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The Northerners set off deeper into the forest, climbing the ridge like a herd, and we were borne among the men with little effort. It was good, for there was a rock in my throat, and I wished I could howl into the strengthening storm.
It is not fair, I thought over and over again, but each time the answer arrived in Idra’s voice, woven between feather-falling flakes and whispering wind.
And what makes you think, Gwendelint’s child, that anything ever will be?
Anything Unreasonable
Many times the Conjurer’s wolf-beasts attacked, their eyes full of fire and their jaws dripping foam. Yet Lithielle sang, and the great hound leapt, and between them a fence was set. Mighty was she, child of the Cloak-Weaver; of shadow was her raiment, and bright the star upon her brow.
—Fragment ofThe Battle of Kas-em-Aerim
Deep among black-trunked trees, their branches creaking under loads of white rain, a clearing suddenly opened, swept bare as a greathall’s floor when the rushes or sweet-straw are changed. Its borders were held by lumps of hunched grey stone akin to those at the borders of the Eastronmost, but no runes marred their surface; all were shaped vaguely like fat, squatting little men. If they had once been carved, the marks were long erased by the passage of time. Still, a humming passed through them and pervaded the expanse of yellowed grass, faint traces of green visible in its blades as if some small part of Nithraen lay trapped here.
The snow simply avoided this place. As soon as we stepped over the border a deep soft quiet fell, the storm’s soundless mouthing retreating. Here, even in the dead of winter, tiny pale-blue flowers peered through long grass at the sky, shyly astonished by their own existence.
Daerith let go of Arn’s arm and shook himself like a cat after an unwelcome showering of cold rain, melt spattering free; the otherElder and Northerners followed suit. Soren shied as Gelad flicked a bit of ice at him, and the two exchanged mischievous looks like boys tossing stable-clods while mucking stalls. Arn and I attended to brushing each other’s mantles, both of us hardly daring to look at this new miracle lest it prove some illusion.
“I did not think to ever see…” Daerith breathed, looking about. “Is this place what I think, my lord?”
“It is.” Aerith studied the clearing, his blue gaze shadowed. “Here Hjorin the Faithful and Lithielle rested upon leaving Dorael, and she was granted a dream from the Blessed—or so it is said, though others say ’twas a sending from her mother, warning her of Bjornwulf’s great need. It was here nine great direbeasts of the Enemy’s own hall found them; between Hjorin’s jaws and Lithielle’s song they made a defense so mighty the ground became hallowed, and shall remain so until the world changes. I think that before you sing of it, though, we should build a fire for our friends.”
The second spearman—Kaecil—approached Efain for some conference and the scarred Northerner listened, their dark heads bent close. Eol paced the circuit of the stones, examining each one in turn as if he suspected them likely to break or speak. I set myself to ridding Arn’s back of snow while she gazed about in wonder, her spear gripped whiteknuckle-tight in her right hand. There was no danger in sight, yet her shoulders were stiff.
“Don’t worry.” The snow I shook free melted swiftly against yellow grass and tiny blue flowers. “This is a good place, small one. Nothing evil can tread here.”
“That is very well,” she half-whispered, as if we were in our shared bed after a long festival day. “But after we leave? And what if there is another freeze?”
Not to mention we have thrown our bone-dice, and are now bound to Aeredh’s secret destination.I sensed what she did not say, and shared the concern. “We may as well rest while we can.” It was a practical thought, one Albeig would have approved of.
Homesick longing caught me, settling afresh in my throat and filling my eyes with hot water. I sniffed heavily, using my mantle sleeve to rub at my face. Idra would have tugged at one of my braidsbefore turning away sourly to let me compose myself, for she held it childish indeed to weep for anything less than a truly serious wound or the death of a loved one.
The world wavered before me for a few moments as saltwater trembled upon my snow-weighted eyelashes. Thankfully, Arn was occupied in scanning the clearing’s edges, perhaps memorizing each tree in the way of shieldmaids.
Ever prepared are they, those the Wingéd breathe upon.
Daerith drew Aeredh aside for a whispered parley as Elder and Northerners vanished into the woods in pairs to bring back firewood and bedding-boughs. Eol finished his inspection of the stones and approached, not quite meeting my gaze. “A moment, ladyalkuine?”
“Certainly.” I took a deep breath, hoping my hood kept my expression shadowed. “What would you have of me, son of Tharos?”
“Nothing, but be glad to give all.” He shook his dark head, melt starring his hair and gleaming in the strange half-light. “Forgive me, ’tis merely a proverb. We are being tracked, my lady Solveig, and I must ask something of you.”
If he meant to gain someseidhrthat would throw foul things from our trail, I would do my best—though I thought the many Elder of far more use than myself upon that point.
To be useless is a bitter pill to swallow, for avolva. “I will do all I can.”
“Were it clear, you would see the Black Wall in the distance, like a storm over plains.” He tipped his head, likely northward, but did not point. “The Enemy raised the Marukhennor to guard his land, and these peaks are part of their chain. They are nigh impassable, so we may creep along their edge relatively unseen. But there are things upon our trail much worse than you have seen so far.”
“You speak of the Seven.” It was no great riddle to solve; for some reason, even saying the words in the southron language sent a shudder through my limbs, one I was hard-pressed to quell. “The tracks in the snow—melted, yet frozen again at the same time. And blackened, but not with ash nor with dirt.”
“I should have known you would hear, or guess.” His expression did not change, and though his swordhilt was wrapped once more Isensed the glitter of its gem longing to break free. “They are as riders in black with iron helms, and I hope you never witness one. There will also be thebelroch—whip-monsters like thetrul, but not nearly so easily dispatched, and other things as well. Some even appear fair at a distance, until you are too close to escape.” He caught himself, glancing at Arn, who leaned upon her spear and regarded him somberly. “You are both brave almost to foolhardiness, so I will be blunt, and as commanding as I may. Should we meet anything dire, neither of you are to attempt anything unreasonable.”
“What do you consider unreasonable?” Arn was not sarcastic for once, but genuinely curious. Her hair had darkened with the damp. “These sound like mighty foes, worthy of a Wingéd’s chosen and avolva.”
Naturally she would think so, but I almost flinched. The distance between my courage and hers seemed well-nigh endless, insurmountable as the peaks Eol spoke of.
“It is not for either of you to fight anything we are likely to meet upon this journey.” He fixed her with the full force of his dark stare, and there was a light much like an Elder’s in it. “This is our country, shieldmaid, and we know its dangers well. Surely the Wingéd Ones must have taught you to study certain battles before attempting their like.”
Arn looked to me, but I was too busy swallowing the lump in my throat to make any reply. “Fair enough,” she said, finally. “In any case, my charge is to protect my weirdling, not to save your hide.”
