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We took our leave of Redhill upon a greying dawn. There was no parting cup, but Eol’s men carried supplies—and my trunk, packed and corded, was to be carried as well, though I could not see how. The Elder grouped around Aeredh, who listened to Daerith with grave attention but no movement, his gaze resting somewhere overthe harpist’s shoulder.
Our farewells were said in a stone hall before a darkened archway, Mehem standing ready to take us through hidden passages to a place upon the periphery of the hill’s view.
My mantle was heavy and dry; soon it would be crusted with ice, as would Arn’s. I was not looking forward to the event, but we could not stay here forever. There was some talk of the Enemy’s pressure forcing Tarit and his men away as well, for every trip outside the hill’s safety now led to some clash and the skirmishes were growing in severity as well as number.
I did not ask where they would go upon leaving this fastness, since he would no doubt have a plan. But I did keep a red coral bead—large as my thumb from knuckle to tip—from my braids that morn, and pressed it into Tarit’s hand as the gathered Northerners finished the last round of checking each man’s equipage, burden, and weapons.
It is passing unwise to venture into winter without being absolutely certain of one’s gear.
“This is red coral from the sea itself.” My fingers were already cold, though it was merely cool as a summer cellar here in the hill’s carven depths. “I wear all of Dun Rithell’s supply; we often trade with river-travelers. It is a healthful thing, and keeps one from being led into a bog.”
“Red coral.” Tarit repeated the term carefully, paying great attention to the accent. “Very useful.” He turned the bead over in his long callused fingers, giving it the sober attention due avolva’s gift. “I wondered at your wearing them. I have nothing fine enough to give in return.”
“You gave me truth, son of Hajithe, and I would take nothing else.” It was easy to treat him as a distinguished visitor, one my own mother had shown a distinct liking to. “Should I visit Dorael your sister will have all my care, and tidings from both you and your lady mother as well.”
Eol was eager to be gone, for he left his men to draw a few steps closer to Arneior. Or perhaps he wished to hear what passed between his ally and the lord of Redhill; his expression was closed and distant as ever.
“I thank you for it.” The slightest of smiles lit Tarit’s stubbled face; his hair was windblown, for he and a few of the Elder had been out while the cold was at its late-night deepest, and from his low-voiced discussion with Aeredh, it seemed they had laid some manner of false trail south and east—and had slain anorukharor two, even in the frigid darkness. “I will not ask whither you mean to wend, my ladyalkuine. It is better we do not know, if even half of what Aeredh hopes is true.”
“Many thanks for your restraint, my lord.” I could well see his point, and it chilled me more than the weather ever could as I glanced unwillingly at the group of Elder. I had been granted no inner certainty even in the blessed moments of unthinking when Arn pursued me with her spear, nor had my dreams been anything other than ordinary, dark, and soon forgotten. “I could wish all Northerners like you.”
“Could you?” His mouth twitched as if he meant to laugh, and a kindlier light was in his depthless gaze. In that moment he resembled his mother most, the dam peering through the foal’s lines. “I fear the Elder would dislike the event. I pray the Blessed will watch over thee, Lady Solveig, and your shieldmaiden.”
Arn did not reply—the Wingéd have little use for men, however doughty. But she did tap her spear against the floor, and nodded briskly besides to accept his good wishes.
He and Aeredh took their leave of each other shortly, yet with graciousness, and Eol clasped forearms with the lord of Redhill in the way of Northern warriors bidding both welcome and farewell. We followed Mehem down a passage veined with glowing rocks, and I never saw Hajithe’s son again.
I did hear the tale of Karat Vaerkil’s betrayal by one of its own inhabitants a very long time afterward, and later yet I heard of Tarit’s sojourn in a hidden valley where a fair, nameless maiden had arrived grievously wounded and lacking her memory. The bulk of the tale is bound up in the death of Ugurthal upon the Ill-Fated’s sword, and little does hearing it please me. Yet I do not leave any place where it is sung as my father always did during the sagas of certain battles, for listening to something grievous while remembering a better time is little enough tribute to the memory of an honorable man.
The tunnels were safe enough, and at least there was some light. But each step reminded me of the blackness under quaking, riven Nithraen, and my breath came a little faster than I liked even with Arn at my shoulder and the dverger’s careful guidance. It did not help that each passageway looked the same, and each intersection was a tangle of confusion. I suspected some manner ofseidhrin the turnings, and would have liked to touch the walls with ungloved fingers to see if they would tell me aught—how deep we were, which direction we would turn next, how much farther we had to walk.
I did not, for I suspected it would not be polite and in any case, we were wholly in Mehem’s care. Dverger can be cunning, but they are not liars—at least, no more or less than mortal men.
Arn did not like the tunnels’ confines either; there was not enough room to use her spear effectively. We walked for a long while through never-altering stone passageways and turnings fit to dizzy even those who have a lodestone orseidhr-needle in their heads, like Flokin or Albeig who despite lacking weirding are never lost and can point unerringly northward at any moment. With a moment’s concentration I may do the same even underground, but there was no need.
The walls grew rougher, and the glowing rock-veins mere threads. It did not matter, for a low grey gleam hung in the near distance. Mehem halted, and pointed. “There is a hillside, and a thornbrake. The descending stairs will take you to the banks of the Yunek, which the Elder who lived here before the Sun called Nisael. South and west will take you through wilderness to the thinnest part of Dorael’s skirts, north lies the Mistwood and the Glass. I would use caution in any direction; the trees of both Dorael and Mistwood are full of bewilderment and dark things.”
“My thanks for your wisdom, Mehem of Redhill.” Aeredh exchanged a glance with Eol, who drifted soundlessly toward the dawnlight filtering through the opening, followed by Soren and Efain. Yedras trailed in their wake, for he was accounted sharp of ear and nose even among the Elder. “We shall go quietly and quickly as possible, so as not to draw attention to this entrance.”
“I doubt any will find it once you have left.” The dverger settled with his back against stone, those glowing filaments brightening at his nearness, matching the flecks in his irises. “Spare me any speeches, my lord Elder. Once you are gone my home might return to some tranquility.”
“May it be so; I lament the breaking of any peace.” Aeredh next looked to Arn and me. “My ladyalkuine? Will you consent to my aid, and your shieldmaid to Daerith’s? The wolves of Naras may move without much trace, and I would not leave a trail.”
“Your aid did us no harm upon the journey here.” I did not think Arn would disagree. “And I would not repay our hosts with yet more of the Enemy’s attention either.”
“Mind you leave my spear arm loose.” Arn fixed the harpist with a bright, unsettling smile. “Let us go, I long to breathe free air again.”
I paused, though, to offer my gloved hand to Mehem. “My thanks for your hospitality, my lord dverger. Your halls are well-wrought.”
He clasped my wrist gravely, surprising strength in his long, dark-nailed fingers. “My kin had their making, and I accept the praise only on their behalf.” His voice, as always, was far more resonant than his chest should have produced despite its barrel shape. Yet he spoke softly, as if we were alone in the tunnel. “Be careful of the star-children, my lady. We of the Great Smith know their temper of old, and their pride oft leads younger folk to grief.”
It was good advice, and despite everything which passed between him and the Ill-Fated, I still think he meant it kindly. Arn granted the dverger a nod of farewell, and we moved toward the light.
The cold was a blow, even with an Elder’s steady warmth beside me. The thornbrakes were ancient, great tough vines with sharp spikes finger- to hand-long and dripping with icicles. Under their arching tangle a set of stone steps clung to hillside, oddly clear of snow but still treacherous footing. I managed well enough with my hand upon Aeredh’s shoulder as we descended, and once we crossed a stream so deeply frozen it seemed likely to never shake itself free, we had left the view of distant Redhill. Even the closest inspection of the streambanks did not show our passage, nor the stairs themselves.
Some say the dverger may close the entrances to their homes at will, and I believe it.
I saw Karat Vaerkil once again in summer, with its top blasted open and the ruddyvaerclinging to its shattered slopes—but that was much later. At the time of our exit, I was merely glad as my shieldmaid to be breathing fresh air once more, though it was cold as a knife to the throat.
