done, nothing that—"

John held up a hand. "Let us speak of that another day." He looked at each of them in turn. "Again I have the happy duty to tell you, all three, how well you have done, how proud you have made me. Katherine—Tom, Edmund, look at me. You saved the north."

Tom had not thought of it like that. From the looks on the faces of his friends, neither had they.

"Other folk helped, but it was you three," said John. "Three children thwarted the plots of lord and wizard, of the Nethergrim itself—again. Let our enemies chew on that for a while."

Katherine reached across the table. She took Tom's hand, then Edmund's.

"Now, I'll leave you three to your feast. I have business with an old friend." John Marshal strode up through the aisles, crossed behind the high table and tapped Lord Tristan on the arm.

Evening slipped inside and found itself a welcome guest. The glow of fire and food melded and made joy. Tom looked from Edmund to Katherine. Whatever worried them, whatever they feared, John Marshal's words would not let them fall to fretting.

The guardsman's spear banged the floor again.

"Now, who can that be?" Harry looked up from a shared joke with Tristan.

"I cannot think who it might be, my lord." Lord Isembard drained his goblet. "All the good and loyal lords of the north are already here!"

Harry waved a hand, still laughing. "We want no more lords! Away, away!"

"Er, it is not a lord, saving your pardon." The guardsman bowed his way into the hall. A man followed him in, a man who looked thoroughly confused at the merriment he saw around him. He passed behind Tom's back—he smelled of horse sweat and did not look as though he had slept in some time. He wore warm clothes made for traveling, and upon his breast there shone a brooch—a hunting hound trampling the antler of a stag.

Edmund leaned across the table. "Who's that?"

"King's messenger," said Katherine. "He looks like he's been riding hard."

Harry stood, and called for silence. He gestured to the messenger. "You are welcome here. What news do you bring?"

The messenger stopped in the middle of the hall. He looked about him at the feast, frozen in suspense, waiting on his word. Tom caught a flicker of remorse on his face.

"Come, then," said Harry. "Out with it."

"My lord." The messenger turned back to the high table. He drew a breath, then coughed, then spoke:

"The king is dead."