A Flame in the North, page 23
I was not so lucky, too scattered to engage in our usual game of dodge-dancing. So it was the balcony for me, back and forth as a sacrifice in a wicker cage or a fish trapped in a drying puddle. I could not tell if anger was what I felt; the mix inside me was eye-watering volatile as strong mead. The excitement of a journey promising much knowledge was stained with rage at my own blindness, the anxiety of possessing too little seidhr to avoid the snare, and nauseating homesickness.
I could at least be glad the Northerners had not taken Bjorn or Astrid; my siblings were safely at home with my mother. If things like the grelmalk or the lich wended their way southward, though…
Every time I thought of those creatures near Dun Rithell, I shuddered. My father was mighty, and gifted with the battle-madness, but against a lich even that gods-granted fury might fail. Especially if I were not there to sing strength into the warriors’ arms, or meet the thing with whatever seidhr I could. Desperation might strengthen us in that battle, but the Northerners spoke as if liches were almost common in their lands.
And that was a chilling prospect indeed, for a single one had reduced me to quivering terror. What else—or worse—might Arn and I face if we escaped our captors, or as we were dragged northward to the hiding place of some strange Elder weapon?
Still bleaker realizations crowded me. What might eventually make its way not just to our riverside but beyond if the Black Land was indeed resurgent and the Elder lacking will, numbers, or weapons to meet its terrible master? For Eol had a compelling argument, and all the sagas say the Enemy is never satisfied with what he holds, always seeking fresh lands to conquer.
I could barely imagine the carnage, did orukhar overrun my home. To think of Astrid broken upon their blades, or my brother pierced by many wounds and collapsing in battlefield mire… no.
No. I refused to think further upon that path, but the mind, like an inquisitive goat, goes where it senses its master does not wish it to.
Silvery shadows moved, tree branches ruffle-rustled, and I halted, my skirts swaying and my fingertips resting against a bee-end of my torc, once considered the very height of fine craft before I witnessed Elder work. On the street below was a flash of dark blue, a glitter of pale gems, and Caelgor the Fair moved with a purposeful step.
He did not look up, but strode for the door to our refuge. No Northerner appeared to gainsay him, so I left the balcony, my sudden purposefulness attracting Arn’s attention.
“What now?” she snarled, and my own expression could not have been pleasing either.
“The blond one comes. Caelgor.” I cast a longing glance at my seidhr-bag upon the bed, discarded the idea of ducking through its strap. Instead I tugged at my sleeves, made certain my skirts were in order, and was glad my hair was suitably adorned. A volva does not wear a warrior’s armor, but a woman has her own sheathing. It is the mail of skirt and accoutrement, jewelry and hair-twisting.
Unless that woman is a shieldmaid, of course. Arneior’s ring-and-scale was full of Elder light, and her spear whirled in a complicated pattern before its blunt end came to rest with a sharp tap against stone floor. “If he insults you—”
“Then I shall respond as seems best.” I did not wish to let her swear an oath, and wished even less for a pair of sharp Elder ears to hear one. “This is not Dun Rithell, Arn.”
My shieldmaid gave a short plosive sound of irritation, but by the time our visitor had climbed the gently winding stone stairs she was at my shoulder, her spear a vertical bar and the flush of exertion fading in her cheeks, pale and blue-striped alike.
I stood behind the chair I had listened to Eol’s explanation in, my hands tense upon its carven back and my chin raised.
A mannerly knock upon the side of the stone hall-arch heralded the Elder. “One seeks entrance,” Caelgor said, in the southron tongue.
At least he was courteous. “Then enter, and be welcome.” Though I like not your advent.
No armor, no weapons, merely a blue tunic and easy-fitting trousers, boots of Elder make and a silver fillet holding back his fair hair, Caelgor the Hunter—so they named him, since it was ever his joy to ride with hounds even if there were nothing to be flushed or taken—stepped over the threshold and bowed with every evidence of respect. The horn alone was still at his belt, a restrained jewel-glittering curve shining with Elder skill. His ears were just as pointed as Aeredh’s, and the shape of his chin much like his brother’s. Both had long narrow noses, too, but Caelgor’s gaze was far more meditative, and his restraint of Curiaen the Subtle—for so the Elder named that younger scion, regarding him skilled in the making of ornament and weapon—spoke of patience and forethought.
A rash man, even among the Elder, may be tempted to mistake. It is those who wait one must be most cautious of.
“Many thanks, child of Hralimar’s house.” He straightened, and his gaze passed over the room in a swift arc. At the time I thought he disliked to see Secondborn in a place more suited to Elder grace. Later, I would see the same look upon men taking in terrain where a battle must be joined. “I would begin by offering apology. My brother does not like the son of Aerith overmuch and the house of Naras even less; I am not fond of either. Yet you are a guest here, and should not have been treated so.”
You called me a Secondborn witch, my lord. “We have been brought hence by chance and do not know your land or customs, my lord Caelgor of the Elder.” Watching my mother use a few fair words to restore peace in a hall stuffed brimful of angry, prideful warriors was good training for this. “Whatever lies between you and our companions I do not share, and neither does my shieldmaid.”
Arn tapped her spear’s blunt end once to agree, and the sound was sharp in the dim hush.
“Well spoken.” He did not move past the door. “I knew Hralimar some little; he was doughty for a Secondborn, and did what he had sworn to. I think we might find each other of use, my lady—Solveig, is it?”
“Solveig, daughter of Gwendelint,” Arn answered. “Volva of Dun Rithell.”
To prove it, I lifted my hands. My sleeves fell back, and the bands upon my wrists, runes between their roof and floor, were clearly visible. “And with me stands the shieldmaid Arneior of Dun Rithell, taken by the Black-Wingéd Ones.”
“Interesting indeed. I am Caelgor, third of the seven sons of Faevril.” Another bow, his handling of the southron language improving almost between each word. “May the stars shine upon the hour of our meeting.”
“May the Allmother have it so.” The proper reply in the Old Tongue slipped free before I could halt its passage, as I replaced my hands upon the chair’s back.
“Ah.” His smile turned gracious, and perhaps even charming. “So they do remember somewhat in the South. May I enter, and speak?”
I can hardly bar your passage, though Arn might like to try. “This is your home, my lord.”
“Is it? They call my brothers and me the Great Dispossessed, for our father gave up any claim to kingship before the Sun rose. But that is no tale for tender ears.” He glided into the room, careful as a forest creature stepping from tree-shelter into meadow. “So, this is your… shieldmaid?” He all but tasted the word, pronouncing it with care. “I wonder how such a creature came to be, for the mark of the Blessed is upon her in a way I have not seen among our kind, or even the majaiar. And you are said to be alkuine. A strange pair.”
Were there truly no shieldmaids in the North? “If it pleases Arneior, she will tell you of her kind,” I said, steadily enough. “I am volva. I have performed the silent tasks; I am also elementalist. It may be what you and Lord Aeredh call alkuine.” I did not think it wise, before this particular Elder, to claim a title belonging to his dead father.
“He would not bring you here, were he not certain indeed.” Caelgor’s smile could be counted a handsome sight, had I not witnessed his treatment of Eol and Aeredh. My feelings upon our traveling companions were far from kind at the moment, and yet their welcome in the palace hall irked me. “Which leads me to wonder what proof he has; I am told you performed a trick or two fleeing one of the Enemy’s war-bands.”
Arn all but vibrated with irritation behind me. My mother and Idra agreed a man who insults a woman once will try the trick again, unless met vigorously indeed upon the first offense. This was no worse than a petty warlord or a man from a neighboring greathall expressing polite disbelief in order to strengthen his position during trade, peace, or marriage negotiations. I held my tongue, for he had not uttered a question.
Perhaps it was childish of me. The Elder live long indeed, and to one such as he I was no better than a swaddled babe—less, even, for their kind are said to be born knowing much. Yet silence is a weapon in and of itself, and I had few enough to gainsay whatever Northerners or Elder wished to do.
Even Arn’s spear might not deter either; ’twas my responsibility to keep us both in whatever safety could be found. So I fixed an Elder many times my paltry mortal years with a steady look, and hoped my patience would outlast his.
Remove All Doubt
Great was Faevril’s wrath, and too rash his pursuit. When they found him upon the smoking heath many of the Enemy’s fell creatures lay dead by his hand, but his armor and flesh were both rent and he died within sight of the Fangs. Some say his body disappeared into ash, consumed by the flame of his spirit, but his sons do not speak of his passing. And they were the only witnesses.
—Gaemirwen of Dorael
The silence was not quite heavy, but it was marked. Finally, Caelgor nodded, as Idra might when I had passed some small test. His hands flickered, a gleam appearing between them, and I did not miss the breath of seidhr as he produced the article from some hidden place. “Will you do me an honor?”
“If I may,” I replied, cautiously. “I am a guest here, and bound to honor all I can.”
The blond Elder halted a fair distance from us, perhaps because Arneior took a single step to the right, assuring herself of combat-space. It was warning enough, and if I know my small one, she was glaring at him with no respect for age, wisdom, or power.
So far as she was concerned he was, though Elder, only a man. And those creatures are not held in any great esteem by the Black-Wingéd Ones who comb every battlefield for brave souls, leaving the cowards to Hel’s lowest holdings.
“My father made this.” Caelgor presented the gleam for my inspection. A bright silvery orb, its surface scored with strange supple lines, rested in his palm. “’Tis a treasure brought over the sea before the first rising of the Sun, though but a small one. I wondered if you might open it for me.”
“What does it hold?” So this was a trial, and one he arrived alone to administer. I kept my hands where they were, resting upon the chair’s back; the carving was not quite sharp enough to bite yet. The orb glinted, a faint shimmer moving through those deep fluid lines. They shifted lazily, as if it rotated of its own will.
“Nothing harmful.” He tilted his palm slightly, gazing at the thing; its gleam underlit his face and glowed in his pupils. “Should you open it, my lady Secondborn, my brother and I offer you—and your shieldmaid—our protection and escort.”
“We already have escort,” Arn murmured, as if for my ear alone.
“There are dangers you cannot imagine in the North, maiden-of-steel.” The play upon southron words must have delighted Caelgor, for he smiled again, still gazing at the silver orb, tilting it this way and that. “I will not dissemble; should you deny our aid we will simply follow as hunters. Aeredh means to take you to a hidden place wherein rests summat else our father wrought. We swore an oath to reclaim what was stolen, you see, and it will not let us do otherwise.”
They spoke of a jewel, a treasure, and of a weapon. It could not be a mere sword or axe, and in any case I could not touch either, nor spear, nor bow. Each fresh answer merely unveiled more riddles, crowding upon me like starving fleas in an abandoned stable.
“I have heard some little of your father’s saga.” I was glad to be upon my feet, and even happier to have the chair as a shield. Still, the thing in his hands was… tempting. An Elder seidhr, older than the Sun’s rising?
What might it teach me? And what might this “weapon” truly be, especially since “jewel” could be a term I did not know the proper meaning of? Even to gaze upon such a thing would be a powerful feat for a volva. Worthy of a song, at least.
“It is not a pleasant tale. Yet…” Caelgor’s tone softened. What was he remembering, this ancient being who looked a little younger than Bjorn? “Were I granted the chance I would, I think, perform my part again.”
A curious thought struck me. If this small Elder thing did not open, would Eol and Aeredh—despite my lighting of their campfire, and what little seidhr aid I had rendered since—know me elementalist but not this alkuine, and send us back to Dun Rithell? It would be deeply, ironically amusing if this entire affair proved simply an error of translation from the Old Tongue to the southron.
I could return home somewhat wiser, though not much older. “If I do this thing,” I said, slowly, “you will be as allies to Arneior and me? And if I am unable to, and our companions know I am not what they seek—will you and your brother give us safe passage and escort to our home in the South?”
“My lady.” Caelgor straightened, and the light in his eyes was fierce. “Do you open this taivvanpallo, Curiaen and I will accompany you to your destination and guard you against all peril. We will even offer what apology we might to Aerith’s son, though he may not accept it. And should you be unable to alter this toy, swift passage homeward is a small matter easily accomplished.” He paused. “Even if the son of Aerith and his tame wolves wish to gainsay us.”
“Sol.” Arneior turned her head slightly, though she kept the Elder well within view. “You are weregild.”
So I was, offered in good faith though stolen with a lie. What was proper behavior in this particular situation? I could only hope my shieldmaid did not find me lacking in propriety.
“And yet.” I was loath to lay the entire tale before this lord, polite though he might be at the moment. These two of Faevril’s sons were arrogant as any petty warlord my father had defeated or my mother outfoxed; I liked neither the Subtle nor the Hunter. But more protection, and a chance to return home, was high inducement to at least hazard a single toss of the bone-dice. “Better we should know now if I am truly what they wish, is it not?”
“They all witnessed you…” She halted, her hornbraids glistening ruddy. One was slightly disarranged from her practice, and a trace of sweat showed upon her woad-striped cheek.
“What did they witness, my lady shieldmaid? I am most curious.” Caelgor turned his attention to Arn, though he still held the orb as an offering.
I did not think it wise for Arn to answer; fortunately, she did not deign to. My knuckles were not white as I held the chair’s back, yet the carved wood pressed harder into my fingertips. “Is it some insult you wish redress for, or some mischief you wish to do Lord Aeredh? I would not be used in either fashion, my lord.”
Nithraen’s hush surrounded us. The entire city seemed breathless, waiting; at any moment I expected the singing to start afresh.
“Nor would I stoop to such.” At least Caelgor met my gaze directly, and either honesty or its seeming lingered in the blue depths of his. “I make my offer plainly, my lady. Do you leave Nithraen with Aeredh and his fellows you will become a means of finding what was stolen from us, and we shall ride in pursuit. How much better to remove all doubt now, and gain our protection? Should you be unable to perform this one small thing, I cannot think it likely they will take you to the Hidden City.”
Hidden City. It was the first breath of our true destination I had heard, and it came from this quarter—if I could believe it. “I know not where we are bound,” I admitted.
His expression did not alter, though a glint of satisfaction lit his summersky eyes—like my mother’s and my own, and yet unlike. “Do you not think that strange?”
Oh, he was the more dangerous of Faevril’s sons in Nithraen indeed, for all his brother had attempted seidhr upon me. I weighed my response carefully before setting it free. “A weregild does as they are bid, my lord.”
“And so you are thrall to the house of Naras forever now?” His eyebrows rose the barest fraction. “Forgive me, I am unfamiliar with the fine points of this particular Secondborn custom.”
“I was to be weregild for a year and a day.”’Tis is not thralldom or bond, and even an Elder unfamiliar with southron ways should know as much. I did not feel the urge to teach him the difference, though. “Then the debt is fulfilled.”
“Ah.” A studied nod, as if he thought deeply upon my words. His back was to the open doorway, yet he betrayed neither impatience nor unease. I wondered where our Northern wolf-guards were, and if they knew of his visit. How much time did I have before one or two appeared? “Did they not tell you any who find the Hidden City do not leave it, save by death or the leave of Taeron its king?”
Please, continue speaking. I will sift the truth from your words later. I held my peace. Arn shifted, her armor making a soft sound.
“And again I ask your pardon, my lady,” the golden-haired Elder continued, “but should you be able to use a stolen Jewel against the Enemy, do you think his defeat will be compassed within a single mortal year, and do you think they will let you return to your home before it is?”
Lady Hajithe had also asked much the same; it might please her to hear an Elder lord making the same point. Yes, Caelgor was more dangerous by far, though many held Curiaen’s temper in more dread. I could only wonder what Faevril’s other sons were like, and what their sire had been.
And now I knew something else. This “weapon” was indeed the jewel, and there seemed to be more than one of its make. Though that could have been another Elder riddle; there were plenty of them in this place.
