Guild of the Underbridge Kallikans "Shivering Plain, one of the last great battles of the Theomachy, was also the last time it is known that fairies and mortals fought on the same side, although it is said that far more Qar than men were in the battle, and that far more Qar died there as well." -from "A Treatise on the Fairy Peoples of Eion and Xand" " I HAVE CHOSEN what gifts seemed best." Dawet still wore his traveling cloak, as though he had only clambered down from his horse a few moments ago. He and Briony had met in the River Garden this time, whose damp air made it one of Broadhall Palace's less visited spots. "The wars to the north and south mean that many things are in short supply, especially for such unusual folk. I'm afraid it cost more than a few crabs, as the saying goes."
"I hope I gave you enough." Briony had now spent almost all the money Eneas had loaned her.
"It sufficed, but I have none left over to give back."
She sighed. "I cannot thank you enough, Master dan-Faar. So many people owed me allegiance but failed me… or were taken from me. Now here I stand with only one friend left." She smiled. "Who would ever have guessed it would be you?"
He smiled back, but it was not the most cheerful expression she had ever seen him wear. "Friend, yes, Princess-but your only one? I doubt that. You have many friends and allies in Southmarch who would speak for you-aye, and do more than speak-if you were there."
She frowned. "They must know by now that I live. Word must have spread, at least a little. I have been living here openly for months."
Dawet nodded. "Yes, Highness, but it is one thing to know your sovereign lives, another to risk your life for her in her absence. How can even your most loyal supporters know whether you are coming back? Distance makes things uncertain. Get yourself safely to Southmarch and I daresay you will find more than a few partisans."
She nodded, then offered him her gloved hand. "I have no money left to pay you, Master dan-Faar," she said sadly. "How long can I keep relying on your friendship when I cannot repay it?"
He kissed the back of her hand, but kept his brown eyes fixed on her as he did so. "You may rely on the friendship no matter what, my lady, but do not assume that I am the worse for the current imbalance. Tell yourself that I am simply gambling-something I am well known for-by performing a task here, a small chore there, none at more than slight disadvantage to myself, but each carrying the possibility of great remuneration later on." He let go of her hand and made a mocking bow. "Yes, I think that would be the best way to look at our admittedly… complicated… relationship."
His smile had much of the tiger grin she remembered from the old days, and for a moment Briony found herself quite breathless.
"That said," he continued as he straightened up, "you will find your tribute in a room above this tavern near Underbridge-" he handed her a scrap of parchment-"along with two discreet men who will transport it for you." He bowed. "I hope that serves your needs, my princess. To be honest, following your adventures is nearly payment enough. Can you tell me why the Kallikans?"
"It is the gods' will."
"If you truly do not wish to tell me…"
"That is not a polite evasion, Master dan-Faar. A goddess spoke to me in a dream-well, a demigoddess…" He was smiling at her. "You do not believe me."
"On the contrary, my lady," he said, "I believe that things are happening that are without precedent since the days of the gods. You and your family are clearly in the midst of them. Beyond that, I reserve my secret heart even from you, Lady."
"That is fairly spoken."
"And with that I must leave you." He brushed a few flecks of night-dew off his breeches. His scabbard thumped against the bench. "I do not know when we will meet next, Highness. Other duties call me."
"You are… you are leaving the city?" The moment of panic this brought caught her by surprise.
"I am afraid I am leaving Syan entirely, Princess."
"But you… you are my only real ally, Dawet. Where are you going?"
"I cannot tell you," he said. "I beg your pardon for my secrecy, but a lady's good name is at stake. Still, be assured this is not the last time we will see each other, Princess. I do not need to believe in anything very strange to feel certain of that." He took her hand as she stood, suddenly full of confusion and discomfort. "My thoughts will be with you, Briony Eddon. Never doubt yourself. You have a destiny and it is far from fulfilled. That you may trust when you can trust nothing else."
He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it for the second time; a moment later he had turned and slipped away into the shadows of the garden path.
"I still do not quite understand what you are doing, Princess Briony," said Eneas as they made their way along a narrow road that ran parallel to Lantern Broad. So far they had attracted much less attention than they would have on the great thoroughfare, which was certainly what Briony wanted. Still, it was impossible to go out into Tessis with the heir to the throne, his guards, and a pair of oxcarts without drawing a crowd.
"Then you do me the greatest possible compliment by trusting me." As soon as she had said it, Briony worried that she sounded like she was trying to charm him. He is a good man, after all-I owe him something more than just the ordinary round of courtly pleasantries. "In truth, I've told you all I can. If I say any more you'll no longer fear I might be mad-you will be convinced of it!"
Eneas laughed. "I swear there is no such thing as a workaday conversation with you, Briony Eddon! Because of that alone I would have been happy to accompany you anywhere. As it is, I have only been asked to go to a part of my own city that I confess I do not know well. Underbridge has long had a name for its strange folk and stranger happenings."
"The folk are strange if height is your only measurement," she told. "But if they are anything like our Funderlings at home, Highness, I believe them to be honest citizens-as honest as any other men, that is."
Eneas nodded. "An important qualification. But let us not curse them too quickly even with the crimes of bigger men-perhaps dishonesty, like the price of fish and meat, increases with greater weight."
Briony could not help laughing.
As was his wont, Dawet dan-Faar had admirably prepared the ground for their visit: when they reached Underbridge the Kallikans immediately opened the gates of their guildhall and invited the company inside, oxcarts and all. Inside it was dark and the ceilings were low. A group of small grooms came forward and took the oxen off to the stable and began to unload the carts. In its own way the Kallikans' hall was as much a world of its own as Broadhall Palace-although smaller in all ways, of course.
A group of armor-clad Kallikan guards now arrived to lead them into the hall itself, bearing what looked like ceremonial digging-sticks.
"Your pardon, lady… and sir," said one of them, bowing. "Follow us, please."
This courtly little fellow reminded her suddenly of the day of the wyvern hunt back in Southmarch and the Funderling man her horse had almost trampled. That had been the day when everything had first begun to go really wrong-the day they had come back to the message from their father's captor asking for Briony's hand in marriage. But what she remembered now about that day was something else… something about her lost twin.
Oh, Barrick, where are you? It hurt to think about him, although scarcely an hour of any day went by that she didn't. The underground dreams had ended, but she still missed him as fiercely as ever.
On the day of that long-ago hunt Shaso had saved them from the Shadowline monster and Kendrick had been dragged out from beneath the carcass of his horse, miraculously unhurt but for a few scrapes and bruises. Many courtiers and huntsmen had run to attend to her older brother, but Briony had been more concerned about her twin and his crippled arm. Still, when she tried to help him Barrick had turned angrily away from her and Briony had demanded to know why he always fought against the people who loved him.
"When I'm fighting to be left alone it means my life is worth something to me," he had told her. "When I stop fighting-when I don't have the strength anymore to be angry-then you should worry for me."
Oh, sweet and merciful Zoria, she prayed now, wherever he is, please let my brother still be fighting! Let him stay angry!
The Guild of the Underbridge Kallikans, as Dawet had named them, had already assembled in the main hall to wait. The little people watched with careful and mostly silent attention from rows of benches as Briony and the others entered, which only added to the sense that she and the prince were performers in some unusual masque. In keeping with the citizens of Underbridge, the room was small and the ceilings were low. In the center of the closest bench sat a very round little man with an enormous fuzzy beard and a tall hat. As the guards showed them where to stand, this imposing figure raised his hand.
"Welcome, Princess Briony of Southmarch," he said in the same broadly understandable accent as ordinary-sized Syannese, which was a relief-she had feared the Kallikans might speak some language of their own. "I am Highwarden Dolomite."
She made a careful curtsy. "Thank you, Highwarden. You are kind to give me an audience on such short notice."
"And you are kind to bring us such splendid gifts." He smiled as several of the guards came forward to give him the manifest. "Two dozen Yisti pick-heads," he read, giving a little whistle of appreciation. "Those are the finest anywhere, sharp as glass, strong as the very bones of the earth! And fifty hundredweight of Ulosian marble." He shook his head, impressed. "Rich gifts indeed-we have not had such fine stuff to work for over a year! We are impressed by your generosity, Princess." He looked to the other Guildsmen on either side before turning his sharp eyes back to Briony. "But what, if we may wonder, is the cause of such kindness? Even our own folk outside Tessis do not come to see us in these days, let alone bring us fine gifts."
"A favor, of course." Briony had danced this little dance of teasing flattery and hard questions a hundred times before. "But such wise folk as you knew that already."
"Indeed, we guessed." Dolomite smiled carefully. "And we of course will be very interested to hear what necessity has brought such an important woman to our humble hall. But, first, here is something else we do not know." The highwarden looked straight at Eneas, who still wore his traveling cloak. "Who is this man who stands beside you so silent and watchful? Why does he remain hooded under our roof like an outlaw?"
A couple of the prince's guards made angry noises and would have drawn their weapons but Briony saw Eneas calm them with a whispered word.
"You… you mean… you don't know…?" Briony silently cursed her own stupidity. Dawet had not told the Kallikans about her companion, though she had explicitly asked him to do so. Accident-or a purposeful bit of meddling?
"No. Why should we?" Dolomite asked.
"Because he is your lord!" one of the prince's guards shouted, his outrage overcoming even his master's injunction to silence. A startled murmur ran through the watching Kallikans. "This is Prince Eneas-son and heir of your king, Enander!"
Zoria save me from my own stupidity! Briony was horrified by what she had done. She should have introduced Eneas first-no, she should never have brought him. She had let her own weakness drive her, inviting a strong man to accompany her instead of simply getting on with things herself. And now the gods alone knew what would happen.
Eneas pulled back his hood, prompting the Kallikans to more gasps and murmurs, loud as a covey of flushed birds. Several of them got down from their benches and prostrated themselves; even the highwarden removed his tall hat and began to clamber down from his chair to bow to the prince.
"Forgive us, Highness," he cried. "We did not know! We meant no disrepect to you or your father!"
Briony was a little sickened to see the change that had come over people who only moments before had been calm, careful, and subtle. "This is my fault!" she said.
"No, it is mine," countered Eneas. "I thought to stay out of this and let Princess Briony do what she needed to do. I should not have hidden my face from my father's subjects. I ask your pardon."
All of the Kallikans were relieved by the prince's words. Some were even nodding and smiling as they made their way back to their seats, as if the whole thing had been an amusing, if slightly frightening, jest.
"You are very kind, Prince Eneas, very kind." Dolomite looked anxiously between Briony and Eneas. "Of course, we will do whatever the princess asks of us, Highness."
Now Briony felt heavy and sick in the pit of her stomach. By bringing Eneas she had forced the Kallikans into a position where they had no choice but to do her bidding. That was a way to get what one wanted, but not a way to make real allies.
"I tell you in all honesty," she said to Dolomite and the other Kallikans, "I asked the prince to accompany me only because he is one of my few friends here in Syan and I could not leave the court without some kind of escort."
"Surely the big folk in Broadhall palace do not think us a danger to noblewomen? " piped up a particularly wizened little Kallikan sitting next to Dolomite. He almost sounded flattered by the thought.
"I am certain you would be dangerous to Syan's enemies," Briony said. "But it was not your people I feared. One of my countrymen was attacked in the streets of Tessis only a short time gone, so my friends here do not want me to travel without a companion even in the city."
"And what better companion for a young woman than our famous prince?" said Dolomite. "We are ashamed not to have recognized you, Prince Eneas."
"And I should have made myself known to you immediately, Highwarden Dolomite, but I am glad we have met at last. I have heard your name spoken well of before, and from men I trust."
"Your highness is too kind." Dolomite looked as though he might swell up and start booming with pride like a frog during the spring floods.
Briony let her breath out all the way for the first time in a while. Despite mistakes, they had crept past the first obstacle. "Let me waste no more of your time, Highwarden," she said. "Here is what I've come to ask. Please, can you show me your oldest drum?"
"Drum? " The smile on Dolomite's face began fading-he looked genuinely surprised and confused. "Our oldest… drum?"
"That's all I know. I was told by… by someone important to ask for it."
The silence gave way to another series of murmured conversations, including several of the Kallikans in the front row around the highwarden, but the common tone seemed to be one of confoundment.
The little wrinkled fellow next to the highwarden suddenly began wiggling his fingers in agitation. "Ooh, scarp me, I've just had a thought," he began, then frowned so hard that his face almost curled away into his beard and vanished. "But no, that's foolish!… it wouldn't… would it…?"
"By the Earth's Eldest!" sputtered Dolomite, "Would you be good enough to share your idea with us, Whitelead?"
"Just… I thought…" The old Kallikan waggled his fingers even faster beside his face, so that he looked like a river mudfish; at last he noticed what he was doing and stopped. "That… perhaps what she means… this drum… could it be… the drumstones? "
At these words even the last few whispers trailed off and the hall fell completely silent. All eyes turned toward Briony in astonishment.
I must make the very gods despair, she thought. What have I done now?
The days were getting long, Theron Pilgrimer noted with satisfaction: even hours past the evening meal the sun settling into the hills beyond the river was still high enough to turn the whole length of the Pellos bright copper. That boded well for his desire to reach Onsilpia's Veil, the most important pilgrimage site in the north, well before the Midsummer Penance Festival began-and that would mean satisfied customers. He had been leading these pilgrim caravans since he was a young man, but for all Theron's experience things could still catch him by surprise. For that reason, he had guided this caravan far to the south of Brenn's Bay. He wanted nothing to do with the mad things he had heard about Southmarch, besieged by fairy armies, its royal family scattered to the winds.
He had just finished discussing food supplies with Avidel, his apprentice, when the cripple's boy appeared. "He wants to talk to you," the boy told him.
Theron cursed quietly under his breath and looked around for the tattered, ill-omened figure of the beggar. But no, Theron reminded himself, he should call the man by a different name: you couldn't very well name someone a beggar who was paying you an entire gold dolphin to join your pilgrimage for a fraction of its journey.
Theron followed the boy to the low hill where the cripple stood waiting, well away from the rest of the caravaners. The hooded man, whose blackened, bandaged face Theron had never seen properly, didn't show the least signs of interest in his fellow travelers except to share their fire and the meals they ate out of the communal pot. He spoke only through the boy, and that seldomly, so it was surprising he should ask to speak with Theron now.
The cripple seemed to be gazing out across the rolling land toward the broad sweep of the Pellos. Distant as an ant on a branch, an ox towed a barge from a path along the bank and several small rowboats bobbed in the backwater at the bend of the river as Silverside fishermen cast out their nets.
"Lovely evening, eh?" Theron said as he approached. He was looking forward to getting into his bedroll and paying his respects to the flask of wine hidden in his travel chest. It was not that the other pilgrims would disapprove, but rather that as long as it was hidden he didn't have to share it. He would not be able to fill it again until they reached Onsipia's Veil, which was still days away.
The hooded man waved his bandaged hand and his child servant stood on tiptoe to hear his muttered words. "How far away is Southmarch?" the boy asked.
"Southmarch?" Theron frowned. "At least a tennight, riding most of the day. For a group like ours, closer to a month. But of course we aren't going anywhere near it."
The bent man murmured again and the boy listened. "He wants you to take him there."
"What?" Theron laughed. "I thought your master was just crippled in his body, not simple-minded, but it seems I was wrong! We talked of this when he first joined us back at Onir Plessos. This caravan is not going to Southmarch nor anywhere near it. In fact, this is the closest we shall come." He waved his hands. "If your master wants to strike out on his own I will not stop him, of course. I will even pray for him, and all the gods know he will need it, and so will you, child. The lands between here and there are said to be full of not just the usual cutpurses and bandits, but worse things-far worse." He leaned toward the boy. "Goblins, they say. Elves and boggles. Things that will steal not just your money but your very soul." Theron straightened up. "So if he has sense to go with his money, he will stay with us until we reach the Veil. I know he keeps what's wrong with him a secret, but I have my guesses. Tell him there's a leper house there that treats its wards with true kindness."
The boy listened to another flow of whispers from the hooded depths, then turned to Theron again. "He says he doesn't have any leppersy. He was dead. The gods brought him back. That is no illness, he says."
Theron made the sign of the pass-evil, then remembered his position and changed it into the sign of the Three. "He talks nonsense. The dead do not come back. Only the Orphan, and he was the gods' favorite."
Both Theron and the child waited for some reply from the hooded man but he stayed silent, looking out across the darkening valley and the murky silver ribbon of the Pellos.
"Well, I can't stand here forever," the caravan master said at last. "Nice to talk with you and all," he added, remembering the exorbitant fee the man was paying. "If you haven't had any of the turnip stew, I recommend it. Few pieces of mutton in there, down at the bottom-don't make a fuss and nobody'll notice. But I should be on my way. Still a great deal to be done." Including, he suddenly remembered, exhuming his wine flask from his travel chest. The thought gave him a warm feeling. He might not be as devout as he had once been, but he was still doing the gods' work. Surely they looked on him with favor-surely they wanted only good things for Theron the pilgrimer, son of Lukos the potmaker. Look how high they had already raised him!
The cripple pulled something from his robe and held it out, waggling his clublike, bandaged hand until the boy took it from him. After a whispered instruction the child brought it to Theron.
"He says it is all he has left. You may have it all."
Theron stared at the dirty-faced boy for an uncomprehending moment, then took the sack. It was heavy, and by the time he tipped its contents into his palm Theron's hand was shaking, not from the weight but from his sudden realization of what he would see.
Gold coins. At least a dozen. And silver and copper to the amount of another two or three dolphins. He looked up in astonishment, but the crippled man was staring silently out across the valley again, as if he had not just put a sum great enough to turn someone like Theron from a comfortable but hardworking caravan master into a gentleman of leisure with a house, land, livestock, and several servants.
"What is this for? Why does he show it to me?"
"He says he must go to Southmarch," the boy said after a short, whispered convocation. "That is why the gods have brought him back. But he cannot go without someone who knows the way-he cannot find the way, even… even with me." The boy scowled as he said it; clearly the words stung. "His eyes are still seeing the world of the dead as much as the world of the living. He fears he'll get lost and arrive too late."
Theron realized his mouth was hanging open, like a door someone had forgotten to close. He shut it, then immediately opened it again. "Late?"
"After Midsummer. Then he will be too late. On Midsummer's Night all the sleepers will awake. He heard this when he was in the gods' lands."
The caravan master could only shake his head. When he spoke his words bumped against each other. "L-let me… understand, boy." He had never imagined holding so much money in his hands and doubted any of the other pilgrims had, either. They were all good, gods-fearing folk as far as he knew, but he didn't want to test their honesty too harshly. "Your master wishes to pay all this money… for what, exactly?"
After a short conversation with the hooded shape, the boy said, "To get to Southmarch. To be led there, and protected along the way. To be fed and to have a horse to ride." He turned back at some urgent murmuring from the crippled man. "Not just Southmarch, the country, but Southmarch Castle. In the middle of the bay."
Even with this incredible bounty in his hands, Theron still hesitated-not at the idea of deserting the pilgrims, but at the prospect of crossing the lands to the north, full of unknown dangers, and traveling right into the midst of what was said to be a war between the Marchfolk and the fairies out of legend. The weight of the gold in his hand, though, made a powerful argument.
"Avidel!" he called. "Come here!"
Theron slid the coins back into the sack and tied it to his belt with an extra knot, just to be sure. His apprentice was about to become a caravan master.
The procession that moved down the corridors behind the Guild Hall was a large one. Briony, Eneas, and the prince's guards were led by Highwarden Dolomite and several other guildsfolk-including, Briony was pleased to see, at least one Guildswoman-and wrinkled little Whitelead, who it turned out was a sort of priest. Whitelead was accompanied by two huge acolytes-huge by Kallikan standards, in any case-who walked behind him carrying an object made of pots and sagging leather pipes, the whole thing steaming gently. When Briony asked politely what it was, Whitelead cheerfully told her it was a ceremonial replica of the Sacred Bellows.
"Sacred Bellows?"
"Ah, yes." Whitelead nodded vigorously. "The god used it to create all earthly life."
"Which god?"
He looked at her gravely for a moment, then smiled and winked. "I'm not allowed to say it out loud, Highness… but the Syannese celebrate him every year during the Kerneia." He winked again, even more broadly, just to make certain she understood.
The strange parade wound its way down what seemed at first to be only a series of corridors behind the Guild Hall, but Briony soon noticed that the bends and turns were not tight enough to be confined within the space of a normal sized building, even a large one. Also, in many places the passage sloped down at a distinct angle.
Eneas had noticed also. "How far does this go, I wonder? " he said quietly to Briony. "Some of my ancestors tried to prevent the Kallikans from digging in the stone underneath Tessis, but it seems they did not do a very good job of stopping them. They must have been at this for years!"
Indeed, it was clear that the walls, which near the Guild Hall had been paneled in dark wood, were now naked stone, beautifully polished and carved, sometimes inlaid with many different types of rock, work Briony could tell even by lamplight was exceptional.
"By the Three Brothers," Eneas said wonderingly after they had walked even farther, "have they burrowed all the way to Esterian?"
"Don't say anything to them!" Briony pleaded, then felt ashamed. "I'm sorry-I have no right to tell you how to treat your subjects, but it was me who forced them to take us here. I would hate to think I've repaid them with trouble."
Eneas laughed, but he did not seem happy. "Fear not, Princess. I will not make myself a troublesome guest, but it does set me wondering. If the mild Kallikans can flout us so, right under our noses, what other surprises will I find on the day it becomes my task to put Syan's house in order?"
Staring at his face, so sharp and intent in the lamplight, Briony was taken again by a strange, contradictory impulse.
Ferras Vansen. Were you real? Did I see what I thought I saw-did I see your feelings as clearly as I felt I did? What if it was only a phantom of my own mind? And even if not, she asked herself, what about this man, Eneas, this good man struggling to be fair? He cared for her-he'd said so-and he was exactly what Southmarch needed just now… It was too much to think about. Her feelings were as confused as the bubbles in a boiling kettle, first this one rising, then that one, then both at once and a dozen more.
At last, after long walking and many turns, and after descending what Briony guessed must be at least a dozen fathoms beneath the Guild Hall, the procession reached a place where the corridor widened out into a sort of broad staircase with shallow steps clearly cut for Kallikan feet that led to a door in the far wall decorated with carved designs that stretched weirdly in the flickering lamplight. Briony could see an image of a man riding a fish and another tying a vast serpent into a complicated knot, but most of the carvings were harder to make out.
Several of the Underbridge folk sprang forward and banged on the metal of the door with sticks. After a long wait, the great portal swung open, revealing more lamplight inside. Highwarden Dolomite stepped forward and led them all through the doorway.
Even as the last of them stepped through into a room only slightly smaller than the great hall outside, and the door clanked shut behind them, a group of Kallikans in black robes like Whitelead's appeared from a passage at the back of the room, scuttling and slipping on the polished stone floors as they hurried forward, as though on an icy lake. They prostrated themselves before the highwarden and the priest, and then one rose and made a series of ritual gestures, although with a certain anxious haste. He was almost as small as Whitelead but a great deal younger, very thin, and his eyes bulged in his face as though he was terrified.
His eyes only grew wider as he finished his ritual and looked up from Dolomite and Whitelead to the others who stood watching. He goggled at Briony, Eneas, and the prince's guards, all towering over the Kallikans like ogres; for a moment Briony thought the little man might faint dead away. "Oh, Great Anvil," he said at last to Dolomite, "Great Anvil of the Lord, how did you know? How did you know?"
The highwarden stared at him for a long moment, then snorted in annoyance. "How did I know what, Chalk? What in the name of the Pit are you babbling about? We're here to use the drumstones. The prince of Syan himself has commanded it!"
Chalk looked at him in surprise, then back at the imposing visitors before suddenly bursting into tears.
When Chalk had composed himself he led them all back into the inner recesses of what was clearly some kind of temple, although the Kallikans were very reluctant to talk about it.
"It's just… well, we haven't had a message through the stones for decades-not since my father's day," Chalk explained, "and that was when he was nearly a boy! So you can imagine, Great Anvil, that when we heard… well, I was just on my way to tell you and the others!"
"Hold your tongue a moment, man, you are making my head ring," said the highwarden. "Are you saying that someone else has been using the drumstones?"
"Who could do that without authority? " demanded Whitelead, his little beard bristling like the ruff of an angry rooster. "We will have him in front of the Guild immediately!"
"No, no, my lords!" said Chalk so miserably Briony feared the little fellow would start weeping again. "The drumstones spoke! They spoke to us! For the first time since my father's day!"
"What? What do you say?" demanded Dolomite, truly surprised for the first time. The revelation sent a flurry of whispers and gasps through all the other assembled Kallikans. "Who speaks to us?"
Chalk pushed open the door to a final chamber, darker than any of the others. A great circle of smooth but otherwise unworked stone dominated the high wall before them, the space around it filled with other kinds of stone cut in fantastic shapes. "The folk of Lord's House-our kin in Southmarch."
Briony could not stay silent any longer. "Are you saying that you've had a message from the Funderlings in Southmarch? For the love of the gods, what did they say?" A kind of giddy excitement almost but did not quite overcome the chill that swept over her. As Dawet had reminded her, strange things were happening-more of them every moment. She had dreamed a demigoddess and her dream was taking shape in the waking world.
Chalk looked to his masters for approval before speaking. "The others… the ones in Southmarch said… it is hard to put it exactly in ordinary speech, because the drumstones speak in a tongue of their own-our old tongue, but shorter of speech." He furrowed his pale forehead, staring at his hands as he did his best to remember correctly. "The message was, 'A Highwarden of the Big Folk has come back alive from the Old, Dark Lands. He leads us now. Outside the walls, the Old Ones oppress us and we cannot hold out long. We call on you to honor our shared blood and our shared tale. Send help to us.' " He looked up, blinking his large eyes. "That was more or less the whole of it."
Briony shook her head. "But what does it mean? 'Highwarden of the Big Folk'-Big Folk is us, yes? That's what you call us. But we have no Highwarden, only a king." Her heart suddenly beat faster. "Do they mean my father? Has my father come back? Where are the Old Lands?" Her pulse was racing, but Dolomite was shaking his head.
"I do not think it means your father, Princess-everyone knows he is held in the south, in Hierosol. The Old Lands are what we call the country that lies behind the Shadowline. The lands of those you call the fairy folk. The Qar."
For a moment she felt only disappointment, then it came to her suddenly, startling as a sudden blare of trumpets. "A Highwarden of the Big Folk has come back from the lands ruled by the fairies?" Her heart began speeding again. "My brother-it can only mean my brother, Barrick! He has come back to Southmarch! He has come back! Oh, praise Zoria!" And to the tiny man's surprise and terror, she suddenly bent and kissed little Chalk on the head. Prince Eneas laughed, but the rest of the Funderlings were quite astonished. "Quickly, quickly!" she said to Dolomite and Whitelead, "Can we send a message back? Tell them I am here-tell them I must speak with my brother!"
With the permission of their leaders, Chalk and his comrades got out ladders and long striking-wands, objects that had obviously been used only for ceremonial purposes for some time (and not even that very frequently as suggested by how hard it was to find some of them-Chalk started sniffling again, this time in mortification, as the temple was ransacked for the last ladder, which had been used to refill a ceiling lantern and not returned). At last everything was in place. Chalk sat by Briony's feet with a tablet of clay and a stone stylus as he wrote down her message and did his best to translate it into words the drumstones could carry.
Underbridge to Lord's House, Hail! We hear your words and praise them! Our Highwarden and Hierophant attend. Also a Highwarden Mother of the Big Folk of Lord's House, who comes here but seeks her brother there. Please drum to us his words. We greet you, brothers, and will try to help you, but must know more.
"Highwarden Mother?" asked Briony as Chalk relayed these words to his underlings, who then began to beat at the circle of stone set into the wall as though it were a true drum, their stone-headed, wooden wands plinking and plunking a strange, arrhythmic music. "It seems a touch confusing."
"They have no word for 'princess,' it seems," said Eneas, amused. "I wince to think what they would call me."
When the message had been drummed and then drummed a second time, they waited, but although they stood-and then, after a long while, sat down where they could find places to do so-no message came back.
"Either they are gone," said the hierophant, "which seems strange when they had just sent a message to us, or something has broken the chain of drumstones. We will try to drum to them again tonight, and send word to you in the castle if we hear anything."
"You are very kind," said Briony, but the dizzying happiness of only a little earlier was fading. Perhaps she had been wrong about what the message meant. Perhaps the Kallikans themselves were wrong somehow about receiving it at all.
"Come, Princess," Eneas told her. "It's time to go back now."
She allowed herself to be led back through the maze of corridors toward the real world and the late afternoon sun.