Read Online The Silver Sun by Nancy Springer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Nancy Springer
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and circles of dirt for their timber battle walls.... Season after season they made war, and played at love and valor. And season after season the sea winds blew, and the sea rains fell, until all the rich earth was blown and washed from the land, and only rocky waste remained. This was long ago, long before the invaders came from the east, long before any Kings ruled in Laueroc or Eburacon or the north. Those iron-sworded newcomers moved on to become the Kings we remember in legend, and the small dark folk came out of the Forest to reclaim their wasted land."
“How in the world can you know?” Alan exclaimed.
Hal could not answer. “Dreams,” he said at last. “And there come some now.” He pointed. The ancient tribes of Romany."
The Gypsies flowed darkly toward them over the Waste, ragged folk and shaggy beasts all in one rippling mass. Hal and Alan sat quietly on their horses as the band surrounded them. A ring of sober, dark-eyed faces looked up: solemn black-braided children in stammel frocks; stocky ponies; old crones with tame ravens on their shoulders; short, frowning men with shepherd's staffs and small stone-tipped darts in hand. No one made a sound; even the sheep were silent. Alan felt his flesh crawl at the thought of a dart in his back.
“ Laifrita thae, mirdas arle ,” Hal greeted them with curbed excitement in his voice. ["Greetings to you, people of the earth."]
The staring circle gasped, then stirred into movement and welcoming smiles. A chieftain stepped forward, his rank marked by the broad metal collar that arced around his neck, shining like a crescent moon.
“Welcome, Mireldeyn,” he said. “Welcome, Elwyndas."
They ate with the Gypsies, and shared the warmth of their campfire against the chill sea breeze. Hal spoke their strange language, and talked late into the night with the oldest men and women. Alan, who could converse with the others only in their broken dialect, was nevertheless much attended to. He was surprised to find that the Gypsies, horse experts that they were, had a high opinion of Alfie. “He is not handsome, nay,” they agreed with him, “but he has much heart.” As for Arundel, their dialect failed them, and they could only say, gesturing, that he was elwedeyn . When Alan signaled his noncomprehension, they shook their heads hopelessly, and sank back into the shelter of their dark faces around the fire.
“What are those names they called us?” Alan asked Hal in a whisper when everyone had settled for the night.
“Man-spirit, friend of the wind, some such....” Hal stirred irritably. “I'm not sure."
“Never mind. What did you talk about all night?"
“They have seen a pair that I think are Corin and the smith.” Hal cut short Alan's delighted response. “But we must be more careful. The talk of the Rough Road is that Lord Gar has set a fine price in gold on our heads."
After that, they kept to the Forest when they could. But the going was hard. This rocky northern land was scarred with shelving jumbles of rock, and sometimes thick with brambles. Often they were obliged to use the Rough Road that traversed the Waste from Whitewater to Rodsen. A few times they met travelers, and inquired about Corin to no avail. Some nights they shared the fires of Gypsy bands. But the dark tribesmen had no further news of the smith and his boy.
The day after a night with the Gypsies, just after noon, Hal and Alan were startled to hear hoofbeats approaching them from behind. They took cover in a copse atop a small rise until the rider came into view. It was one of their hosts of the night before, galloping hard on his sturdy pony.
With faces full of foreboding, they rode out to meet him. He spoke rapidly to Hal in his own language. Hal touched his hand in gesture of thanks, and the man sent his pony quickly back the way he had come. Hal spun Arundel and set off at full speed toward the rise, with Alfie clattering after. Once over the crest, he changed direction, then
“How in the world can you know?” Alan exclaimed.
Hal could not answer. “Dreams,” he said at last. “And there come some now.” He pointed. The ancient tribes of Romany."
The Gypsies flowed darkly toward them over the Waste, ragged folk and shaggy beasts all in one rippling mass. Hal and Alan sat quietly on their horses as the band surrounded them. A ring of sober, dark-eyed faces looked up: solemn black-braided children in stammel frocks; stocky ponies; old crones with tame ravens on their shoulders; short, frowning men with shepherd's staffs and small stone-tipped darts in hand. No one made a sound; even the sheep were silent. Alan felt his flesh crawl at the thought of a dart in his back.
“ Laifrita thae, mirdas arle ,” Hal greeted them with curbed excitement in his voice. ["Greetings to you, people of the earth."]
The staring circle gasped, then stirred into movement and welcoming smiles. A chieftain stepped forward, his rank marked by the broad metal collar that arced around his neck, shining like a crescent moon.
“Welcome, Mireldeyn,” he said. “Welcome, Elwyndas."
They ate with the Gypsies, and shared the warmth of their campfire against the chill sea breeze. Hal spoke their strange language, and talked late into the night with the oldest men and women. Alan, who could converse with the others only in their broken dialect, was nevertheless much attended to. He was surprised to find that the Gypsies, horse experts that they were, had a high opinion of Alfie. “He is not handsome, nay,” they agreed with him, “but he has much heart.” As for Arundel, their dialect failed them, and they could only say, gesturing, that he was elwedeyn . When Alan signaled his noncomprehension, they shook their heads hopelessly, and sank back into the shelter of their dark faces around the fire.
“What are those names they called us?” Alan asked Hal in a whisper when everyone had settled for the night.
“Man-spirit, friend of the wind, some such....” Hal stirred irritably. “I'm not sure."
“Never mind. What did you talk about all night?"
“They have seen a pair that I think are Corin and the smith.” Hal cut short Alan's delighted response. “But we must be more careful. The talk of the Rough Road is that Lord Gar has set a fine price in gold on our heads."
After that, they kept to the Forest when they could. But the going was hard. This rocky northern land was scarred with shelving jumbles of rock, and sometimes thick with brambles. Often they were obliged to use the Rough Road that traversed the Waste from Whitewater to Rodsen. A few times they met travelers, and inquired about Corin to no avail. Some nights they shared the fires of Gypsy bands. But the dark tribesmen had no further news of the smith and his boy.
The day after a night with the Gypsies, just after noon, Hal and Alan were startled to hear hoofbeats approaching them from behind. They took cover in a copse atop a small rise until the rider came into view. It was one of their hosts of the night before, galloping hard on his sturdy pony.
With faces full of foreboding, they rode out to meet him. He spoke rapidly to Hal in his own language. Hal touched his hand in gesture of thanks, and the man sent his pony quickly back the way he had come. Hal spun Arundel and set off at full speed toward the rise, with Alfie clattering after. Once over the crest, he changed direction, then
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