Read Online The Dragonbone Chair by Tad Williams - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Tad Williams
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teach you something.”
When they had provisioned themselves, the doctor once more took a seat.
“Well and well, Simon—oh, and don’t be bashful about wielding that broom while you eat. The young are so flexible!—now, correct me please if I misspeak. The day today is Drorsday, the fifteenth—sixteenth?—no, fifteenth of Novander. And the year is 1164, is it not?”
“I think so.”
“Excellent. Do put that over on the stool, will you? So, the eleven-hundred and sixty-fourth year since what? Do you know?” Morgenes leaned forward.
Simon pulled a sour face. The doctor knew he was a mooncalf and was teasing him. How was a scullion supposed to know about such things? He continued to sweep in silence.
After some moments he looked up. The doctor was chewing, staring at him intently over a crusty chunk of dark bread.
What sharp blue eyes the old man has!
Simon turned away again.
“Well, then?” the doctor said around a mouthful. “Since what?”
“I don’t know,” Simon muttered, hating the sound of his own resentful voice.’
“So be it. You don’t know—or you think you don’t. Do you listen to the proclamations when the crier reads them?”
“Sometimes. When I’m at Market. Otherwise Rachel tells me what they say. ”
“And what comes at the end? They read the date at the end, do you remember?—and mind that crystal urn, boy, you sweep like a man shaving his worst enemy. What does it say at the end?”
Simon, nettled with shame, was about to throw the broom down and leave when suddenly a phrase floated up from the depths of his memory, bringing with it market-sounds—the wind-snapping of pennants and awnings—and the clean smell of spring grass strewn underfoot.
“Since the Founding.” He was sure. He heard it as though he were standing on Main Row.
“Excellent!” The doctor lifted his jar as if in salute and knocked back a long swallow. “Now, the ‘Founding’ of what? Don’t worry,” he continued as Simon began to shake his head, “I’ll tell you. I don’t expect young men these days—raised as they are on apocryphal errantry and derringdo—to know much of the real substance of events.” The doctor shook his own head, mock-sadly. “The Nabbanai Imperium was founded—or declared to be founded—eleven-hundred and sixty-whatever-it-was years ago, by Tiyagaris, the first Imperator. At that time the legions of Nabban ruled all the countries of Men north and south, on both sides of the River Gleniwent. ”
“But—but Nabban is small!” Simon was astonished. “It’s just a small part of King John’s kingdom!”
“That, young man,” Morgenes said, “is what we call ‘history.’ Empires have a tendency to decline; kingdoms to collapse. Given a thousand years or so, anything can happen—actually, Nabban’s zenith lasted considerably less than that. What I was getting to, however, is that Nabban once ruled Men, and Men lived side by side with the Sithi-folk. The king of the Sithi reigned here in Asu‘a—the Hayholt, as we call it. The Erl-king—‘erl’ is an old word for Sitha—refused humans the right to enter his people’s lands except by special grant, and the humans—more than a little afraid of the Sithi—obeyed.”
“What are Sithi? You said they’re not the Little Folk.”
Morgenes smiled. “I appreciate your interest, lad—especially when I haven’t put in killing or maiming once yet today!—but I would appreciate it even more if you were not so shy with the broom. Dance with her, boy, dance with her! Look, clean that off, if you will.”
Morgenes trotted over to the wall and pointed to a patch of soot several cubits in diameter. It looked very much like a footprint. Simon decided not to ask, and instead set to sweeping it loose from the white-plastered stone.
“Ahhhh, many thanks to you. I’ve been wanting to get that down for months—since last year’s Harrow’s Eve, as a matter of fact. Now, where in the name of the Lesser
When they had provisioned themselves, the doctor once more took a seat.
“Well and well, Simon—oh, and don’t be bashful about wielding that broom while you eat. The young are so flexible!—now, correct me please if I misspeak. The day today is Drorsday, the fifteenth—sixteenth?—no, fifteenth of Novander. And the year is 1164, is it not?”
“I think so.”
“Excellent. Do put that over on the stool, will you? So, the eleven-hundred and sixty-fourth year since what? Do you know?” Morgenes leaned forward.
Simon pulled a sour face. The doctor knew he was a mooncalf and was teasing him. How was a scullion supposed to know about such things? He continued to sweep in silence.
After some moments he looked up. The doctor was chewing, staring at him intently over a crusty chunk of dark bread.
What sharp blue eyes the old man has!
Simon turned away again.
“Well, then?” the doctor said around a mouthful. “Since what?”
“I don’t know,” Simon muttered, hating the sound of his own resentful voice.’
“So be it. You don’t know—or you think you don’t. Do you listen to the proclamations when the crier reads them?”
“Sometimes. When I’m at Market. Otherwise Rachel tells me what they say. ”
“And what comes at the end? They read the date at the end, do you remember?—and mind that crystal urn, boy, you sweep like a man shaving his worst enemy. What does it say at the end?”
Simon, nettled with shame, was about to throw the broom down and leave when suddenly a phrase floated up from the depths of his memory, bringing with it market-sounds—the wind-snapping of pennants and awnings—and the clean smell of spring grass strewn underfoot.
“Since the Founding.” He was sure. He heard it as though he were standing on Main Row.
“Excellent!” The doctor lifted his jar as if in salute and knocked back a long swallow. “Now, the ‘Founding’ of what? Don’t worry,” he continued as Simon began to shake his head, “I’ll tell you. I don’t expect young men these days—raised as they are on apocryphal errantry and derringdo—to know much of the real substance of events.” The doctor shook his own head, mock-sadly. “The Nabbanai Imperium was founded—or declared to be founded—eleven-hundred and sixty-whatever-it-was years ago, by Tiyagaris, the first Imperator. At that time the legions of Nabban ruled all the countries of Men north and south, on both sides of the River Gleniwent. ”
“But—but Nabban is small!” Simon was astonished. “It’s just a small part of King John’s kingdom!”
“That, young man,” Morgenes said, “is what we call ‘history.’ Empires have a tendency to decline; kingdoms to collapse. Given a thousand years or so, anything can happen—actually, Nabban’s zenith lasted considerably less than that. What I was getting to, however, is that Nabban once ruled Men, and Men lived side by side with the Sithi-folk. The king of the Sithi reigned here in Asu‘a—the Hayholt, as we call it. The Erl-king—‘erl’ is an old word for Sitha—refused humans the right to enter his people’s lands except by special grant, and the humans—more than a little afraid of the Sithi—obeyed.”
“What are Sithi? You said they’re not the Little Folk.”
Morgenes smiled. “I appreciate your interest, lad—especially when I haven’t put in killing or maiming once yet today!—but I would appreciate it even more if you were not so shy with the broom. Dance with her, boy, dance with her! Look, clean that off, if you will.”
Morgenes trotted over to the wall and pointed to a patch of soot several cubits in diameter. It looked very much like a footprint. Simon decided not to ask, and instead set to sweeping it loose from the white-plastered stone.
“Ahhhh, many thanks to you. I’ve been wanting to get that down for months—since last year’s Harrow’s Eve, as a matter of fact. Now, where in the name of the Lesser
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