LIII
One morning, Thalo was bathing in the river at Alvennawl when he spotted a young woman approaching from the north atop a brilliant white steed. That was the king. Thalo recognised her from the lawmoot of her election, which he had attended with Awldano.
‘But those days are behind me,’ he said to himself. ‘I am no lordly fellow.’
The king rode up to Thalo and said, ‘You there, where am I?’ She did not recognise him.
‘Alvennawl,’ said Thalo.
‘Where is that?’
‘Here.’
It had taken the king a day and a night to get from Bealnew to Alvennawl, and the journey had left her in quite the sorry state, her horse likewise. Indeed, she was in much the same condition in which Thalo had arrived a month prior.
‘Are you ill?’ he said. ‘Or hurt?’
‘No,’ said the king, ‘only sore and weary.’
‘If you need a bench, Yonnago will put you up. He holds the house here. I can take you to him.’
The king thanked Thalo and asked him his name.
‘I am Thalo,’ he said, ‘Asfoa’s son.’
Thalo’s name did not remind the king of their previous meeting any more than his face. She bowed her head and said, ‘I am Koyndola. There is nothing to say of my ancestry.’
Thalo took Koyndola up to the house. Yonnago met her there, and after introducing herself, she asked to be put up for the night.
‘A bench and a bowl,’ she said. ‘That is all I ask of you. I will be gone tomorrow.’
‘Where have you come from?’ said Yonnago.
Koyndola considered where she might have come from, and then she said, ‘Dwalmol. It is some way west of here.’
Yonnago did not know that place. He asked the farmboys if anyone knew it, and Omvedho said he did.
‘They have queer tongues in those parts,’ he said. ‘My cousin went there once. She lost three of her toes and four fingers in a bet. I never found out what happened after that.’
Yonnago turned back to Koyndola. ‘If you are from Dwalmol, why is your tongue not queer?’
‘I have come from there,’ said Koyndola, ‘but I am not from there. I was only visiting.’
‘Then where is your home?’
‘Gewd. It is down in Lagovol.’ That was where the king’s mother was from. ‘That is where I am headed.’
‘Do you know that place too, Omvedho?’
‘I do,’ said Omvedho. ‘I was sued for arson there, but I was acquitted. No one saw me do it. That is to say, no one could have seen me do it, because it never happened. Or rather, the fire did happen, but I did not start it. I was not involved at all.’
‘I am satisfied.’ Yonnago patted Koyndola’s back. ‘Welcome to my house, Koyndola. If you wish to stay more than a night, you are welcome to do so.’
‘It will not come to that,’ said Koyndola. ‘I must be on my way.’
Then she thanked Yonnago for his hospitality and they parted.
Koyndola joined the household for dinner that evening. The farmboys were very interested in their new guest, the stranger at their table, and they gathered around to ask her all manner of prying questions.
‘This reminds me,’ said Yonnago, ‘of your first meal here, Thalo, all those years ago.’ He turned to Koyndola. ‘Say, have you a severed head beneath your seat?’
‘Why might I have a severed head beneath my seat?’ said Koyndola.
‘Whyever! Tell her, Thalo.’
Thalo did not say anything.
‘Stay silent, then. This here is Thalo Thennelo, the bane of trolls. Have you heard of him?’
Koyndola had not heard of him, but the king certainly had. He was the man in the middle of things, or so she had been told, the man who killed an earl and started a war, the war she sought to finish. She realised then that she had met him before, if only briefly.
Koyndola said to Thalo, ‘Is this true?’
‘It is,’ said Thalo. With a subtle nod, he went on to say, ‘I would not expect you to have heard of me, Koyndola.’
Koyndola returned his nod, and the meal went on.
After eating, Koyndola came to Thalo and asked him to join her outside, where they might speak without being overheard. Thalo agreed to that. They went out into the sunset together, and after going a little way down the hill, the king thanked Thalo for keeping her true name to himself.
Thalo said, ‘What brings a king to this place?’
The king muttered to herself, and then fell silent, her mind stuck in the blood in the night. She had thought little of it thus far—things had been so frantic, so fraught, that she had thought little of anything at all besides her own survival—but now she was invited to tell of it at last, to relive it all at once.
‘They are all dead,’ she said.
‘Who?’
‘We were meant to sign a treaty to end the fighting, but there was an attack. It was at Bealnew. It was Thrandeo. He killed them all, my thanes, my friends and companions. All but me. They all died for me.’
Then the king fell sobbing upon Thalo’s shoulder. He was not remotely comfortable with that, but he could only stand there as she clung to him.
‘They died for me!’ she said. ‘What have I done to warrant that? What cause did I give them?’
‘You are their lord. They made their oaths, and they held them. There is nothing more to it.’
‘What oath is worth a life?’
‘There are none worth less.’
The king stepped away from Thalo, shaking her head. ‘No. What would you know? This is your fault. You caused this.’
Thalo sighed and said, ‘Then kill me.’ He drew his beltknife, pressed it into the king’s hand, and brought it up to his throat. ‘If your grief is my doing, then avenge your friends and kill me.’
The king felt the knife in her grip, but she lowered it. ‘What good would it do?’
‘None. Your thanes are dead. That cannot be changed, so put the blood out of your mind and let them die. Otherwise, they will only haunt you. The blood will haunt you, day and night. There is no reprieve from that.’
Without a word, the king nodded, dropped the knife, and went inside, where she became Koyndola once more.
Thalo picked up the knife and went in behind her.
That night, Thalo was visited by another foul dream. He was sitting once more at the head of the foxes’ dinner table, laid out in Klagennas, the river flowing about his ankles. In the middle of the table lay the glittering platter, though it lay empty. And there, opposite him, the old fox sat alone.
‘Where are your friends?’ said Thalo.
The old fox did not stir. Then Thalo saw them. They were all dead, strewn upon the riverbanks, their blood seeping into the water.
‘What happened?’
The old fox arose, his belly cut itself open, and out crawled Asfoa.
‘Mother?’
Asfoa crawled along the table, reaching out for Thalo.
‘Mother?’
He took her hand, and she pulled him up and into her arms.
‘Mother?’
She laid him back upon the platter, her hand resting gently upon his chest.
‘Mother?’
Then the water rose, and rose, and rose. Thalo tried to sit up, but Asfoa kept her hand upon his chest, easing him back down. And as the water washed over him, he drank it in, let it fill his lungs, and with his mother smiling softly above him, he awoke.
‘Mother?’ he said.
‘No,’ said Omvedho. ‘I am Omvedho, and I am trying to sleep.’
As he often did in such circumstances, Thalo went back outside to cool off. Yet as he came out into the night, he spotted Ewva, the king’s bright white mare, drinking from the river down the hill. Her name was fitting, for the lustre of her coat was so radiant that it was as if she glowed in the moonlight. Beside her was a pair of men, and they seemed to be getting a very good look at her. Thalo watched them for a while, hidden behind a woodstore, until they left.
‘They will surely return,’ he said to himself, ‘and with how many more?’
Thalo stole back into the house, awoke Koyndola, and brought her outside.
‘Just now,’ he said, ‘I spotted a pair of men down by the river. They were paying very close attention to your horse, a horse that lights the darkness. You are being hunted, king, and they know where you are.’
‘Oh dear,’ said the king.
‘Do not despair. Let me take you to Pearmol. It is not far from here.’
‘You would have me place my trust in Karvalo?’ The king shook her head. ‘No. I would sooner trust a dog not to eat its dinner.’
‘Then place your trust in me. I know him. I was his man, his son-in-law. Make him a better offer than your hunters, and he will help you.’
‘And why should I trust you?’
‘You said it yourself. I started this war, and I will end it.’
The king considered this proposition for a little while, until she said, ‘We should leave at once.’
‘It is no good at riding at night. We can leave at dawn and be there before noon. No harm will befall you, king. I will see to that.’
The king agreed to his plan and went back inside to get whatever sleep she could before the coming day. Thalo, however, stayed outside, sitting quietly beneath the moon. He would have time to rest soon enough.
In the morning, when the foredawn twilight yet hung upon the land, Thalo gathered his things, prepared Ondayo for riding, and Ewva likewise, and then he sat down outside.
‘Not long now,’ he said. ‘We are nearly done.’
It then happened that he saw from the corner of his eye a flash of black and silver.
‘No,’ he said. He took a deep breath. ‘We are nearly done.’
He closed his eyes, and Knale did not appear.
Now Thalo went inside and woke the king. They crept out of the house together, but the sun was nearly up, and the household was stirring. Yonnago saw them sneaking out, and he followed them.
‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘just where are you two going?’
‘We must be off,’ said Koyndola.
‘Why so early? Come and have something to eat first.’
‘You are a most generous host, but I really must be on my way.’
‘Fair enough, I suppose.’ Yonnago turned to Thalo and raised an eyebrow. ‘What about you?’
Thalo said, ‘I am going with her.’
‘Is that so? I never thought you a man so minded.’
‘Think whatever you will. We are leaving.’
‘And without so much as a parting word?’
Thalo’s face remained unmoving as he said, ‘These are those. Do not await me, Yonnago.’
Yonnago recognised then that same single-minded purpose he had seen in Thalo when he left him awaiting Fowdho in the smithy all those years ago. He smiled weakly and said, ‘Good luck, lad.’
Thalo turned away from him. ‘I have all the luck I need in my name.’
Then he climbed atop Ondayo and rode away, and the king followed him. From Alvennawl, they went south-west, trying to keep their way to Pearmol as direct as possible. They moved swiftly at first, but the king soon heard the drumming of a great many hooves coming from the north.
‘We must go faster,’ she said.
‘No,’ said Thalo. ‘A rushed rider is a runner, and runners are easily run down. Trust me, king. We are nearly there.’
So they went on, but the hooves behind them only grew louder and louder until, as they came to a valley called Oydnawl, their hunters came into view. They numbered fifty or so, each armed and armoured, and at their head rode Thrandeo himself, his cuirass glittering in the morning sun, his blue-crested helmet a beacon.
‘There he is,’ said Thalo, ‘We are close now.’
‘Then we should keep it up,’ said the king.
‘But not close enough. They will reach us before we reach Pearmol.’
‘Can your horse go no faster?’
‘He is no young colt.’ Down in the valley, Thalo brought Ondayo to a halt. ‘If I ride him any harder, I will be riding him to his death.’
‘Even so, this is no time for stopping. We must ride on!’
‘No.’ Thalo climbed down from Ondayo’s back. ‘You go ahead. Follow the river to the first ford you find, and then go south. I will wait here to delay them.’
‘Did you see the man at the front? That is Thrandeo, Earl of Noynavol. Do you understand who he is? He is a ruthless man, utterly devoid of scruples.’
‘And I am Thalo Thennelo.’
‘He will kill you nonetheless.’
‘And my life is my own. I have made my choice. You must make yours. If you want to live, ride. Ride hard, and they will not reach you. The longer I hold them here, the better your chances become.’
‘I will not allow it. Too many people have died on my account. No more.’
‘Whether you will allow it or not, I am staying here. If I should die today, let me die.’ Thalo shooed Ondayo away. ‘My boy, get out of here. This will soon be a place of battle.’
‘I am your king,’ said the king, ‘and you will heed me.’
But Thalo did not. He drew his sword, laid it flat upon the floor, and sat before it. The king knew then that he would not be swayed.
‘So be it,’ she said. ‘May fate favour you.’
Then she set off, following the river eastwards to the nearest ford.
And as she galloped away, Thalo whispered to himself, ‘Fate has already forsaken me.’
It was only a short while later that Thrandeo wheeled his troop down into the valley. He spotted Thalo kneeling cross-legged on the floor, rode up to him, and said, ‘You there! Not long ago, we saw two riders come down here. One was a young woman atop a bright white horse. Where did she go?’
Thalo said, ‘I did not see her.’
‘You saw her. Only a blind man could have missed such a steed.’
‘Perhaps, then, I am blind.’
‘With a sword for a seeing stick?’ Thrandeo brought forth his spear. ‘Know this: I am Thrandeo, Overlord of Norlonn. Tell me your name, waif, that I may slay you with dignity and be on my way.’
‘I am Thalo.’
As Thalo said this, Thrandeo’s spear wavered ever so slightly. ‘You are the Thalo man? Thalo Thennelo? The murderer?’
‘I am.’
Thrandeo had heard so much about Thalo—and so much from Meola, the first widow he made—that he had formed in his mind a clear picture of the man behind it all, tall and broad, a true warrior. To finally have that fellow in his sight should have been a splendid thing, but the man before him was short, and gaunt, and altogether disappointing.
‘Just how much of it true?’ he said.
Thalo said, ‘As much as you wish to believe.’
‘And I am loath to believe anything at all. The king was not riding alone. I suppose that was you beside her, and yet you seem to have forgotten it. No, I see you for what you are, Thalo Thennelo, wretched rook of a man. The king has dumped you here to delay me, but I will not be stayed. I will have my vengeance.’
‘The king is beyond your reach now, but that is beside the point. I am not here for her sake.’ Thalo picked up his sword and arose, pointing the blade at Thrandeo. ‘I am here for you. Fate has brought us two together. Tell me, what will come of it?’
Thrandeo lowered his spear and said, ‘You would fight me?’
‘If only you dare to meet me.’
Thrandeo considered this challenge. His followers all told him to refuse, to do him in and move along, but this was Thalo Thennelo. Undergrown though he may have been, such a name could not have been bestowed without cause.
‘Where has the king gone?’ he said.
‘To Pearmol,’ said Thalo. ‘She will soon be a guest in Karvalo’s hall.’
With a smile, Thrandeo said, ‘Fate is fickle indeed.’
Then he cast his spear aside and leapt off his horse. His son, Osfero-with-the-fine-feet, came forth to dissuade him at once.
‘What about the king?’ said Osfero.
‘I have bested two already,’ said Thrandeo. ‘If I must wait for the third, I will wait.’
‘Here, we could ride on while you sort this fellow out.’
‘No. The king will die by my hand alone, but not today.’
Thrandeo’s followers offered many further objections.
‘This is a waste of time,’ said one. ‘He will be no match for you.’
‘The king’s life is at stake,’ said another. ‘She may have taken a tumble in her haste and be easy pickings.’
‘Stick him now,’ said a third, ‘and save yourself the disappointment of an easy victory.’
Thrandeo silenced them all. ‘My friends, whenever have I led you astray? Never. I ask that you trust me once more, as ever you have. Thalo the murderer will be brought to justice, however disappointing it may be.’
Then his thanes relented. They stayed on the north side of the river while Thalo and Thrandeo waded across to the south bank, where they agreed the terms of their duel. They would fight to the death, and each would use a sword alone, no shields, no spears, no armour—there would be only two men, two swords, and one victor.
‘One of us shall live,’ said Thalo, ‘one of us shall die, and fate alone shall be the arbiter.’
Once they had taken their positions, Osfero came up to the opposite bank to bear witness. ‘Are you ready?’
They both said they were, and then Thrandeo made the first boast.
‘Thalo,’ he said. ‘Thalo Thennelo. I have heard much about you, the things you have done, the foes you have slain. You will be long remembered for your deeds, but one man alone will live longer in history than you. He will be your killer, and his name is Thrandeo, Earl of Noynavol, Overlord of Norlonn, and the foremost man of our age. Such is the will of almighty fate.’
Thalo’s gaze flitted across the river to Thrandeo’s thanes, all gathered to watch their lord slay his foe. When Thrandeo had finished his boast, Thalo said simply, ‘You cannot harm me.’
‘We shall see,’ said Thrandeo, and he nodded to Osfero.
‘Then the time is upon us,’ said Osfero. ‘Two shall become one.’
At that, Osfero turned around, and the fight began. Thrandeo spared not a moment and leapt forth, but Thalo avoided the blow. They exchanged further strokes, each one well considered, until Thalo caught Thrandeo’s leg with his sword and knocked him off balance. Before Thrandeo could regain his footing, Thalo stabbed into his chest, and he cried out.
‘I am slain,’ he said, ‘but my glory will never die!’
Then he died, and Thalo was the victor.
Upon hearing his father’s dying cry, Osfero turned back around to see Thalo glaring at him across the river. For a moment, he stood transfixed by the sight of his mighty father, the foremost man of the age, dead and bloodied on the riverbank.
‘Avenge him,’ said Thalo.
But Osfero did not move.
Thalo stepped towards him, into the river, and called out to his companions, all similarly stricken by Thrandeo’s death. ‘Avenge him!’
Still, no one moved.
‘Will none of you dare strike me?’ Thalo stumbled through the river and back onto the north bank. ‘Come! Avenge your lord!’
Finally, Osfero said, ‘You agreed the terms, and you won. Such is the will of almighty fate.’
‘No,’ said Thalo.
Then he gripped his sword in his hand, death-drenched Sleme, and with a single frenzied blow, he parted Osfero’s head from his shoulders. Only then did Thrandeo’s thanes come to their senses. They let up the cry of vengeance and charged forth, striking at Thalo with swords and spears and axes, tearing through his flesh and biting at his bones. He did not resist. His sword fell to the floor, and he staggered sorely wounded back into the river, his blood mingling with the water. And as it washed over him, he thought he saw her, Asfoa, above him on the riverbank.
‘Mother?’ he said.
But her hair was of silver, and her eyes were of gold.
‘Mother?’ Then he died at last.