Heartless

Una urged her horse closer to her father’s, uncertain whether or not to be frightened. But the green-cast man darted away into the crowds, shouting as he went, “Prices always fair! Blossoms to share!” She could hear his voice amid the din long after he vanished from sight.

Fidel’s guards called out in large voices, heralding the king’s arrival. But their words hardly carried over the music of the market, and the crowds did not part. The people of Sondhold, their eyes wide and wondering, scarcely spared a glance for their king or his children. King Fidel smiled as he looked around, for despite the noise and the otherworldliness of it all, it was impossible to remain unmoved by the wonders and the excitement. He called the captain of his guard to him and said, “Try to find out who is in charge here, will you?”

Before he had quite finished speaking, a path suddenly emerged in the crowds, and the most enormous person Una had ever seen stepped forward. He stood at least seven feet tall and was terribly ugly. He so exactly fit the image of a goblin she’d held since childhood that, at first sight of him, she felt all her limbs go atremble. But despite his craggy skin that looked as though it would turn sword blades and arrowheads, his face was welcoming.

He raised a hand and called a greeting to the king. “Fidel of Parumvir,” he said, “welcome to the Twelve-Year Market.”

Fidel raised an eyebrow and inclined his head, and because he was king he showed no sign of fear if he felt it. “And welcome to Parumvir, stranger,” he said. “You make yourself quite free in my lands without so much as a by-your-leave.” His voice was not unfriendly, but he spoke as a king not a friend. “What is your name?”

The goblin-man, now near enough for Una to see that he stood taller than the ears of her father’s horse, bowed low. He was clothed all in white, with a golden belt and a long knife at his side. “I am Oeric,” he said when he straightened, “knight in the service of the Prince of Farthestshore.”

“Farthestshore?” Fidel repeated.

It was a name from ancient days, from tales so old they were no longer called history but relegated to legend; and even in legends, these tales were mentioned only as myths believed by heroes of long ago. Yet the name of Farthestshore was deeply imbedded in the earth of Parumvir and all the nations of the Continent. When she heard it spoken, Una caught again that strong scent of the sea that she had smelled as she rode down the King’s Way. It came to her in a rush, overpowering the thousands of foreign spices and perfumes that misted the air of the market.

Odd, for she had grown up just a few miles from Sondhold Harbor, where tall ships sailed to and from far-off countries, and she had grown so used to the smell of the ocean that she no longer noticed it. But she caught it now, that whiff of wildness and salt and sun and storms, and she wondered how she could ever bear to sit long hours over textbooks or tapestry when that smell beckoned so?

Her father’s voice brought her back to the present. “Has the Prince of Farthestshore placed you in charge of this bazaar?”

Sir Oeric answered, “The Prince himself has led us here. Many would not have dared come otherwise. He is near at hand, and you shall meet him anon.”

“And in the meanwhile, you and your folk make yourselves at home upon my lawn?”

Sir Oeric bowed again. “It is an ancient and time-honored tradition, Your Majesty, that the people of the Far World visit the Near every twelve years so that we do not too soon forget one another. This very lawn has been kept clear and clean for that purpose. We apologize if we disturb you, but we of the Far World do not so swiftly forget agreements.”

Fidel considered this a moment, his face quiet so that Una could not read it. “You’re rather late, don’t you think?” he said at last. “You have not come to Parumvir in the time of my father or that of his father. If I am not mistaken, it has been two hundred years at least since a Twelve-Year Market was recorded.”

“But only twelve years as my folk count it.”

“Then your years are much longer than ours.”

“Shorter too, Your Majesty. And also wider and narrower, if you will.” Sir Oeric smiled, and Una glimpsed sharp fangs. “Time is rather friendlier with the people of Faerie.” Then his smile vanished, and his moon-wide eyes were serious. “We bring goodwill, Your Majesty, and wares to delight your kingdom. The Prince himself will assure you of this when you meet him. I know he wishes only to please you with our presence.”

“I am eager to meet him.”

“Until that time, Your Majesty, would your children like to explore the market?”

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