Reave the Just and Other Tales by Stephen R. Donaldson Read Free Book Online

was summoned by the simple, almost nameless expedient of telling the tale. To every man or woman, herder or minstrel, merchant or soldier, mendicant or charlatan who passed through Forebridge, someone sooner or later mentioned that “Reave the Just had a kinsman here who has recently disappeared.” Those folk followed their own roads away from Forebridge, and when they met with the occasion to do so they told the tale themselves; and so the tale spread.
    In the end, such a summons can never be denied. Inevitably, Reave the Just heard it and came to Forebridge.
    Like a breeze or a story, he appeared to come without having come
from
anywhere: one day, not so long after Jillet’s disappearance, he was simply
there
, in Forebridge. Like a breeze or a story, he was not secretive about his coming: he did not lurk into town, or send in spies, or travel incognito. Still it was true that he came entirely unheralded, unannounced—and yet most folk who saw him knew immediately who he was, just as they knew immediately why he was there.
    From a certain distance, of course, he was unrecognizable: his clothing was only a plain brown traveler’s shirt over leather pants which had seen considerable wear and thick, dusty boots; his equally dusty hair was cropped to a convenient length; his strides were direct and self-assured, but no more so than those of other men who knew where they were going and why. In fact, the single detail which distinguished him from any number of farmers and cotters and wagoneers was that he wore no hat against the sun. Only when he drew closer did his strangeness make itself felt.
    The dust showed that he had walked a long way, but he betrayed no fatigue, no hunger or thirst. His clothing had been exposed to the elements a great deal, but he carried no pack or satchel for food or spare garments or other necessities. Under the prolonged pressure of the sun, he might have developed a squint or a way of lowering his head; but his chin was up, and his eyes were open and vivid, like pieces of the deep sky. And he had no knife at his belt, no staff in his hand, no quiver over his shoulder—nothing with which to defend himself against hedgerow robbers or hungry beasts or outraged opponents. His only weapon, as far as any of the townspeople could see, was that he simply appeared
clearer
than any of his surroundings, better focused, as though he improved the vision of those who looked at him. Those who did look at him found it almost impossible to look away.
    The people who first saw him closely enough to identify him were not surprised when he began asking questions about “his kinsman, Jillet of Forebridge.” They were only surprised that his voice was so kind and quiet—considering his reputation for harsh decisions and extreme actions—and that he acknowledged the implausible relation which Jillet had claimed for the first time scarcely a week ago.
    Unfortunately, none of the people questioned by Reave the Just had any idea what had become of Jillet.
    It was characteristic of the folk of Forebridge that they avoided ostentation and public display. Reave had the effect, however, of causing them to forget their normal chariness. In consequence, he did not need to go searching for people to question: they came to him. Standing in the open road which served Forebridge as both public square and auctioneer’s market, he asked his questions once, perhaps twice, then waited quietly while the slowly growing crowd around him attracted more people and his questions were repeated for him to the latecomers until a thick fellow with the strength of timber and a mind to match asked, “What’s he look like, then, this Jillet?”
    The descriptions provided around him were confusing at first; but under Reave’s influence they gradually became clear enough to be serviceable.
    “Hmm,” rumbled the fellow. “Man like that visited my master t’other day.”
    People who knew the fellow quickly revealed that he served as a