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“All knowledge is paid for,” I recited as Idra had years ago, just before the first line of ink was forced under my skin. “Arn gained many a bruise and scrape learning to wield her spear; I have these.”
Those closest listened, though some of our traveling companions were pressed to translate our converse into the Old Tongue. I paid close attention to their speech during our short tarrying, though I did not stir from the hall itself. I would have liked to also examine the runestones and especially the statues, but the snow fell fast-thick and even Arn was content to stay inside.
Besides, each word I stored up now, each turn of phrase and meaning implied by context or expression, would likely serve us better than the stones.
“You are young,” Lady Hajithe murmured that eve, gesturing for more mead to be brought to the lowers. Much attention was paid to the semicircular high table; every morsel Arn or I took was raptly watched. “And so is your shieldmaid.”
“Three summers her elder,” Arn replied, as she is wont to do. There was meat enough and ale to spare; the board met with her approval indeed. In the lamplight her woad-stripe gleamed richly. “They sayvolvaare wiser, though I see it little.”
“Someday I might find some wisdom,” I agreed, selecting a bite of their sweetish bread. It was not the leaf-wrapped waybread; there was no mystery in its crumb. For all that, it was filling and quite welcome. Northern fare was not so different from our own. “And then what will you chide me for, Arneior?”
The lady of the Steading smiled, looking hard put indeed not to. “Are all shieldmaids so…” She wore fine dark-blue cloth and a torc of beaten silver; all things considered, I was glad of my own grandmother’s bee-collar and red beads. I represented the finest of Dun Rithell here, and did not think they would find me wanting. “So forward?”
Did she think Arn forward now, she should see my shieldmaid in an altercation. “She was taken by the Black-Wingéd Ones, those who judge the dead upon battlefields and accompany the worthy to the halls prepared.” It seemed strange the Northerners did not know as much; my words were taken around the table by the translating wolf-stamped men. Gelad’s were the nearest to the proper meanings, I thought, though they all did serviceably enough—and taught me a few new terms besides. “Those thevalkyrachoose are granted much. Using such a gift to leave truth unspoken, or worse, would be a terrible thing.”
“Yet there may be safety in silence, sometimes.” Lady Hajithe’s blue gaze darkened, her chin lifting. “Or even some profit.” She gazed at the stairs by the great door, and the fire in its massive hearth crackled as if to underscore her words.
If I closed my eyes, I might even imagine myself at home. Even if the mead smelled different here and the accent of conversation was dissimilar too, being in the Old Tongue.
I sought to put our hostess at ease. “Our traveling companions certainly seem to think so. They pass barely half a dozen words in a day.” It did not quite irk me—I was merely weregild, after all.
But even a thrall may remark upon the weather, as the saying goes.
“’Tis safest, traveling as we have.” Aeredh, upon the Lady’s other side, lifted his goblet of mead to her before each deep draught. His high regard was thought-provoking, indeed. “You will find us of better cheer henceforth, Lady Solveig.”
And will your companions still vanish at night, as if my presence is not to be borne?My smile lacked nothing in politeness, much as if I were listening to a visiting warrior list his accomplishments in verse. “It would be hard not to, my lord Aeredh.” I meant the sally to amuse, and at least the Elder laughed.
Lady Hajithe’s smile faltered slightly, but Eol—upon Arn’s other side—broke his usual quiet. “Lady Solveig has much to find us at fault for, yet has borne it with grace approaching yours, Lady of the Eastronmost. Her bravery puts us to shame.” He paused, then continued in the Old Tongue. “Hope cometh from the West, but also from other quarters.”
“So my husband believed.” The ruler of this hall—and much land within riding distance, I now knew—did not glance at him but instead gazed steadily upon Aeredh. “You rode south for aid, and return thus. Are we now seeking children to fight our battles?”
Her words raced through the hall, translated into the Old Tongue, and while a hush did not fall the hum of conversation and feast-riddling became somewhat quieter.
So. They were seeking some kind of alliance, perhaps against a troublesome Northern warlord. That would make some sense, but why not take me farther south to translate and perhaps press others to their cause with avolva’s skill and standing? Not only that, but they had not spoken of their fallen companion again—though that could be a prohibition upon naming the dead before they were safely in Hel’s country—and I had to absorb more of the Old Tongue as they spoke it before I could be certain of that worrying word, whether it meanttraitoror… something else.
I hurried to set my mead-goblet down in its proper place, very aware of my manners upon display. “’Tis ill befitting of me to complain, Lady Hajithe Blue-Eye, and I beg your pardon if I have.” I had clearly broken the merry mood, and so must repair it. Unfortunately, I had little idea of how, but it was no worse than lending my support to an unpopular verdict rendered by my mother, or even one of Eril’s harsher pronouncements. “In truth I am well pleased; traveling north has been full of wonders so far, and I look forward to more.”
“Wonders?” Her expression grew even more pained, were that possible. I did not like being so clumsy in conversation, andchildren fighting battleswas thought-provoking indeed.
Why had they not taken Bjorn, if there was combat to be had? The entire group of Northerners had made some sort of appeal to the elders, my brother had said; could I assume the bear-marked ones and Uldfang’s men were traveling farther south? I had not the time to discover the exact nature of their request before being dragged from home, and was called upon to make pleasant conversation with a Northern lady of great honor at the moment besides.
I would have to use poetry.
“Oh, aye.” It took a bare moment to arrange a couplet, and I tooka deep breath. Arneior settled back in her chair with her mead-cup, preparing to listen and respond. “Far travel in fog and a sheep with wolf’s teeth; I have not seen such a thing in all my few years.” The rhymes were not of my usual quality, but each syllable blent into the next with ease, and Arn’s immediate draught from her goblet meant it was not bad at all. By the time she had swallowed, she had her reply ready.
“Less years than my own, and yet just as full; wolfsong we heard, and a fell beast slain.” She flattened her hand to her breastbone, likely suppressing a resounding belch. Her rhymes were better, but she left the ending open.
I took it for the gift it was. “Though into dim eve a horse took flight; met halfway on return by a belling pack.” It was short, each word containing an applicable double meaning, and I quite proud indeed.
Mystified silence met our contest. Even the translators had halted, though Eol buried a slight smile in his own cup. Why this should have pleased him I could not guess, but perhaps it was the pride of a man who has an exotic pet and makes it dance on festival days.
“’Tis a game,” Aeredh supplied helpfully, leaning against his chair-arm in our hostess’s direction. The sharp tips of his ears poked through his hair; he made no attempt to hide what he was in this hall. Did they merely take the appearance of Elder for granted this far north? “They may spend whole evenings thus, speaking in verse. Sometimes a man’s freedom is decided upon the couplets, or a woman’s accepting a husband.”
“I see.” Lady Hajithe still looked puzzled, though she tipped her cup politely in my direction before taking a sip.
It was not quite the reaction I had hoped for, but Arn finished her drink, throat moving in long swallows, and tapped her empty goblet twice upon the table’s rim. For all she is most martial, my shieldmaid concedes many a poetry battle to me. “I should know better than to play against you, Sol. Avolvahas a quick tongue.”
“It follows a sharp mind, dear one.” It was my turn to drain my own cup, which I did with good grace. Their mead was fiery, strong, and very clear, holding sunshine in its depths. “It is counted apoliteness to our hosts to craft a few rhymes, Lady Hajithe. We pass many winter eves in such amusement, and in singing sagas old and new. Lord Aeredh has sung almost since we left Dun Rithell.”
