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Yet the stonedust upon us was so thick, and the damage to those vast caverns likely immense even if not fatal.
“The border’s close,” Gelad said quietly. “We can reach it by nightfall, even on two feet.”
“If our ladyalkuine’s strength holds.” Karas did not look at me, and his next words put paid to any small hope of Nithraen’s continuance. “They will be about the wrack and ruin of the city for some while, and will drive the captured northward.”
My ears tingled upon hearing that, and my restless yearning seized upon possible escape. “Let us go.” My whisper was as fierceas Efain’s. “You can escape to this Dorael, and while theorukharare busy Arn and I will slip by.”
I was weregild, yes; but the one holding my pledge was not here. Between those two conditions I had some room to maneuver, and even to negotiate. I could even use the charge of a dead man’s treachery to free Arn and me from this madness.
“We cannot.” Gelad was still pale, though bright spots of high color stood on both his stubbled cheeks. He had managed to shake much of the dust from his hair, and his left hand rested upon a dagger-hilt. “You are a long journey from your home even during summer travel, my lady. Please, let us arrange this, and—”
“Do you not hear me? I am useless to you, and to your lords. I cannot do the thing you want, and you have a chance to right a great wrong by freeing us.” At least I was stillvolvaenough that my hiss forestalled any interruption, and though Efain opened his mouth I silenced him by glaring, knowing my eyes were bright withseidhr. “It was ill done to take a weregild by lies, but you may set the matter right, and in turn, the gods will smooth your own journey.”
I did not quite apply the pressure of my will to the words, as aseidhroften does when facing a wrongdoer who may easily become violent. Besides, such a weight can wear off with distance and time, and I did not wish pursuit.
Not by Northerners who could change their skins.
“It was ill done indeed,” Karas said. “But they will not last a day without us.”
“Try explaining that to stubborn women.” Efain sighed, and when he spoke in southron, the words bore sharp accent. “My lady, did you have even a slim chance of reaching your home alive, I might agree. But if they have taken Nithraen the South Gap is blocked unless you can use the Elder Roads, and the Enemy watches those so close to the Black Land. ’Tis why bringing you north upon them, even at the very fringe, was such a risk, but we knew there would be an attack soon. We simply did not know whetherhewould first take Dorael, now that Aenarian is—”
“This is no time for a history lesson.” Gelad had turned his attention to scanning our surroundings just as Arn was. She was leavingpersuasion to me, but I thought it very likely she would attempt to free us from our companions in her own way should I fail, and soon. “The sun rises; every moment we linger means the greater chance of discovery by roving filth.”
“Let us go.” I focused upon Efain, for I knew his conscience spoke in my favor. “You knew it was not right. More than that, I cannot use your Elder weapon,seidhrthough it may be. Taking us any farther north is a waste, and a violation of hospitality. The gods themselves will be angered.”
“As if the Blessed care for aught we mortals do,” Gelad scoffed. “Will we have to drag them? We must go; I like not the way the wind smells.”
“We can make our way south.” It was difficult not to shift to the Old Tongue, and curse them in the deeper language ofseidhrfor good measure. “I amvolva, Arn is shieldmaid, and the gods will protect us. You can travel for whatever safety you may find among the Elder or your own kind without our weight. Nothing of the Enemy’s will care for us, we shall simply slip by—”
“Please.” A muscle flicked in Efain’s cheek, twitching the scar upon his jaw. He swallowed hard, the stone lodged in every man’s throat bobbing, and continued in a harsh whisper. “Please, my ladyalkuine. Do not force us to anything we might all regret.”
“That,” Arn said softly, her gaze settling at a point just above his shaggy black-haired head, “sounds like a threat.”
“I would ask you to trust us, though we have given you little reason to.” Efain did not move, though he was tense as any warrior who suspects the strike will fall soon. “The Enemy’s spies do not care for gods or the Blessed. They will find you; they will slay a shieldmaid and take analkuineby swift passage to meet their master. Neither of you will survive long in the North without aid, and you are fools to spurn ours.”
“I would rather face those spies than endure further travel with liars.” I did not bother to whisper now, and the words rang like a shout among the chimes of falling ice-leaves. “You are given a chance to right a wrong, Efain of the North. I suggest you take it.”
Arn moved, her spear dropping into guard, and I was ready, backing away to provide whatseidhr-aid I could.
Swearing Alliance
During Aenarian’s illness his wife led their people; even as darkness pressed against the borders did she sit in judgment and rule upon the green hill of Paerunn-il. Sadness was etched upon her loveliness, but though her silent grief made every song a lament and dimmed the light beneath the trees she made no move to leave their land, for she knew there was one more guest to welcome.
—Daeglan Silverthroat the Elder,The History of Dorael
It is said the Black-Wingéd Ones themselves train shieldmaids; it is close to the truth. It was Idra who noticed Arneior’s grace and unflinching; test after test was conducted to disprove a child’s selection, for the path is harsh and those not truly called will die in horrible fashion upon it.
Yet each time Arn passed the trial, often with a cheeky grin and a toss of her ruddy head.That wasn’t so hard; the feather-ladies help me.
After the final ordeal—the Hunt of Marrow, performed naked and weaponless in deep winter—proved her worth beyond doubt Arneior sparred with the warriors, and any who thought a girlchild easy prey was roundly disabused of the notion. The Wingéd whispered in Arn’s ear, pulling her limbs into the proper places, and sometimes it was chilling to see her young face blank except forshining trust while she swung a shortened spear or pair of weighted, child-size axes.
That day she was light as a feather herself, her boots whispering as we retreated from the three Northerners. Dawnlight was strengthening, no longer merely grey but shading into gold at its hem. The stars were fading, and it would be a bright winter morn soon enough.
None of the men put hand to swordhilt just yet; I had no idea how long such luck would hold. We had no saddlebags, no trunk, nothing even approaching winter gear except our mantles and myseidhr-bag. Yet I could call fire to any tinder and keep it alive, at least, and Arn had her spear. I knew very well returning home was not likely at this point, and Arn likely concurred.
Yet we would go no farther north as weregild. As prisoners, perhaps, without a polite fiction to smooth our captors’ paths and allowed or even encouraged to attempt escape as often as seemed possible—or as allies, able to exert some small effect over our own fates.
Better than none. My patience might have been thought weakness, but now it paid handsomely, as such things often do.
