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Eol’s cohort clearly judged Tarit unlikely to offer me any insult, unlike his men. There was some manner of reserve between the two groups, though both were glad enough of an Elder presence. Today the lord of Redhill was at home instead of striking at his enemies, and I fair leapt at the offered chance to see the crown of his domicile.
Besides, it gave us lee to speak without other ears lingering close by, and I was curious what he would make of it.
“You met my mother,” he said, after a short while of grave attention to the wind’s formless song. “How was she?”
“Gracious and kind.” I tucked gloved hands into my mantle-sleeves, and could not help but smile. “She reminded me of my own mother, though sad. There is steel in her.” I paused, and perhaps he expected more. “I can see her in your face, too.”
“Can you?” If he was pleased at the notion, he did not show it. Then again, the son of Hajithe did not often betray any emotion other than mild disdain, or fury at the Enemy’s many servants and deceits. He even seemed to scorn the cold, not bothering to shiver though his black mantle, in the manner of Northern wear, was thin. “It has been long indeed since I saw her; I thank you for the news.”
“She did me much honor.” I suspected that had the lady of the Eastronmost known me brought North with a lie she would have done all in her power to gainsay Aeredh and Eol’s purpose. Little good itwould have achieved, indeed. “I would aid her all I can, and her son as well.”
“A fine promise, though there is nothing I would ask of you, my lady Solveig.” His tone robbed the words of any sting; it was a mere statement of fact, nothing more. “You must chafe at being so closely held, but ’tis for the best. We do not see many women here, and my men are… well, we were bandits together once, and I suppose we still are.”
“Is that so?” I knew of bandits, of course, though only by report since none truly troubled Dun Rithell while my father was present to dissuade them. Only outlying steadings and smallfarms were ever touched by their depredations, and then only until a war-party was dispatched. “You do not seem desperate men, or honorless.”
“That is a comfort, my lady.” Now he wore the very slightest of smiles, and his dark gaze gleamed. Like the Elder and the men of Naras, he grew no beard; the raffishness of stubble suited him, and he oft let its growth linger for a few days while hunting his foes. “The Enemy deforms even those who fight him with the best of intent.”
I thought Eol would agree with the statement, but I did not think it quite wise to remark as much. The two Northerners seemed to hold each other in polite caution, nothing more. “In the South they think the Black Land spent. I gather it is not so here.”
“No, my lady.” The son of Hajithe regarded me steadily, and had Eol answered me thus, perhaps I might have come to belief more easily. It was not easy to discredit anything the lord of Redhill cared to say; as the sagas point out, though he oft chose not to speak. Much pride had he, and it was visible even in his silences. “The Enemy is alive, the gates of Agramar have closed, and new flame burns in the depths of that cursèd place.”
“The Enemy…” I shuddered, for the wind grew even more piercing. It was perhaps ill luck to mention such a creature even in the southron tongue. “Is he truly the Allmother’s first son?”
“You should ask the Elder; they know more than I.” Tarit paused, glancing at Arn. His stubbled cheeks blushed with the wind’s force, and even here in some safety he rested a hand upon the hilt of a plain, well-crafted dagger. “There is some disagreement, Lady Solveig. Daerith and the other Elder say you should be taken to Dorael, where AenarianGreycloak and his queen will offer you refuge. Aeredh and Eol will not say whither they mean to wend, but ’tis clear they have some other destination in mind. I thought to ask where it pleases you to go.”
It would please me to return to Dun Rithell, my lord.And yet… the idea of a lich or vast army oforukhardescending upon my home filled me with dread twice as cold as the wind tugging at my mantle’s furred hood. I was to wield an Elderseidhr-weapon, I knew I lacked the strength—and the men who had taken me from my home were not bothering to ask an ally her wishes, but arguing with other men over my fate.
I did not know what to do, and could not tell how to aim my cunning or craft to find an answer.
Arn did not tap her spear-butt against the stone, but her arm tensed as if she wished to. Her eyes were closed and she still drank in all the sunlight she could, but no doubt she weighed every word.
I had been excited at this journey, especially by the thought of learning newseidhr. Perhaps Lokji had been listening to my inner counsel and decided to grant me what I longed for, accompanied by the twist he gives every gift.
Lady Hajithe’s son deserved my honesty; I could give at least some measure of it with good grace. “I think Aeredh means to take me to a place they call the Hidden City. An Elder named Taeron is king there, and will not suffer me to leave once I arrive, or so Caelgor the Fair told me.”
“Caelgor?” Tarit’s lip curled slightly, and he made a restless movement. His use of the southron tongue improved much with practice, though each word remained achingly formal. “A mighty lord, but I have never liked him overmuch. Still, the Elder care not for my like or dislike. They are above such things.”
Perhaps.“Yet I should think every man or woman free to dislike whom we will, my lord.”
“Well spoken.” Tarit eyed me closely, and his gaze was piercing. There was very little difference between iris and pupil, granting his glance almostseidhr-weight. No breath of the wise art hung upon him, but he saw much—and in him ran a streak of wholly mortalstrength, all the more unforgiving for its presence in a perishable host. “Taeron Goldspear. I have heard the name.”
I waited. I was warm enough, well-swathed in wool, with venison stew as well as waybread filling my stomach. The men of Redhill were hunters not just of the Enemy’s thralls, and it was a relief to eat again instead of merely quaffing Elder draughts. Arn was pleased with Redhill’s ale, and even I liked it well enough. One of Mehem’s sons—Jeherem, the younger—held the title of brewmaster; his stills and casks were well-kept. The dverger ferment without bitterness, holding life has enough of that quality, so their drinks often bear a certain sweetness, probably from the great starch-roots they jealously guard the secret of. For they do not brew with grain or honey, and those roots also give their bread its distinctive, dense tenderness.
Finally, Tarit reached some decision. His shoulders stiffened, and he turned fully in my direction. “My father sojourned in Taeron’s city while he was young, and all he ever said of that king was fair indeed. Should you visit there I cannot think it will do you any harm, and since he let my father and Aeredh leave his halls I also cannot think he will gainsay one so fair as yourself. Yet Taliurin my father met his fate expecting some aid, and none arrived. We are as butterflies or nightjars to the Elder; we dash ourselves against their rocks, and they do not feel the breaking.”
Arn returned to my side, either having her fill of sun or wishing to join our parley. Her shoulder touched mine, and she regarded Tarit with sober seriousness and the honor of her complete attention.
“I at first thought Eol mistaken or jesting when he told me of the Black Land.” My gloved hands knotted against each other; somehow, in the mad scramble of leaving Nithraen, I had not mislaid such small articles. “I thought it but an old tale to frighten children with. Now I have seen a lich, atrul… Those things are awful, yet are apparently held small beside the Enemy’s other servants. We might be glad enough of rocks to shelter behind.”
“Well said, and very like my mother you sound.” He cocked his dark head slightly; the wind’s voice changed, its timbre shifting. The habit of watchfulness never left this man, hunted as he was—none guessed it then, but the Enemy knew his name and was already compassing hisdestruction. “Should you go to Dorael, I would ask you to befriend my sister Laleith. I have not seen her since she was in swaddling.”
I could not imagine being separated from Astrid for so long. Even when Bjorn married out I would still see him at festivals, or on visits.
If, that was, I ever returned home. “It would be my honor, Lord Tarit.”
He nodded, sharply. “I thank you for it. Would you care to witness a wonder?”
“As long as it is not…” I was about to saylike a lich, or other things we have seen, and realized the rudeness just in time. “Forgive me, I speak unguarded.”
