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My shieldmaid yawned, regarding me from the carven bed. “What is that?”
“We’re in an Elder city, small one, and my captor wishes to show me like a prize sheep.” The last tangle yielded fully under the comb’s teeth, and now I had only rebraiding to accomplish before I was decent again. “What have you seen of this place? How large is it? The cavern seems deep indeed, yet it does not reek, and—”
“Only you would find this a pleasant turn of events.” She rubbed at her face, yawning afresh, and my own throat ached to answer with a corresponding sigh. “Where is breakfast? And, by the gods, I could do with some ale.”
“As ever.” I carried myseidhr-bag to the table; I could tell it hadnot been disturbed save to place it in the bed, which was heartening. I lowered myself cautiously in one of the chairs and found it far more comfortable than it looked. “I saw Lord Eol below, but he did not seem to be carrying a meal.”
“No surprise there. The man seems to resent even bread.” She pushed back the covers and flowed from the bed with her usual grace, bending to touch her toes, stretching her hands to the ceiling, and embarking upon the regular, stylized movements a shieldmaid performs to press sleep from stiffened muscles. “And this is not one cavern but several, each deeper than the last. I do not like it, though the air is sweet enough.”
“There isseidhrhere.” My hands knew their work; my braids began to take shape. Red coral, solid and healthful, warmed my fingers as I braided, snugged, and looped; the ribbons were Astrid’s and well treasured, but she had slipped them into my luggage anyway. “I shall learn much, and so shall you.”
“Mh.” She wrinkled her nose and disappeared into the water-room.
A Promise So Often
For Lithielle did not wish to be taken, and struggled; as they rode past Bjornwulf leapt to her aid, dragging Curiaen from the saddle. The lady fell too, light as a leaf, and Bjornwulf might have killed an Elder prince in that moment, for great was his wrath at any who would lay hand upon his love…
—The Hunting of Lithielle, attributed to Daerith the Elder
There is no night in Nithraen, merely a period of dimming and shadows at the dawn and dusk of the world outside. Each cavern had its light-orb, sun-golden or moon-silver; the more shadowed passages and streets had graceful, bluish Elder-wrought lanterns burning endlessly at precise intervals. Some caverns blent into each other at their edges, and the mingling of orb-light was beautiful indeed.
Homes, workshops, halls for dining or dancing or music or weighty discussion, storage for various items—all were carved from the stony hills, and in the streets there were no broken cobbles or cracked ancient paving, only round granite river-eggs whole and complete. The trees grew as if upon sunny hillsides, and if leaves dropped free of their arms there was always fresh green to replace them. Gardens there were, with fruit-bush and healthful herb, not to mention flowers grown simply for the joy of their foliage or flowering.Fountains played, sweet water speaking in garden and plaza, and the singing in Nithraen followed that music.
I must have gaped like a farmchild brought to a greathall for the first time, or a youth seeing his first love at a riverside fair. Between Aeredh—in no armor but a long coat of black Elder-woven velvet and trews to match, like Eol—and my shieldmaid I did not have to worry overmuch about placing my feet, though Arn caught my arm once or twice as I fair tripped over the satin-smooth cobbles in my eagerness to absorb some new vista. The air itself hummed with messages I could not quite hear, brushing like butterflies above a meadow.
Idra had been fond of those bright-winged creatures, often letting them rest upon her greying hair while she tended her small garden. The memory was piercing, and my first unease in Nithraen was that, beautiful as it was before the breaking, there was no birdsong threading through the lifted voices.
But I did not think upon such a lack then, for there were Elder everywhere.
They are tall, the first-awakened of the Allmother; though most are dark-haired their eyes shine with fierce light and are often blue as my mother’s. They did not quite stare, though a few in bright flowing armor standing guard at some post or another glanced at Aeredh more than once, not bothering to gaze upon my own strangeness. Most Elder look youthful indeed, though for some grief or great wisdom may grant them a gravity approaching an aged warrior’s. For all that, they are quick to merriment, and the sound of their enjoyment is often silver as the night’s largest light. They do prize the sun, for it keeps evil at bay—but their hearts are given to the stars, for they woke in starlight and marveled much later when the Moon first sailed across the sky.
The women among the Elder examined me boldly, most with their hair unbound or held back with simple silver fillets. Yet some wore braids as complex as mine, though none with red coral. For all that, their gazes were not unkind, and the men did not linger-look overlong.
Perhaps they found Eol’s glare daunting; I know Arn cast more than one sharp glance at any whose scrutiny verged upon theimportunate. Most of Nithraen’s citizens, however, were more interested in Aeredh, who appeared not to notice. He did not meet their gazes, and almost it seemed our small group was amid the wilderness’s vast loneliness instead of a collection of stone houses. I did not see the other Northerners; no doubt they were glad to be resting in such surroundings.
But we were bound for the palace at the heart of the many caves, the very center of Nithraen. Street after street of houses, other buildings, wide gardens, and so many people—at times my breath stopped in my throat, and a strange uneasiness turned my fingers cold, rushing down my back, attempting to raise the fine hairs all over me.
Aeredh pointed out small details—my father planted that tree, there is where casks of new springwine are kept, archers practice amid those trees in certain seasons, we shall soon pass a fountain that sings like one across the sea.He kept a steady pace, and though I might have preferred breakfast, there was wonder enough in seeing that I did not mind very much. Three great caverns melded into one as we walked, and the path under us became a road thrice as broad as the one before my father’s hall.
Had all paved ways once looked like this? The way the blocks were laid reminded me of the trade-road running past Dun Rithell, but this one looked fresh-new, not a crack or discoloration to be seen.
Then we turned again. A wide avenue of white stone with multicolored gems laid in a branching pattern at certain junctures hummed with force, rather like the runestones. Both Arn and I avoided placing our feet upon the glitters, though Aeredh trod firmly. “No need to worry,” he said. “They are meant for dancing upon.”
“It feels wrong,” Arn muttered, and I could not disagree.
At that moment there was a belling, and I halted. From a cross street some distance ahead a pack of giant wire-haired hounds, grey as mist and graceful as deer, crowded a high-prancing white horse. The hunter was dark-haired, in greenglitter armor, and turned toward the shining spires of a palace boiling with silvergold light—for this great three-lobed cavern hadtwolight-orbs, silver and gold, the only one we had seen so far possessing both types at its apex—without casting a glance in our direction.
“Curiaen,” Eol said, quietly. “The fifth son of Faevril, my ladyalkuine, and returned from hunting the Enemy’s servants upon the borders of Nithraen. His brother should be… ah, there.”
A second hunter, his hair bright gold as Astrid’s, was the true center of the pack. The horn at his hip glittered fiercely, and he looked over his shoulder. Though his eyes were dark his glance was like a dart; Aeredh again appeared not to notice, though I all but heard the missile whistle. It did not strike, or if it did, the impact was silent.
“Caelgor,” Aeredh said, mildly, as if I had inquired. “Faevril’s third, and a mighty hunter indeed. Though he has lost his best hound.”
“None would gainsay you.” The Old Tongue burst from Eol; Arn tilted her head slightly at my side, listening hard to tone and hue though she could understand neither word nor accent. “I wish you would simply—”
“My father’s people chose.” Aeredh shook his dark head, and his faint smile held no amusement. “I have also chosen, my friend.Forgive us,” he continued, in the southron tongue. “We should not speak so before you, Lady Solveig. We are bound for the palace, and will have a draught there to ease whatever hunger you and your shieldmaid have. Afterward the rulers of Nithraen will question you, though not overly harshly. You need fear nothing.”
I fear little with Arn next to me.Though that was not quite true—my anxiety at this place’s strangeness could be diminished but not wholly elided, and the memory of the lich sent a fresh shiver down my back. Regardless, Eol wished for me to attend, so I must.
