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Indeed, the amount I had threatened to tangle me.
“And well you should not.” Her gaze roved the camp, noting and weighing. I had rarely seen her this serious save when we were upon the far side of the river with Father. Arneior’s tone dropped still further, and she muttered into her bowl. “I do not like this fog.”
“Nor do I.” It was not unheard of in winter, especially after the solstice and before the long hard freeze… yet, itfeltwrong. “Teach me, Arn. What have you noticed?”
“Eyes too bright and teeth too sharp.” She shook her head, her high-crested braids little the worse for wear after a night’s rest. My scalp would not easily forgive its cargo of coral, though I had hardly noticed the discomfort last night amid fatigue. “Don’t worry. I shall be watchful.”
And so shall I.There was little time for more conversation, for we would be moving soon. I bent to my own work. The waybread was marvelously filling, though not quite as warming as yesterday’ssitheviel. Was that draught mixed by Aeredh, too? Could I learn of its making, many in Dun Rithell would find it useful.
It was a cheerful prospect, even if we were caught in a tale. Daylight makes one doubt what the night has shown, as the proverb goes, and besides…
Well, I was curious. Anyvolvawould be. Ours is the way of ambition, delving to find what can be unearthed much like the squat but doughtythrayndverger who delight in ore and gem-shaping.
An actual Elder riding a horse, breathing, and speaking alongside us. What songs andseidhrdid he remember? Would he teach me either? What great deeds had he witnessed, and how many of his people yet lingered in the North, mourning for their lost home?
How could I ask while not admitting I knew what he was?
I wished to be home in Dun Rithell, certainly. But I also longed to gather more of the Old Tongue, as well as whatever the not-youth could teach me if he would, and how I could manage the lessons. It somewhat salved the sting of longing for familiar places, and in my excitement I did not heed Arneior’s words as I normally would have.
After all, wolves were everywhere, and she liked hunting them well enough.
Quite So Flimsy
The signs of the Enemy are many. Carrion he rules, and many misshapen things. Yet we must distinguish with care, for what is foul may seem fair enough at first, and the opposite is also true. Misjudging either is ill done, and brings more woe than even the Blessed can compass…
—Yevras the Bowman,Collected Sayings of Aenarian Greycloak
It grew colder as we traveled that day, the mist clotting and clinging to our horses’ legs. I did not like its greasy pallor, nor did I miss how the Northerners drew closer to Arn and myself in yet another guard-pattern. Aeredh rode slightly ahead, occasionally bending low over his mount’s neck to study the ground. Despite that, he seemed to find our way with some sense other than sight, for more often than not he was tall in the saddle, his eyes half-lidded, singing under his breath.
I could hear neither tune nor words, though a shiver passed through me when I sought to sharpen my ears as Idra taught me. Whether ’twasseidhror merely the cold I could not tell.
Besides, there seemed little enough “way” to find—what I could see of the terrain was strange winter-yellowed grass, grey boulders in tortured shapes as if by flood-carving along a dry river’s lost course, and the occasional gaunt shapes of shrouded trees hunched against awind that did not pierce or move the cold white muffling. My shieldmaid and I exchanged many a dire glance that day, but held our peace. We did not even trade riddles, so eerie were our surroundings, and the Northerners did not speak beyond commonplaces. I could not add to my store of the Old Tongue if they would be so parsimonious.
How often had I wished for a halt to Dun Rithell’s clatter and shouts, to the greathall’s crowded roar upon a feast night? How often had I climbed into the forest or run along the riverbank with Arn matching stride for stride, seeking some corner of thoughtful silence? Here, the quiet was oppressive, my thoughts swallowed by clouds come to earth and the great even swells of the warming breath dispelling only physical chill.
At any stop a few low words were exchanged about the business of caring for the horses and—I realized after the last afternoon halt—for their weregild and her shieldmaid, since they seemed to consider us fragile indeed.
Did Arn discern that fact, she might well teach them otherwise. But she simply glowered at the fog as if it had challenged her to a flyting-match, and my unease grew.
In any case, it was during the final afternoon halt, the fog turning briefly gold as westering sun reached a low angle, that I finally made friends with my white mare by the simple expedient of softly patting her neck and intoning not quite a song, but a recital of the things I appreciated about her. It started with how her gait was much smoother than I had any right to expect, continued through her calm personality, and ended with a list of other pleasing features, like her high inquisitive ears, the sturdiness of her withers, and the fine fountain of her tail. I was justifiably proud of the couplet about her dark eyes and their sad wisdom lit only by gentle intelligence, and decided to call her Farsight.
It was a heavy name for a beast to bear, but she seemed equal to the task and consented to consider me a friend.
Arn shook her head, a line appearing between her coppery eyebrows. “I half expected you to start listing your flocks and fields,” she said, but not very loudly.
“A horse seems a better marriage-contract than a man, certainly.”I was hard put not to laugh, and Arn’s half-suppressed chuckle was a merry sound indeed.
Eol approached with some diffidence, and did not this time offer more of his flask. His cheeks bore the blush of cold, very like Arn’s. “In some short while we shall halt at a steading.” Fog-droplets clung to his dark hair, raising a stubborn curl. “It will be more comfortable. Afterward there will be snow, but we will not lack for nightly shelter.”
I knew of no steadings, halls, free farms, or the like so near north of Dun Rithell, yet that meant little. While travelers go upriver with some regularity, they did not often strike away from the water’s curve toward the faraway shadow of the Black Land’s old, dead malice. Those who did might well never return—most likely from plain misadventure, or the call of the horizon. Better to stay upon the banks, and let our river-mother provide all necessaries.
Still, I was somewhat nettled at being considered so strengthless, and could perhaps discern why we were not wending southward instead. “We are not quite so flimsy as you seem to think, Arn and I.”
“You are valuable, ladyalkuine, and under our care. I gave my word to your mother Gwendelint and would not be forsworn.” He nodded, sharply polite, in Arn’s direction, and took himself away with no further word.
“Courteous enough,” Arn observed. “But he flees speech with you as if he has heard you scold your brother.”
I wondered how Bjorn was faring, and if he had committed another… I could not call itindiscretion, for that is a weak word for killing a man with a single blow, whether a stone had the final coup or not. Yet the Northerners seemed to bear our family little ill will, if any, and so far treated me well enough.
