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“Did you bring another speaking dog to mock us, son of Aerith? Quite rude.” The dark hunter looked a hairsbreadth from drawing steel; a bone hilt chased with silver hung at his hip, and the sword was greatly curved in a manner I had never seen before.
Aeredh stepped forward, but only because Arn had as well, her spear a diagonal line and her gaze fastened unerringly upon dark-haired Curiaen. Her hornbraids glowed, and in that moment my small one looked tall as an Elder herself, and fierce as a Black-Wingédvalkyra.
“Please, my lady shieldmaid.” Aeredh raised his hands slightly, and though his tone was courteous enough, its edge of command was unmistakable. “Be at ease. Guests were once welcome in these halls, and I cannot think the hospitality of Nithraen so far changed.”
I straightened. It was Caelgor the blond who spoke; his southron was accented strangely, the Old Tongue attempting to draw its descendant back from a precipice. “My brother is simply surprised,” he said, and though he appeared languid, his arm all but vibrated with strength holding the dark one at bay. “You thought to return with an army or two, as I recall.”
The hound at my feet flowed away, her tail still held high. I suppose she must have seen a great many wonders since birth, living among the Elder as she did; I was nothing in comparison.
And keenly aware of the fact.
“We rode south for allies, aye.” Aeredh no longer looked so young. Here among his fellow Elder some force was unveiled in him; it was not the terrible blue flame that had driven away the lich but a vivid depth speaking of age. And yet he was the same youth, only a shade less tall than Bjorn, who always had a hint of amusement about his mouth as if the entire world of the Allmother’s making was secretly delightful and he had the key to understand its kenning. “But we returned with far more, sons of Faevril. This is Solveig, daughter of Gwendelint of Gwenlara’s line, and she isalkuine.”
The Elder had gathered between the stone trees, a crowd far too solemn-quiet for its size, and a murmur took Aeredh’s words racing for the door. The dark hunter relaxed, and the blond one’s arm dropped.
Much is given to the Allmother’s first awakened, and they may see deeply into another’s heart. It is a manner ofseidhr, but not of the type which comes unbidden even to warriors. There are forms of pressure, or even actual combat, both Elder andseidhrof my kind may engage upon with will alone.
Curiaen’s dark gaze met mine. Ifeltthe strike, as if he had somehow pushed past my shieldmaid and laid hands upon me. It was not the lich’s foulness but a sharp intrusion; not abhorrent, but still vibrating with arrogant strength. Idra had told me such things were possible, of course, but neither she nor I had the power to accomplish them without some aid, divine or otherwise.
The Elder lord had such force, and to spare. The marks upon my wrists flamed. Idra had taught me much, and though my response was weak—a kitten’s paw, attempting to fend off a bullock—it was wholly unexpected.
Even a tiny claw can sting.
Not Hospitality
Seven were they, the sons of Faevril, and all took the oath that led him to doom. If even one had turned aside, perhaps the rest might not have happened—but great was the wrath of their father, and its burning filled them too.
—Song of the Breaking
Dark Curiaen made a short, incredulous sound, but his surprise was a mere lightning-flash. As soon as it showed ’twas gone, and he relaxed with feline swiftness, not to mention disdain. Of course I could do no real damage to one such as he; myseidhrwas not enough to challenge, merely to sting.
And yet I may have pricked his pride. Every man, even Elder, has a measure of self-regard, and it curdles swifter than any milk.
Caelgor turned, and his attention settled wholly upon me as well. At least he did not try to pry withseidhr, though my marks ached afresh. I was painfully conscious of my few years against theirs, for these might be Elder who fought during Hralimar’s life, when the Black Land was alive as well.
Our captor said that time had come again, and Aeredh agreed. We were lost in a saga or plain myth, I and my Arn; and now I did not think it very likely to be a comic tale.
“Now I see,” Caelgor said, softly, in the Old Tongue. “You know where the Freed Jewel is hidden, and think to claim it yourself.”
I listened for all I was worth; their word forjewelcarried much significance and a suffix to denote an item of great worth or import as well. I glanced at Arn, who visibly did not like the Elder’s tone. The faint brushing of the Wingéd Ones’ attention intensified—perhaps ’twas one of them who had given me the couplet. My shieldmaid’s ring-and-scale glittered as her spearblade did.
They used no yellow thread or leather cord for pax in Nithraen.
“I have no desire to possess anything, save perhaps a sword to strikehimdown with.” Aeredh wore a faint, icy smile, and the change from his usual self was startling. Tall and black-clad, the youth was gone and in his place was a forbidding statue, every line of his face grown sharp-carved. “This pair of Secondborn girls have traveled with more bravery than I have seen many a Child of the Star display in battle against Agramar, son of Faevril. And yes, if Taeron will lend his aid we may yet reclaim all that was stolen from you. Then perhaps the Blessed will admit us to pardon, and those of us who wish to may return home.” He paused, whether for breath or because he sought to control his wrath, and the caesura was sharp as an Elder blade.
Reclaiming something stolen? Had that been their errand in the South, and asking for aid against the Black Land merely a pretense? But if that was so, why would they bring Arn and me hence?
None of this made sense. The frustration of sewing with tangled thread filled me, and at Dun Rithell I would have been off to walk along the river or perform some other activity so I could think without interruption.
“Will you take up your father’s crown, then?” Curiaen’s accent in our southron tongue was like a mountain-dweller’s, and I thought it likely he had lived among those of my kind to speak it thus. “And lead your people forth to assail the Cold Gate?”
No few of the crowd around us—for the Elder drew closer, listening intently—gasped, or made a restless movement, almost instantly controlled.
I did not, though a chill slithered down my back. Any passing mention of Agramar was bad enough, but speaking of the vast iron gates between the two stone fangs guarding the entrance to that citadel was ill luck of the very worst kind. Any lingering disbelief Icarried was put to rest; these folk would not speak so if the Black Land were indeed spent.
“Will you stain the halls of Nithraen with another kinslaying, do I take a step toward the throne?” Aeredh’s eyes blazed, and even though I knew him somewhat, the urge to back away and perhaps quietly leave the hall was all but overwhelming. “Or perhaps you think to place me and my companions in a dungeon my own father carved?”
I do not think the desire to flee was cowardice on my part, for the two sons of Faevril might have shared the feeling. They exchanged a meaningful glance, much as I would with Astrid or Arn. Much may pass between kin in that manner, and swiftly, too.
