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“No,” I admitted. It was fair enough, and just besides. “Though you may look all you like, once this council is done. You may find our writing has not diverged far from yours.”
“And you wear it upon your skin. How…” He glanced at the room, gauging its fullness, and despite the number of Elder and Secondborn present, there was no sense of crowding.
“Ink, forced under the skin with needles.” I did not begrudge the explanation.
Still, he made a face, nose wrinkling with something close to distaste. He looked very much like old Flokin in that moment, though a third of that fellow’s size. “Barbaric.”
“Knowledge is ever paid for, my lord.” I was somewhat nettled by the wordbarbaric, but as my mother said, even one’s closest neighbors may oft seem strange. Such is the wide world, and every house is a country all its own. “I earned every one of my marks, and was glad to receive them.”
“I suppose I cannot argue.” Of all the men I met in the North, Mehem the dverger spoke our language best. I could not tell where he had learned it. “We say the same. All things have a price, whether or not one wishes to pay.”
“Spoken like one of Ullwë’s own.” Aeredh drew close; he was no longer the smiling youth he had been in Dun Rithell or the first part of our journey north. His eyes had darkened, and his mouth was no longer merry. Elder do not age as Secondborn do, ’tis true, but sometimes a great grief may leave marks upon them which approximate it, and the fall of his city seemed to have done so. “My lady Solveig, we cannot have this council without you. Will you come, and listen?”
“Listen, but not speak?” I fought the urge to fold my arms or touch my torc. Either would show nervousness. “In the South, one does not dispose of a woman without her consent and counsel. Is it so different in the North?”
“Certainly not.” He went still in the particular way of the Elder, as a granary feline will when something captures its entire regard,and the light in his gaze sharpened. “We began badly, though with the best of intent. Grant me the chance to make some amends, my lady, and say what you will. You are so quiet I oft think you disdain to speak.”
“Perhaps she merely has some sense.” Mehem moved away, soft-footed—dverger can be silent indeed when they choose, and remain unremarked by taller folk almost at will. He looked ready to leave us to our discussion, but Tarit motioned to him.
“Come, my lord Mehem,” the son of Hajithe called, despite the looks exchanged by his lieutenants—bearded Kaedris, and Berehad called Bowman for his skill with placing shafts from a bow of Elder make and size to rival Daerith the harpist’s. “I value your advice, as all should. Besides, the chair of honor is yours.”
I would have passed Aeredh to join the others at the glass-glossy table, but he moved as if to catch my arm and I halted, my skirt swinging. Perhaps he mistook it for a flinch, since his hand fell to his side and his expression darkened still further. Once more I saw a flicker of his true age, and it was disconcerting against his usual humor.
I waited, but he said naught else, merely indicated the table and walked thence at my shoulder like a shieldmaid.
So it was I took my place at the Council of Redhill. One chair was stone, and shaped with steps for a dverger’s shorter legs to climb into its embrace; the rest were a motley assortment of carven wood. Daerith the harpist of Nithraen was there, and four Elder from the wreck of their city; Tarit the Ill-Fated and his two chief lieutenants attended too, and the wolves of Naras except Soren and Elak, who were with many of Tarit’s men and the other Elder hunting a group oforukharbetween the hill and shattered Elder land, where a wyrm’s stink was already blasting the trees and golden grass to sickly shadows.
Despite what they say of that discussion, Tarit and Eol of Naras did not come to blows, nor did Aeredh the Crownless sing a lament for lost Nithraen. It was more like an Althing where all speak their minds upon questions of import, though there was no ale and neither Aesyr nor Vanyr nor any other divinity were invoked at beginningor end. Nor was I treated with much false courtesy by rival groups eager to gain a sliver more than their neighbors, there was no question of a flyting—and there was not a single honorable bout of fisticuffs.
My father would have found it a dull affair indeed.
Arn disdained to sit, standing behind my chair with her spear a straight vertical bar and her dark eyes narrowed. In physical battle my place was where she set me, but here, I was the better warrior. Still, the men left a chair empty at my right should she change her mind, and Aeredh settled himself to my left. Apparently there was some honor in his position or mine, for those assembled looked to him to open the discussion.
It began, as such things do, with a recitation of what we knew: Nithraen was fallen, a large force marched toward Dorael—Daerith the harpist gestured to the shining tabletop, indicating the relative places and points between. There was some power in Aenarian Greycloak’s land which would keep even an army oforukharand other fell things at bay, but it did not leave those borders and might be overwhelmed in time, especially if the Seven rode forth together instead of singly.
Of the Seven of Kaer Angaran not much was said, since every Northerner knew of them. I gathered they were creatures like unto the lich we had seen, yet far more dread and deadly; the inference sent a chill down my spine.
The recent battles were discussed, and I learned summat of a grave insult which had driven Tarit from Dorael ere his sister Laleith arrived there for fostering—she had been loath to leave her mother before, and went only reluctantly. The son of Hajithe disdained to return to that Elder realm, though Daerith spoke of a pardon extended by the high king himself.
I could have told the harpist the idea ofpardonfor a wrong not of his making would only insult a man of Tarit’s temper further, but I was not asked, and held my peace. Sometimes I wonder if I should have spoken. It was not my place… and yet.
There was talk of driving the huge wyrm from Nithraen; the thing was, according to some scouts, consuming even the Enemy’sorukharand a few mightier servants seeking parley or attempting to deliver their lord’s directions to an errant creature. Aeredh founda grim amusement in this news, or at least the set of his mouth said so, and I could think of nothing to say. Imagining my own feelings had such a thing made its home in Dun Rithell among the shattered bodies of my kin was unpleasant at best.
In the end, no force large enough to retake the city could be raised without the Greycloak, and it was clear the great Elder king had his own troubles. Which brought the discussion to, of all things, me.
They had confined themselves to the southron tongue so far, but at that point Daerith fixed Aeredh with a steady look. “I ask you to reconsider, my king.” The Old Tongue in its most formal intonation turned the air expectant-tense, as if he had shouted. “Whoever survived the city’s fall will make for Dorael; once there, we may gain both reinforcement and the Greycloak’s counsel.”
“I have asked you not to address me thus, old friend.” Aeredh’s mien was grave indeed, but he continued in the southron tongue. “You may lead what others you find to Dorael; my lord Tarit has graciously agreed to spare a few of his men as guides in that event. My own path is different, and those of Naras have sworn to accompany and protect the ladyalkuineupon our journey.”
“Hold a moment, my lord.” Tarit spoke, forestalling me. “The lady has not given a single word yet, and I would know whence she desires to tread.”
The blunt end of Arn’s spear tapped dverger-crafted stone, a sharp counterpoint. The sleeves of my dress were folded back almost to the elbow, and my marks were—as is the custom at an Althing—upon full display as I rested my hands against cold mirror-gloss stone. “Many thanks, son of Hajithe. I am unwilling to be carted any further without my consent.”
Eol shifted uneasily in his chair, but said nothing.
“She considers herself our ally, my lord Aeredh.” Efain gazed at the table as if he could see a map of the North upon its gleam, and his scars were pale as the rest of him. By then I knew those who have two skins rarely bear such marks unless they are given before the second form shows in them—or unless the wounds were near-mortal; I wondered which had happened to him. “It would be good to ask her, instead of commanding.”
“And should she refuse?” Aeredh exhaled heavily. “Lady Solveig, I cannot tell you our eventual—”
