The king touched her arm with one, armored hand, his gauntlet cool against her skin. " Princess, the mere sight of you has filled me with satisfaction and contentment for so long," he replied from behind his helmet, "that I never dreamed being in your presence could fill me with such joy as I have just now, yet this was not always so.
'You see, like you, my birth was of humble circumstance; my mother was the daughter of husbandry and my father, a tradesman of the plains beyond these high, green hills. In fact, your father's people were of the same tribe as my own, but that is another part of the tale, for later."
Howe nodded her thanks with a smile, anticipating the tale to come.
"I was a mere stripling lad when my people were attacked the first time," continued Bryn Ma'ar quietly, seeming lost in his memories. "From the time I was twelve, I was more than learning to wield this sword, I was learning the consequences of failure.
'We had been accustomed to living a somewhat nomadic lifestyle up until then, but we were slowly driven from the plains until we were encroaching on the lands of your mother's people, the Anazaria who dwelled within the cliffs at the edge of the plains. They did not welcome us any more than the village elders welcomed your father, or for that matter you, though you were raised among them."
He paused to assist Howe over a difficult part of the trail. Howe noticed that, though the trail was steep and narrow, it was well-maintained. Any valley-dweller who'd come upon it at the trail-head would have considered it as nothing more than a deer or wild sheep trail, and any who followed it for a short distance would have no reason to change that opinion, but Howe could see that the trail was tended and maintained, if inconspicuously.
The only sign that human hands had cut the trail was a bent branch or broken twig here, a well-placed stone in the ground there to prevent the trail from washing out. She didn't say anything about her observations though, hoping he'd continue the tale. Bryn Ma'ar had warned her that the first winter storm was coming, weeks earlier than anyone was expecting, and the chill was already in the air.
He'd spoken the night before of a second line cabin between the first shelter and the fortress, but thought they might make the fortress before nightfall, if they made good time. With her dress torn and thin from age, Howe felt the change in temperature keenly but she'd learned that the best way to stay warm in such weather was through constant movement.
Howe did her best to walk briskly. Having no wish to be caught in a storm, she hoped they'd be able to reach the fortress before the snow began to fall. If that happened, she told herself, then she'd be far colder than she was just then. Bryn Ma'ar continued his tale after the trail widened out, a short distance later.
"I learned to fight and learned well, but with enemies pressing from all sides, we had no haven where we might be safe. We moved about constantly for a time, seeking to avoid the plains people who were too strong for us, and the cliff-dwellers, who had the advantage of their steep fortresses. Sometimes we were successful, sometimes not."
Howe could hear the wry humor in his voice despite the helmet. "Sometimes not?" she asked, encouraging him on in his tale.
"As our numbers dwindled, we knew we couldn't win in pitched battle even with all the clans together, so we did our best to avoid an outright confrontation. Except that wherever we went at the edge of the plains, the other tribe seemed to follow. We drifted along the cliffs for a year or so, to the sea and back again. It was while we were camped at the base of the cliffs that your father fell in love."
"You knew him?" Howe slowed her steps unconsciously while she studied his helmet, seeking in vain to see his expression through the eye holes.
"He was part of our tribe so yes, we were acquainted though I didn't know him well. He was a bit younger than my father but they fought alongside each other for a time."
"For a time?" Howe thought this sounded a little ominous. Had her father abandoned his people? Anyone who knew Gardener Hays would know this to be preposterous.
"The man I knew was named Rhys Broderick; a good warrior to have beside you in a fight. My father was his mentor. Your mother was a cliff maiden, a daughter of their rulers. He spoke often of her, especially whenever we wandered to the farther pastures. The last I saw of Rhys Broderick was when I was fourteen, before the fight that nearly killed my father."
Howe could hear the heavy emotion in his voice and wondered if he were fighting to overcome the darkness of such memories. She didn't say anything, however, but merely let him choose his thoughts and words in his own time. Such was the way of any storytelling and Howe had no wish to spoil his tale, so she used the pause to marvel over this bit of information from her father's past; he'd been Rhys Broderick, Enthusiastic Son of a King. The name meant he'd been from the rulers of his clan.
"We were away from the cliffs, when that happened," the king finally continued. "They'd attacked us at night, when the moon was new and heavy rain spoiled the torches. They drove off most of our livestock before we even knew they were there. In the dark, it was impossible to do more than defend each our very lives. Father and I fought back to back, but we were soon surrounded. I remember hearing his war cry, remember offering my own; but then something hit my head and that was the last I remember.
'The next thing I knew, it was daylight, and the camp was decimated. Tents were burned, the dead lay everywhere, including my mother and younger sisters. At first, I thought Father was dead as well, but he awoke sometime after I did. He'd been deliberately left alive; crippled and tortured. I was the only other one in camp left alive. Everyone else was gone, either having fled or been captured. I think the other tribe thought I was dead, or most assuredly they would have taken me for a slave."
Bryn Ma'ar swallowed and fell silent. Horrified by what he'd told her, Howe said nothing either. "What could I do," he finally continued, " except to bury the dead and find safety for my father and me?
'I needed a place where we could regain some strength and heal before going to look for the rest of our people, but I was hurt as well, though not nearly as gravely as Father. My eyes saw two of everything, sunlight was torture. Walking made me feel dizzy and I'd lost a lot of blood, judging from the puddle in the sand under my head, when I first awoke."
"Yet you buried your dead?" marveled Howe. Surely Bryn Ma'ar had an iron will, to accomplish such a feat when so gravely wounded!
"Honor demanded no less," the king explained. "And anyway, I didn't want to leave the bodies of my mother or sisters to the jackals and vultures. I found a bit of tent to drag my father on and I started walking." He chuckled mirthlessly. "My goal had been to find water because the raiders had made sure to contaminate the spring we'd camped near, but with my head the way it was, I think I walked in the same circle about three times before seeing the shadow of these hills in the distance.
'It was the only thing I could make out beyond the sand dunes, so I headed in that direction and we found the hills. Once Father was able to be on his own for more than a day or two, I was also healed enough to do more than just survive. That was how I built my fortress.
'Once the fortress was secure, I picked up my sword and went to find the rest of my tribe. A few at a time, I found them and brought them home. By the time the last of my tribe had been found and rescued from the other tribes, I was the armored warrior and king of my people. We've learned what we needed to, found others to teach us as well. There were folk in these hills before I came, but they're content with my leadership."
"Did they have a choice?"
Her question made him chuckle. "Of course; I never set out to become king. They were never forced to become warriors the way we were, but they did have enemies. We protected them, they welcomed the protection." He shook his head with a chuckle. "It took time for us to learn each other's speech, but now that we are one people with one speech, we are strong again. Never again will my people be driven from our lands, nor forced to hide from our enemies. Even the Undead are wary of my warriors."
"How long have you been in these hills?" Howe asked, trying to guess his age. He was older than her, but not so old as to be distasteful in her eyes.
"I was fourteen when I first set foot on the lower slopes, one-and-twenty when the last of my people were liberated from the plains and cliffs, and it has been but five years that the warriors and gentlefolk became one people." He paused, thinking about it. "I have claimed these hills as my own for fifteen years."
"So you are nine-and-twenty?" asked Howe.
"Almost," he answered cheerfully. "I was just barely fourteen when we were decimated."
"So what of the cliff-people, my mother's tribe?"
"They do not suffer our presence gladly," he admitted. "Lily of the Cliffs, your mother, was to have married the chief of another of their tribes and unite them against us but from what I understand, Lily ran away with Rhys Broderick a short time after the decimation. The stories differ; your grandsire insists she was stolen away, others say she found Rhys Broderick and hid him until he was well. Still others say he begged her to join him and run to where they would be able to live in peace."
Howe thought about her parents. "Whatever the truth, they did that; live in peace, that is. Mother died giving birth, Father fell ill; but for their lives in the valley, they were content."
"Do you remember anything other than the valley?" Bryn Ma'ar asked her as he helped her over a particularly large rock. The trail had grown increasingly steep, until only Bryn Ma'ar seemed to know which way it led at times. Often, they walked along a narrow path faced by a slope so steep that Howe feared tripping, lest she tumble back to the valley.
Howe had to think about it. "No, but I do remember Father building the cabin with Mother. I was to watch my brothers, you see." She paused, then added, "her name was Gardener Brooke, and he was Gardener Hays."
"I wish I had found them before," he said softly. "They would have been happy in these hills." Unspoken lay his true intent. Not only happy, they would have thrived and been safe to raise their family. Howe said nothing. "So now you know how I came to be king of these hills," he finally said.
"And what made you decide to seek a wife?" Howe asked quietly. "It seems as if you've spent quite a bit of time and energy at it."
"It seems time," he shrugged. "The fortress is secure; we have what we need or can readily get it, our enemies are subdued and our number is growing." He paused and when he continued, he sounded vaguely embarrassed. "And I would like someone beside me in the fortress."
"There was no one among your own people that would be suitable?" Howe enquired curiously. "I mean, I still don't understand why you chose me, a stranger, over all of your own people or the other maidens in the village."
He chuckled a little. "The maidens of my people are either of unsuitable age, betrothed already or would marry me for duty and little else. I told you already why I chose you from among the maidens of three outlying villages, but also Rhys Broderick was the last of my people left alive, that I hadn't been able to find." There was true remorse and sorrow in his voice. "It haunts me sometimes, that I was too late."
"He and my mother changed their names," Howe pointed out. "Why would he do that, if he expected to be found? Changing his name to better fit with the villagers after he learned their ways never changed how they treated us or viewed us. Always we were outsiders, even my younger siblings born in the cabin. Truly, Bryn Ma'ar, I think this was the life he wanted."
The king's voice was full of emotion when he finally replied. "Thank you, Princess. What you have said helps more than you can know."
Howe smiled up at him. "I'm glad," she said softly.