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“A hidden city, wherein rests one of your Faevril’s treasures.” My gaze fixed itself over Eol’s head; the shining stone table between us was easily the bodylengths of two tall men and the weight of the captain’s own eyes settled upon me more often than not. I wondered what he discerned in my expression, for I could gain nothing from his. “I must tell you, son of Aerith, I cannot use theseidhr-weapon you would have me wield.”
A silence greeted this assertion. The wolves of Naras did not glance at each other, but the Elder exchanged many a speaking look, and Tarit’s head cocked slightly, a flash of puzzlement swiftly masked behind his usual expression. Eventually, the Elder seemed to concur in some silent way, and the harpist gathered himself.
“Weapon?” Daerith’s eyebrows rose, and his tone, even in the Old Tongue, was both shocked and excessively careful. “You mean to have a Secondborn—”
“Peace, my friend.” Aeredh lifted a hand, and the harpist swallowed further words. “My lady, the end of our journey is hidden for good reason. The Enemy—”
“Caelgor the Fair knows the end, for it was he who told me of it while you demurred.” It was time for these men to hear truths they preferred not to. It is a duty avolvamust be cautious with, for nothing irritates a warrior like unpalatable, irrefutable honesty. “Which makes it not preciselyhidden, and he has guessed your deeper aim as well. He offered me his protection upon the journey—and his brother’s.”
“The cursèd oath still bears bitter fruit,” one of the Elder—Yedras, one of the spearmen well-practiced in huntingtrul—muttered darkly.
“The Hunter and the Subtle are no doubt in Dorael, blackening my name to the Cloak-Weaver despite the Greycloak’s dislike of their line. I care little, for Melair will see past their purposes.” Aeredh turned his attention to me, and I felt the full weight of an Elder’sseidhr-glance then. It was akin to Curiaen’s, but far more easily borne, since he did not seek to pry into my thoughts. “And I would not speak of aught else, be it plan or possibility, until we have reached our destination.”
Dragging me, and my shieldmaid, yet farther from our homes.At the moment, I thought it quite likely his pride was touched, and Eol’s too. Just like Bjorn, or even Eril—rare is the man who does not become stubborn when accused of misestimating some great matter.
Perhaps I was even comforted at that moment, for the eldest daughter of Dun Rithell had already handled more than one warrior or lord in that mood, and plenty afterward as well.
“You must listen to me, son of Aerith, no matter how it irks you.” Now was the time for my most careful—and winning—toss of the bone-dice. “I cannot use yourseidhrartifact, whatever it is. Caelgor gave me an Elder toy to open. You saw the result but did not truly understand its import. It almost killed me, and this thing you wish me to wield must be more powerful yet. I tell you, by the Aesyr and the Vanyr both, I cannot. And what is more, I do not want to.”
Silence greeted this revelation. Daerith studied me as if I had suddenly grown another head, or a god had spoken brazen-trumpet through my mouth. Eol had paled, his eyes glittering, and Efain’s gaze rested upon Arn.
It gave me little pleasure to have finally made my point.
Truth in Our Dealings
Yet by that time the third son of Mehem the Petty was dead, and though the Ill-Fated was wondrous wroth life could not be regained. Of this event’s small seed much later grief flowered; the betrayal of Redhill began in that moment, though it took years to accomplish.
—Berehad Bowman,The Saga of Redhill
The quiet was of short duration, for Mehem laughed, his beard shaking and its decorations—leather braid-caps, a few beads carved from dull-finished gems, and more beads of bone—following likewise. Perhaps the look of open shock upon the faces of the Elder delighted him. Dverger find much about the Children of the Star risible, and the Secondborn only slightly less so.
Gelad inhaled as if to speak, but Eol won the race. “It nearly killed you?”
I could not tell whether he meant to express shock or disbelief. I lifted my hands from chill tabletop, my sleeves falling further back. The runes between my bands twitched but did not dance. “These mean I know my own strength, though I might attempt to surpass it at great need—as I have more than once upon our journey. If not for my shieldmaid’s care and lord Aeredh’s treatment, theseidhrin that silver ball would have boiled me from the inside.”
“And yet you cleared the road to Nithraen, and we have seen youface not merely atrulbut also a lich of Kaer Morgulis.” Aeredh made a sharp gesture, somehow producing thetaivvanpallo; I shuddered as he placed it upon the table with a tiny click. “And you unlocked one of Faevril’s works, which only analkuinemay do.”
Mehem eyed the silver orb with its shifting etched lines, all trace of his merriment gone. Naturally a dverger would be most interested in such a piece of crafting, for all their weirding is of a different type.
“Do you call my Solveig a coward or a liar?” Arn did not bother to contain herself, and I thought it best not to halt her at this point. “If she says she cannot,Elder, that is enough.”
“Do all women of the South speak so?” Daerith the harpist had clearly never heard a shieldmaid administer a stinging reproof before; apparently he did not find it to his taste. “And a Secondborn witch to wear Lithielle’s Jewel, or even look upon it? My lord king, have you gone mad?”
Yedras, seated upon his right, had a different question. “The witchgirl opened a taivvanpallo?”
Arn inhaled as if to speak once more, but I turned my head slightly, and she subsided. One lash from her was effective enough; more might prove a draught too strong. I thought Aeredh would speak again, but I was mistaken.
“Name her witch again,” Eol said quietly, “and I shall answer, Yedras.”
The Elder shook his dark head, subsiding. He leaned back in his chair, pressing his tented fingertips together, and examined me afresh like all his kin at the table were doing. My ownseidhrwas adequate to meet that weight calmly, though a prickle ran down my back, like tiny jeweled mouse-teeth gnawing.
“I may be mad with grief, but my purpose remains firm.” Aeredh’s profile could have been carved with Elder skill in polished stone; he gazed at the far wall, his chin down and his blue eyes nearly incandescent. “The Blessed have granted us aid, and that it comes from a Secondborn does not make it less welcome. Aenarian has troubles of his own; do we go to Dorael, the sons of Faevril will find our trail.”
Tarit stirred slightly. “I still have not heard whither the lady means to travel.”
It was upon the tip of my tongue to sayI will go home, to Dun Rithell. It was, despite Tarit’s advice, what I most longed for. Yet as I turned my head, my gaze fell across the son of Hajithe’s, and his was heavy.
It is held the Elder granted his ancestors’ line many a gift, including longevity and vitality behind that of the Southron, and nothing seen or endured since has disabused me of the notion.
