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I could stand it no longer, and pushed my hood fully back. Winter sunlight struck my braids, and my cheeks stung—perhaps with the cold, though I felt almost as if I had been slapped. Farsight’s ears flicked again, as if she found this discussion interesting; Arn’s were probably no less active.
It was all very well to tease one in my position—a weregild is not fully free, after all—yet it was not meet to do so in this particular fashion. “To speak of the Black Land thus is an ill jest, my lord Eol.” Each word edged itself with brittle formality; it occurred to me Isounded like my mother. “I may be young, but I am not stupid. You wish to taunt your debtor, well and good. But ’tis a foul deed, and beneath one of a noble House.”
I was not Astrid, to be frightened witless by dark stories. Oh, yes, there was an Elder, and skin-changers surrounding my shieldmaid and me, riding white horses who did not sink in snow. That much I could credit, especially seeing them with my own blessed eyes. But the Black Land? TheEnemy, that shadowy thing, that first brother of Fryja and Vardhra, Odynn and Manhrweh, Nyssa and Mother Hel, Vollspa and Geledrail? The eldest son of the Allmother who committed acts so foul evenseidhrdoes not speak of them, so awful even the robed fanatics of the Pale God are judged far,farless corrupt? The one who marred every peace, broke every treaty, the one even traitors and thieves would not swear by?
It was beyond belief, and no jesting matter.
“Noble?” Eol’s laugh again held no merriment, and rang beneath snow-hung trees. The forest murmured, slim saplings shaking slightly and their progenitors loosing tiny spatters of bright white across our path. “Naras was ruined upon the Day of Dust, and its ruler the lord of nothing but beasts. I do not jest, my lady Question. Even my men might well think me singularly incapable of doing so.” He regarded me steadily, his eyes, though dark, almost as bright as Aeredh’s. “Your silence so far has been forbearance, well and good. But so has mine, and I will seek no pardon for what great evil had driven us to in order to combat its spread.”
He touched his mount’s sides with his heels. The white horse danced lightly over the snow; the son of Tharos did not take his place in the guard pattern but forged ahead of even the Elder. I glared after him, my jaw suspiciously loose.
“Solveig?” Arneior, tentative as she hardly ever was, urged her horse closer. “Did he say what I think he said?”
“He said much indeed, my Arn,” I replied, numbly. My head began to ache, and the cold all through me was not merely that of a winter journey. “But I cannot believe…”
“If they jest at the expense of their weregild, it shows them poorly.” A high flush stood on my shieldmaid’s freckled cheeks. Onher other side, Elak let his horse fall back, and though we rode amid the Northerners they now gave us as much space as possible. “It is an insult, Sol.”
Was this some manner of gibe, or were they testing our behavior? They could no doubt hear every word we passed, though they might look studiously elsewhere.
“Yet not one we may take issue with.”At least, not at the moment.I sought for an imitation of Idra’s tone when she deemed certain behavior too foolish to even warrant a scolding. “Perhaps they must try the temper of every new travel companion with a tale or two fit to frighten children. It is no different than Flokin and his fellows every harvest-festival, making the littles scream.”
Arn said no more, but her ire was plainly visible. She glared at each Northerner who approached, and they wisely did not seek converse. As the sun mounted and the forest breathed around us, my shieldmaid and I fell into telling riddles as we often do, working our way through the easiest ones first and falling silent when any of the men drew near or passed upon their white steeds, changing the guard-pattern.
But neither of us made a good showing, for our hearts were not in it. Each time I thought Eol’s words could not possibly be true, I would catch sight of Aeredh, riding supple and graceful, the tips of his ears high-proud. Andseidhrwhispered inside me, just as if I were called to adjudicate a dispute between freeholds.
Truth has its own ring, and the Northern captain’s words were brimful of its chiming.
Different Sparring
A quick eye and a quick hand,
A sharp glance and a covered heart,
A mystery in plain sight,
Such is the weirding way.
—A Riverfolk counting-song
Aeredh led us a short distance from the ancient road as winter twilight swallowed snowy forest and iron-colored sky both, but there was yet more stone underfoot. A series of evenly spaced hummocks ringed what would, in summer, be a thicket-hidden dell—more runestones, but their thrum was not that of the Eastronmost’s collection. Still, I heard the resonance in the space between my ear and jaw, whining like a marsh-mosquito in summer.
Seidhrlived in those stones, slowly weakening as the carvings were not fed. The snow was not so deep here, and in short order the Northerners had made camp upon a paved waystop. There was even a depression near the middle for a small fire, though somehow it was not blackened by heat and soot. Perhaps no blaze had been lit there for a very long time, since once powdery white was brushed free, the flat, cunningly joined rock underneath was cracked and worn in some places. For all that, it was shelter, and a screen of vegetation hid the road we had been following all day.
Perhaps I was acclimating to horse-motion. Still, I could barelybite back a groan as I landed with a jolt Arn could not quite cushion. She was pale, her woad-stripe glaring.
“What is this?” she murmured. For a moment we were left to our own devices, huddled between Farsight and her own mount. “They cannot expect you to sleep outside in this weather.”
“’Tis only the cold,” I whispered back. “I am more worried about why we are still wending north. If they…”
But Gelad approached with a half-bow to lead our horses away, and the Northerners moved with swift purpose—clearing the snow, vanishing in pairs to fetch deadwood, building a fire they did not ask me to light, cutting green boughs to arrange as a tidy, interlocking pile in the most sheltered spot. This, I gathered, was to be Arn’s and my sleeping-place, for my trunk had appeared in the short while it took us to dismount.
Perhaps they were hiding that bit of weirding from me. We were left with naught to do, but somehow one man or another was always well within earshot. Arn occupied herself with stretching, bending, and stamping the stiffness of horse-rhythm from her limbs, and if her spear twitched whenever one of them drew too close, at least the warning was respected.
Aeredh went from one horse to the next, and I watched carefully as he smoothed their faces, his lips moving slightly as if with dream-murmurs, or sounding out a rune’s name. I saw no quiver ofseidhreven when he drew his hands down each of their limbs in turn, but snow and ice fell away under his touch and the beasts did not flinch even when he crouched at their hind legs.
Arn gave me a sharp glance when I stepped away, but she knew the look I wore. I drifted closer to the Elder, hardly feeling the cold. For a few moments I became merely an eager eye and willing ear, straining to catch whatever skill I could.
He paused near Eol’s proud-necked mount, glancing in my direction—I hurriedly looked away, ready for him to take offense.
