Too Many Princes (20 page)

Brastigan nudged his brother.
“
No one we need to worry about.
”
It hardly seemed worthwhile to pull rank in a tiny place like this. He pretended not to see Pikarus and Javes, seated nearby and clearly more interested in keeping sight of the two princes than in their dice.

Lottres looked abashed.
“
Well, I'm Lottres, and this is Brastigan, my brother.
”

The one bright eye roved between them.
“
Spitting image of each other, you are.
”
Brastigan had to laugh at that, a sharp bark. The old man waved in dismissal as Lottres began to stammer an explanation.
“
It doesn't matter, boy. I'll tell you what I told the others. And that is... I can tell you nothing.
”

There was silence as he took a pull from his long pipe.

“
But surely
—
.
”
Lottres started to argue.

“
Wise men don't go there,
”
the oldster growled. In the noisy room, if they wanted to hear, they had to lean closer and smell his sour breath.
“
It's a haunted place. You come back strange, so they say.
”

Now Brastigan snorted.
“
There's nothing haunted about it.
”

The old man squinted at him.
“
Oho. Been up to the Dragon's Tooth, have you?
”

“
And you haven't?
”
Brastigan retorted. In a rural area, with not much for entertainment, he couldn't see a young man refusing a challenge like that.

A glint in the old man's eye told him he was right.

As usual, Lottres tried to smooth things over.
“
We live in Harburg, in sight of another mountain just like yours called the Dragon's Candle. That's the one we've climbed. We were just surprised to see another one so like it.
”

The fire at their backs was growing overly warm, and Brastigan was glad his brother sat nearer than he. The old man didn't seem to feel the heat, for he leaned closer and spat into the flames.

“
Pah. Been up there, so you say. Then you've seen the fairies a-dancing?
”

That was a test, Brastigan guessed, a falsehood to see if they really knew what stood on the hilltop.

“
Fairies, my eye,
”
he scoffed right back.
“
We saw a standing stone and a pool of clear water.
”

Lottres tensed, no doubt preparing another reprimand for Brastigan's ill manners, but he didn't get the chance.

“
Oho.
”
The old man leaned forward, keenly interested.
“
Did you see the lights in the water? Hear the stone sing?
”

“
Lights?
”
Lottres repeated, baffled.

“
Singing stone,
”
Brastigan retorted, but with keen interest.

“
Aye, lights in the water, always moving, like the sun shining through a tree's branches. They come and go, but it's easier to see them at night.
”
He squinted past the two princes as if visualizing something seen long ago.
“
The stone sings, it does. Whistles like the wind on a still day, or crackles like a fire, or roars like the salt sea waves—but we're inland, you see. A fey thing, it is. A man could think he heard voices.
”

At those words, Lottres shifted suddenly in his seat, drawing the old man's gaze to him. The pale eye held something like sympathy.
“
You've not heard it, then.
”

Lottres shook his head silently, and Brastigan put in,
“
We were only up there in daylight.
”
If they hadn't returned to Crutham Keep, the guard would have been sent to collect them.
“
What makes it sing?
”

“
Well, lad, nobody knows that.
”
The old man smirked, enjoying their intense interest.

There was another brief silence. Brastigan, studying his brother's profile, thought he could guess Lottres's thoughts. Truth to tell, he wanted to see this singing stone for himself. But not today, nor tomorrow.

His heel thumped against the bench his brother sat on.
“
We don't have time for it.
”

Clearly Lottres wanted to argue that point, but he reluctantly nodded. Seeing the oldster's curious look, Lottres explained,
“
We're summoned.
”

“
To Hawkwing House,
”
Brastigan added, thinking the old man might have information on their mysterious destination. He was disappointed.

“
Where's that?
”
The oldster's voice was hazy now, as if the change of subject made his mind wander.

“
North of here,
”
Lottres prompted,
“
up above Glawern.
”

“
Ah? It's a bad road you're on, then.
”
Their companion shook his head grimly.
“
Too close to Sillets. Better to go home, say I.
”

“
I wish we could,
”
Brastigan muttered to himself.

A looming form interrupted them. The two princes looked up to see a weather-worn, younger version of the old man standing over them.

“
Come on, Gramps,
”
he ordered curtly.
“
Time to go. You know how Ma worries.
”

“
Aye, she does, aye.
”
Reluctantly, the old man let his hulking grandson stand him up and guide him from the room. Brastigan watched them hobble out, shaking off the sense he had been dozing in his seat.

The old man and his grandson weren't the first to leave. The room was emptying quickly as the locals sought their own homes. There wasn't much life in Rowbeck after dark, it seemed. Without women, why would there be? Pikarus, still seated nearby, seemed fully involved with his dice, but Brastigan saw his wary gaze following the farmers from the room.

Lottres, however, sat quiet and thoughtful beside him. The crackling of the fire, unnoticed moments ago, now sounded unusually loud. Brastigan remembered the old man saying the stone made a sound like voices in fire, and he felt the fine hairs rise at the back of his neck.

Brastigan clapped his brother on the shoulder, declaring cheerfully,
“
No mountain climbing in the dark, Pup. We've a long road ahead of us yet.
”

Lottres screwed up his face and stuck out his tongue.
“
Bleah for you.
”