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Whatever I expected next, it was not Aeredh turning to me, his shoulder pointedly excluding the hunters upon the rise. A twinkle upon the bench they stood before—it occurred to me they did not dare to set themselves in that seat, confining themselves to behaving as regents instead of true rulers—was an Elder-wrought circle of gold so pale it appeared silvery, set with a single great gem clear-bright as the one upon Eol’s swordhilt. Its gleaming eye watched this event, silent as my mother while listening to opposing arguments.
The crown of Nithraen. Later I learned it had not been worn since Aeredh’s father left his palace for the very last time upon a mighty undertaking, one which had cost his life. His son had never touched it since, and perhaps gem and circlet lie there still, buried under wrack or sunk in deep darkness.
“My lady Solveig.” No trace of chill formality or anger marred Aeredh’s tone; he obviously meant to be encouraging. “You have been brought to Nithraen’s palace and given the welcome cup. You are a cherished guest, and we shall leave when you are fully recovered from the perils of our journey so far. A mighty deed you performed, clearing the road of snow and furthermore aiding in battle against one of the Enemy’s undead servants; all who live here owe you honor. I should hope they realize as much.” He offered his arm as well as a smile. The light in his wintersky gaze was akin to my mother’s, and a curious comfort as well.
“I thank you, Aeredh son of Aerith.” My knees were none too steady. Still, I squeezed Arn’s shoulder before releasing; we had been cast into a battle not our own, and I liked not the implications—traitor,jewel,undeadwere all heavy, nasty words. I also did not wish to set her spear against either of the Elder hunters. “Your city is beautiful, but I do not think we shall linger overlong.”
The gathered citizens of Nithraen parted before our departure, and the sons of Faevril—I did not yet know the name, more fool I—said no more as we left the hall.
The Tale Bleaker
O where is the horn, and where is the harp,
And where is the cup ever-flowing?
Gone into darkness, gone into stillness,
Left where there is no morning…
—Harkel of Dun Ysaer,Aerith’s Song
Pained silence enfolded our quartet; Aeredh did not point out any more Elder wonders and I had no further desire to gawk. Sometimes in dreams I walk those broad shining avenues again, and hear the singing of fountains which mimic those from the West.
When I wake, I oft wish I had looked more closely, in order to remember.
At the time I had more than enough to occupy me from toes to crown and all the way through my hair, as the saying goes, and though Aeredh kept a steady pace it was not nearly quick enough for the questions building inside me.
Questions… and anger. I breathed deep, seeking to dispel the latter. Emotion is fine fuel forseidhr’s fires, but it oft distorts avolva’s inner vision.
I needed calm, and clarity.
When we reached the graceful white stone building Arn and I had awakened in, my shieldmaid tapped her spear-butt once upon the lowest step leading to its archway—in Nithraen, most entranceswere unbarred, needing neither wood nor iron doors to halt theft or attack.
Warlike the Elder may be if needful, but they like the peace of growing things best. Or most of their number do.
“Sol?” The word held a wealth of warning. She had not heard half of what I did in the palace, but she had heard, quite plainly, enough.
Arneior’s task is to win those of our battlesseidhrcannot; mine is to choose those carefully. “Yes.” I removed my hand from Aeredh’s arm and climbed two steps, placing myself firmly upon my shieldmaid’s other side. Even to myself I sounded somewhat stunned. “I am only Eol of Naras’s weregild, my lords, and have done as I am bid. We may travel as quickly as you demand, but you might wish to grant me some answers before the event.” I thought it reasonable, all things concerned.
And—I will not lie—I needed the scant height the steps would afford. I was lost among giants, and though fullvolvaI did not feel my cunning nearly enough to match even Arn’s strength.
“I have half a mind not to let you stir a step further without some truths uttered, indeed,” Arn muttered darkly, and I did not argue, nor did I chide her.
Even a life-debt has limits.
“Perhaps inside?” Eol did not glance over his black-clad shoulder, yet I thought he perhaps wished to. “’Tis not a conversation for house-steps.”
“The fault is mine.” Aeredh bowed slightly, that strange vivid power not quite drained but somehow lessened, a cloud over the sun’s face. Still, I doubted I could ever see him as a simple youth again, after even a single unveiling. “I told you I would explain as much as I may in Nithraen, and I will. But yes, inside is better.”
“I accepted the weregild, my friend; mine should be the burden of their anger.” Eol’s Old Tongue was not sharp, but soft and reflective; the Northerner shrugged when his Elder friend looked to him. “It is as you wish, my lady Solveig. Shall we?”
I entered the stone house again with Arn behind and my heart heavy within me. I have attended many a council before and since, but this one still causes me a chill to think upon. I took one of the twochairs from the stone table, turned it toward the room and sat, folding my hands together and wearing my best inquiring look in conscious imitation of my mother’s posture when a difficult, unpleasant case was brought.
Arn did not wish to seat herself, standing instead at my shoulder—all the better to express her displeasure with some speed and thoroughness, should it become necessary. Aeredh leaned against the wall near the doorway, his ear-tips poking through a silken mat of dark hair; the sound of water from the inner rooms was not nearly soothing enough.
Eol stood before me like a penitent, and he began explanation with a phrase worthy of any saga. “The Children of the Star—for they remember a time before even the Moon, my lady—have only ever had onealkuineamong their number. His name was Faevril, the heir of a high king, and he was mighty indeed.” The son of Tharos clasped his hands behind his back, disdaining a seat; in any case, there were only two. The second sat somewhat forlorn, pressed against the table like a colt near its dam.
“I should tell this part,” the Elder said, but Eol shook his head. He observed some distance from us, almost as if he feared my temper—or, more likely, the reach of Arn’s spear, since she gazed harshly upon him, fresh distrust evident even in the stiffness of her shoulders.
