“Yes. His voice is but a raw whisper, and he is bleeding, but apparently, whatever it was that should have beenslashed there in order to kill him was not. Perhaps it did not go deep enough.”
“You spoke to him.”
“I took him to the small room at the top of the steps in the middle of the keep, between the towers?”
“That’s barely a closet. I never understood why there was a bed there.”
“It was Dathor’s room when he was a child,” she said.
“This orc had a bed in the keep?”
“He is the steward’s blood. He is Celedin’s cousin.”
“But he is an orc,” said Hafindel.
“Well,” said Aerhril, “yes. I suppose he has chosen his side.” But also, no elf would ever accept him as one of their own, so perhaps his side had been chosen for him.
“This is not important to discuss, not if the steward is alive,” said Hafindel. “But what can we do? We cannot move him. And if we leave him there, without anyone tending to his wounds, he will likely just die slowly.”
Aerhril swallowed very hard.
“You wish to let him die,” said Hafindel.
“Oh, by the bright yellow strands of the dawn itself, no!” Aerhril twisted her fingers together. “What do you take me for?”
“I know how often we schemed, together, you and me, to delay your marriage.”
Aerhril could not meet the other woman’s gaze.
“I know what he did to you, sometimes, also. I know how he never struck you anywhere where it would be noticeable to others.” But Hafindel dressed her, so Hafindel saw the bruises, the marks, the placed he had burned her with hot irons from the fire. “He is a complicated sort of man. I suppose, if your choice is between him and the orc, then…”
Aerhril shook her head, tears rising behind her eyes. “No, but perhaps they are the same. They share blood. They grew up here. They were both formed by this harsh and jagged countryside.” She gestured out of the window. “But then, if they were formed by this land, perhaps so was I. For the Peak is my home now. It has been since I was eight yearsold. I could not leave, no matter how savage the winds blow, no matter how we struggle to till the earth. It is too beautiful here.”
“Aye, my lady,” said Hafindel, smiling in understanding. “It’s a beauty that rends one’s soul as the sun steals over the mountains.”
She nodded at her.
“So, here is what we will do. I will go with a bucket as if I am to clean the floors, and if anyone says anything, I shall say it is spilled milk and that if we do not see to it, it will go sour and the smell will be unbearable. They will let me pass.”
“Of course,” said Aerhril.
“I will wash and tend his wounds the best that I can, but he must stay where he is,” she said. “Because if he moves from that room, he will surely be killed immediately.”
“Thank you, Hafindel. I would tend to him myself—”
“It’s best if it’s me,” she said. “I can move about in the keep better than you in certain ways. I am more invisible.” She hesitated. “And, my lady?”
“What?”
“What those other women are saying? About finding a way to manipulate a man by being in his bed? You have some influence over this orc commander, do you not?”
“Yes, I have thought this. That I could use whatever affection he has for me.”
“You must,” said Hafindel. “We must attempt to get word out for others to prepare for what is coming.”
“But will it matter? No one, not in any of the holdings in the north, has some sort of standing army to fend off an attack like this. We are not prepared.”
“The south, then. We must get word to your people, the nae Oir.”
