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These Elder lords held Aeredh in some caution, which was thought-provoking as well. We had stepped into matters much larger than mere weregild, and little did I like the event.
“Perhaps we should ask you where Taeron has hidden our property.” Caelgor sounded merely thoughtful, but his gaze locked with Aeredh’s, and though neither of the Elder drew a blade the impact all but shivered air.
“He came when most needed—as you well remember.” Aeredh had never used such disdain during our travels, and I was glad of it, for it is profoundly uncomfortable to hear contempt so deep even if it is not aimed at oneself. “And now he wishes to live in peace, without traitors baying at his door.”
My hand curled over Arn’s shoulder. She heeded the pressure of my fingers—though I could tell by the vibrating readiness under my palm that she did not wish to—and remained silent.
This was not our matter. Indeed I was hard-pressed to discern precisely what, under the Allmother’s sky, they were discussing. Yet there was that word again—traitor, though in southron instead of the Old Tongue.
“The Goldspear cannot hide forever.” Now Curiaen was cold, and while he addressed Aeredh in their Elder language his gaze shifted to Eol. “In any case, work might be found here for a kinsman’s Secondborn witch, repairing some old toys and trinkets. An odd pet, but then, the son of Aerith has a weakness for beasts.”
I had ever heard the Elder hospitable, and these were obviouslyweighty affairs a weregild could not comment upon. Still, it irked me, especially knowing that Eol and his men had the gift of changing skins. It is a heavyseidhr, but I could well imagine the comfort a hall or steading might feel in sharing such strength during a battle, a raid, or even simple misfortune. To impugn that defense seemed ill manners at best.
And to call a man a dog is not hospitality, even if you love your hunting pack. To call avolvaa witch—or more precisely, a word which means something likechanting beldam, carrying overtones of ill-wishing and hatred too weak to wound—is not mannerly either. It is beneath a great lord, though it may be indulged in by a petty one.
“My lord Aeredh.” Eol’s tone approached lightness for once, as if he were only half-interested in the conversation. “Your people watch.”
The assembly did not mutter or shift as a mortal crowd might. They were deathly silent, and why was I witnessing this?
Put that way, the answer was simple. Eol and Aeredh had some deeper use for an elementalist, even a mortal one. These other Elder lords seemed violently opposed to the notion; something of theirs had been stolen. The wordtraitorhad been used in my language as well as the Old Tongue. There were liches andorukharhere, as well as terrible sheep-monsters. The Black Land was no mere child’s tale but a living, looming terror, a ghost story suddenly given new breath and force with the advent of dusk.
And I? I was far from home, with only Arn as protection despite any promise a Northern captor might utter.
Whatever measure of excitement or anticipation I had at the prospect of learning deeperseidhrin the North or history only the Elder could teach was well and truly vanished at that moment.
I do not mind admitting the feeling did not return for a long, long while.
“Let any among the people Aerith once ruled witness this; I welcome the scrutiny.” Aeredh’s right hand flickered, indicating me. “Analkuinehas come to us, sent by chance—or the Blessed, I know not which. You took up your swords and followed your father, sons of Faevril, well enough; I am serving the memory of mine. He lent his aid to a mighty undertaking, and in it a Secondborn achieved for love more than the Children of the Star have by wrath since the darkeningof the West. I do not wish for your Freed Jewel, even were it gifted me by the Allmother herself. Do not accuse me of your faults, Curiaen the Subtle, and I will not accuse you of mine.” The last held all the quality of a proverb, and I could hear why—in the Old Tongue, the phrase would bear a crackling lash of consonants.
“How very noble.” Caelgor’s smile was thin ice over a deep well. He still did not reach for a weapon, though one of his elegant fingertips twitched. Orb-light glowed in his golden hair, and though he was fair as Astrid my sister’s is by far the greater beauty, for it was ever unmarred by cruelty. “Let us hear from your Secondborn witch, then. What wonder does she hope to accomplish?”
My fingers tensed as Arn’s shoulder turned to stone under them. “Do not,” I murmured. “If Lord Aeredh forbears, my shieldmaid, so shall we.”
“She speaks,” Caelgor said. “Your lord Aeredh, Secondborn? Has he taken a kingdom among your kind, then?”
At the moment I did not compass what an insult that was, but the rising ire in the crowd—invisible and silent, to be sure, yet still palpable—was warning in and of itself.
Captured to pay off a life-debt or not, I was still a lord’s daughter, born free andvolvabesides. Being addressed in such terms, Ihadto speak.
“I am weregild to my lord Eol of the House of Naras for a year and a day, Elder, and Lord Aeredh has treated us fairly.” I pitched the words as if rendering Dun Rithell’s judgment to a possibly restive pair of combatants, and the whisper of a passing divinity still lingered in my throat, for the words rang bright with truth. Even the most forbearing, that tone said, could point out that a host was not behaving in mannerly fashion. “Even in our halls, far less grand than yours, we know how to repay a kindness.”
“Son of Aerith.” An Elder stepped from the crowd. It was the harpist, tall and spare in dark-green velvet; his stringed instrument hung loosely from one hand as if he did not feel its weight. He spoke in southron, whether to be courteous or to indirectly answer my likewise oblique challenge. “Have you returned to lead us? Your father’s crown rests there, and though we have followed others we remain your people.”
Ah. So that is a missing piece.Much about Eol’s deference wasnow clear; the Elder I thought a mere youth was a king in exile, and Curiaen and Caelgor, sharing another speaking look, well knew their rule rested upon a thin board indeed.
Aeredh continued in the southron tongue, and the vivid power in him had not waned either. “Not so long ago you spoke differently, Daerith. I brought the son of Tharos and the ladyalkuinehere because we had little choice, being pursued by the Enemy’s thralls. We should be setting our swords solely againsthimand not each other, as we so often have—to our grief, as the sons of Faevril should know well enough.” He paused for a brief moment, but none dared speak in that interval. “When the lady and her companion have rested enough, we shall continue upon our journey.”
“Perhaps we shall escort you hence.” Caelgor’s fingers now toyed with the jeweled horn at his belt, though no doubt he wished to employ his grasp otherwise. Sometimes my father touched his beard-pin while mastering his wrath, and this looked much the same. “For the safety of thealkuinechild, if such she indeed is. Secondborn are… fragile.”
“One took you and your brother both from the saddle not too long ago.” Eol’s silence apparently had its limits too. If he suffered a curse and wished me to remove it, perhaps he chafed at this time-consuming display? But that did not explain this talk of jewels, or of treachery. “And thus freed a woman held against her will.”
Curiaen’s hand fully clasped a hilt now, and the dark hunter was only restrained from drawing steel by his brother’s arm once more.
“Where is your brother, son of Naras?” Caelgor, I thought, was by far the greater danger, for he not only leashed his sibling’s ire but turned a searching look upon Eol, much as I might at once restrain Bjorn and question one of my father’s warriors. “The girl speaks of weregild; thy father Tharos should be told.”
“Were he here I would have already attended to that duty, my lord Caelgor. I thank you for the reminder.” Icily polite, the Northerner otherwise held his stillness, but it was not like an ordinary man’s. It had a peculiar animal quality; I saw what Arn must have, in that moment—eyes too bright, teeth too sharp for all they lingered in a human mouth. A ripple passed under Eol’s skin, just as it had Efain’s during sparring, and perhaps I should not have found the sight comforting.
Yet I did. For all their difference, those who possess a second skin are still of my kind. Amid all this strangeness, even that slight kinship was a blessing.
