AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Through the bones of the world the Elder Roads run, and those who step upon them must be wary.
—Maelsana the Swift of Dorael
Ihad hardly ever ridden a horse so high. The cream-colored Northern mare was sweet-tempered and clearly knew her business was to stay with her coevals; Arn’s, however, had a mischievous glint to her great sad eyes which promised trouble later. The dark-clad Northern men closed about us; I did not see where my trunk was. Still, I had my small, brightly embroideredseidhr-bag at my hip, the strap diagonal across the chest of my undermantle. Arn had her own baggage, much less than mine and easily added to her mount’s tack. Thick winterfog hid the road I had walked, run, ridden, or ambled along my entire life, making it a stranger, and I was startled when the standing stones at the east border of safe pasturage loomed wet and black around us.
It seemed far too soon to have reached them, but when clouds come to earth they maze and dizzy even the most experienced travelers.
One of the riders muttered summat about ill luck in the Northern tongue, and I suppressed another start. They spoke the old language daily, it seemed; I decided to listen hard, adding to my store of it—and to make no sign I understood, for we were two women among a group of foreign men.
It is wise to keep every advantage one may need later, and in anycase I did not feel like speaking overmuch to warriors who counted as kin a man my brother had killed.
I did keep my hood high, taking comfort in its warmth. I also whispered to the stones, wishing them a pleasant day as anyone who desires to pass such things without malediction or ill luck is well advised to. The fluttering in my bones—soft wings like my mother’s trembling after aseidhrdraught eased her ague—intensified just short of pain in the center of their cold, silent ring, and drained away as the horses plodded onward.
The one they called Eol rode to my left; the youth Aeredh might have wished to take my right but Arn was there, and while her mare might have a bit of spirit upon a clear day she was more than happy to let a shieldmaid make the decisions in this baffling, almost salt-smelling cold. Eol had wrapped his hilt, but I knew where the colorless gem was and sometimes thought I discerned a stray spark from it as the fog thickened.
That weapon, I thought,probably has a name.
Had they not been grim Northerners, perhaps they would have tried to make some manner of conversation. Instead, the dark-clad men rode in what I recognized as a guard-pattern, having seen warriors take such positions around my father more than once. Arn rode with her bright coppery head hooded and down, but I knew better than to think her unaware.
The fog brightened, new-risen sun warming its upper layers. Surely it was not bad to feel a slight thrill of accomplishment—even if the bonfire did not truly make the great light of the sky return, there was still some satisfaction in performing the ritual to make absolutely certain of the world’s continuance.
And I had behaved as a lord’s daughter and avolvaduring the following disaster; none could say I had not. Though a tongue or two might wag, saying a trueseidhrwould have foreseen and forestalled Bjorn’s action or its consequence—but who can tell, as Idra oft remarked, if we do not avert greater tragedies by the occurrence of smaller ones? Perhaps, she would sometimes add, everything during a life is the least of many evils.
Only the Allmother knows for certain.
Strangely, it was not my mother’s farewell or my siblings’ I thought of, but my father. He would return to a hall in mourning, and though he was Eril the Battle-Mad whose word and deed ruledDun Rithell and some distance up and down the river, my mother’s grief would be difficult for even his broad shoulders to bear.
He probably would not miss his weirdling daughter overmuch, though, until Bjorn broke something else I was not available to mend. The thought gave me a shiver; the fur upon my hood was dewed with tiny water-jewels.
My motion was slight, but it attracted attention. Or perhaps they had been watching me with some curiosity, those Northern men taking me from my home.
“You must think us cruel,” Eol said, in his heavily accented southron tongue. For a moment I was unsure whether he addressed me or his companions, but when I peered around the edge of my hood his dark gaze was fixed upon me.
Yes, weregild is cruel, but better than the alternative. The sagas say that before the last great war against the lord of the Black Land many a settlement was reduced to ashes and charred bones by vengeance raiding. The trading of child or warrior swiftly became an accepted practice after Wethik the Blue’s innovation during the long-ago Great Alliance; faced with the Enemy’s terror, ash, and despair, even the most warlike or least wise of mortals realized we could not well afford to strike each other down with abandon.
So I was called upon to make some small conversation after all. “I think you strange to be riding this far from your homes in winter, and so lightly equipped for it.” I could have made another observation or two, but they would be sharp, and already I felt the constraint of a lone woman among those not of her kin.
If these men foundered during our journey, though, I was fairly certain Arn and I could make our way home. It would be a tale worth telling—she would hunt, I would useseidhrto smooth our way, and we would not lack for fire so long as we could find fuel.
“Need drove us. And I am not certain to what end.” Eol regarded me somewhat curiously; of course, now that I was outside my father’s hall, men could look all they liked. Arneior was a mighty defense, but she could not blind every passerby.
Though it would cheer her immensely to be capable of such a feat, I thought.
“The return of the Powers, and the final defeat of our foe.” Aeredh’s voice came light and merry through the fog; he was an indistinct shape upon Arn’s other side, but I caught a sky-flash from that quarter, as of bright blue eyes. “A fated chance may still be a happy one, son of Tharos.”
What foe? The Great Enemy in the north is gone.The sagas all agreed—the Black Land was spent after a great defeat, and its master vanished along with the Elder who fought him from the first rising of the Sun. The songs did not agree on preciselyhowhe had been overcome, just that the great iron gates between the Two Fangs stood open and rusting while the land beyond slowly leached of his evil presence.
There had to be some new but purely mortal warlord in the North, perhaps one they were seeking allies against. And apparently this Eol was of Tharos—was that the name of his house or a mighty parent? I did not know enough of the North’s holdings; what need, when they were so far away?
It was strange for them to journey to our relatively small world clinging to the riverbank. Despite my father’s reputed battle-madness Northerners hold all who do not live in their harsh clime as perhaps not quite hard enough to wage true war. I had seen only one or two of Eol’s black-clad kind at a distance during fairs or festivals; they did not come to my father’s hall to give news or be greeted by my mother.
“Happy chance may yet strike. Though often just the opposite occurs, son of Aerith.” Eol’s horse drew nearer mine. “What say you, my lady?”
Was he expecting aseidhr’s pronouncement upon fates happy or otherwise? No doubt those of the far, cold, silent North had their own proverbs upon such things. Mayhap their home was so congenial to harsh tempers they did not wish to wend overmuch in our direction. Some said the North was but lightly populated and their numbers slow to increase; I could not imagine what manner of women they had, though Arneior would probably find them refreshing if their miens were as stark and traditional as these fellows’.
But that morn my new companions spoke of fate, and chance. An answer was required of me, so I chose the most diplomatic. “I say ’tis too soon to tell.”
It amused more than one of their number; a mutter of laughter ranthrough the Northerners. The road lost its vestiges of ancient paving, becoming a rimed pair of parallel dirt tracks for cart-wheel or staggered riders, and I shivered again, wondering why we were not going south.
