THIRTY-THREE

QUENTIN sat upon the cold stone of the harbor wall kicking his feet against the thick green moss. Toli stood beside him like a shadow, arms folded across his chest, gazing out into the harbor. Squawking gulls hovered in the air, noising their protest of these two humans invading their sunning spot.

“The ships are gone,” sighed Quentin. He swung his eyes over the broad, empty dish of the harbor. Only two ships remained behind of all that had sailed a week earlier-both needed repairs and were going nowhere very soon. Quentin had already inquired after them.

“They will return,” replied Toli. He had a knack for stating an obvious fact in a most enigmatic way.

“Undoubtedly. They will return. But it may be too late for us.”

Quentin got up from the low slanting wall which, for the most part, kept the sea from running through the streets of Bestou. “I don’t know what to do now.” He sighed again and brushed his trousers with his hands.

“Wisi tkera ilya muretmo,” said Toli, his eyes still searching far out to sea.

“The winds speak out… what?” Quentin’s translation halted unfinished.

“The winds blow where he directs,” replied Toli. He turned to regard Quentin again. Quentin could not help noticing his servant still held a strange distant light in his eyes.

“Who directs?”

“Whinoek.”

“Um,” said Quentin thoughtfully. “Then we will leave it to him. Come on, we’d better look after the horses.” Casting an eye toward the sun he gauged it to be nearing midday. “I could use something to eat myself. What about you?”

The two climbed the long sloping hill upon which Bestou was built, and which ran down from the forests above to plunge into the sea. They had left the horses in the care of a farmer on the outskirts of Bestou, not knowing if horses would be welcome in a shipping town.

In no time they were through the town. Bestou cuddles the whole length of the crescent bay, but has no depth. The merchants crowd the waterfront; above them stand the houses of the wealthy ship owners who make their homes in Bestou; beyond that lie the widely scattered stone and timber dwellings of the hill folk and farmers.

The two walked back to the farmer’s tumbledown house at their leisure. When they arrived, Quentin spoke to the farmer, whose wife insisted that they share their midday meal. Toli led the horses to water and turned them out to crop the new green grass around the house.

The travelers and their hosts ate huge hunks of brown bread which the farmer’s chattering wife toasted at a small fire on the hearth, and great slabs of pale yellow cheese. Several times during their meandering conversation the farmer mentioned the horses with admiration, especially the surpassing strength of Balder. “I will wager he can work, that one,” he said as if imparting some great truth.

“Balder is a warhorse,” explained Quentin. “Trained to combat.”

“Aye, and such a strong one, too.”

“Well…” Quentin winked at Toli, “have you some chore fit for a horse? Then we would see what he could do.”

“Oh, no. No. I wouldn’t think… well, but there is a stump in the field. But, no… Do you think he might?”

“We shall put him to the test,” said Quentin rising heavily to his feet. He had not eaten so much since leaving Dekra, and that was many days ago. “It is the least we can do to repay your kindness.”

“Do not trouble yourselves for us,” said the farmer’s wife. “We are glad of the company. A farmer’s lot is a lonely one. We are only glad of the company.”

But Quentin could see that they were both very pleased. He enjoyed being able to help them; it gave him a warm feeling. Serving, he thought.

“This stump has vexed me raw these two years. It sits in the middle of my new field,” the farmer explained as they tramped out to the spot where it stood.

Horses, though not unknown on Tildeen, were rare enough. They were not needed for travel; there was no place to go and Bestou, being a port, had little use for them. Only a few of the better established farmers owned them for working the land. But those were very few and fortunate indeed.

They had rigged a harness for Balder made of leather straps and rope. Nebo, the farmer, carried a long, sturdy branch to use as a lever. Quentin led Balder, and Toli carried the harness. Tisha, the farmer’s wife, bustled along behind them.

After several attempts, and much adjusting of the rustic harness, Balder lowered his head and leaned into his work. The ropes stretched taut and threatened to snap. Nebo, Quentin, and Toli hung from the branch nearly bending it in two. Tisha, standing at Balder’s head, coaxed him on with soft words.

There came a loud pop underground and a long wrenching creak. Balder’s smooth muscles bulged under his glossy coat. And then, suddenly the stump lay upon its side dangling moist, earth-covered roots in the warm spring air.

“Hoo! Hoo!” the farmer shouted. “That is the strongest animal I ever saw! Hoo! Wait until Lempy hears about this! Hoo!”

“Now, Nebo,” said the farmer’s wife, “remember that you promised to make sacrifice to Ariel if that stump be moved in time for planting. It be moved. The god requires his due.”

“Ah, yes. So I did,” drawled the farmer reluctantly. “I will make sacrifice of a silver bowl at the temple.” He hesitated. “Though I would rather buy a new plowshare.”

Quentin listened to this exchange with a curious sinking sensation. “Please, make no offering to the god Ariel. Such is not required. Only help another when you may; that shall be your sacrifice.”

The eyes of the farmer and his wife looked strangely at him and Quentin suddenly felt foolish. He should not have spoken.

“Are you a priest, young master?” wondered the farmer cautiously.

“I once belonged to the temple of Ariel,” admitted Quentin. “But I follow a greater god, now. One that is not honored by silver.”

A look of relief appeared on Nebo’s broad, good-natured face. “Then I will make the sacrifice you and your god suggest,” he said lightly, happier than ever. He had moved the troublesome stump and had saved the price of the silver bowl, too. This new god, whoever he may be, impressed him very much. He clapped his hands in childlike glee.

“I am tired,” announced Quentin. “I have eaten too much and the sun makes me drowsy.”

“A nap, then,” Nebo declared. “A little sleep is a good thing.”

Quentin awakened with a grudging reluctance. The air was cool, the sun warm upon his face as it spun in the treetops, having crossed over the high arch of heaven to begin its descent toward evening. Toli sat quietly beside Quentin, having awakened some time before.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” asked Quentin, pushing himself up. They were lying on a small grassy hill beside Nebo’s small farmhouse.

“It is time to go back to the harbor,” replied Toli.

Quentin looked at his friend, holding his head to one side. “Now? What makes you say that?”

Toli shrugged. “I feel that we should. Something here tells me.” He pointed to his chest.

“Then we will go. We will leave the horses here for now.”

“No. I think we should take them.”

“As you say.” Quentin was agreeable, though he did not see any point in taking the horses into town; they would only have to walk back again. Better to let them rest. But it was not worth discussing on such a bright, brilliant afternoon.

They took their leave of the kind farmer and his wife and struck out upon the rocky lane toward Bestou. Descending to the bowl of the harbor, they could see the whole of the town, the harbor, and the blue sea beyond, glimmering in the distance.

They walked along in silence, listening to the horses clopping peacefully behind them; the fresh scent of grass and growing things hung in the air. Quentin thought that in such a place, on such a day he could forget all about his task. Forget about kings and wizards and fighting and hiding. He could lose himself in these hills, in the idle drone of the bees buzzing among the wild flowers, nodding their pink and yellow heads in the breeze along the road.