Chapter Six
When the Errolsons arrived at the manor house with Massey and Floyd, Ebbe eyed the two alligator hunters suspiciously. From their buckskin garb he recognized them as the raftsmen who had wreaked havoc on the Hustingreen riverfront earlier in the day. Ebbe had always been more concerned with the dignity of the House of Errol than Errol or his sons had ever been. He felt much put-upon when one of the Errolsons-usually Percy-dragged in characters like these two river rats for him to wait on.
But Percy, pretending not to notice Ebbe’s annoyance, smiled broadly at the head servant. “Ebbe,” he said, “these old boys could use a wash-up before dinner, and they might like to rest their bones a few minutes before we eat.” He nudged Floyd. “Rafthanding is hard work.”
“So I have observed,” Ebbe answered icily, looking at Floyd’s breeches, still wet from his dip in the river. The hunters, unaccustomed to such withering propriety, held their coonskin caps in their hands and studied the floor. The pale, skinny house servant struck terror in the hearts of these men who made their livelihood wrestling alligators with their bare hands.
“So maybe you could show them to a couple of the spare bedrooms and dip them up some washbowls,” suggested Percy.
Ebbe waited a long second, blinked slowly, and with a formal smile answered, “Certainly.”
Ebbe had begun to turn on his heel when Percy added, “And you might want to say hello to Aidan too.”
Ebbe bobbed stiffly in Aidan’s direction. “Master Aidan.”
Aidan smiled at the stuffy old servant. “Hello, Ebbe.”
Ebbe didn’t trust Aidan much more than he trusted the alligator hunters. He had been attached to the House of Errol since before the boy was born, had seen the boy in diapers, seen him cry when he fell down, seen him waste away whole days in boyish daydreams. He had heard the other servants’ whispered talk of Aidan being the Wilderking, and he didn’t think it was proper at all-not at all. The whole thing started the day Aidan claimed to have killed a panther in the bottom pasture. But Ebbe had gone to the bottom pasture himself, had taken the boy’s place watching the sheep-which, as Ebbe often pointed out, wasn’t part of his job in the first place-and he saw for himself that there was no dead panther in the bottom pasture.
But still the servants talked, about the boy killing a giant and routing the Pyrthen army almost single- handedly, about other accomplishments they took to be signs the boy was indeed the Wilderking. But what did the other servants know, thought Ebbe, as he led the alligator hunters down the hall without speaking a word to them. The other servants would believe anything. They even believed in feechiefolk.
Percy left for the woodshop to get Carver started on a new oar-sweep for Massey and Floyd. Aidan knocked on the door of his father’s library. “Father?” he called. Pushing the door open, he was surprised to see his father struggling to his feet, both hands on a walking stick. Errol gave his son a weary smile, and as he walked toward the door, Aidan noticed his father’s limp had worsened. He looked more haggard and world-weary than he had six months earlier, when Aidan last saw him; it was the last time Errol had visited Tambluff Castle. Errol’s trips to the court of King Darrow had grown less frequent as his health declined. Or perhaps, as Aidan suspected, his father’s health had declined because his visits to the court had grown less frequent.
“You’ve grown,” Errol observed as he embraced his son. “King Darrow must be feeding you well.”
“He feeds me very well,” answered Aidan, “but still I miss Moira’s cooking.”
Errol laughed and put his arm around Aidan’s shoulder, as much for support as out of affection for his son. “Moira will be glad to hear her kitchen compares so favorably to the king’s.”
Aidan looked down at his father’s walking stick. “How are you feeling, Father?”
Errol sighed. “These old battle wounds are troubling me. The rheumatism has crept into my bad leg.” Leaning on Aidan, he hobbled to the nearest chair and sat down heavily. Aidan could feel his own eyes grow wet with the sadness of seeing his father, always so hale and strong, carrying himself now like an old man.
“I had hoped you’d come to Darrow’s hunt two days ago,” said Aidan. Then, thinking of his father’s ailing state, he quickly added, “Or at least to the hunt feast.”
“So I gathered from your letters,” answered Errol. “So I gathered. But I never got an invitation from the king.” He looked vacantly out the window. “There was a time when I was free to come and go as I pleased at Tambluff Castle,” he said quietly. “But no more.”
Aidan remembered King Darrow’s remark the night before, when he referred to Errol as a man “whose standing in the realm isn’t what it used to be.”
Errol patted his left leg, his bad leg. “I’ve had this limp for thirteen years now, since the Pyrthens’ fourth siege of Tambluff,” he remarked. “It’s never bothered me much. It always seemed a small price to pay for freedom, a small enough tribute to a king I loved, a king who loved his kingdom like a father loves his family.” He stared into the distance. “But now this old battle wound is a misery to me.”
Aidan and Errol sat in silence for a few awkward seconds before Aidan changed the subject. “Brennus wrote. Said Gemma was having a baby.”
“That’s right,” answered Errol, brightening at the prospect. “They’ve been married over a year now. It’s time they gave me a grandchild.”
“He said in his letter that he cleared another field for indigo,” added Aidan.
“That farm of his will be another Longleaf before you know it,” said Errol. Though he had hoped that his eldest would stay and raise his family on Longleaf Manor, he was proud of the young man’s initiative. “You know how your brother works.” He paused a moment, then chuckled. “Your brother Brennus anyway. Your brother Percy is another matter altogether. It’s not that he minds working; it’s just that he likes so many other things better, it’s hard to get a whole day’s work out of him. This is the son who decides to stay on the farm.” He shook his head and smiled. “But he’s good company. And I’m going to need it when Jasper starts at the university in the fall.”
“I’d almost forgotten,” said Aidan. “We’ll be together again.” Tambluff University was just around the corner from the castle drawbridge.
“But I don’t know what the professors at the university are going to be able to teach that boy,” Errol remarked. “He knows the old lore better than anybody I’ve ever seen-except the Truthspeaker, maybe. He’s read every book in the library.”
Father and son both fell silent. Both were thinking of the other Errolson, the missing one. Maynard had disappeared two years earlier, less than a year after Aidan moved to Tambluff. He went out hunting in the Eastern Wilderness and never came back.
Everyone had given Maynard up for dead. That was just the way of the Eastern Wilderness: sometimes people went out and never came back. It was a vast and perilous place. Only Errol still held out hope for his son’s safe return. But it was a hope fueled by a father’s love and blind faith-not by any reasonable expectation that Maynard could possibly be alive. But even Errol’s faith had begun to waver. Every day he looked a little grayer.
Aidan had already decided not to tell his father the whole story of why he was headed downriver. He would find out soon enough, whether Aidan told him or not. Now that he saw his father’s troubled state, Aidan was even more convinced it would do more harm than good to explain that King Darrow had sent him on a fool’s errand, an impossible mission he didn’t expect Aidan to survive. “King Darrow has sent me on a mission down the river.”
“Hmmm…” said Errol. “Sounds important.” There was a pause. Aidan looked down at his boots. Errol pressed him. “Too important for you to tell your father about?”
Aidan was between a rock and a hard spot. It would be a disaster to tell his father that he was headed alone into the very heart of the Feechiefen Swamp. Father would be worried sick, and rightly so. He would probably try to stop him from going, command him as his father to stop this insane quest. And Aidan wouldn’t do that. To quit his quest would mean self-banishment. King Darrow had ordered him not to return without the frog orchid.
Not to tell, however, would be a slap in Father’s face. Until recently, Errol had been one of Darrow’s chief advisers. The king did almost nothing without Errol’s knowledge. Had Darrow now entrusted Aidan with a task that was too secret for Errol to know about? Had Errol’s fifteen-year-old son surpassed him in the king’s confidence?
Errol saw the struggle on Aidan’s face. “I understand,” he said. “I won’t ask you to betray your king’s trust.” Aidan nodded his head. But he couldn’t meet his father’s gaze. The silence between father and son was mercifully
