Talisman: The Dervish's Tale
Chapter 5
' It was only in the last month that he finally died. And now – well.'
The Knight shuffled his feet.
'Where are you from, Lad?' It was the Ranger, addressing the Dervish.
'I ...'
'I'll tell you why I am asking. And I would imagine Sir here is feeling along the same lines. Imagine you were to walk into a school, or any place instructing youngsters. And you were there to test them on their knowledge, and this you did, diligently. Then, as you were passing under the arch leading to the school yard, as if to make from it, you turn to the last child and say "Let your headmaster know that he has passed the inspection." And it was then that the child says "Sir - who is the Headmaster?" Do you understand sir?'
'What the good fellow is trying to say, good fellow, is that to know of the Land of Talisman - as you obviously do from our chat - but to profess ignorance of the Crown of Command, it is...'
'It is like the child.' The Dervish agreed and the Ranger nodded 'But I had not ... you both truely find this so surprising?'
The Ranger looked past to the Chivalric Knight. 'Sir, I must get back to my duties.' He turned back to the forest. Not looking at the Dervish, his hand rose, 'I hope what is best comes to you both.'
In a short while, he was gone. The Dervish looked into the eyes of the other. Hazel. 'You do not trust me, sir.' The man held the gaze, something tugging at his features.
He turned on his ankle, towards the field, and he spoke softly. 'One will be heading to that tor. If you would be so good as to head North, one would be grateful, and I'll ... I'll apologise now, if unjust. One can do no more than offer some small explanation, and advice.
'There can only be one wearer of the Crown. Whether they dream of good or ill, or otherwise - only one. Without a single wearer, the Land falls into chaos. It has happened before. The sovereignty cannot be shared. So whoever thinks themselves fittest to rule must be ready to cast aside all others, even if other goodly persons.
'So one can't trust you anyway, dear heart. And perhaps you are as innocent as you present. But one cannot know that. There are reasons to mistrust ones who speak such as you – believe that. One is glad to have helped you, but we will be better parted.' Here he paused. 'Good day.'
The ruins were of a tower, a few wrecked outhouses scattered at its foot. The Dervish looked down along the thin dusty path climbing the hill, then over the vista beyond. A wide river swam to the East. Past the hills that rose on its far side he could make out a castle upon a crag. It was far distant. Past it and the hills, the mercury sky began to redden. The sun hung above the horizon in the west.
He turned back to the tower. Skirts in hand, he lifted himself the last few metres of the incline, and looked about the deserted buildings. A flue of the tower was nearest. The keystone of the arched entrance lay with others on the sill. Steps rose around beyond it. The Dervish approached.
Gracefully, a yellow paw lit down onto the topmost step. A furry limb came down on the next, and ivory claws unsheathed. The next step down of the first pad brought the shaggy mane into view, above it the wide feline mouth, which hung open.
The Dervish considered his move. On the stair the Lion would be above him but would have little space to move, providing he kept it pinned. But it could move quickly - he ran up to the portal. The Lion leapt down a couple more stairs, but his sword was out, ranged against the swatting claw, and the beast would tumble down the stairs if it tried to swing. He jabbed at the pawing arm, trusting the sharpness of the blade. A cut appeared on the bright fur.
Then he was hit. He was on the ground, grey sky above with the tower piercing. His practiced roll got him upright, squatted on his feet. The Lion roared as its head peered around from the arch, turning from profile. Directly in front of him was a goat. He met its slotted eyes. It gruffly bleated, then it charged.
