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My mother’s second-largest chest was placed near a pile of freshly chopped pine boughs snuggled against the now-dry rock shielding the fire and small dell; Arn and I would not feel the cold ground tonight. I did not try whispering to her once we had lain down, both almost fully dressed though her armor would be a mild discomfort. Her eyebrows raised, but she understood my significant glance and held her tongue.
A shieldmaid needs few words, as the saying goes. Besides, we had known each other all our lives. I was certain we would eventually find some time to speak unheard by the Northerners.
I woke only once that night, for which I suppose I may thank the weariness of travel. Arn’s breathing was slow and deep against my hair, and her living warmth a great comfort under our pile of mantles and blankets.
Every other bedroll around the oddly burning campfire was empty. Aeredh the Elder crouched before the blaze, singing softly in the Old Tongue, his blue eyes bright as Elder lamps.
The song was a lament for the fabled long-lost home of his kind,long removed from the circles of the world, and he sang as if he had seen the place where gold-and-silver light mingles and the breeze of eternal spring carries warm sweetness. Each word held great grief, describing beauty long gone, and he paused often after certain lines, staring into the blue-hearted flames.
Amid his soft humming and half-breathed words, I listened hard for any sign of the other men. Nothing but the constant soft pressure of outside air and the fire’s breath disturbed the night, and that was unsettling as well. I could still smell thick fog, which might explain it—but wherewerethey?
A wolf’s cry lifted in the distance. Aeredh tilted his head, his voice halting between one breath and the next. For the first time I saw an Elder’s true age reflected in gaze and expression, and my breath did not catch only because I was still half asleep.
Another wolf answered from a different quarter, or so I thought. The vapor hanging in the air made it difficult to tell, and using hare-ears or any of aseidhr’s full attention would alert the Elder that I was not only conscious but watching this curious scene.
When the youth—I still could not help but think of him thus, even knowing what I did—returned to his lonely song, the cadence changed. A lullaby wandered between the shores of irregular wolf-music, and I fell into deep blackness interspersed with fragmentary, terribly vivid dreams.
I woke the next morning to the clash of combat.
Arneior’s boots flickered light as snow-kisses, her spear whistling as its hungry leaf-blade carved predawn chill. I propped myself upon my elbow and yawned as Aeredh lunged, the flat of his hand blurring for the spear-haft. He had a longknife reversed along his other forearm, and looked as if he were giving a good account of himself.
But a shieldmaid is not to be caught with such tricks, if at all. She deflected his strike almost languidly, retreating a single step and popping the spear’s blunt end to the side, smacking free his palm upon the haft with a small, contemptuous jerk when he attemptedto turn his wrist and grab. Another small shake, a catlike leap, and she landed between me and the Elder, soft-light as falling leaves. Her spear-butt struck the ground twice, a familiar drumbeat of emphasis or approval, and she nodded. “Slow,” she said, though not unkindly. “But you are capable enough, my lord Aeredh.”
“Sparring before breakfast?” I was hard-pressed to restrain another yawn. My head ached from sleeping in travel-braids starred with red coral. “Your temper is ill improved by voyaging, small one.”
“I might prove it even worse by turning you out of your blankets as your lady mother would, with a scolding.” She did not glance at me, her dark, fiery gaze locked with the Elder’s. Her face was freshly woad-striped, as if she expected more than one sparring-round today.
Aeredh bowed slightly, his smile young as the rest of him was more than likely not. “Indeed thevalkyrjahave blessed you, shieldmaid.” He accented the word strangely, but of course his mouth probably remembered the Old Tongue in its purest form. “My ladyalkuine, do not be alarmed; your protector and I were simply exercising.”
“Oh, I’ve no alarm.” I was, however, justifiably proud. “’Twas too much noise for Arneior to be serious.” I tasted morning in my mouth, and I found I had also stiffened from yesterday’s exertions.
“Lazy one, so late abed.” Arn’s tone was sharp, but amusement lingered in her half-chanting. “Come, up. There is no ale, but we shall make do.”
The Elder turned away, and once he did my shieldmaid finally relaxed, approaching and crouching next to our sap-smelling bed. It was not as cold as I’d feared, though I was loath to leave my shelter.
“He could give me some trouble,” she continued in a low quick monotone, each word refusing to step far from her lips. Both shieldmaid andvolvahave sharp hearing, and finally we had some lee to speak as the Northerners busied themselves with preparations to break camp. “Tell me I am not moon-foaming, Sol.”
“If you are, I am too.” Relief burst hot and sharp behind my breastbone, wedded to renewed pride. Of course she would notice aught amiss, and we would not have to speak much beyond significant glances. The eye may tell what the voice does not, as the proverb goes, and my small one was ever vigilant. “His ears.”
“What? I mean the—” She halted, for one of our traveling companions approached with bowls for both of us and portions of their strange waybread.
It was the scarred fellow Efain, and his dark gaze was thoughtful. “A good fire,” the Northerner said, allowed to hand me my breakfast when Arn gave a grudging nod. “Many thanks for its blessing,alkuine.”
I longed to ask why they had fled during the night, did they consider it so blessed, but the same instinct keeping my knowledge of the Old Tongue private intervened. So I merely nodded, avolva’s politeness.
I would not give these men any cause to complain of their weregild’s behavior.
“And you are swift as a minnow, spear-girl.” He handed Arn the second bowl, a spark of amusement lingering in his dark gaze. “Does your weapon bear a name?”
“Soon.” She accepted with a polite nod, and settled upon the stacked pine boughs at my feet with swift economical grace, turning her attention to food. He did not linger, and I found myself possessed of good appetite and also the means to satisfy it once he left.
But Arn and I could not speak until she moved closer with an aggrieved sigh, almost perching upon my feet. “Lazy,” she repeated. “I should indeed scold you. How can avolvanot notice?”
“I have noticed much, but apparently not enough.” I forced myself to sit straight, my legs trapped in a complicated wrapping of underbreeches, skirts, mantle, blankets, and my stockings slipped almost to my ankles. “Tell me.”
“Did you hear the wolves last night?” She applied herself to the business of nourishment, the waybread doing transport duty admirably.
“Some,” I admitted, my lips cautiously shielded by the bread lest the Northerners had sharp ears as well. Aeredh and Eol were in deep conference on the other side of the fire, and their companions were eating in shifts, saddling horses, and generally attending to camp duties with little comment and much efficiency. “Perhaps you will have a chance to add to your mantle, though I will not do any sewing a-horseback.” Spinning was another matter, but there was enough thread and to spare at the moment.
