"Legalisms! Sophistries! You have the sleight of words, by which poor peasants like me are mulcted and left helpless! Still, I would not have you think me a curmudgeon, and I hereby make you a gift of that fodder sequestered from my private reserve by your horse."
"I reject your gift!" declared Aillas. "Can you show articles from King Gax? If not, you can prove no title to the grass."
"I need prove nothing! Here on the second brake, the giving of a gift is certified by acceptance. Your horse, acting as your agent, accepted the gift, and you therefore become an extensionary donee."
At this moment the pack-horse raised high its tail and voided the contents of its gut. Aillas pointed to the pile of dung. "As you see, the horse tested your gift and rejected it. There is no more to be said."
"Fie! That is not the same grass!"
"It is near enough, and we cannot wait while you prove otherwise. Good-day, sir!" Aillas and Tatzel led their horses over the brink and descended toward the third brake. From behind came a rageful howling and a tirade of curses, then a melodious voice calling: "Aillas! Tatzel! Come back, come back!"
"Make no acknowledgment," Aillas warned Tatzel. "Do not even look back!"
"Why not?"
Aillas pulled his head down and bent forward. "You might see something you would rather not see. I have this hint from my instinct."
Tatzel struggled with her curiosity but at last followed Aillas' advice, and soon the calls were heard no more.
The descent was steep and the going slow; two hours into the afternoon they came down upon the third brake: another pleasant parkland of trees, meadows, grassy banks, ponds and small meandering streams.
Aillas looked around the serene landscape. "This is the brake in which the god Spirifiume takes a special interest, and it seems as if he has dealt lovingly with the land."
Tatzel looked about with no great interest.
Half an hour later, while riding through a grove of oak trees, they surprised a young boar rooting for acorns. Aillas instantly nocked an arrow to his bow, and said: "Spirifiume, if yonder beast is of special value to you, cause the boar to jump aside or, if you prefer, divert my arrow." He let the arrow fly, and it struck deep into the heart of the boar.
Aillas dismounted and, while Tatzel looked fastidiously in another direction, he did what needed to be done and presently came away with the choicest parts strung on a twig for convenience of transport.
Mindful of Cwyd's third information, Aillas called out: "Spirifiume, we thank you for your bounty!"... .Aillas blinked. Something had happened. What? A twinkling of a hundred colours across the sunlight? A whisper of a hundred soft chords? He looked at Tatzel. "Did you notice anything?"
"A crow flew past."
"No colours? No sound?"
"None."
Once more they set off, and entered a forest. Noticing a clump of morels growing soft and graceful in the shade, Aillas pulled up his horse and dismounted. He signalled to Tatzel. "Come. You no longer have the excuse of a tender leg. Help me gather mushrooms."
Tatzel wordlessly joined him, and for a space they picked mushrooms: morels, delicate shaggy-manes, golden chanterelles, pepper-tops, savory young field mushrooms.
Again Aillas acknowledged Spirifiume's bounty, and the two rode onward.
With the sun still two hours high they arrived at the edge of the brake, with a steep and difficult descent below. Lake Quyvem now dominated the landscape to the north. A dozen forested islets rose from the surface and on two of these the ruins of two ancient castles faced each other across a mile of water. The air between them seemed to quiver with the memory of a thousand adventures: griefs and delights, romantic yearnings and dreadful deeds, treacheries by night and gallantries by day.
Aillas found within himself no inclination to scramble down yet another slope on this day. Cwyd had recommended the third brake for an overnight camp, and the advice seemed good. Aillas turned away from the edge and rode to a little meadow where a stream trickled from the forest; here he decided to camp.
Dismounting, he dug a shallow trench in which he built a fire of dry oak. To the side he arranged the meat on a spit, where it might roast and drip into the pannikin, with Tatzel turning the spit as needful. The drippings in the pannikin would later be used to fry the mushrooms, which Tatzel also had been ordered to clean and cut. Glumly accepting reality, she set to work.
Aillas staked out the horses, set up the tent and gathered grass for a bed, then, returning to the fire, sat with his back to a laurel tree with the wine-sack ready to hand.
Tatzel knelt beside the fire, her black locks tied back with a ribbon. Thinking back to his time at Castle Sank, Aillas tried to remember his first sight of Tatzeclass="underline" then a slender creature of thoughtless assurance walking with long swaggering strides by reason of natural verve.
Aillas sighed. Upon a heartsick young man, Tatzel, with her fascinating face and jaunty vitality, had made a deep impression.
And now? He watched her as she worked. Her assurance had been replaced by sullen unhappiness, and the bitter facts of her present existence had taken the luster from her verve.
Tatzel felt the pressure of his attention and turned a quick glance over her shoulder. "Why do you look at me so?"
"An idle whim."
Tatzel looked back to the fire. "Sometimes I suspect you of madness."
" ‘Madness'?" Aillas considered the word. "How so?"
"There would seem no other reason for your hatred of me."
Aillas laughed. "I feel no such hatred." He drank from the wine-sack. "Tonight I am kindly disposed; in fact, I see that I owe you a debt of gratitude."
"That debt is easily paid. You may give me a horse and let me go my way."
"In this wild country? I would be doing you no favor. My gratitude, moreover, is indirect. You have earned it despite yourself."
Tatzel muttered: "Again the madness comes on you."
Aillas raised the wine-sack and drank. He offered the sack to Tatzel, who disdainfully shook her head. Aillas drank again from a sack now sadly flabby. "My remarks are probably somewhat opaque. I will explain. At Castle Sank I became enamored of a certain Tatzel, who in some respects resembled you, but who was essentially an imaginary creature. This phantom which lived in my mind possessed qualities which I thought must be innate to a creature of such grace and intelligence.
"Ah well, I escaped from Sank and went my way, encumbered still with this phantom, which now only served to distort my perceptions. At last I returned to South Ulfland.
"Almost by chance my most far-fetched daydreams were realized, and I was able to capture you: the real Tatzel. So then—what of the phantom?" Aillas paused to drink, tilting the wine-sack high. "This impossibly delightful creature is gone, and now is even hard to remember. Tatzel exists, of course, and she has freed me from the tyranny of my imagination, and here is the source of my gratitude."
Tatzel, after a single brief side-glance, turned back to the fire. She rearranged the spit, where the roasting pork exhaled a splendid odor. She prepared batter for griddlecakes, then started the mushrooms to fry in the drippings from the roasting pork, while Aillas went to gather a salad of watercress from the stream.
In due course the pork was done to a turn; the two dined on the best the land could afford. "Spirifiume!" called Aillas. "Be assured that we take great pleasure in your bounty, and we thank you for your hospitality! I drink to your continued health!"
Spirifiume gave back neither flux of colour nor whisper of sound, but when Aillas went to lift the wine-sack, which had arrived at a state of discouraging flatness, he found that it bulged to its fullest capacity. Aillas tasted the wine; it was soft and sweet and tart and fresh, at one and the same time. He cried out: "Spirifiume! You are a god after my own heart! Should you ever tire of North Ulfland, please establish yourself in Troicinet!"